having one.”
“Sire,” said Athos, firmly, “the king of England, whilst in
France, was so poor that he had not even money to take the
post; so destitute of hope that he frequently thought of
dying. He was so entirely ignorant of the existence of the
million at Newcastle, that but for a gentleman — one of
your majesty’s subjects — the moral depositary of the
million, who revealed the secret to King Charles II., that
prince would still be vegetating in the most cruel
forgetfulness.”
“Let us pass on to the strange, bold and ingenious idea,”
interrupted Mazarin, whose sagacity foresaw a check. “What
was that idea?”
“This — M. Monk formed the only obstacle to the
re-establishment of the fallen king. A Frenchman imagined
the idea of suppressing this obstacle.”
“Oh! oh! but he is a scoundrel, that Frenchman,” said
Mazarin, “and the idea is not so ingenious as to prevent its
author being tied up by the neck at the Place de Greve, by
decree of the parliament.”
“Your eminence is mistaken,” replied Athos, dryly; “I did
not say that the Frenchman in question had resolved to
assassinate M. Monk, but only to suppress him. The words of
the French language have a value which the gentlemen of
France know perfectly. Besides, this is an affair of war;
and when men serve kings against their enemies they are not
to be condemned by a parliament — God is their judge. This
French gentleman, then, formed the idea of gaining
possession of the person of Monk, and he executed his plan.”
The king became animated at the recital of great actions.
The king’s younger brother struck the table with his hand,
exclaiming, “Ah! that is fine!”
“He carried off Monk?” said the king. “Why, Monk was in his
camp.”
“And the gentleman was alone, sire.”
“That is marvelous!” said Philip.
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“Marvelous, indeed!” cried the king.
“Good! There are the two little lions unchained,” murmured
the cardinal. And with an air of spite, which he did not
dissemble: “I am unacquainted with these details, will you
guarantee their authenticity, monsieur?”
“All the more easily, my lord cardinal, from having seen the
events.”
“You have?”
“Yes, monseigneur.”
The king had involuntarily drawn close to the count, the Duc
d’Anjou had turned sharply round, and pressed Athos on the
other side.
“What next? monsieur, what next?” cried they both at the
same time.
“Sire, M. Monk, being taken by the Frenchman, was brought to
King Charles II., at the Hague. The king gave back his
freedom to Monk, and the grateful general, in return, gave
Charles II. the throne of Great Britain, for which so many
valiant men had fought in vain.”
Philip clapped his hands with enthusiasm; Louis XIV., more
reflective, turned towards the Comte de la Fere.
“Is this true,” said he, “in all its details?”
“Absolutely true, sire.”
“That one of my gentlemen knew the secret of the million,
and kept it?”
“Yes, sire.”
“The name of that gentleman?”
“It was your humble servant,” said Athos, simply, and
bowing.
A murmur of admiration made the heart of Athos swell with
pleasure. He had reason to be proud, at least. Mazarin,
himself, had raised his arms towards heaven.
“Monsieur,” said the king, “I shall seek, and find means to
reward you.” Athos made a movement. “Oh, not for your
honesty, to be paid for that would humiliate you, but I owe
you a reward for having participated in the restoration of
my brother, King Charles II.”
“Certainly,” said Mazarin.
“It is the triumph of a good cause which fills the whole
house of France with joy,” said Anne of Austria.
“I continue,” said Louis XIV. “Is it also true that a single
man penetrated to Monk, in his camp, and carried him off?”
“That man had ten auxiliaries, taken from a very inferior
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rank.”
“And nothing but them?”
“Nothing more.”
“And he is named?”
“Monsieur d’Artagnan, formerly lieutenant of the musketeers
of your majesty.”
Anne of Austria colored; Mazarin became yellow with shame;
Louis XIV. was deeply thoughtful, and a drop of moisture
fell from his pale brow. “What men!” murmured he. And,