the painful avowal that Louis had to make to him, —
“Whatever it may be,” said he, “I shall never forget all the
kindness, all the friendship you have exhibited towards me.”
“Alas!” replied Louis, in a melancholy tone, “only barren
good-will, my brother.”
Charles II. became extremely pale; he passed his cold hand
over his brow, and struggled for a few instants against a
faintness that made him tremble. “I understand,” said he at
last; “no more hope!”
Louis seized the hand of Charles II. “Wait, my brother,”
said he; “precipitate nothing, everything may change; hasty
resolutions ruin all causes, add another year of trial, I
implore you, to the years you have already undergone. You
have, to induce you to act now rather than at another time,
neither occasion nor opportunity. Come with me, my brother;
I will give you one of my residences, whichever you prefer,
to inhabit. I, with you, will keep my eyes upon events; we
will prepare. Come, then, my brother, have courage!”
Charles II. withdrew his hand from that of the king, and
drawing back, to salute him with more ceremony, “With all my
heart, thanks!” replied he, “sire; but I have prayed without
success to the greatest king on earth; now I will go and ask
a miracle of God.” And he went out without being willing to
hear any more, his head carried loftily, his hand trembling,
with a painful contraction of his noble countenance, and
that profound gloom which, finding no more hope in the world
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of men, appeared to go beyond it, and ask it in worlds
unknown. The officer of musketeers, on seeing him pass by
thus pale, bowed almost to his knees as he saluted him. He
then took a flambeau, called two musketeers, and descended
the deserted staircase with the unfortunate king, holding in
his left hand his hat, the plume of which swept the steps.
Arrived at the door, the musketeer asked the king which way
he was going, that he might direct the musketeers.
“Monsieur,” replied Charles II., in a subdued voice, “you
who have known my father, say, did you ever pray for him? If
you have done so, do not forget me in your prayers. Now, I
am going alone, and beg of you not to accompany me, or have
me accompanied any further.”
The officer bowed and sent away the musketeers into the
interior of the palace. But he himself remained an instant
under the porch watching the departing Charles II., till he
was lost in the turn of the next street. “To him as to his
father formerly,” murmured he, “Athos, if he were here,
would say with reason, — `Salute fallen majesty!'” Then,
reascending the staircase: “Oh! the vile service that I
follow!” said he at every step. “Oh! my pitiful master! Life
thus carried on is no longer tolerable, and it is at length
time that I should do something! No more generosity, no more
energy! The master has succeeded, the pupil is starved
forever. Mordioux! I will not resist. Come, you men,”
continued he, entering the ante-chamber, “why are you all
looking at me so? Extinguish these torches and return to
your posts. Ah! you were guarding me? Yes, you watch over
me, do you not, worthy fellows? Brave fools! I am not the
Duc de Guise. Begone! They will not assassinate me in the
little passage. Besides,” added he, in a low voice, “that
would be a resolution, and no resolutions have been formed
since Monsieur le Cardinal de Richelieu died. Now, with all
his faults, that was a man! It is settled: to-morrow I will
throw my cassock to the nettles.”
Then, reflecting: “No,” said he, “not yet! I have one great
trial to make and I will make it; but that, and I swear it,
shall be the last, Mordioux!”
He had not finished speaking when a voice issued from the
king’s chamber. “Monsieur le lieutenant!” said this voice.
“Here am I,” replied he.
“The king desires to speak to you.”
“Humph!” said the lieutenant; “perhaps of what I was
thinking about.” And he went into the king’s apartment.