rest that I solicit, sire. That may be easily granted me.
That will cost nobody anything.”
“I did not look for this language, monsieur, particularly
from a man who has always lived among the great. You forget
you are speaking to the king, to a gentleman who is, I
suppose, of as good a house as yourself; and when I say
later, I mean a certainty.”
“I do not at all doubt it, sire, but this is the end of the
terrible truth I had to tell you. If I were to see upon that
table a marshal’s stick, the sword of constable, the crown
of Poland, instead of later, I swear to you, sire, that I
should still say Now! Oh, excuse me, sire! I am from the
country of your grandfather, Henry IV. I do not speak often;
but when I do speak, I speak all.”
“The future of my reign has little temptation for you,
monsieur, it appears,” said Louis, haughtily.
“Forgetfulness, forgetfulness everywhere!” cried the
officer, with a noble air; “the master has forgotten the
servant, so that the servant is reduced to forget his
master. I live in unfortunate times, sire. I see youth full
of discouragement and fear, I see it timid and despoiled,
when it ought to be rich and powerful. I yesterday evening,
for example, open the door to a king of England, whose
father, humble as I am, I was near saving, if God had not
been against me — God, who inspired His elect, Cromwell! I
open, I said, the door, that is to say, the palace of one
brother to another brother, and I see — stop, sire, that is
a load on my heart! — I see the minister of that king drive
away the proscribed prince, and humiliate his master by
condemning to want another king, his equal. Then I see my
prince, who is young, handsome, and brave, who has courage
in his heart, and lightning in his eye, — I see him tremble
before a priest, who laughs at him behind the curtain of his
alcove, where he digests all the gold of France, which he
afterwards stuffs into secret coffers. Yes — I understand
your looks, sire. I am bold to madness; but what is to be
said? I am an old man, and I tell you here, sire, to you, my
king, things which I would cram down the throat of any one
who should dare to pronounce them before me. You have
commanded me to pour out the bottom of my heart before you,
sire, and I cast at the feet of your majesty the pent-up
indignation of thirty years, as I would pour out all my
blood, if your majesty commanded me to do so.”
The king, without speaking a word, wiped the drops of cold
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and abundant perspiration which trickled from his temples.
The moment of silence which followed this vehement outbreak
represented for him who had spoken, and for him who had
listened, ages of suffering.
“Monsieur,” said the king at length, “you spoke the word
forgetfulness. I have heard nothing but that word; I will
reply, then, to it alone. Others have perhaps been able to
forget, but I have not, and the proof is, that I remember
that one day of riot, that one day when the furious people,
raging and roaring as the sea, invaded the royal palace;
that one day when I feigned sleep in my bed, one man alone,
naked sword in hand, concealed behind my curtain, watched
over my life, ready to risk his own for me, as he had before
risked it twenty times for the lives of my family. Was not
the gentleman, whose name I then demanded, called M.
d’Artagnan? say, monsieur.”
“Your majesty has a good memory,” replied the officer,
coldly.
“You see, then,” continued the king, “if I have such
remembrances of my childhood, what an amount I may gather in
the age of reason.”
“Your majesty has been richly endowed by God,” said the
officer, in the same tone.
“Come, Monsieur d’Artagnan,” continued Louis, with feverish
agitation, “ought you not to be as patient as I am? Ought