the three kingdoms. Consequently, all the good wishes, all
the acclamations which accompanied his return, struck the
young king so forcibly that he stooped and whispered in the
ear of James of York, his younger brother, “In truth, James,
it seems to have been our own fault that we were so long
absent from a country where we are so much beloved!” The
pageant was magnificent. Beautiful weather favored the
solemnity. Charles had regained all his youth, all his good
humor; he appeared to be transfigured; hearts seemed to
smile on him like the sun. Amongst this noisy crowd of
courtiers and worshippers, who did not appear to remember
they had conducted to the scaffold at Whitehall the father
of the new king, a man, in the garb of a lieutenant of
musketeers, looked, with a smile upon his thin, intellectual
lips, sometimes at the people vociferating their blessings,
and sometimes at the prince, who pretended emotion, and who
bowed most particularly to the women, whose bouquets fell
beneath his horse’s feet.
“What a fine trade is that of king!” said this man, so
completely absorbed in contemplation that he stopped in the
middle of his road, leaving the cortege to file past. “Now,
there is, in good truth, a prince all bespangled over with
gold and diamonds, enamelled with flowers like a spring
meadow; he is about to plunge his empty hands into the
immense coffer in which his now faithful — but so lately
unfaithful — subjects have amassed one or two cartloads of
ingots of gold. They cast bouquets enough upon him to
smother him; and yet, if he had presented himself to them
two months ago, they would have sent as many bullets and
balls at him as they now throw flowers. Decidedly it is
worth something to be born in a certain sphere, with due
respect to the lowly, who pretend that it is of very little
advantage to them to be born lowly.” The cortege continued
to file on, and, with the king, the acclamations began to
die away in the direction of the palace which, however, did
not prevent our officer from being pushed about.
“Mordioux!” continued the reasoner, “these people tread upon
my toes and look upon me as of very little consequence, or
rather of none at all, seeing that they are Englishmen and I
am a Frenchman. If all these people were asked, — `Who is
M. d’Artagnan?’ they would reply, `Nescio vos.’ But let any
one say to them, `There is the king going by,’ `There is M.
Monk going by,’ they would run away, shouting, — `Vive le
roi!’ `Vive M. Monk!’ till their lungs were exhausted. And
yet,” continued he, surveying, with that look sometimes so
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keen and sometimes so proud, the diminishing crowd, — “and
yet, reflect a little, my good people, on what your king has
done, on what M. Monk has done, and then think what has been
done by this poor unknown, who is called M. d’Artagnan! It
is true you do not know him, since he is here unknown, and
that prevents your thinking about the matter! But, bah! what
matters it! All that does not prevent Charles II. from being
a great king, although he has been exiled twelve years, or
M. Monk from being a great captain, although he did make a
voyage to Holland in a box. Well, then, since it is admitted
that one is a great king and the other a great captain, —
`Hurrah for King Charles II.! — Hurrah for General Monk!'”
And his voice mingled with the voices of the hundreds of
spectators, over which it sounded for a moment. Then, the
better to play the devoted man, he took off his hat and
waved it in the air. Some one seized his arm in the very
height of his expansive royalism. (In 1660 that was so
termed which we now call royalism.)
“Athos!” cried D’Artagnan, “you here!” And the two friends
seized each other’s hands.
“You here! — and being here,” continued the musketeer, “you
are not in the midst of all these courtiers my dear comte!
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