king’s apartment, and Louis XIV. was seen, without hat or
sword, and his pourpoint open, advancing with signs of the
greatest surprise.
“You, my brother — you at Blois!” cried Louis XIV.,
dismissing with a gesture both the gentleman and the valet
de chambre, who passed out into the next apartment.
“Sire,” replied Charles II., “I was going to Paris, in the
hope of seeing your majesty, when report informed me of your
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Dumas, Alexandre – Ten Years Later
approaching arrival in this city. I therefore prolonged my
abode here, having something very particular to communicate
to you.”
“Will this closet suit you, my brother?”
“Perfectly well, sire; for I think no one can hear us here.”
“I have dismissed my gentleman and my watcher; they are in
the next chamber. There, behind that partition, is a
solitary closet, looking into the ante-chamber, and in that
ante-chamber you found nobody but a solitary officer, did
you?”
“No, sire.”
“Well, then, speak, my brother; I listen to you.”
“Sire, I commence, and entreat your majesty to have pity on
the misfortunes of our house.”
The king of France colored, and drew his chair closer to
that of the king of England.
“Sire,” said Charles II., “I have no need to ask if your
majesty is acquainted with the details of my deplorable
history.”
Louis XIV. blushed, this time more strongly than before;
then, stretching forth his hand to that of the king of
England, “My brother,” said he, “I am ashamed to say so, but
the cardinal scarcely ever speaks of political affairs
before me. Still more, formerly I used to get Laporte, my
valet de chambre, to read historical subjects to me, but he
put a stop to these readings, and took away Laporte from me.
So that I beg my brother Charles to tell me all those
matters as to a man who knows nothing.”
“Well, sire, I think that by taking things from the
beginning I shall have a better chance of touching the heart
of your majesty.”
“Speak on, my brother — speak on.”
“You know, sire, that being called in 1650 to Edinburgh,
during Cromwell’s expedition into Ireland, I was crowned at
Scone. A year after, wounded in one of the provinces he had
usurped, Cromwell returned upon us. To meet him was my
object; to leave Scotland was my wish.”
“And yet,” interrupted the young king, “Scotland is almost
your native country, is it not, my brother?”
“Yes; but the Scots were cruel compatriots for me, sire;
they had forced me to forsake the religion of my fathers;
they had hung Lord Montrose, the most devoted of my
servants, because he was not a Covenanter; and as the poor
martyr, to whom they had offered a favor when dying, had
asked that his body might be cut into as many pieces as
there are cities in Scotland, in order that evidence of his
fidelity might be met with everywhere, I could not leave one
city, or go into another, without passing under some
fragments of a body which had acted, fought, and breathed
for me.
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Dumas, Alexandre – Ten Years Later
“By a bold, almost desperate march, I passed through
Cromwell’s army, and entered England. The Protector set out
in pursuit of this strange flight, which had a crown for its
object. If I had been able to reach London before him,
without doubt the prize of the race would have been mine;
but he overtook me at Worcester.
“The genius of England was no longer with us, but with him.
On the 5th of September, 1651, sire, the anniversary of the
other battle of Dunbar, so fatal to the Scots, I was
conquered. Two thousand men fell around me before I thought
of retreating a step. At length I was obliged to fly.
“From that moment my history became a romance. Pursued with
persistent inveteracy, I cut off my hair, I disguised myself
as a woodman. One day spent amidst the branches of an oak
gave to that tree the name of the royal oak, which it bears
to this day. My adventures in the county of Stafford, whence
I escaped with the daughter of my host on a pillion behind
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