“That is well; now draw near.” Planchet obeyed.
“And open the window, because the noise of the passers-by
and the carts will deafen all who might hear us.” Planchet
opened the window as desired, and the gust of tumult which
filled the chamber with cries, wheels, barkings, and steps
deafened D’Artagnan himself, as he had wished. He then
swallowed a glass of white wine and began in these terms:
“Planchet, I have an idea.”
“Ah! monsieur, I recognize you so well in that!” replied
Planchet, panting with emotion.
CHAPTER 20
Of the Society which was formed in the Rue des Lombards,
at the Sign of the Pilon d’Or, to carry out M. d’Artagnan’s Idea
After a moment’s silence, in which D’Artagnan appeared to be
collecting, not one idea, but all his ideas — “It cannot
be, my dear Planchet,” said he, “that you have not heard of
his majesty Charles I. of England?”
“Alas! yes, monsieur, since you left France in order to
assist him, and that, in spite of that assistance, he fell,
and was near dragging you down in his fall.”
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“Exactly so; I see you have a good memory, Planchet.”
“Peste! the astonishing thing would be, if I could have lost
that memory, however bad it might have been. When one has
heard Grimaud, who, you know, is not given to talking,
relate how the head of King Charles fell, how you sailed the
half of a night in a scuttled vessel, and saw floating on
the water that good M. Mordaunt with a certain gold-hafted
dagger buried in his breast, one is not very likely to
forget such things.”
“And yet there are people who forget them, Planchet.”
“Yes, such as have not seen them, or have not heard Grimaud
relate them.”
“Well, it is all the better that you recollect all that; I
shall only have to remind you of one thing, and that is that
Charles I. had a son.”
“Without contradicting you, monsieur, he had two,” said
Planchet; “for I saw the second one in Paris, M. le Duke of
York, one day, as he was going to the Palais Royal, and I
was told that he was not the eldest son of Charles I. As to
the eldest, I have the honor of knowing him by name, but not
personally.”
“That is exactly the point, Planchet, we must come to: it is
to this eldest son, formerly called the Prince of Wales, and
who is now styled Charles II., king of England.”
“A king without a kingdom, monsieur,” replied Planchet,
sententiously.
“Yes, Planchet, and you may add an unfortunate prince, more
unfortunate than the poorest man of the people lost in the
worst quarter of Paris.”
Planchet made a gesture full of that sort of compassion
which we grant to strangers with whom we think we can never
possibly find ourselves in contact. Besides, he did not see
in this politico-sentimental operation any sign of the
commercial idea of M. d’Artagnan, and it was in this idea
that D’Artagnan, who was, from habit, pretty well acquainted
with men and things, had principally interested Planchet.
“I am coming to our business. This young Prince of Wales, a
king without a kingdom, as you have so well said, Planchet,
has interested me. I, D’Artagnan, have seen him begging
assistance of Mazarin, who is a miser, and the aid of Louis,
who is a child, and it appeared to me, who am acquainted
with such things, that in the intelligent eye of the fallen
king, in the nobility of his whole person, a nobility
apparent above all his miseries, I could discern the stuff
of a man and the heart of a king.”
Planchet tacitly approved of all this; but it did not at
all, in his eyes at least, throw any light upon D’Artagnan’s
idea. The latter continued: “This, then, is the reasoning
which I made with myself. Listen attentively, Planchet, for
we are coming to the conclusion.”
“I am listening.”
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“Kings are not so thickly sown upon the earth, that people
can find them whenever they want them. Now, this king