the gentleman’s duty.”
“But the king is with Mazarin.”
“He is, but not willingly; in appearance, not heart; and
that is exactly the snare the king’s enemies are preparing
for the poor child.”
“Ah! but this is, indeed, civil war which you propose to me,
dear Aramis.”
“War for the king.”
“Yet the king will be at the head of the army on Mazarin’s
side.”
“But his heart will be in the army commanded by the Duc de
Beaufort.”
“Monsieur de Beaufort? He is at Vincennes.”
“Did I say Monsieur de Beaufort? Monsieur de Beaufort or
another. Monsieur de Beaufort or Monsieur le Prince.”
“But Monsieur le Prince is to set out for the army; he is
entirely devoted to the cardinal.”
“Oh oh!” said Aramis, “there are questions between them at
this very moment. And besides, if it is not the prince, then
Monsieur de Gondy —- ”
“But Monsieur de Gondy is to be made a cardinal; they are
soliciting the hat for him.”
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“And are there no cardinals that can fight? Come now, recall
the four cardinals that at the head of armies have equalled
Monsieur de Guebriant and Monsieur de Gassion.”
“But a humpbacked general!
“Under the cuirass the hump will not be seen. Besides,
remember that Alexander was lame and Hannibal had but one
eye.”
“Do you see any great advantage in adhering to this party?”
asked D’Artagnan.
“I foresee in it the aid of powerful princes.”
“With the enmity of the government.”
“Counteracted by parliament and insurrections.”
“That may be done if they can separate the king from his
mother.”
“That may be done,” said Aramis.
“Never!” cried D’Artagnan. “You, Aramis, know Anne of
Austria better than I do. Do you think she will ever forget
that her son is her safeguard, her shield, the pledge for
her dignity, for her fortune and her life? Should she
forsake Mazarin she must join her son and go over to the
princes’ side; but you know better than I do that there are
certain reasons why she can never abandon Mazarin.”
“Perhaps you are right,” said Aramis, thoughtfully;
“therefore I shall not pledge myself.”
“To them or to us, do you mean, Aramis?”
“To no one. I am a priest,” resumed Aramis. “What have I to
do with politics? I am not obliged to read any breviary. I
have a jolly little circle of witty abbes and pretty women;
everything goes on smoothly, so certainly, dear friend, I
shall not meddle in politics.”
“Well, listen, my dear Aramis,” said D’Artagnan; “your
philosophy convinces me, on my honor. I don’t know what
devil of an insect stung me and made me ambitious. I have a
post by which I live; at the death of Monsieur de Treville,
who is old, I may be a captain, which is a very snug berth
for a once penniless Gascon. Instead of running after
adventures I shall accept an invitation from Porthos; I
shall go and shoot on his estate. You know he has estates —
Porthos?”
“I should think so, indeed. Ten leagues of wood, of marsh
land and valleys; he is lord of the hill and the plain and
is now carrying on a suit for his feudal rights against the
Bishop of Noyon!”
“Good,” said D’Artagnan to himself. “That’s what I wanted to
know. Porthos is in Picardy.”
Then aloud:
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“And he has taken his ancient name of Vallon?”
“To which he adds that of Bracieux, an estate which has been
a barony, by my troth.”
“So that Porthos will be a baron.”
“I don’t doubt it. The ‘Baroness Porthos’ will sound
particularly charming.”
And the two friends began to laugh.
“So,” D’Artagnan resumed, “you will not become a partisan of
Mazarin’s?”
“Nor you of the Prince de Conde?”
“No, let us belong to no party, but remain friends; let us
be neither Cardinalists nor Frondists.”
“Adieu, then.” And D’Artagnan poured out a glass of wine.
“To old times,” he said.
“Yes,” returned Aramis. “Unhappily, those times are past.”
“Nonsense! They will return,” said D’Artagnan. “At all
events, if you want me, remember the Rue Tiquetonne, Hotel