companions had landed at Boulogne, and, in two parties, had
set out for Paris. Toward the end of the fourth day of the
journey Athos and Aramis reached Nanterre, which place they
cautiously passed by on the outskirts, fearing that they
might encounter some troop from the queen’s army.
It was against his will that Athos took these precautions,
but Aramis had very judiciously reminded him that they had
no right to be imprudent, that they had been charged by King
Charles with a supreme and sacred mission, which, received
at the foot of the scaffold, could be accomplished only at
the feet of Queen Henrietta. Upon that, Athos yielded.
On reaching the capital Athos and Aramis found it in arms.
The sentinel at the gate refused even to let them pass, and
called his sergeant.
The sergeant, with the air of importance which such people
assume when they are clad with military dignity, said:
“Who are you, gentlemen?”
“Two gentlemen.”
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“And where do you come from?”
“From London.”
“And what are you going to do in Paris?”
“We are going with a mission to Her Majesty, the Queen of
England.”
“Ah, every one seems to be going to see the queen of
England. We have already at the station three gentlemen
whose passports are under examination, who are on their way
to her majesty. Where are your passports?”
“We have none; we left England, ignorant of the state of
politics here, having left Paris before the departure of the
king.”
“Ah!” said the sergeant, with a cunning smile, “you are
Mazarinists, who are sent as spies.”
“My dear friend,” here Athos spoke, “rest assured, if we
were Mazarinists we should come well prepared with every
sort of passport. In your situation distrust those who are
well provided with every formality.”
“Enter the guardroom,” said the sergeant; “we will lay your
case before the commandant of the post.”
The guardroom was filled with citizens and common people,
some playing, some drinking, some talking. In a corner,
almost hidden from view, were three gentlemen, who had
preceded Athos and Aramis, and an officer was examining
their passports. The first impulse of these three, and of
those who last entered, was to cast an inquiring glance at
each other. The first arrivals wore long cloaks, in whose
drapery they were carefully enveloped; one of them, shorter
than the rest, remained pertinaciously in the background.
When the sergeant on entering the room announced that in all
probability he was bringing in two Mazarinists, it appeared
to be the unanimous opinion of the officers on guard that
they ought not to pass.
“Be it so,” said Athos; “yet it is probable, on the
contrary, that we shall enter, because we seem to have to do
with sensible people. There seems to be only one thing to
do, which is, to send our names to Her Majesty the Queen of
England, and if she engages to answer for us I presume we
shall be allowed to enter.”
On hearing these words the shortest of the other three men
seemed more attentive than ever to what was going on,
wrapping his cloak around him more carefully than before.
“Merciful goodness!” whispered Aramis to Athos, “did you
see?”
“What?” asked Athos.
“The face of the shortest of those three gentlemen?”
“No.”
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“He looked to me — but ’tis impossible.”
At this instant the sergeant, who had been for his orders,
returned, and pointing to the three gentlemen in cloaks,
said:
“The passports are in order; let these three gentlemen
pass.”
The three gentlemen bowed and hastened to take advantage of
this permission.
Aramis looked after them, and as the last of them passed
close to him he pressed the hand of Athos.
“What is the matter with you, my friend?” asked the latter.
“I have — doubtless I am dreaming; tell me, sir,” he said
to the sergeant, “do you know those three gentlemen who are
just gone out?”
“Only by their passports; they are three Frondists, who are
gone to rejoin the Duc de Longueville.”
“‘Tis strange,” said Aramis, almost involuntarily; “I