Charles, my august consort, had been condemned to death by a
majority of his subjects!”
“Yes, madame,” Chatillon stammered out.
Athos and Aramis were more and more astonished.
“And that being conducted to the scaffold,” resumed the
queen — “oh, my lord! oh, my king! — and that being led to
the scaffold he had been saved by an indignant people.”
“Just so madame,” replied Chatillon, in so low a voice that
though the two friends were listening eagerly they could
hardly hear this affirmation.
The queen clasped her hands in enthusiastic gratitude,
whilst her daughter threw her arms around her mother’s neck
and kissed her — her own eyes streaming with tears.
“Now, madame, nothing remains to me except to proffer my
respectful homage,” said Chatillon, who felt confused and
ashamed beneath the stern gaze of Athos.
“One moment, yes,” answered the queen. “One moment — I beg
— for here are the Chevalier d’Herblay and the Comte de la
Fere, just arrived from London, and they can give you, as
eye-witnesses, such details as you can convey to the queen,
my royal sister. Speak, gentlemen, speak — I am listening;
conceal nothing, gloss over nothing. Since his majesty still
lives, since the honor of the throne is safe, everything
else is a matter of indifference to me.”
Athos turned pale and laid his hand on his heart.
“Well!” exclaimed the queen, who remarked this movement and
his paleness. “Speak, sir! I beg you to do so.”
“I beg you to excuse me, madame; I wish to add nothing to
the recital of these gentlemen until they perceive
themselves that they have perhaps been mistaken.”
“Mistaken!” cried the queen, almost suffocated by emotion;
“mistaken! what has happened, then?”
“Sir,” interposed Monsieur de Flamarens to Athos, “if we are
mistaken the error has originated with the queen. I do not
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suppose you will have the presumption to set it to rights —
that would be to accuse Her Majesty, Queen Anne, of
falsehood.”
“With the queen, sir?” replied Athos, in his calm, vibrating
voice.
“Yes,” murmured Flamarens, lowering his eyes.
Athos sighed deeply.
“Or rather, sir,” said Aramis, with his peculiar irritating
politeness, “the error of the person who was with you when
we met you in the guardroom; for if the Comte de la Fere and
I are not mistaken, we saw you in the company of a third
gentleman.”
Chatillon and Flamarens started.
“Explain yourself, count!” cried the queen, whose anxiety
grew greater every moment. “On your brow I read despair —
your lips falter ere you announce some terrible tidings —
your hands tremble. Oh, my God! my God! what has happened?”
“Lord!” ejaculated the young princess, falling on her knees,
“have mercy on us!”
“Sir,” said Chatillon, “if you bring bad tidings it will be
cruel in you to announce them to the queen.”
Aramis went so close to Chatillon as almost to touch him.
“Sir,” said he, with compressed lips and flashing eyes, “you
have not the presumption to instruct the Comte de la Fere
and myself what we ought to say here?”
During this brief altercation Athos, with his hands on his
heart, his head bent low, approached the queen and in a
voice of deepest sorrow said:
“Madame, princes — who by nature are above other men —
receive from Heaven courage to support greater misfortunes
than those of lower rank, for their hearts are elevated as
their fortunes. We ought not, therefore, I think, to act
toward a queen so illustrious as your majesty as we should
act toward a woman of our lowlier condition. Queen, destined
as you are to endure every sorrow on this earth, hear the
result of our unhappy mission.”
Athos, kneeling down before the queen, trembling and very
cold, drew from his bosom, inclosed in the same case, the
order set in diamonds which the queen had given to Lord de
Winter and the wedding ring which Charles I. before his
death had placed in the hands of Aramis. Since the moment he
had first received these two mementoes Athos had never
parted with them.
He opened the case and offered them to the queen with deep