the interview.
“Well?” he said to the lieutenant.
“Sir,” replied Comminges, “it seems that it is impossible.”
“Monsieur de Comminges,” said Athos, “I have been a soldier
all my life and I know the force of orders; but outside your
orders there is a service you can render me.”
“I will do it with all my heart,” said Comminges; “for I
know who you are and what service you once performed for her
majesty; I know, too, how dear to you is the young man who
came so valiantly to my aid when that old rogue of a
Broussel was arrested. I am entirely at your service, except
only for my orders.”
“Thank you, sir; what I am about to ask will not compromise
you in any degree.”
“If it should even compromise me a little,” said Monsieur de
Comminges, with a smile, “still make your demand. I don’t
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like Mazarin any better than you do. I serve the queen and
that draws me naturally into the service of the cardinal;
but I serve the one with joy and the other against my will.
Speak, then, I beg of you; I wait and listen.”
“Since there is no harm,” said Athos, “in my knowing that
D’Artagnan is here, I presume there will be none in his
knowing that I am here.”
“I have received no orders on that point.”
“Well, then, do me the kindness to give him my regards and
tell him that I am his neighbor. Tell him also what you have
just told me — that Mazarin has placed me in the pavilion
of the orangery in order to make me a visit, and assure him
that I shall take advantage of this honor he proposes to
accord to me to obtain from him some amelioration of our
captivity.”
“Which cannot last,” interrupted Comminges; “the cardinal
said so; there is no prison here.”
“But there are oubliettes!” replied Athos, smiling.
“Oh! that’s a different thing; yes, I know there are
traditions of that sort,” said Comminges. “It was in the
time of the other cardinal, who was a great nobleman; but
our Mazarin — impossible! an Italian adventurer would not
dare to go such lengths with such men as ourselves.
Oubliettes are employed as a means of kingly vengeance, and
a low-born fellow such as he is would not have recourse to
them. Your arrest is known, that of your friends will soon
be known; and all the nobility of France would demand an
explanation of your disappearance. No, no, be easy on that
score. I will, however, inform Monsieur d’Artagnan of your
arrival here.”
Comminges then led the count to a room on the ground floor
of a pavilion, at the end of the orangery. They passed
through a courtyard as they went, full of soldiers and
courtiers. In the centre of this court, in the form of a
horseshoe, were the buildings occupied by Mazarin, and at
each wing the pavilion (or smaller building), where
D’Artagnan was confined, and that, level with the orangery,
where Athos was to be. From the ends of these two wings
extended the park.
Athos, when he reached his appointed room, observed through
the gratings of his window, walls and roofs; and was told,
on inquiry, by Comminges, that he was looking on the back of
the pavilion where D’Artagnan was confined.
“Yes, ’tis too true,” said Comminges, “’tis almost a prison;
but what a singular fancy this is of yours, count — you,
who are the very flower of our nobility — to squander your
valor and loyalty amongst these upstarts, the Frondists!
Really, count, if ever I thought that I had a friend in the
ranks of the royal army, it was you. A Frondeur! you, the
Comte de la Fere, on the side of Broussel, Blancmesnil and
Viole! For shame! you, a Frondeur!”
“On my word of honor,” said Athos, “one must be either a
Mazarinist or a Frondeur. For a long time I had these words
whispered in my ears, and I chose the latter; at any rate,
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it is a French word. And now, I am a Frondeur — not of