trembling voice, remembering the visits he had been paying
to his treasury.
Porthos opened his mouth to reply; D’Artagnan made him a
sign, and his mouth, remaining silent, gradually closed.
“This moment come, my lord,” said D’Artagnan.
Mazarin breathed again. His fears were now no longer for his
hoard, but for himself. A sort of smile played on his lips.
“Come,” he said, “you have me in a snare, gentlemen. I
confess myself conquered. You wish to ask for liberty, and
— I give it you.”
“Oh, my lord!” answered D’Artagnan, “you are too good; as to
our liberty, we have that; we want to ask something else of
you.”
“You have your liberty?” repeated Mazarin, in terror.
“Certainly; and on the other hand, my lord, you have lost
it, and now, in accordance with the law of war, sir, you
must buy it back again.”
Mazarin felt a shiver run through him — a chill even to his
heart’s core. His piercing look was fixed in vain on the
satirical face of the Gascon and the unchanging countenance
of Porthos. Both were in shadow and the Sybil of Cuma
herself could not have read them.
“To purchase back my liberty?” said the cardinal.
“Yes, my lord.”
“And how much will that cost me, Monsieur d’Artagnan?”
“Zounds, my lord, I don’t know yet. We must ask the Comte de
la Fere the question. Will your eminence deign to open the
door which leads to the count’s room, and in ten minutes all
will be settled.”
Mazarin started.
“My lord,” said D’Artagnan, “your eminence sees that we wish
to act with all formality and due respect; but I must warn
you that we have no time to lose; open the door then, my
lord, and be so good as to remember, once for all, that on
the slightest attempt to escape or the faintest cry for
help, our position being very critical indeed, you must not
be angry with us if we go to extremities.”
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“Be assured,” answered Mazarin, “that I shall attempt
nothing; I give you my word of honor.”
D’Artagnan made a sign to Porthos to redouble his
watchfulness; then turning to Mazarin:
“Now, my lord, let us enter, if you please.”
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Mazarin turned the lock of a double door, on the threshold
of which they found Athos ready to receive his illustrious
guests according to the notice Comminges had given him.
On perceiving Mazarin he bowed.
“Your eminence,” he said, “might have dispensed with your
attendants; the honor bestowed on me is too great for me to
be unmindful of it.”
“And so, my dear count,” said D’Artagnan, “his eminence
didn’t actually insist on our attending him; it is Du Vallon
and I who have insisted, and even in a manner somewhat
impolite, perhaps, so great was our longing to see you.”
At that voice, that mocking tone, and that familiar gesture,
accenting voice and tone, Athos made a bound of surprise.
“D’Artagnan! Porthos!” he exclaimed.
“My very self, dear friend.”
“Me, also!” repeated Porthos.
“What means this?” asked the count.
“It means,” replied Mazarin, trying to smile and biting his
lips in the attempt, “that our parts are changed, and that
instead of these gentlemen being my prisoners I am theirs;
but, gentlemen, I warn you, unless you kill me, your victory
will be of very short duration; people will come to the
rescue.”
“Ah! my lord!” cried the Gascon, “don’t threaten! ’tis a bad
example. We are so good and gentle to your eminence. Come,
let us put aside all rancor and talk pleasantly.”
“There’s nothing I wish more,” replied Mazarin. “But don’t
think yourselves in a better position than you are. In
ensnaring me you have fallen into the trap yourselves. How
are you to get away from here? remember the soldiers and
sentinels who guard these doors. Now, I am going to show you
how sincere I am.”
“Good,” thought D’Artagnan; “we must look about us; he’s
going to play us a trick.”
“I offered you your liberty,” continued the minister; “will
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you take it? Before an hour has passed you will be