to Athos’s ear, “what is the object of this visit?”
continued he.
“Nay, I know not; some evidence required from us, perhaps.”
“May it not be about that cursed affair?” asked Aramis, “in
which case I do not greatly care to go, for it will be to
pocket a lecture; and since it is my function to give them
to others I am rather averse to receiving them myself.”
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“If it were so,” answered Athos, “we should not be taken
there by Lord de Winter, for he would come in for his share;
he was one of us.”
“You’re right; yes, let us go.”
On arriving at the Louvre Lord de Winter entered first;
indeed, there was but one porter there to receive them at
the gate.
It was impossible in daylight for the impoverished state of
the habitation grudging charity had conceded to an
unfortunate queen to pass unnoticed by Athos, Aramis, and
even the Englishman. Large rooms, completely stripped of
furniture, bare walls upon which, here and there, shone the
old gold moldings which had resisted time and neglect,
windows with broken panes (impossible to close), no carpets,
neither guards nor servants: this is what first met the eyes
of Athos, to which he, touching his companion’s elbow,
directed his attention by his glances.
“Mazarin is better lodged,” said Aramis.
“Mazarin is almost king,” answered Athos; “Madame Henrietta
is almost no longer queen.”
“If you would condescend to be clever, Athos,” observed
Aramis, “I really do think you would be wittier than poor
Monsieur de Voiture.”
Athos smiled.
The queen appeared to be impatiently expecting them, for at
the first slight noise she heard in the hall leading to her
room she came herself to the door to receive these courtiers
in the corridors of Misfortune.
“Enter. You are welcome, gentlemen,” she said.
The gentlemen entered and remained standing, but at a motion
from the queen they seated themselves. Athos was calm and
grave, but Aramis was furious; the sight of such royal
misery exasperated him and his eyes examined every new trace
of poverty that presented itself.
“You are examining the luxury I enjoy,” said the queen,
glancing sadly around her.
“Madame,” replied Aramis, “I must ask your pardon, but I
know not how to hide my indignation at seeing how a daughter
of Henry IV. is treated at the court of France.”
“Monsieur Aramis is not an officer?” asked the queen of Lord
de Winter.
“That gentleman is the Abbe d’Herblay,” replied he.
Aramis blushed. “Madame,” he said, “I am an abbe, it is
true, but I am so against my will. I never had a vocation
for the bands; my cassock is fastened by one button only,
and I am always ready to become a musketeer once more. This
morning, being ignorant that I should have the honor of
seeing your majesty, I encumbered myself with this dress,
but you will find me none the less a man devoted to your
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majesty’s service, in whatever way you may see fit to use
me.”
“The Abbe d’Herblay,” resumed De Winter, “is one of those
gallant musketeers formerly belonging to His Majesty King
Louis XIII., of whom I have spoken to you, madame.” Then
turning to Athos, he continued, “And this gentleman is that
noble Comte de la Fere, whose high reputation is so well
known to your majesty.”
“Gentlemen,” said the queen, “a few years ago I had around
me ushers, treasures, armies; and by the lifting of a finger
all these were busied in my service. To-day, look around
you, and it may astonish you, that in order to accomplish a
plan which is dearer to me than life I have only Lord de
Winter, the friend of twenty years, and you, gentlemen, whom
I see for the first time and whom I know but as my
countrymen.”
“It is enough,” said Athos, bowing low, “if the lives of
three men can purchase yours, madame.”
“I thank you, gentlemen. But hear me,” continued she. “I am
not only the most miserable of queens, but the most unhappy
of mothers, the most wretched of wives. My children, two of