almost imperceptible shake of his head.
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“What do you say of this?” asked the queen.
“I say that she is a hostage for the Parisians,” answered
the cardinal.
“Why is she not come?” asked the prince in a low voice,
addressing his brother.
“Silence,” whispered the duke, “she has her reasons.”
“She will ruin us!” returned the prince.
“She will save us,” said Conti.
Carriages now arrived in crowds; those of the Marechal de
Villeroy, Guitant, Villequier and Comminges came into the
line. The two musketeers arrived in their turn, holding the
horses of D’Artagnan and Porthos in their hands. These two
instantly mounted, the coachman of the latter replacing
D’Artagnan on the coach-box of the royal coach. Mousqueton
took the place of the coachman, and drove standing, for
reasons known to himself, like Automedon of antiquity.
The queen, though occupied by a thousand details, tried to
catch the Gascon’s eye; but he, with his wonted prudence,
had mingled with the crowd.
“Let us be the avant guard,” said he to Porthos, “and find
good quarters at Saint Germain; nobody will think of us, and
for my part I am greatly fatigued.”
“As for me,” replied Porthos, “I am falling asleep, which is
strange, considering we have not had any fighting; truly the
Parisians are idiots.”
“Or rather, we are very clever,” said D’Artagnan.
“Perhaps.”
“And how is your wrist?”
“Better; but do you think that we’ve got them this time?”
“Got what?”
“You your command, and I my title?”
“I’faith! yes — I should expect so; besides, if they
forget, I shall take the liberty of reminding them.”
“The queen’s voice! she is speaking,” said Porthos; “I think
she wants to ride on horseback.”
“Oh, she would like it, but —- ”
“But what?”
“The cardinal won’t allow it. Gentlemen,” he said,
addressing the two musketeers, “accompany the royal
carriage, we are going forward to look for lodgings.”
D’Artagnan started off for Saint Germain, followed by
Porthos.
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“We will go on, gentlemen,” said the queen.
And the royal carriage drove on, followed by the other
coaches and about fifty horsemen.
They reached Saint German without any accident; on
descending, the queen found the prince awaiting her,
bare-headed, to offer her his hand.
“What an awakening for the Parisians!” said the queen,
radiant.
“It is war,” said the prince.
“Well, then, let it be war! Have we not on our side the
conqueror of Rocroy, of Nordlingen, of Lens?”
The prince bowed low.
It was then three o’clock in the morning. The queen walked
first, every one followed her. About two hundred persons had
accompanied her in her flight.
“Gentlemen,” said the queen, laughing, “pray take up your
abode in the chateau; it is large, and there will be no want
of room for you all; but, as we never thought of coming
here, I am informed that there are, in all, only three beds
in the whole establishment, one for the king, one for me
—- ”
“And one for the cardinal,” muttered the prince.
“Am I — am I, then, to sleep on the floor?” asked Gaston
d’Orleans, with a forced smile.
“No, my prince,” replied Mazarin, “the third bed is intended
for your highness.”
“But your eminence?” replied the prince.
“I,” answered Mazarin, “I shall not sleep at all; I have
work to do.”
Gaston desired that he should be shown into the room wherein
he was to sleep, without in the least concerning himself as
to where his wife and daughter were to repose.
“Well, for my part, I shall go to bed,” said D’Artagnan;
“come, Porthos.”
Porthos followed the lieutenant with that profound
confidence he ever had in the wisdom of his friend. They
walked from one end of the chateau to the other, Porthos
looking with wondering eyes at D’Artagnan, who was counting
on his fingers.
“Four hundred, at a pistole each, four hundred pistoles.”
“Yes,” interposed Porthos, “four hundred pistoles; but who
is to make four hundred pistoles?”
“A pistole is not enough,” said D’Artagnan, “’tis worth a
louis.”
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“What is worth a louis?”