Twenty Years Later by Dumas, Alexandre. Part one

second was called the Comte de la Fere. As for the two

others, I had so much the habit of calling them by nicknames

that I have forgotten their real ones.”

“Oh, mon Dieu, it is a matter of the greatest urgency to

find them out,” said the queen, “since you think these

worthy gentlemen might be so useful to the king.”

“Oh, yes,” said De Winter, “for they are the same men.

Listen, madame, and recall your remembrances. Have you never

heard that Queen Anne of Austria was once saved from the

greatest danger ever incurred by a queen?”

“Yes, at the time of her relations with Monsieur de

Buckingham; it had to do in some way with certain studs and

diamonds.”

“Well, it was that affair, madame; these men are the ones

who saved her; and I smile with pity when I reflect that if

the names of those gentlemen are unknown to you it is

because the queen has forgotten them, who ought to have made

them the first noblemen of the realm.”

“Well, then, my lord, they must be found; but what can four

men, or rather three men do — for I tell you, you must not

count on Monsieur d’Artagnan.”

“It will be one valiant sword the less, but there will

remain still three, without reckoning my own; now four

devoted men around the king to protect him from his enemies,

to be at his side in battle, to aid him with counsel, to

escort him in flight, are sufficient, not to make the king a

conqueror, but to save him if conquered; and whatever

Mazarin may say, once on the shores of France your royal

husband may find as many retreats and asylums as the seabird

finds in a storm.”

“Seek, then, my lord, seek these gentlemen; and if they will

consent to go with you to England, I will give to each a

duchy the day that we reascend the throne, besides as much

gold as would pave Whitehall. Seek them, my lord, and find

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Dumas, Alexandre – Twenty Years After

them, I conjure you.”

“I will search for them, madame,” said De Winter “and

doubtless I shall find them; but time fails me. Has your

majesty forgotten that the king expects your reply and

awaits it in agony?”

“Then indeed we are lost!” cried the queen, in the fullness

of a broken heart.

At this moment the door opened and the young Henrietta

appeared; then the queen, with that wonderful strength which

is the privilege of parents, repressed her tears and

motioned to De Winter to change the subject.

But that act of self-control, effective as it was, did not

escape the eyes of the young princess. She stopped on the

threshold, breathed a sigh, and addressing the queen:

“Why, then, do you always weep, mother, when I am away from

you?” she said.

The queen smiled, but instead of answering:

“See, De Winter,” she said, “I have at least gained one

thing in being only half a queen; and that is that my

children call me `mother’ instead of `madame.'”

Then turning toward her daughter:

“What do you want, Henrietta?” she demanded.

“My mother,” replied the young princess, “a cavalier has

just entered the Louvre and wishes to present his respects

to your majesty; he arrives from the army and has, he says,

a letter to remit to you, on the part of the Marechal de

Grammont, I think.”

“Ah!” said the queen to De Winter, “he is one of my faithful

adherents; but do you not observe, my dear lord, that we are

so poorly served that it is left to my daughter to fill the

office of doorkeeper?”

“Madame, have pity on me,” exclaimed De Winter; “you wring

my heart!”

“And who is this cavalier, Henrietta?” asked the queen.

“I saw him from the window, madame; he is a young man that

appears scarce sixteen years of age, and is called the

Viscount de Bragelonne.”

The queen, smiling, made a sign with her head; the young

princess opened the door and Raoul appeared on the

threshold.

Advancing a few steps toward the queen, he knelt down.

“Madame,” said he, “I bear to your majesty a letter from my

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