have been received by two queens; it is not so bad for a
novice.”
“Oh sir,” said Raoul, suddenly, “you recall something,
which, in my haste to relate my exploits, I had forgotten;
it is that there was with Her Majesty the Queen of England,
a gentleman who, when I pronounced your name, uttered a cry
of surprise and joy; he said he was a friend of yours, asked
your address, and is coming to see you.”
“What is his name?”
“I did not venture to ask, sir; he spoke elegantly, although
I thought from his accent he was an Englishman.”
“Ah!” said Athos, leaning down his head as if to remember
who it could be. Then, when he raised it again, he was
struck by the presence of a man who was standing at the open
door and was gazing at him with a compassionate air.
“Lord de Winter!” exclaimed the count.
“Athos, my friend!”
And the two gentlemen were for an instant locked in each
other’s arms; then Athos, looking into his friend’s face and
taking him by both hands, said:
“What ails you, my lord? you appear as unhappy as I am the
reverse.”
“Yes, truly, dear friend; and I may even say the sight of
you increases my dismay.”
And De Winter glancing around him, Raoul quickly understood
that the two friends wished to be alone and he therefore
left the room unaffectedly.
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“Come, now that we are alone,” said Athos, “let us talk of
yourself.”
“Whilst we are alone let us speak of ourselves,” replied De
Winter. “He is here.”
“Who?”
“Milady’s son.”
Athos, again struck by this name, which seemed to pursue him
like an echo, hesitated for a moment, then slightly knitting
his brows, he calmly said:
“I know it, Grimaud met him between Bethune and Arras and
then came here to warn me of his presence.”
“Does Grimaud know him, then?”
“No; but he was present at the deathbed of a man who knew
him.”
“The headsman of Bethune?” exclaimed De Winter.
“You know about that?” cried Athos, astonished.
“He has just left me,” replied De Winter, “after telling me
all. Ah! my friend! what a horrible scene! Why did we not
destroy the child with the mother?”
“What need you fear?” said Athos, recovering from the
instinctive fear he had at first experienced, by the aid of
reason; “are we not men accustomed to defend ourselves? Is
this young man an assassin by profession — a murderer in
cold blood? He has killed the executioner of Bethune in an
access of passion, but now his fury is assuaged.”
De Winter smiled sorrowfully and shook his head.
“Do you not know the race?” said he.
“Pooh!” said Athos, trying to smile in his turn. “It must
have lost its ferocity in the second generation. Besides, my
friend, Providence has warned us, that we may be on our
guard. All we can now do is to wait. Let us wait; and, as I
said before, let us speak of yourself. What brings you to
Paris?”
“Affairs of importance which you shall know later. But what
is this that I hear from Her Majesty the Queen of England?
Monsieur d’Artagnan sides with Mazarin! Pardon my frankness,
dear friend. I neither hate nor blame the cardinal, and your
opinions will be held ever sacred by me. But do you happen
to belong to him?”
“Monsieur d’Artagnan,” replied Athos, “is in the service; he
is a soldier and obeys all constitutional authority.
Monsieur d’Artagnan is not rich and has need of his position
as lieutenant to enable him to live. Millionaires like
yourself, my lord, are rare in France.”
“Alas!” said De Winter, “I am at this moment as poor as he
is, if not poorer. But to return to our subject.”
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“Well, then, you wish to know if I am of Mazarin’s party?
No. Pardon my frankness, too, my lord.”
“I am obliged to you, count, for this pleasing intelligence!
You make me young and happy again by it. Ah! so you are not
a Mazarinist? Delightful! Indeed, you could not belong to