Part 11

— See how unhappy I am, Monsieur le Comte, said Charles; it had to be chance that brought me near you again. Alas! ought I not to have beside me the people I love and honor, while I am reduced to keeping their service in my heart and their names in my memory, so that without your servant, who recognized mine, I would have passed your door as if it belonged to a stranger.

— That is true, said Athos, answering with his voice the first part of the prince's sentence, and with a bow the second; that is true, Your Majesty has seen very bad days.

— And the worst, alas! replied Charles, are perhaps still to come.

— Sire, let us hope!

— Comte, comte! continued Charles, shaking his head; I hoped until last evening, and that was as a good Christian, I swear it to you. Athos looked at the king as if to question him.

— Oh! the story is easy to tell, said Charles II: proscribed, stripped, scorned, I resolved, despite all my repugnance, to try fortune one last time. Is it not written up above that, for our family, all happiness and all misfortune come eternally from France! You know something of this, you, Monsieur, who are one of the Frenchmen my unhappy father found at the foot of his scaffold on the day of his death, after having found them at his right hand on the days of battle.

— Sire, said Athos modestly, I was not alone, and my companions and I did, in that circumstance, our duty as gentlemen, and that is all. But Your Majesty was about to do me the honor of relating...

— That is true. I had the protection—pardon my hesitation, comte, but for a Stuart, you will understand this, you who understand all things, the word is hard to pronounce—I had, I say, the protection of my cousin the Stadtholder of Holland; but, without the intervention, or at least without the authorization of France, the Stadtholder will not take any initiative. I therefore came to ask this authorization of the King of France, who refused me.

— The King refused you, Sire!

— Oh! not him: all justice must be rendered to my young brother Louis; but M. de Mazarin.

Athos bit his lips.

— You perhaps find that I should have expected this refusal, said the king, who had noticed the movement.

— That was indeed my thought, Sire, replied the comte respectfully; I have known this Italian a long time.

— Then I resolved to push the matter to the limit and to know at once the last word of my destiny; I said to my brother Louis that, in order to compromise neither France nor Holland, I would try fortune myself in person, as I have already done, with two hundred gentlemen, if he would give them to me, and a million, if he would lend it to me.

— Well, Sire?

— Well, Monsieur, I feel at this moment something strange, it is the satisfaction of despair. There is in certain souls, and I have just perceived that mine is of that number, a real satisfaction in the assurance that all is lost and that the hour has finally come to succumb.

— Oh! I hope, said Athos, that Your Majesty has not yet arrived at that extremity.

— To tell me that, Monsieur le Comte, to try to revive hope in my heart, you must not have well understood what I have just told you. I came to Blois, comte, to ask my brother Louis for the alms of a million with which I had the hope of restoring my affairs, and my brother Louis refused me. You see then clearly that all is lost.

— Will Your Majesty permit me to reply with a contrary opinion?

— How, comte, do you take me for a vulgar mind, to such a point that I do not know how to view my position?

— Sire, I have always seen that it is in desperate positions that sudden great turnings of fortune blaze forth.

— Thank you, comte, it is beautiful to find hearts like yours, that is to say, confident enough in God and in monarchy never to despair of a royal fortune, however low it has fallen.

"Unfortunately, your words, dear comte, are like those remedies said to be sovereign and which, however, being able to cure only curable wounds, fail against death. Thank you for your perseverance in consoling me, comte; thank you for your devoted remembrance, but I know what to think.

"Nothing will save me now. And see here, my friend, I was so convinced of it, that I was taking the road to exile with my old Parry; I was returning to savor my poignant griefs in that little hermitage which Holland offers me. There, believe me, comte, all will soon be finished, and death will come quickly; it is so often called by this body gnawed by the soul and by this soul aspiring to the heavens!

— Your Majesty has a mother, a sister, brothers; Your Majesty is the head of the family, he must therefore ask of God a long life instead of asking Him for a speedy death. Your Majesty is proscribed, fugitive, but he has his right on his side; he must therefore aspire to combats, to dangers, to affairs, and not to the repose of the heavens.

— Comte, said Charles II with a smile of indefinable sadness, have you ever heard tell that a king reconquered his kingdom with a servant of Parry's age and with three hundred écus that this servant carries in his purse!

— No, Sire; but I have heard tell, and even more than once, that a dethroned king retook his kingdom with a firm will, perseverance, friends, and a million francs skillfully employed.

— But you have not understood me then? That million, I asked it of my brother Louis; who refused it to me.

— Sire, said Athos, will Your Majesty grant me a few more minutes to listen attentively to what remains for me to tell him?

Charles II looked fixedly at Athos.

— Willingly, Monsieur, said he.

— Then I will show the way to Your Majesty, resumed the comte, directing himself toward the house.

And he led the king to his cabinet and made him sit down.

— Sire, said he, Your Majesty told me just now that with the state of things in England a million would suffice him to reconquer his kingdom?

— To attempt it at least, and to die as a king if I did not succeed.

— Well! Sire, that Your Majesty, according to the promise she made me, will deign to listen to what remains for me to tell him.

Charles made a sign of assent with his head. Athos walked straight to the door, of which he shot the bolt after having looked whether anyone was listening nearby, and came back.

— Sire, said he, Your Majesty was good enough to remember that I lent assistance to the most noble and most unhappy Charles I, when his executioners led him from Saint-James to White Hall.

— Yes, certainly, I have remembered and will always remember it.

— Sire, it is a dismal story to hear for a son, who no doubt has already had it told him many times; but nevertheless I must retell it to Your Majesty without omitting a detail.

— Speak, Monsieur.

— When the king your father mounted the scaffold, or rather passed from his chamber to the scaffold erected outside his window, all had been arranged for his flight. The executioner had been drawn away, a hole prepared under the floor of his apartment, finally I myself was under the funereal vault which I suddenly heard crack beneath his steps.

— Parry has told me these terrible details, Monsieur. Athos inclined himself and resumed:

— Here is what he could not tell you, Sire, for what follows passed between God, your father, and myself, and never was the revelation made of it, even to my dearest friends:

"— Step back, said the august patient to the masked executioner, it is but for an instant, and I know I belong to you; but remember to strike only at my signal. I wish to make my prayer freely.

— Pardon, said Charles II, growing pale; but you, comte, who know so many details of this fatal event, details which, as you were saying just now, have been revealed to no one, do you know the name of that infernal executioner, of that coward, who hid his face to assassinate a king with impunity?

Athos grew slightly pale.

— His name? said he; yes, I know it, but I cannot tell it.

— And what became of him?... for no one in England knew his destiny.

— He is dead.

— But not dead in his bed, not dead of a calm and sweet death, not of the death of honest folk?

— He died a violent death, in a terrible night, between the anger of men and the tempest of God. His body, pierced by a dagger-thrust, rolled into the depths of the ocean. God forgive his murderer!

— Then, let us pass on, said King Charles II, who saw that the comte would not say more.

— The King of England, after having, as I have said, spoken to the veiled executioner, added: "You will not strike me, do you hear me well? except when I stretch out my arms saying: _Remember_!"

— Indeed, said Charles in a hollow voice, I know that it is the last word pronounced by my unhappy father. But to what end, for whom?

— For the French gentleman placed beneath his scaffold.

— For then to you, Monsieur?

— Yes, Sire, and each of the words he spoke, through the planks of the scaffold covered with a black cloth, still rings in my ear. The king then knelt on one knee.

"— Comte de La Fère, said he, are you there?

"— Yes, Sire, I replied.

Then the king leaned down.

Charles II, he too, all palpitating with interest, all burning with grief, leaned toward Athos to gather one by one the first words that the comte would let escape. His head brushed that of Athos.

— Then, continued the comte, the king leaned down.

"— Comte de La Fère, said he, I could not be saved by you. I was not meant to be. Now, though I should commit a sacrilege, I will say to you: "Yes, I have spoken to men; yes, I have spoken to God, and I speak to you last. To uphold a cause I held sacred, I have lost the throne of my fathers and diverted the inheritance of my children."

Charles II hid his face between his hands, and a devouring tear slid between his white and wasted fingers.

"— A million in gold remains to me, continued the king. I buried it in the cellars of Newcastle Castle at the moment I left that city.

Charles raised his head with an expression of painful joy that would have wrung sobs from anyone who knew that immense misfortune.

— A million! murmured he, oh! comte!

"— This money, you alone know that it exists, make use of it when you believe the time has come for the greatest good of my eldest son. And now, Comte de La Fère, say farewell to me!

"— Farewell, farewell, Sire! I cried.

Charles II rose and went to lean his burning brow against the window.

— It was then, continued Athos, that the king pronounced the word "_Remember_!" addressed to me. You see, Sire, that I have remembered.

The king could not resist his emotion. Athos saw the movement of his two shoulders which undulated convulsively. He heard the sobs which broke his breast in passing. He fell silent, suffocated himself by the flood of bitter memories he had just raised over that royal head. Charles II, with a violent effort, left the window, devoured his tears, and came back to sit near Athos.

— Sire, said the latter, until today I had believed the hour was not yet come to employ this last resource, but my eyes fixed on England, I felt it approaching. Tomorrow I was going to inquire in what place of the world Your Majesty was, and I was going to go to him. He comes to me, it is an indication that God is for us.

— Monsieur, said Charles in a voice still strangled by emotion, you are for me what an angel sent by God would be; you are my savior raised from the tomb by my father himself; but believe me, for ten years civil wars have passed over my country, overturning men, gouging the soil; it is probably no more gold left in the bowels of my land than love in the hearts of my subjects.

— Sire, the place where His Majesty buried the million is well known to me, and no one, I am quite certain, could have discovered it. Besides, is Newcastle Castle then entirely collapsed; has it been demolished stone by stone and uprooted from the soil to its last fiber?

— No, it is still standing, but at this moment General Monck occupies it and camps there. The only place where a help awaits me, where I possess a resource, you see, is invaded by my enemies.

— General Monck, Sire, cannot have discovered the treasure of which I speak to you.

— Yes, but must I go and deliver myself to Monck to recover it, this treasure? Ah! you see it well then, comte, one must make an end with destiny, since it throws me down each time I rise. What to do with Parry for sole servant, with Parry, whom Monck has already once driven away? No, no, comte, let us accept this last blow.

— What Your Majesty cannot do, what Parry can no longer attempt, do you believe that I might succeed therein?

— You, you comte, you would go!

— If it pleases Your Majesty, said Athos bowing to the king, yes, I would go, Sire.

— You so happy here, comte!

— I am never happy, Sire, so long as there remains a duty for me to accomplish, and it is a supreme duty your father the king bequeathed me, to watch over your fortune and to make a royal use of his money. Thus, let Your Majesty give me a sign, and I depart with him.

— Ah! Monsieur, said the king, forgetting all royal etiquette and throwing himself on Athos's neck, you prove to me there is a God in heaven, and that this God sometimes sends messengers to the unhappy who groan upon this earth.

Athos, all moved by this outburst of the young man, thanked him with a profound respect, and approaching the window:

— Grimaud, said he, my horses.

— How! thus, right away? said the king. Ah! Monsieur, you are, in truth, a marvelous man.

— Sire! said Athos, I know nothing more pressing than the service of Your Majesty. Besides, added he smiling, it is a habit contracted long since in the service of the queen your aunt and in the service of the king your father. How should I lose it precisely at the hour when it is a question of the service of Your Majesty?

— What a man! murmured the king.

Then, after an instant of reflection:

— But no, comte, I cannot expose you to such privations. I have nothing with which to reward such services.

— Bah! said Athos laughing, Your Majesty raillies me, she has a million. Ah! that I were rich only by half that sum, I would already have raised a regiment. But, thank God! there remain to me yet some rolls of gold and some family diamonds. Your Majesty, I hope, will deign to share with a devoted servant.

— With a friend. Yes, comte, but on condition that in his turn this friend will share with me later.

— Sire, said Athos opening a casket, from which he drew gold and jewels, see now that we are too rich. Happily we shall find ourselves four against thieves.

Joy made the blood flow to the pale cheeks of Charles II. He saw advance to the peristyle two of Athos's horses, led by Grimaud, who had already booted himself for the road.

— Blaisois, this letter to the Vicomte de Bragelonne. For everyone, I have gone to Paris. I entrust the house to you, Blaisois.

Blaisois inclined himself, embraced Grimaud, and closed the gate.

Chapter XVII — Where one seeks Aramis, and where one finds only Bazin

Two hours had not elapsed since the departure of the master of the house, who, at the sight of Blaisois, had taken the road to Paris, when a rider mounted on a good piebald horse stopped before the gate, and, with a sonorous halloo, called the stableboys, who were still making a circle with the gardeners around Blaisois, ordinary historian of the castle's servantry. This halloo, known no doubt to master Blaisois, made him turn his head and he cried:

— Monsieur d'Artagnan!... Run quick, you others, open the door for him!

A swarm of eight lackeys ran to the gate, which was opened as if it had been of feathers. And each vied in politeness, for one knew the welcome the master was accustomed to give this friend, and always, for such remarks, one must consult the valet's eye.

— Ah! said with a quite agreeable smile M. d'Artagnan, who balanced on the stirrup to leap to the ground, where is that dear comte?

— Eh! see, Monsieur, what your ill fortune is, said Blaisois, such will also be that of M. le Comte our master, when he learns of your arrival! M. le Comte, by a stroke of fate, has just departed not two hours ago.

D'Artagnan did not trouble himself for so little.

— Good, said he, I see you still speak the purest French in the world; you will give me a lesson in grammar and fine language, while I await your master's return.

— That is impossible, Monsieur, said Blaisois; you would wait too long.

— He will not return today?

— Nor tomorrow, Monsieur, nor the day after. M. le Comte has departed on a journey.

— A journey! said d'Artagnan, it is a fable you tell me.

— Monsieur, it is the most exact truth. Monsieur did me the honor of recommending the house to me, and he added in his voice so full of authority and sweetness... it is all one to me: "You will say that I depart for Paris."

— Well then! cried d'Artagnan, since he marches on Paris, that is all I wished to know, you should have begun with that, ninny... He has then two hours' start?

— Yes, Monsieur.

— I shall soon have caught up with him. Is he alone?

— No, Monsieur.

— Who then is with him?

— A gentleman I do not know, an old man, and M. Grimaud.

— All that will not run as fast as I... I depart...

— Does Monsieur wish to listen to me an instant, said Blaisois, gently pressing on the horse's reins.

— Yes, if you do not make phrases, or if you make them quickly;

— Well! Monsieur, this word Paris seems to me a lure.

— Oh! oh! said d'Artagnan seriously, a lure?

— Yes, Monsieur, and M. le Comte is not going to Paris, I would swear it.

— What makes you believe?

— This: M. Grimaud always knows where our master goes, and he had promised me, the first time one went to Paris, to take a little money that I send to my wife.

— Ah! you have a wife?

— I had one, she was from this country, but Monsieur found her talkative, I sent her to Paris: it is inconvenient at times, but very agreeable at others.

— I understand, but finish: you do not believe the comte goes to Paris?

— No, Monsieur, for then Grimaud would have failed his word, he would have perjured himself, which is impossible.

— Which is impossible, repeated d'Artagnan quite dreamy, because he was quite convinced. Come, my brave Blaisois, thank you.

Blaisois inclined himself.

— See here, you know I am not curious... I absolutely have business with your master... can you not... by a little bit of a word... you who speak so well, make me understand... A syllable, only... I shall guess the rest.

— Upon my word, Monsieur, I could not... I absolutely ignore the aim of Monsieur's journey... As for listening at doors, that is antipathetic to me, and besides, it is forbidden here.

— My dear, said d'Artagnan, that is a bad beginning for me. No matter, you know the time of the comte's return at least?

— As little, Monsieur, as his destination.

— Come, Blaisois, come, search.

— Monsieur doubts my sincerity! Ah! Monsieur grieves me most sensibly!

— The devil take his gilded tongue! grumbled d'Artagnan. How a boor is better with a single word!... Adieu!

— Monsieur, I have the honor to present my respects.

"Lackey! said d'Artagnan to himself. The knave is insupportable."

He gave a last glance at the house, turned his horse, and departed like a man who has nothing vexatious or embarrassing in his mind.

When he was at the end of the wall and out of all sight:

— Let us see, said he, breathing abruptly, was Athos at home?... No. All those idlers who crossed their arms in the court would have been in a sweat if the master could have seen them. Athos on a journey?... it is incomprehensible.

"Ah bah! that one is mysterious as the devil... And then, no, that was not the man I needed. I need a cunning mind, patient. My business is at Melun, in a certain presbytery of my acquaintance. Forty-five leagues! four days and a half! Come, it is fine weather and I am free. Let us swallow the distance."

And he put his horse to a trot, orienting himself toward Paris. The fourth day, he descended at Melun, according to his wish.

D'Artagnan had the habit of never asking anyone the way or a banal piece of information. For such details, unless very grave error, he trusted to his never-failing perspicacity, to an experience of thirty years, and to a great habit of reading the physiognomies of houses as of men. At Melun, d'Artagnan found right away the presbytery, a charming house with plaster coatings over red brick, with virgin vines climbing along the gutters, and a sculpted stone cross surmounting the roof gable. From the low room of this house a noise, or rather a medley of voices, escaped like the warbling of little birds when the brood has just hatched under the down. One of those voices was spelling out distinctly the letters of the alphabet. A voice at once fat and fluty sermonized the chatterers and corrected the reader's faults. D'Artagnan recognized this voice, and as the window of the low room was open, he leaned all on horseback beneath the vine's tendrils and red nets, and cried:

— Bazin, my dear Bazin, good day!

A short, stout man, with a flat face, his skull adorned with a crown of short-cut grey hairs simulating the tonsure, and covered with an old black velvet skullcap, rose when he heard d'Artagnan. It is not rose that should be said, it is bounded. Bazin bounded indeed and dragged his little low chair, which children wanted to pick up with battles more agitated than those of the Greeks wishing to wrest from the Trojans the body of Patroclus. Bazin did more than bound, he let fall the alphabet he held and his ferule.

— You! said he, you, Monsieur d'Artagnan!

— Yes, me. Where is Aramis... no, M. le Chevalier d'Herblay... no, I am mistaken again, M. the Vicar-General?

— Ah! Monsieur, said Bazin with dignity, Monseigneur is in his diocese.

— What's that? said d'Artagnan.

Bazin repeated his sentence.

— Why, then, Aramis has a diocese?

— Yes, Monsieur. Why not?

— He is then a bishop?

— But where do you come from then, said Bazin rather irreverently, that you ignored this?

“Stories of the world, in your language.”