“Then you would not obey?” said Athos.
“I do not say that either, Monsieur. The welfare of my country before everything. God, who has given me the power, has, no doubt, willed that I should have that power for the good of all, and He has given me, at the same time, discernment. If the parliament were to order such a thing, I should reflect.”
The brow of Athos became clouded. “Then I may positively say that your honor is not inclined to favor King Charles II?”
“You continue to question me, Monsieur le Comte; allow me to do so in turn, if you please.”
“Do, Monsieur; and may God inspire you with the idea of replying to me as frankly as I shall reply to you.”
“When you shall have taken this money back to your prince, what advice will you give him?”
Athos fixed upon Monck a proud and resolute look. “My lord,” said he, “with this million, which others would perhaps employ in negotiating, I would advise the king to raise two regiments, to enter Scotland, which you have just pacified: to give to the people the franchises which the revolution promised them, and in which it has not, in all cases, kept its word. I should advise him to command in person this little army, which would, believe me, increase, and to die, standard in hand, and sword in sheath, saying, ‘Englishmen! I am the third king of my race you have killed; beware of the justice of God!’ ”
Monck hung down his head, and mused for an instant. “If he succeeded,” said he, “which is very improbable, but not impossible—for everything is possible in this world—what would you advise him to do?”
“To think that by the will of God he lost his crown, but by the good will of men he recovered it.”
An ironical smile passed over the lips of Monck.
“Unfortunately, Monsieur,” said he, “kings do not know how to follow good advice.”
“Ah, my lord, Charles II is not a king,” replied Athos, smiling in his turn, but with a very different expression from Monck.
“Let us terminate this, Monsieur le Comte—that is your desire, is it not?”
Athos bowed.
“I shall give orders to have these two casks transported whither you please. Where are you lodging, Monsieur?”
“In a little hamlet at the mouth of the river, your honor.”
“Oh, I know the hamlet; it consists of five or six houses, does it not?”
“Exactly. Well, I inhabit the first—two net-makers occupy it with me; it is their bark which brought me ashore.”
“But your own vessel, Monsieur?”
“My vessel is at anchor, a quarter of a mile at sea, and waits for me.”
“You do not think, however, of setting out immediately?”
“My lord, I shall try once more to convince your honor.”
“You will not succeed,” replied Monck; “but it is of consequence that you should depart from Newcastle without leaving of your passage the least suspicion that might prove injurious to me or you. Tomorrow my officers think Lambert will attack me. I, on the contrary, am convinced he will not stir; it is in my opinion impossible. Lambert leads an army devoid of homogeneous principles, and there is no possible army with such elements. I have taught my soldiers to consider my authority subordinate to another, therefore, after me, round me, and beneath me, they still look for something. It would result that if I were dead, whatever might happen, my army would not be demoralized all at once; it results, that if I choose to absent myself, for instance, as it does please me to do sometimes, there would not be in the camp the shadow of uneasiness or disorder. I am the magnet—the sympathetic and natural strength of the English. All those scattered irons that will be sent against me I shall attract to myself. Lambert, at this moment, commands eighteen thousand deserters; but I have never mentioned that to my officers, you may easily suppose. Nothing is more useful to an army than the expectation of a coming battle; everybody is awake—everybody is on guard. I tell you this that you may live in perfect security. Do not be in a hurry, then, to cross the seas; within a week there will be something fresh, either a battle or an accommodation. Then, as you have judged me to be an honorable man, and confided your secret to me, I have to thank you for this confidence, and I shall come and pay you a visit or send for you. Do not go before I send word. I repeat the request.”
“I promise you, general,” cried Athos, with a joy so great, that in spite of all his circumspection, he could not prevent its sparkling in his eyes.
Monck surprised this flash, and immediately extinguished it by one of those silent smiles which always caused his interlocutors to know they had made no inroad on his mind.
“Then, my lord, it is a week that you desire me to wait?”
“A week? yes, Monsieur.”
“And during those days what shall I do?”
“If there should be a battle, keep at a distance from it, I beseech you. I know the French delight in such amusements;—you might take a fancy to see how we fight, and you might receive some chance shot. Our Scotsmen are very bad marksmen, and I do not wish that a worthy gentleman like you should return to France wounded. Nor should I like to be obliged, myself, to send to your prince his million left here by you; for then it would be said, and with some reason, that I paid the Pretender to enable him to make war against the parliament. Go, then, Monsieur, and let it be done as has been agreed upon.”
“Ah, my lord,” said Athos, “what joy it would give me to be the first that penetrated to the noble heart which beats beneath that cloak!”
“You think, then, that I have secrets,” said Monck, without changing the half cheerful expression of his countenance. “Why,
