“Oh! yes, we know it,” said the old man, drawing the bolts; “and here is the proof.” And at these words he let in d’Artagnan, who, by the light of the lantern he carried in his hand, recognized his obstinate interlocutor.
“Ah! mordioux!” cried he: “why, it is Parry! I ought to have known that.”
“Parry, yes, my dear Monsieur d’Artagnan, it is I. What joy to see you once again!”
“You are right there, what joy!” said d’Artagnan, pressing the old man’s hand. “There, now you’ll go and inform the king, will you not?”
“But the king is asleep, my dear Monsieur.”
“Mordioux! then wake him. He won’t scold you for having disturbed him, I will promise you.”
“You come on the part of the count, do you not?”
“The Comte de la Fère?”
“From Athos?”
“Ma foi! no; I come on my own part. Come, Parry, quick! The king—I want the king.”
Parry did not think it his duty to resist any longer; he knew d’Artagnan of old; he knew that, although a Gascon, his words never promised more than they could stand to. He crossed a court and a little garden, appeased the dog, that seemed most anxious to taste of the musketeer’s flesh, and went to knock at the window of a chamber forming the ground-floor of a little pavilion. Immediately a little dog inhabiting that chamber replied to the great dog inhabiting the court.
Poor king!
said d’Artagnan to himself, these are his bodyguards. It is true he is not the worse guarded on that account.
“What is wanted with me?” asked the king, from the back of the chamber.
“Sire, it is M. le Chevalier d’Artagnan, who brings you some news.”
A noise was immediately heard in the chamber, a door was opened, and a flood of light inundated the corridor and the garden. The king was working by the light of a lamp. Papers were lying about upon his desk, and he had commenced the first copy of a letter which showed, by the numerous erasures, the trouble he had had in writing it.
“Come in, Monsieur le Chevalier,” said he, turning around. Then perceiving the fisherman, “What do you mean, Parry? Where is M. le Chevalier d’Artagnan?” asked Charles.
“He is before you, sire,” said M. d’Artagnan.
“What, in that costume?”
“Yes; look at me, sire; do you not remember having seen me at Blois, in the antechamber of King Louis XIV?”
“Yes, Monsieur, and I remember I was much pleased with you.”
D’Artagnan bowed. “It was my duty to behave as I did, the moment I knew that I had the honor of being near Your Majesty.”
“You bring me news, do you say?”
“Yes, sire.”
“From the king of France?”
“Ma foi! no, sire,” replied d’Artagnan. “Your Majesty must have seen yonder that the king of France is only occupied with his own majesty?”
Charles raised his eyes towards heaven.
“No, sire, no,” continued d’Artagnan. “I bring news entirely composed of personal facts. Nevertheless, I hope that Your Majesty will listen to the facts and news with some favor.”
“Speak, Monsieur.”
“If I am not mistaken, sire, Your Majesty spoke a great deal at Blois, of the embarrassed state in which the affairs of England are.”
Charles colored. “Monsieur,” said he, “it was to the king of France I related—”
“Oh! Your Majesty is mistaken,” said the musketeer, coolly; “I know how to speak to kings in misfortune. It is only when they are in misfortune that they speak to me; once fortunate, they look upon me no more. I have, then, for Your Majesty, not only the greatest respect, but, still more, the most absolute devotion; and that, believe me, with me, sire, means something. Now, hearing Your Majesty complain of fate, I found that you were noble and generous, and bore misfortune well.”
“In truth!” said Charles, much astonished, “I do not know which I ought to prefer, your freedoms or your respects.”
“You will choose presently, sire,” said d’Artagnan. “Then Your Majesty complained to your brother, Louis XIV, of the difficulty you experienced in returning to England and regaining your throne for want of men and money.”
Charles allowed a movement of impatience to escape him.
“And the principal object Your Majesty found in your way,” continued d’Artagnan, “was a certain general commanding the armies of the parliament, and who was playing yonder the part of another Cromwell. Did not Your Majesty say so?”
“Yes; but I repeat to you, Monsieur, those words were for the king’s ears alone.”
“And you will see, sire, that it is very fortunate that they fell into those of his lieutenant of Musketeers. That man so troublesome to Your Majesty was one General Monck, I believe; did I not hear his name correctly, sire?”
“Yes, Monsieur, but once more, to what purpose are all these questions.”
“Oh! I know very well, sire, that etiquette will not allow kings to be questioned. I hope, however, presently you will pardon my want of etiquette. Your Majesty added that, notwithstanding, if you could see him, confer with him, and meet him face to face, you would triumph, either by force or persuasion, over that obstacle—the only serious one, the only insurmountable one, the only real one you met with on your road.”
“All that is true, Monsieur: my destiny, my future, my obscurity, or my glory depend upon that man; but what do you draw from that?”
“One thing alone, that if this General Monck is troublesome to the point Your Majesty describes, it would be expedient to get rid of him or make an ally of him.”
“Monsieur, a king who has neither army nor money, as you have heard my conversation with my brother Louis, has no means of acting against a man like Monck.”
“Yes, sire, that was your opinion, I know very well: but, fortunately for you, it was not mine.”
“What do you mean by that?”
“That, without an army and without a million, I have done—I, myself—what Your Majesty thought could alone be done with an army and a million.”
“How! What do you say? What have you done?”
“What have
