“Athos!” cried d’Artagnan, “you here!” And the two friends seized each other’s hands.
“You here!—and being here,” continued the musketeer, “you are not in the midst of all these courtiers, my dear comte! What! you, the hero of the fête, you are not prancing on the left hand of the king, as M. Monck is prancing on the right? In truth, I cannot comprehend your character, nor that of the prince who owes you so much!”
“Always scornful, my dear d’Artagnan!” said Athos. “Will you never correct yourself of that vile habit?”
“But you do not form part of the pageant?”
“I do not, because I was not willing to do so.”
“And why were you not willing?”
“Because I am neither envoy nor ambassador, nor representative of the king of France; and it does not become me to exhibit myself thus near the person of another king than the one God has given me for a master.”
“Mordioux! you came very near to the person of the king, his father.”
“That was another thing, my friend; he was about to die.”
“And yet that which you did for him—”
“I did it because it was my duty to do it. But you know I hate all ostentation. Let King Charles II, then, who no longer stands in need of me, leave me to my rest, and in the shadow, that is all I claim of him.”
D’Artagnan sighed.
“What is the matter with you?” said Athos. “One would say that this happy return of the king to London saddens you, my friend; you who have done at least as much for His Majesty as I have.”
“Have I not,” replied d’Artagnan, with his Gascon laugh, “have I not done much for His Majesty, without anyone suspecting it?”
“Yes, yes, but the king is well aware of it, my friend,” cried Athos.
“He is aware of it!” said the musketeer bitterly, “by my faith! I did not suspect so, and I was even a moment ago trying to forget it myself.”
“But he, my friend, will not forget it, I will answer for him.”
“You tell me that to console me a little, Athos.”
“For what?”
“Mordioux! for all the expense I incurred. I have ruined myself, my friend, ruined myself for the restoration of this young prince who has just passed, cantering on his isabelle colored horse.”
“The king does not know you have ruined yourself, my friend; but he knows he owes you much.”
“And say, Athos, does that advance me in any respect? for to do you justice, you have labored nobly. But I—I who in appearance marred your combinations, it was I who really made them succeed. Follow my calculations closely; you might not have, by persuasions or mildness, convinced General Monck, whilst I so roughly treated this dear general, that I furnished your prince with an opportunity of showing himself generous: this generosity was inspired in him by the fact of my fortunate mistake, and Charles is paid by the restoration which Monck has brought about.”
“All that, my dear friend, is strikingly true,” replied Athos.
“Well, strikingly true as it may be, it is not less true, my friend, that I shall return—greatly beloved by M. Monck, who calls me dear captain all day long, although I am neither dear to him nor a captain;—and much appreciated by the king, who has already forgotten my name;—it is not less true, I say, that I shall return to my beautiful country, cursed by the soldiers I had raised with the hopes of large pay, cursed by the brave Planchet, of who I have borrowed a part of his fortune.”
“How is that? What the devil had Planchet to do in all this?”
“Ah, yes, my friend; but this king, so spruce, so smiling, so adored, M. Monck fancies he has recalled him, you fancy you have supported him, I fancy I have brought him back, the people fancy they have reconquered him, he himself fancies he has negotiated his restoration; and yet nothing of all this is true, for Charles II, king of England, Scotland, and Ireland, has been replaced upon the throne by a French grocer, who lives in the Rue des Lombards, and is named Planchet. And such is grandeur! ‘Vanity!’ says the Scripture: ‘vanity, all is vanity.’ ”
Athos could not help laughing at this whimsical outbreak of his friend.
“My dear d’Artagnan,” said he, pressing his hand affectionately, “should you not exercise a little more philosophy? Is it not some further satisfaction to you to have saved my life as you did by arriving so fortunately with Monck, when those damned parliamentarians wanted to burn me alive?”
“Well, but you, in some degree,
