“How so? What, for having saved King Charles’s million?”
“What million?”
“Ah, that is true! you never knew that, my friend; but you must not be angry, for it was my secret. That word ‘Remember’ which the king pronounced upon the scaffold.”
“And which means ‘souviens-toi!’ ”
“Exactly. That was signified. ‘Remember there is a million buried in the vaults of Newcastle Abbey, and that that million belongs to my son.’ ”
“Ah! very well, I understand. But what I understand likewise, and what is very frightful, is, that every time His Majesty Charles II will think of me, he will say to himself: ‘There is the man who came very near to making me lose my crown. Fortunately I was generous, great, full of presence of mind.’ That will be said by the young gentleman in a shabby black doublet, who came to the château of Blois, hat in hand, to ask me if I would give him access to the king of France.”
“D’Artagnan! D’Artagnan!” said Athos, laying his hand on the shoulder of the musketeer, “you are unjust.”
“I have a right to be so.”
“No—for you are ignorant of the future.”
D’Artagnan looked his friend full in the face, and began to laugh. “In truth, my dear Athos,” said he, “you have some sayings so superb, that they only belong to you and M. le Cardinal Mazarin.”
Athos frowned slightly.
“I beg your pardon,” continued d’Artagnan, laughing, “I beg your pardon if I have offended you. The future! Nein! what pretty words are words that promise, and how well they fill the mouth in default of other things! Mordioux! After having met with so many who promised, when shall I find one who will give? But, let that pass!” continued d’Artagnan. “What are you doing here, my dear Athos? Are you the king’s treasurer?”
“How—why the king’s treasurer?”
“Well, since the king possess a million, he must want a treasurer. The king of France, although he is not worth a sou, has still a superintendent of finance, M. Fouquet. It is true, that, in exchange, M. Fouquet, they say, has a good number of millions of his own.”
“Oh! our million was spent long ago,” said Athos, laughing in his turn.
“I understand; it was frittered away in satin, precious stones, velvet, and feathers of all sorts and colors. All these princes and princesses stood in great need of tailors and dressmakers. Eh! Athos, do you remember what we fellows spent in equipping ourselves for the campaign of La Rochelle, and to make our appearance on horseback? Two or three thousand livres, by my faith! But a king’s robe is the more ample; it would require a million to purchase the stuff. At least, Athos, if you are not treasurer, you are on good footing at court.”
“By the faith of a gentleman, I know nothing about it,” said Athos, simply.
“What! you know nothing about it?”
“No! I have not seen the king since we left Dover.”
“Then he has forgotten you, too! Mordioux! That is shameful!”
“His Majesty has had so much business to transact.”
“Oh!” cried d’Artagnan, with one of those intelligent grimaces which he alone knew how to make, “that is enough to make me recover my love for Monseigneur Giulio Mazarini. What, Athos! the king has not seen you since then?”
“No.”
“And you are not furious?”
“I! why should I be? Do you imagine, my dear d’Artagnan, that it was on the king’s account I acted as I have done? I did not know the young man. I defended the father, who represented a principle—sacred in my eyes, and I allowed myself to be drawn towards the son from sympathy for this same principle. Besides, he was a worthy knight, a noble creature, that father; do you remember him?”
“Yes; that is true; he was a brave, an excellent man, who led a sad life, but made a fine end.”
“Well, my dear d’Artagnan, understand this; to that king, to that man of heart, to that friend of my thoughts, if I durst venture to say so, I swore at the last hour to preserve faithfully the secret of a deposit which was to be transmitted to his son, to assist him in his hour of need. This young man came to me; he described his destitution; he was ignorant that he was anything to me save a living memory of his father. I have accomplished towards Charles II what I promised Charles I; that is all! Of what consequence is it to me, then, whether he be grateful or not? It is to myself I have rendered a service, by relieving myself of this responsibility, and not to him.”
“Well, I have always said,” replied d’Artagnan, with a sigh, “that disinterestedness was the finest thing in the world.”
“Well, and you, my friend,” resumed Athos, “are you not in the same situation as myself? If I have properly understood your words, you allowed yourself to be affected by the misfortunes of this young man; that, on your part, was much greater than it was upon mine, for I had a duty to fulfill; whilst you were under no obligation to the son of the martyr. You had not, on your part, to pay him the price of that precious drop of blood which he let fall upon my brow, through the floor of the scaffold. That which made you act was heart alone—the noble and good heart which you possess beneath your apparent skepticism and sarcastic irony; you have engaged the fortune of a servitor, and your own, I suspect, my benevolent miser! and your sacrifice is not acknowledged! Of what consequence is it? You wish to repay Planchet his money. I can comprehend that, my friend: for it is not becoming in a gentleman to borrow from his inferior, without returning to him principal and interest. Well, I will sell La Fère if necessary, and if not, some little farm. You shall pay Planchet, and there will be enough, believe me, of corn left in
