A most affectionate greeting, as one can well believe, took place between him and Lord de Winter.
“Where are we going?” inquired Aramis; “are we going to fight, perchance? I carry no sword this morning and cannot return home to procure one.”
“No,” said Lord de Winter, “we are going to pay a visit to Her Majesty the Queen of England.”
“Oh, very well,” replied Aramis; then bending his face down to Athos’s ear, “what is the object of this visit?” continued he.
“Nay, I know not; some evidence required from us, perhaps.”
“May it not be about that cursed affair?” asked Aramis, “in which case I do not greatly care to go, for it will be to pocket a lecture; and since it is my function to give them to others I am rather averse to receiving them myself.”
“If it were so,” answered Athos, “we should not be taken there by Lord de Winter, for he would come in for his share; he was one of us.”
“You’re right; yes, let us go.”
On arriving at the Louvre Lord de Winter entered first; indeed, there was but one porter there to receive them at the gate.
It was impossible in daylight for the impoverished state of the habitation grudging charity had conceded to an unfortunate queen to pass unnoticed by Athos, Aramis, and even the Englishman. Large rooms, completely stripped of furniture, bare walls upon which, here and there, shone the old gold moldings which had resisted time and neglect, windows with broken panes (impossible to close), no carpets, neither guards nor servants: this is what first met the eyes of Athos, to which he, touching his companion’s elbow, directed his attention by his glances.
“Mazarin is better lodged,” said Aramis.
“Mazarin is almost king,” answered Athos; “Madame Henrietta is almost no longer queen.”
“If you would condescend to be clever, Athos,” observed Aramis, “I really do think you would be wittier than poor Monsieur de Voiture.”
Athos smiled.
The queen appeared to be impatiently expecting them, for at the first slight noise she heard in the hall leading to her room she came herself to the door to receive these courtiers in the corridors of Misfortune.
“Enter. You are welcome, gentlemen,” she said.
The gentlemen entered and remained standing, but at a motion from the queen they seated themselves. Athos was calm and grave, but Aramis was furious; the sight of such royal misery exasperated him and his eyes examined every new trace of poverty that presented itself.
“You are examining the luxury I enjoy,” said the queen, glancing sadly around her.
“Madame,” replied Aramis, “I must ask your pardon, but I know not how to hide my indignation at seeing how a daughter of Henry IV is treated at the court of France.”
“Monsieur Aramis is not an officer?” asked the queen of Lord de Winter.
“That gentleman is the Abbé d’Herblay,” replied he.
Aramis blushed. “Madame,” he said, “I am an abbé, it is true, but I am so against my will. I never had a vocation for the bands; my cassock is fastened by one button only, and I am always ready to become a musketeer once more. This morning, being ignorant that I should have the honor of seeing Your Majesty, I encumbered myself with this dress, but you will find me none the less a man devoted to Your Majesty’s service, in whatever way you may see fit to use me.”
“The Abbé d’Herblay,” resumed de Winter, “is one of those gallant Musketeers formerly belonging to His Majesty King Louis XIII, of whom I have spoken to you, Madame.” Then turning to Athos, he continued, “And this gentleman is that noble Comte de la Fère, whose high reputation is so well known to Your Majesty.”
“Gentlemen,” said the queen, “a few years ago I had around me ushers, treasures, armies; and by the lifting of a finger all these were busied in my service. Today, look around you, and it may astonish you, that in order to accomplish a plan which is dearer to me than life, I have only Lord de Winter, the friend of twenty years, and you, gentlemen, whom I see for the first time and whom I know but as my countrymen.”
“It is enough,” said Athos, bowing low, “if the lives of three men can purchase yours, Madame.”
“I thank you, gentlemen. But hear me,” continued she. “I am not only the most miserable of queens, but the most unhappy of mothers, the most wretched of wives. My children, two of them, at least, the Duke of York and the Princess Elizabeth, are far away from me, exposed to the blows of the ambitious and our foes; my husband, the king, is leading in England so wretched an existence that it is no exaggeration to aver that he seeks death as a thing to be desired. Hold! gentlemen, here is the letter conveyed to me by Lord de Winter. Read it.”
Obeying the queen, Athos read aloud the letter which we have already seen, in which King Charles demanded to know whether the hospitality of France would be accorded him.
“Well?” asked Athos, when he had closed the letter.
“Well,” said the queen, “it has been refused.”
The two friends exchanged a smile of contempt.
“And now,” said Athos, “what is to be done? I have the honor to inquire from Your Majesty what you desire Monsieur d’Herblay and myself to do in your service. We are ready.”
“Ah, sir, you have a noble heart!” exclaimed the queen, with a burst of gratitude; whilst Lord de Winter turned to her with a glance which said, “Did I not answer for them?”
“But you, sir?” said the queen to Aramis.
“I, Madame,” replied he, “follow Monsieur de la Fère wherever he leads, even were it on to death, without demanding wherefore; but when it concerns Your Majesty’s service, then,” added he, looking at the queen with all the grace of former days, “I precede the count.”
“Well, then, gentlemen,” said the queen, “since it is thus, and since
