And the queen raised her eyes solemnly upward.
“Madame,” said Athos, “when must we set out?”
“You consent then?” exclaimed the queen, joyfully.
“Yes, Madame; only it seems to me that Your Majesty goes too far in engaging to load us with a friendship so far above our merit. We render service to God, Madame, in serving a prince so unfortunate, a queen so virtuous. Madame, we are yours, body and soul.”
“Oh, sirs,” said the queen, moved even to tears, “this is the first time for five years I have felt the least approach to joy or hope. God, who can read my heart, all the gratitude I feel, will reward you! Save my husband! Save the king, and although you care not for the price that is placed upon a good action in this world, leave me the hope that we shall meet again, when I may be able to thank you myself. In the meantime, I remain here. Have you anything to ask of me? From this moment I become your friend, and since you are engaged in my affairs I ought to occupy myself in yours.”
“Madame,” replied Athos, “I have only to ask Your Majesty’s prayers.”
“And I,” said Aramis, “I am alone in the world and have only Your Majesty to serve.”
The queen held out her hand, which they kissed, and she said in a low tone to de Winter:
“If you need money, my lord, separate the jewels I have given you; detach the diamonds and sell them to some Jew. You will receive for them fifty or sixty thousand francs; spend them if necessary, but let these gentlemen be treated as they deserve, that is to say, like kings.”
The queen had two letters ready, one written by herself, the other by her daughter, the Princess Henrietta. Both were addressed to King Charles. She gave the first to Athos and the other to Aramis, so that should they be separated by chance they might make themselves known to the king; after which they withdrew.
At the foot of the staircase de Winter stopped.
“Not to arouse suspicions, gentlemen,” said he, “go your way and I will go mine, and this evening at nine o’clock we will assemble again at the Gate Saint Denis. We will travel on horseback as far as our horses can go and afterward we can take the post. Once more, let me thank you, my good friends, both in my own name and the queen’s.”
The three gentlemen then shook hands, Lord de Winter taking the Rue Saint-Honoré, and Athos and Aramis remaining together.
“Well,” said Aramis, when they were alone, “what do you think of this business, my dear count?”
“Bad,” replied Athos, “very bad.”
“But you received it with enthusiasm.”
“As I shall ever receive the defense of a great principle, my dear d’Herblay. Monarchs are only strong by the assistance of the aristocracy, but aristocracy cannot survive without the countenance of monarchs. Let us, then, support monarchy, in order to support ourselves.
“We shall be murdered there,” said Aramis. “I hate the English—they are coarse, like every nation that swills beer.”
“Would it be better to remain here,” said Athos, “and take a turn in the Bastille or the dungeon of Vincennes for having favored the escape of Monsieur de Beaufort? I’faith, Aramis, believe me, there is little left to regret. We avoid imprisonment and we play the part of heroes; the choice is easy.”
“It is true; but in everything, friend, one must always return to the same question—a stupid one, I admit, but very necessary—have you any money?”
“Something like a hundred pistoles, that my farmer sent to me the day before I left Bragelonne; but out of that sum I ought to leave fifty for Raoul—a young man must live respectably. I have then about fifty pistoles. And you?”
“As for me, I am quite sure that after turning out all my pockets and emptying my drawers I shall not find ten louis at home. Fortunately Lord de Winter is rich.”
“Lord de Winter is ruined for the moment; Oliver Cromwell has annexed his income resources.”
“Now is the time when Baron Porthos would be useful.”
“Now it is that I regret d’Artagnan.”
“Let us entice them away.”
“This secret, Aramis, does not belong to us; take my advice, then, and let no one into our confidence. And moreover, in taking such a step we should appear to be doubtful of ourselves. Let us regret their absence to ourselves for our own sakes, but not speak of it.”
“You are right; but what are you going to do until this evening? I have two things to postpone.”
“And what are they?”
“First, a thrust with the coadjutor, whom I met last night at Madame de Rambouillet’s and whom I found particular in his remarks respecting me.”
“Oh, fie—a quarrel between priests, a duel between allies!”
“What can I do, friend? he is a bully and so am I; his cassock is a burden to him and I imagine I have had enough of mine; in fact, there is so much resemblance between us that I sometimes believe he is Aramis and
