“I do not think it, I am certain of it.”
“Quick, quick, d’Artagnan. Remember that the queen awaits you, and after the queen, the cardinal, and after the cardinal, myself.”
D’Artagnan summoned Anne of Austria’s servant and signified that he was ready to follow him into the queen’s presence.
The servant conducted him by the Rue des Petits Champs and turning to the left entered the little garden gate leading into the Rue Richelieu; then they gained the private staircase and d’Artagnan was ushered into the oratory. A certain emotion, for which he could not account, made the lieutenant’s heart beat: he had no longer the assurance of youth; experience had taught him the importance of past events. Formerly he would have approached the queen as a young man who bends before a woman; but now it was a different thing; he answered her summons as an humble soldier obeys an illustrious general.
The silence of the oratory was at last disturbed by the slight rustling of silk, and d’Artagnan started when he perceived the tapestry raised by a white hand, which, by its form, its color and its beauty he recognized as that royal hand which had one day been presented to him to kiss. The queen entered.
“It is you, Monsieur d’Artagnan,” she said, fixing a gaze full of melancholy interest on the countenance of the officer, “and I know you well. Look at me well in your turn. I am the queen; do you recognize me?”
“No, Madame,” replied d’Artagnan.
“But are you no longer aware,” continued Anne, giving that sweet expression to her voice which she could do at will, “that in former days the queen had once need of a young, brave and devoted cavalier; that she found this cavalier; and that, although he might have thought that she had forgotten him, she had kept a place for him in the depths of her heart?”
“No, Madame, I was ignorant of that,” said the musketeer.
“So much the worse, sir,” said Anne of Austria; “so much the worse, at least for the queen, for today she has need of the same courage and the same devotion.”
“What!” exclaimed d’Artagnan, “does the queen, surrounded as she is by such devoted servants, such wise counselors, men, in short, so great by merit or position—does she deign to cast her eyes on an obscure soldier?”
Anne understood this covert reproach and was more moved than irritated by it. She had many a time felt humiliated by the self-sacrifice and disinterestedness shown by the Gascon gentleman. She had allowed herself to be exceeded in generosity.
“All that you tell me of those by whom I am surrounded, Monsieur d’Artagnan, is doubtless true,” said the queen, “but I have confidence in you alone. I know that you belong to the cardinal, but belong to me as well, and I will take upon myself the making of your fortune. Come, will you do today what formerly the gentleman you do not know did for the queen?”
“I will do everything Your Majesty commands,” replied d’Artagnan.
The queen reflected for a moment and then, seeing the cautious demeanor of the musketeer:
“Perhaps you like repose?” she said.
“I do not know, for I have never had it, Madame.”
“Have you any friends?”
“I had three, two of whom have left Paris, to go I know not where. One alone is left to me, but he is one of those known, I believe, to the cavalier of whom Your Majesty did me the honor to speak.”
“Very good,” said the queen; “you and your friend are worth an army.”
“What am I to do, Madame?”
“Return at five o’clock and I will tell you; but do not breathe to a living soul, sir, the rendezvous which I give you.”
“No, Madame.”
“Swear it upon the cross.”
“Madame, I have never been false to my word; when I say I will not do a thing, I mean it.”
The queen, although astonished at this language, to which she was not accustomed from her courtiers, argued from it a happy omen of the zeal with which d’Artagnan would serve her in the accomplishment of her project. It was one of the Gascon’s artifices to hide his deep cunning occasionally under an appearance of rough loyalty.
“Has the queen any further commands for me now?” asked d’Artagnan.
“No, sir,” replied Anne of Austria, “and you may retire until the time that I mentioned to you.”
D’Artagnan bowed and went out.
“Diable!” he exclaimed when the door was shut, “they seem to have the greatest need of me just now.”
Then, as the half hour had already glided by, he crossed the gallery and knocked at the cardinal’s door.
Bernouin introduced him.
“I come for your commands, my lord,” he said.
And according to his custom d’Artagnan glanced rapidly around and remarked that Mazarin had a sealed letter before him. But it was so placed on the desk that he could not see to whom it was addressed.
“You come from the queen?” said Mazarin, looking fixedly at d’Artagnan.
“I! my lord—who told you that?”
“Nobody, but I know it.”
“I regret infinitely to tell you, my lord, that you are mistaken,” replied the Gascon, impudently, firm to the promise he had just made to Anne of Austria.
“I opened the door of the anteroom myself and I saw you enter at the end of the corridor.”
“Because I was shown up the private stairs.”
“How so?”
“I know not; it must have been a mistake.”
Mazarin was aware that it was not easy to make d’Artagnan reveal anything he was desirous of hiding, so he gave up, for the time, the discovery of the mystery the Gascon was concealing.
“Let us speak of my affairs,” said Mazarin, “since you will tell me naught of yours. Are you fond of traveling?”
“My life has been passed on the high road.”
“Would anything retain you particularly in Paris?”
“Nothing but an order from a superior would retain me in Paris.”
“Very well. Here is a letter, which must be taken to its address.”
“To its address, my lord? But it has none.”
In fact, the side of the letter opposite the seal was blank.
“I must
