D’Artagnan returned to change his workman’s clothes for his chestnut-colored suit, and Porthos to put on his red doublet. As for Aramis, he went off to the bishop’s palace to see if he could possibly pass in with Juxon to the king’s presence. All three agreed to meet at noon in Whitehall Place to see how things went on.
Before leaving the scaffold Aramis had approached the opening where Athos was concealed to tell him that he was about to make an attempt to gain another interview with the king.
“Adieu, then, and be of good courage,” said Athos. “Report to the king the condition of affairs. Say to him that when he is alone it will help us if he will knock on the floor, for then I can continue my work in safety. Try, Aramis, to keep near the king. Speak loud, very loud, for they will be listening at the door. If there is a sentinel within the apartment, kill him without hesitation. If there are two, let Parry kill one and you the other. If there are three, let yourself be slain, but save the king.”
“Be easy,” said Aramis; “I will take two poniards and give one to Parry. Is that all?”
“Yes, go; but urge the king strongly not to stand on false generosity. While you are fighting if there is a fight, he must flee. The trap once replaced over his head, you being on the trap, dead or alive, they will need at least ten minutes to find the hole by which he has escaped. In those ten minutes we shall have gained the road and the king will be saved.”
“Everything shall be done as you say, Athos. Your hand, for perhaps we shall not see each other again.”
Athos put his arm around Aramis’s neck and embraced him.
“For you,” he said. “Now if I die, say to d’Artagnan that I love him as a son, and embrace him for me. Embrace also our good and brave Porthos. Adieu.”
“Adieu,” said Aramis. “I am as sure now that the king will be saved as I am sure that I clasp the most loyal hand in the world.”
Aramis parted from Athos, went down from the scaffold in his turn and took his way to the hotel, whistling the air of a song in praise of Cromwell. He found the other two friends sitting at table before a good fire, drinking a bottle of port and devouring a cold chicken. Porthos was cursing the infamous parliamentarians; d’Artagnan ate in silence, revolving in his mind the most audacious plans.
Aramis related what had been agreed upon. D’Artagnan approved with a movement of the head and Porthos with his voice.
“Bravo!” he said; “besides, we shall be there at the time of the flight. What with d’Artagnan, Grimaud and Mousqueton, we can manage to dispatch eight of them. I say nothing about Blaisois, for he is only fit to hold the horses. Two minutes a man makes four minutes. Mousqueton will lose another, that’s five; and in five minutes we shall have galloped a quarter of a league.”
Aramis swallowed a hasty mouthful, gulped a glass of wine and changed his clothes.
“Now,” said he, “I’m off to the bishop’s. Take care of the executioner, d’Artagnan.”
“All right. Grimaud has relieved Mousqueton and has his foot on the cellar door.”
“Well, don’t be inactive.”
“Inactive, my dear fellow! Ask Porthos. I pass my life upon my legs.”
Aramis again presented himself at the bishop’s. Juxon consented the more readily to take him with him, as he would require an assistant priest in case the king should wish to communicate. Dressed as Aramis had been the night before, the bishop got into his carriage, and the former, more disguised by his pallor and sad countenance than his deacon’s dress, got in by his side. The carriage stopped at the door of the palace.
It was about nine o’clock in the morning.
Nothing was changed. The anterooms were still full of soldiers, the passages still lined by guards. The king was already sanguine, but when he perceived Aramis his hope turned to joy. He embraced Juxon and pressed the hand of Aramis. The bishop affected to speak in a loud voice, before everyone, of their previous interview. The king replied that the words spoken in that interview had borne their fruit, and that he desired another under the same conditions. Juxon turned to those present and begged them to leave him and his assistant alone with the king. Everyone withdrew. As soon as the door was closed:
“Sire,” said Aramis, speaking rapidly, “you are saved; the London executioner has vanished. His assistant broke his leg last night beneath Your Majesty’s window—the cry we heard was his—and there is no executioner nearer at hand than Bristol.”
“But the Comte de la Fère?” asked the king.
“Two feet below you; take the poker from the fireplace and strike three times on the floor. He will answer you.”
The king did so, and the moment after, three muffled knocks, answering the given signal, sounded beneath the floor.
“So,” said Charles, “he who knocks down there—”
“Is the Comte de la Fère, sire,” said Aramis. “He is preparing a way for Your Majesty to escape. Parry, for his part, will raise this slab of marble and a passage will be opened.”
“Oh, Juxon,” said the king, seizing the bishop’s two hands in his own, “promise that you will pray all your life for this gentleman and for the other that you hear beneath your feet, and for two others also, who, wherever they may be, are on the watch for my safety.”
“Sire,” replied Juxon, “you shall be obeyed.”
Meanwhile, the miner underneath was heard working
