This threatening answer, unluckily for the court, produced quite a different effect to that which was intended. It wounded the pride of the parliament, which, supported by the citizens, replied by declaring that Cardinal Mazarin was the cause of all the discontent; denounced him as the enemy both of the king and the state, and ordered him to retire from the court that same day and from France within a week afterward; enjoining, in case of disobedience on his part, all the subjects of the king to pursue and take him.
Mazarin being thus placed beyond the pale of the protection of the law, preparations on both sides were commenced—by the queen, to attack Paris, by the citizens, to defend it. The latter were occupied in breaking up the pavement and stretching chains across the streets, when, headed by the coadjutor, appeared the Prince de Conti (the brother of the Prince de Condé) and the Duc de Longueville, his brother-in-law. This unexpected band of auxiliaries arrived in Paris on the tenth of January and the Prince of Conti was named, but not until after a stormy discussion, generalissimo of the army of the king, out of Paris.
As for the Duc de Beaufort, he arrived from Vendôme, according to the annals of the day, bringing with him his high bearing and his long and beautiful hair, qualifications which gained him the sovereignty of the marketplaces.
The Parisian army had organized with the promptness characteristic of the bourgeois whenever they are moved by any sentiment whatever to disguise themselves as soldiers. On the nineteenth the impromptu army had attempted a sortie, more to assure itself and others of its actual existence than with any more serious intention. They carried a banner, on which could be read this strange device: “We are seeking our king.”
The next following days were occupied in trivial movements which resulted only in the carrying off of a few herds of cattle and the burning of two or three houses.
That was still the situation of affairs up to the early days of February. On the first day of that month our four companions had landed at Boulogne, and, in two parties, had set out for Paris. Toward the end of the fourth day of the journey Athos and Aramis reached Nanterre, which place they cautiously passed by on the outskirts, fearing that they might encounter some troop from the queen’s army.
It was against his will that Athos took these precautions, but Aramis had very judiciously reminded him that they had no right to be imprudent, that they had been charged by King Charles with a supreme and sacred mission, which, received at the foot of the scaffold, could be accomplished only at the feet of Queen Henrietta. Upon that, Athos yielded.
On reaching the capital Athos and Aramis found it in arms. The sentinel at the gate refused even to let them pass, and called his sergeant.
The sergeant, with the air of importance which such people assume when they are clad with military dignity, said:
“Who are you, gentlemen?”
“Two gentlemen.”
“And where do you come from?”
“From London.”
“And what are you going to do in Paris?”
“We are going with a mission to Her Majesty, the Queen of England.”
“Ah, everyone seems to be going to see the queen of England. We have already at the station three gentlemen whose passports are under examination, who are on their way to Her Majesty. Where are your passports?”
“We have none; we left England, ignorant of the state of politics here, having left Paris before the departure of the king.”
“Ah!” said the sergeant, with a cunning smile, “you are Mazarinists, who are sent as spies.”
“My dear friend,” here Athos spoke, “rest assured, if we were Mazarinists we should come well prepared with every sort of passport. In your situation distrust those who are well provided with every formality.”
“Enter the guardroom,” said the sergeant; “we will lay your case before the commandant of the post.”
The guardroom was filled with citizens and common people, some playing, some drinking, some talking. In a corner, almost hidden from view, were three gentlemen, who had preceded Athos and Aramis, and an officer was examining their passports. The first impulse of these three, and of those who last entered, was to cast an inquiring glance at each other. The first arrivals wore long cloaks, in whose drapery they were carefully enveloped; one of them, shorter than the rest, remained pertinaciously in the background.
When the sergeant on entering the room announced that in all probability he was bringing in two Mazarinists, it appeared to be the unanimous opinion of the officers on guard that they ought not to pass.
“Be it so,” said Athos; “yet it is probable, on the contrary, that we shall enter, because we seem to have to do with sensible people. There seems to be only one thing to do, which is, to send our names to Her Majesty the Queen of England, and if she engages to answer for us I presume we shall be allowed to enter.”
On hearing these words the shortest of the other three men seemed more attentive than ever to what was going on, wrapping his cloak around him more carefully than before.
“Merciful goodness!” whispered Aramis to Athos, “did you see?”
“What?” asked Athos.
“The face of the shortest of those three gentlemen?”
“No.”
“He looked to me—but ’tis impossible.”
At this instant the sergeant, who had been for his orders, returned, and pointing to the three gentlemen in cloaks, said:
“The passports are in order; let these three gentlemen pass.”
The three gentlemen bowed and hastened to take advantage of this permission.
Aramis looked after them, and as the last of them passed close to him he pressed the hand of Athos.
“What is the matter with you, my friend?” asked the latter.
“I have—doubtless I am dreaming; tell me, sir,” he said to the sergeant, “do you know those three gentlemen who are just gone out?”
“Only by their passports; they
