Athos kissed the hem of the robe of the widowed queen and rising, with a dignity that made a deep impression on those around:
“I, the Comte de la Fère, a gentleman who has never deceived any human being, swear before God and before this unhappy queen, that all that was possible to save the king of England was done whilst we were on English ground. Now, chevalier,” he added, turning to Aramis, “let us go. Our duty is fulfilled.”
“Not yet,” said Aramis; “we have still a word to say to these gentlemen.”
And turning to Châtillon: “Sir, be so good as not to go away without giving me an opportunity to tell you something I cannot say before the queen.”
Châtillon bowed in token of assent and they all went out, stopping at the window of a gallery on the ground floor.
“Sir,” said Aramis, “you allowed yourself just now to treat us in a most extraordinary manner. That would not be endurable in any case, and is still less so on the part of those who came to bring the queen the message of a liar.”
“Sir!” cried de Châtillon.
“What have you done with Monsieur de Bruy? Has he by any possibility gone to change his face which was too like that of Monsieur de Mazarin? There is an abundance of Italian masks at the Palais Royal, from harlequin even to pantaloon.”
“Chevalier! chevalier!” said Athos.
“Leave me alone,” said Aramis impatiently. “You know well that I don’t like to leave things half finished.”
“Conclude, then, sir,” answered de Châtillon, with as much hauteur as Aramis.
“Gentlemen,” resumed Aramis, “anyone but the Comte de la Fère and myself would have had you arrested—for we have friends in Paris—but we are contented with another course. Come and converse with us for just five minutes, sword in hand, upon this deserted terrace.”
“One moment, gentlemen,” cried Flamarens. “I know well that the proposition is tempting, but at present it is impossible to accept it.”
“And why not?” said Aramis, in his tone of raillery. “Is it Mazarin’s proximity that makes you so prudent?”
“Oh, you hear that, Flamarens!” said Châtillon. “Not to reply would be a blot on my name and my honor.”
“That is my opinion,” said Aramis.
“You will not reply, however, and these gentlemen, I am sure, will presently be of my opinion.”
Aramis shook his head with a motion of indescribable insolence.
Châtillon saw the motion and put his hand to his sword.
“Willingly,” replied de Châtillon.
“Duke,” said Flamarens, “you forget that tomorrow you are to command an expedition of the greatest importance, projected by the prince, assented to by the queen. Until tomorrow evening you are not at your own disposal.”
“Let it be then the day after tomorrow,” said Aramis.
“Tomorrow, rather,” said de Châtillon, “if you will take the trouble of coming so far as the gates of Charenton.”
“How can you doubt it, sir? For the pleasure of a meeting with you I would go to the end of the world.”
“Very well, tomorrow, sir.”
“I shall rely on it. Are you going to rejoin your cardinal? Swear first, on your honor, not to inform him of our return.”
“Conditions?”
“Why not?”
“Because it is for victors to make conditions, and you are not yet victors, gentlemen.”
“Then let us draw on the spot. It is all one to us—to us who do not command tomorrow’s expedition.”
Châtillon and Flamarens looked at each other. There was such irony in the words and in the bearing of Aramis that the duke had great difficulty in bridling his anger, but at a word from Flamarens he restrained himself and contented himself with saying:
“You promise, sir—that’s agreed—that I shall find you tomorrow at Charenton?”
“Oh, don’t be afraid, sir,” replied Aramis; and the two gentlemen shortly afterward left the Louvre.
“For what reason is all this fume and fury?” asked Athos. “What have they done to you?”
“They—did you not see what they did?”
“No.”
“They laughed when we swore that we had done our duty in England. Now, if they believed us, they laughed in order to insult us; if they did not believe it they insulted us all the more. However, I’m glad not to fight them until tomorrow. I hope we shall have something better to do tonight than to draw the sword.”
“What have we to do?”
“Egad! to take Mazarin.”
Athos curled his lip with disdain.
“These undertakings do not suit me, as you know, Aramis.”
“Why?”
“Because it is taking people unawares.”
“Really, Athos, you would make a singular general. You would fight only by broad daylight, warn your foe before an attack, and never attempt anything by night lest you should be accused of taking advantage of the darkness.”
Athos smiled.
“You know one cannot change his nature,” he said. “Besides, do you know what is our situation, and whether Mazarin’s arrest wouldn’t be rather an encumbrance than an advantage?”
“Say at once you disapprove of my proposal.”
“I think you ought to do nothing, since you exacted a promise from these gentlemen not to let Mazarin know that we were in France.”
“I have entered into no engagement and consider myself quite free. Come, come.”
“Where?”
“Either to seek the Duc de Beaufort or the Duc de Bouillon, and to tell them about this.”
“Yes, but on one condition—that we begin by the coadjutor. He is a priest, learned in cases of conscience, and we will tell him ours.”
It was then agreed that they were to go first to Monsieur de Bouillon, as his house came first; but first of all Athos begged that he might go to the Hôtel du Grand Charlemagne, to see Raoul.
They re-entered the boat which had brought them to the Louvre and thence proceeded to the Halles; and taking up Grimaud and Blaisois, they went on foot to the Rue Guénégaud.
But Raoul was not at the Hôtel du Grand Charlemagne. He had received a message from the prince, to whom he had hastened with Olivain the instant he had received it.
