Bernouin alone knew a little more than the others. Bernouin, seeing that his master did not return and hearing the stroke of midnight, had made an examination of the orangery. The first door, barricaded with furniture, had aroused in him certain suspicions, but without communicating his suspicions to anyone he had patiently worked his way into the midst of all that confusion. Then he came to the corridor, all the doors of which he found open; so, too, was the door of Athos’s chamber and that of the park. From the latter point it was easy to follow tracks on the snow. He saw that these tracks tended toward the wall; on the other side he found similar tracks, then footprints of horses and then signs of a troop of cavalry which had moved away in the direction of Enghien. He could no longer cherish any doubt that the cardinal had been carried off by the three prisoners, since the prisoners had disappeared at the same time; and he had hastened to Saint Germain to warn the queen of that disappearance.
Anne had enforced the utmost secrecy and had disclosed the event to no one except the Prince de Condé, who had sent five or six hundred horsemen into the environs of Saint Germain with orders to bring in any suspicious person who was going away from Rueil, in whatsoever direction it might be.
Now, since d’Artagnan did not constitute a body of horsemen, since he was alone, since he was not going away from Rueil and was going to Saint Germain, no one paid any attention to him and his journey was not obstructed in any way.
On entering the courtyard of the old château the first person seen by our ambassador was Maître Bernouin in person, who, standing on the threshold, awaited news of his vanished master.
At the sight of d’Artagnan, who entered the courtyard on horseback, Bernouin rubbed his eyes and thought he must be mistaken. But d’Artagnan made a friendly sign to him with his head, dismounted, and throwing his bridle to a lackey who was passing, he approached the valet de chambre with a smile on his lips.
“Monsieur d’Artagnan!” cried the latter, like a man who has the nightmare and talks in his sleep, “Monsieur d’Artagnan!”
“Himself, Monsieur Bernouin.”
“And why have you come here?”
“To bring news of Monsieur de Mazarin—the freshest news there is.”
“What has become of him, then?”
“He is as well as you and I.”
“Nothing bad has happened to him, then?”
“Absolutely nothing. He felt the need of making a trip in the Ile de France, and begged us—the Comte de la Fère and Monsieur du Vallon—to accompany him. We were too devoted servants to refuse him a request of that sort. We set out last evening and here we are.”
“Here you are.”
“His Eminence had something to communicate to Her Majesty, something secret and private—a mission that could be confided only to a sure man—and so has sent me to Saint Germain. And therefore, my dear Monsieur Bernouin, if you wish to do what will be pleasing to your master, announce to Her Majesty that I have come, and tell her with what purpose.”
Whether he spoke seriously or in jest, since it was evident that under existing circumstances d’Artagnan was the only man who could relieve the queen’s uneasiness, Bernouin went without hesitation to announce to her this strange embassy; and as he had foreseen, the queen gave orders to introduce Monsieur d’Artagnan at once.
D’Artagnan approached the sovereign with every mark of profound respect, and having fallen on his knees presented to her the cardinal’s letter.
It was, however, merely a letter of introduction. The queen read it, recognized the writing, and, since there were no details in it of what had occurred, asked for particulars. D’Artagnan related everything with that simple and ingenuous air which he knew how to assume on occasions. The queen, as he went on, looked at him with increasing astonishment. She could not comprehend how a man could conceive such an enterprise and still less how he could have the audacity to disclose it to her whose interest and almost duty it was to punish him.
“How, sir!” she cried, as d’Artagnan finished, “you dare to tell me the details of your crime—to give me an account of your treason!”
“Pardon, Madame, but I think that either I have expressed myself badly or Your Majesty has imperfectly understood me. There is here no question of crime or treason. Monsieur de Mazarin held us in prison, Monsieur du Vallon and myself, because we could not believe that he had sent us to England to quietly look on while they cut off the head of Charles I, brother-in-law of the late king, your husband, the consort of Madame Henrietta, your sister and your guest, and because we did all that we could do to save the life of the royal martyr. We were then convinced, my friend and I, that there was some error of which we were the victims, and that an explanation was called for between his Eminence and ourselves. Now, that an explanation may bear fruit, it is necessary that it should be quietly conducted, far from noise and interruption. We have therefore taken away Monsieur le Cardinal to my friend’s château and there we have come to an understanding. Well, Madame, it proved to be as we had supposed; there was a mistake. Monsieur de Mazarin had thought that we had rendered service to General Cromwell, instead of King Charles, which would have been a disgrace, rebounding from us to
