Twenty years after
“Have you only two days of leave, Raoul?”
“On the contrary, sir, I have ten; nor is it to the camp I wish to go.”
“Where, then?” said Athos, smiling, “if it be not a secret. You are now
almost a man, since you have made your first passage of arms, and have
acquired the right to go where you will without consulting me.”
“Never, sir,” said Raoul, “as long as I possess the happiness of having
you for a protector, shall I deem I have the right of freeing myself
from a guardianship so valuable to me. I have, however, a wish to go
and pass a day at Blois. You look at me and you are going to laugh at
me.”
“No, on the contrary, I am not inclined to laugh,” said Athos,
suppressing a sigh. “You wish to see Blois again; it is but natural.”
“Then you permit me to go, you are not angry in your heart?” exclaimed
Raoul, joyously.
“Certainly; and why should I regret what gives you pleasure?”
“Oh! how kind you are,” exclaimed the young man, pressing his
guardian’s hand; “and I can set out immediately?”
“When you like, Raoul.”
“Sir,” said Raoul, as he turned to leave the room, “I have thought of
one thing, and that is about the Duchess of Chevreuse, who was so kind
to me and to whom I owe my introduction to the prince.”
“And you ought to thank her, Raoul. Well, try the Hotel de Luynes,
Raoul, and ask if the duchess can receive you. I am glad to see you pay
attention to the usages of the world. You must take Grimaud and
Olivain.”
“Both, sir?” asked Raoul, astonished.
“Both.”
Raoul went out, and when Athos heard his young, joyous voice calling to
Grimaud and Olivain, he sighed.
“It is very soon to leave me,” he thought, “but he follows the common
custom. Nature has made us thus; she makes the young look ever forward,
not behind. He certainly likes the child, but will he love me less as
his affection grows for _her?_”
And Athos confessed to himself that, he was unprepared for so prompt a
departure; but Raoul was so happy that this reflection effaced
everything else from the consideration of his guardian.
Everything was ready at ten o’clock for the departure, and as Athos was
watching Raoul mount, a groom rode up from the Duchess de Chevreuse. He
was charged to tell the Comte de la Fère, that she had learned of the
return of her youthful _protégé_, and also the manner he had conducted
himself on the field, and she added that she should be very glad to
offer him her congratulations.
“Tell her grace,” replied Athos, “that the viscount has just mounted
his horse to proceed to the Hotel de Luynes.”
Then, with renewed instructions to Grimaud, Athos signified to Raoul
that he could set out, and ended by reflecting that it was perhaps
better that Raoul should be away from Paris at that moment.
Chapter XLII.
Another Queen in Want of Help.
Athos had not failed to send early to Aramis and had given his letter
to Blaisois, the only serving-man whom he had left. Blaisois found
Bazin donning his beadle’s gown, his services being required that day
at Notre Dame.
Athos had desired Blaisois to try to speak to Aramis himself. Blaisois,
a tall, simple youth, who understood nothing but what he was expressly
told, asked, therefore for the Abbé d’Herblay, and in spite of Bazin’s
assurances that his master was not at home, he persisted in such a
manner as to put Bazin into a passion. Blaisois seeing Bazin in
clerical guise, was a little discomposed at his denials and wanted to
pass at all risks, believing too, that the man with whom he had to do
was endowed with the virtues of his cloth, namely, patience and
Christian charity.
But Bazin, still the servant of a musketeer, when once the blood
mounted to his fat cheeks, seized a broomstick and began belaboring
Blaisois, saying:
“You have insulted the church, my friend, you have insulted the
church!”
At this moment Aramis, aroused by this unusual disturbance, cautiously
opened the door of his room; and Blaisois, looking reproachfully at the
Cerberus, drew the letter from his pocket and presented it to Aramis.
“From the Comte de la Fère,” said Aramis. “All right.” And he retired
into his room without even asking the cause of so much noise.
Blaisois returned disconsolate to the Hotel of the Grand Roi
Charlemagne and when Athos inquired if his commission was executed, he
related his adventure.
“You foolish fellow!” said Athos, laughing. “And you did not tell him
that you came from me?”
“No, sir.”
At ten o’clock Athos, with his habitual exactitude, was waiting on the
Pont du Louvre and was almost immediately joined by Lord de Winter.
They waited ten minutes and then his lordship began to fear Aramis was
not coming to join them.
“Patience,” said Athos, whose eyes were fixed in the direction of the
Rue du Bac, “patience; I see an abbé cuffing a man, then bowing to a
woman; it must be Aramis.”
It was indeed Aramis. Having run against a young shopkeeper who was
gaping at the crows and who had splashed him, Aramis with one blow of
his fist had distanced him ten paces.
At this moment one of his penitents passed, and as she was young and
pretty Aramis took off his cap to her with his most gracious smile.
A most affectionate greeting, as one can well believe took place
between him and Lord de Winter.
“Where are we going?” inquired Aramis; “are we going to fight,
perchance? I carry no sword this morning and cannot return home to
procure one.”
“No,” said Lord de Winter, “we are going to pay a visit to Her Majesty
the Queen of England.”
“Oh, very well,” replied Aramis; then bending his face down to Athos’s
ear, “what is the object of this visit?” continued he.
“Nay, I know not; some evidence required from us, perhaps.”
“May it not be about that cursed affair?” asked Aramis, “in which case
I do not greatly care to go, for it will be to pocket a lecture; and
since it is my function to give them to others I am rather averse to
receiving them myself.”
“If it were so,” answered Athos, “we should not be taken there by Lord
de Winter, for he would come in for his share; he was one of us.”
“You’re right; yes, let us go.”
On arriving at the Louvre Lord de Winter entered first; indeed, there
was but one porter there to receive them at the gate.
It was impossible in daylight for the impoverished state of the
habitation grudging charity had conceded to an unfortunate queen to
pass unnoticed by Athos, Aramis, and even the Englishman. Large rooms,
completely stripped of furniture, bare walls upon which, here and
there, shone the old gold moldings which had resisted time and neglect,
windows with broken panes (impossible to close), no carpets, neither
guards nor servants: this is what first met the eyes of Athos, to which
he, touching his companion’s elbow, directed his attention by his
glances.
“Mazarin is better lodged,” said Aramis.
“Mazarin is almost king,” answered Athos; “Madame Henrietta is almost
no longer queen.”
“If you would condescend to be clever, Athos,” observed Aramis, “I
really do think you would be wittier than poor Monsieur de Voiture.”
Athos smiled.
The queen appeared to be impatiently expecting them, for at the first
slight noise she heard in the hall leading to her room she came herself
to the door to receive these courtiers in the corridors of Misfortune.
“Enter. You are welcome, gentlemen,” she said.
The gentlemen entered and remained standing, but at a motion from the
queen they seated themselves. Athos was calm and grave, but Aramis was
furious; the sight of such royal misery exasperated him and his eyes
examined every new trace of poverty that presented itself.
“You are examining the luxury I enjoy,” said the queen, glancing sadly
around her.
“Madame,” replied Aramis, “I must ask your pardon, but I know not how
to hide my indignation at seeing how a daughter of Henry IV. is treated
at the court of France.”
“Monsieur Aramis is not an officer?” asked the queen of Lord de Winter.
“That gentleman is the Abbé d’Herblay,” replied he.
Aramis blushed. “Madame,” he said, “I am an abbé, it is true, but I am
so against my will. I never had a vocation for the bands; my cassock is
fastened by one button only, and I am always ready to become a
musketeer once more. This morning, being ignorant that I should have
the honor of seeing your majesty, I encumbered myself with this dress,
but you will find me none the less a man devoted to your majesty’s
service, in whatever way you may see fit to use me.”
“The Abbé d’Herblay,” resumed De Winter, “is one of those gallant
musketeers formerly belonging to His Majesty King Louis XIII., of whom
I have spoken to you, madame.” Then turning to Athos, he continued,
“And this gentleman is that noble Comte de la Fère, whose high
reputation is so well known to your majesty.”
“Gentlemen,” said the queen, “a few years ago I had around me ushers,
treasures, armies; and by the lifting of a finger all these were busied
in my service. To-day, look around you, and it may astonish you, that
in order to accomplish a plan which is dearer to me than life I have
only Lord de Winter, the friend of twenty years, and you, gentlemen,
whom I see for the first time and whom I know but as my countrymen.”
“It is enough,” said Athos, bowing low, “if the lives of three men can
purchase yours, madame.”
“I thank you, gentlemen. But hear me,” continued she. “I am not only
the most miserable of queens, but the most unhappy of mothers, the most
wretched of wives. My children, two of them, at least, the Duke of York
and the Princess Elizabeth, are far away from me, exposed to the blows
of the ambitious and our foes; my husband, the king, is leading in
England so wretched an existence that it is no exaggeration to aver
that he seeks death as a thing to be desired. Hold! gentlemen, here is
the letter conveyed to me by Lord de Winter. Read it.”
Obeying the queen, Athos read aloud the letter which we have already
seen, in which King Charles demanded to know whether the hospitality of
France would be accorded him.
“Well?” asked Athos, when he had closed the letter.
“Well,” said the queen, “it has been refused.”
The two friends exchanged a smile of contempt.
“And now,” said Athos, “what is to be done? I have the honor to inquire
from your majesty what you desire Monsieur d’Herblay and myself to do
in your service. We are ready.”
“Ah, sir, you have a noble heart!” exclaimed the queen, with a burst of
gratitude; whilst Lord de Winter turned to her with a glance which
said, “Did I not answer for them?”
“But you, sir?” said the queen to Aramis.
“I, madame,” replied he, “follow Monsieur de la Fère wherever he leads,
even were it on to death, without demanding wherefore; but when it
concerns your majesty’s service, then,” added he, looking at the queen
with all the grace of former days, “I precede the count.”
“Well, then, gentlemen,” said the queen, “since it is thus, and since
you are willing to devote yourselves to the service of a poor princess
whom the whole world has abandoned, this is what is required to be done
for me. The king is alone with a few gentlemen, whom he fears to lose
every day; surrounded by the Scotch, whom he distrusts, although he be
himself a Scotchman. Since Lord de Winter left him I am distracted,
sirs. I ask much, too much, perhaps, for I have no title to request it.
Go to England, join the king, be his friends, protectors, march to
battle at his side, and be near him in his house, where conspiracies,
more dangerous than the perils of war, are hatching every day. And in
exchange for the sacrifice that you make, gentlemen, I promise—not to
reward you, I believe that word would offend you—but to love you as a
sister, to prefer you, next to my husband and my children, to every
one. I swear it before Heaven.”