Twenty years after
“The devil take you,” said Aramis. “I had him so well at the point of
my gun I should have sent a ball into his breast.”
“It is enough to have killed the mother,” said Athos, hoarsely.
“The mother was a wretch, who struck at us all and at those dear to
us.”
“Yes, but the son has done us no harm.”
Grimaud, who had risen to watch the effect of the shot, fell back
hopeless, wringing his hands.
The young man burst into a laugh.
“Ah, it is certainly you!” he cried. “I know you even better now.”
His mocking laugh and threatening words passed over their heads,
carried by the breeze, until lost in the depths of the horizon. Aramis
shuddered.
“Be calm,” exclaimed Athos, “for Heaven’s sake! have we ceased to be
men?”
“No,” said Aramis, “but that fellow is a fiend; and ask the uncle
whether I was wrong to rid him of his dear nephew.”
De Winter only replied by a groan.
“It was all up with him,” continued Aramis; “ah I much fear that with
all your wisdom such mercy yet will prove supernal folly.”
Athos took Lord de Winter’s hand and tried to turn the conversation.
“When shall we land in England?” he asked; but De Winter seemed not to
hear his words and made no reply.
“Hold, Athos,” said Aramis, “perhaps there is yet time. See if he is
still in the same place.”
Athos turned around with an effort; the sight of the young man was
evidently painful to him, and there he still was, in fact, on the rock,
the beacon shedding around him, as it were, a doubtful aureole.
“Decidedly, Aramis,” said Athos, “I think I was wrong not to let you
fire.”
“Hold your tongue,” replied Aramis; “you would make me weep, if such a
thing were possible.”
At this moment they were hailed by a voice from the sloop and a few
seconds later men, servants and baggage were aboard. The captain was
only waiting for his passengers; hardly had they put foot on deck ere
her head was turned towards Hastings, where they were to disembark. At
this instant the three friends turned, in spite of themselves, a last
look on the rock, upon the menacing figure which pursued them and now
stood out with a distinctness still. Then a voice reached them once
more, sending this threat: “To our next meeting, sirs, in England.”
Chapter XLIV.
Te Deum for the Victory of Lens.
The bustle which had been observed by Henrietta Maria and for which she
had vainly sought to discover a reason, was occasioned by the battle of
Lens, announced by the prince’s messenger, the Duc de Châtillon, who
had taken such a noble part in the engagement; he was, besides, charged
to hang five and twenty flags, taken from the Lorraine party, as well
as from the Spaniards, upon the arches of Notre Dame.
Such news was decisive; it destroyed, in favor of the court, the
struggle commenced with parliament. The motive given for all the taxes
summarily imposed and to which the parliament had made opposition, was
the necessity of sustaining the honor of France and the uncertain hope
of beating the enemy. Now, since the affair of Nordlingen, they had
experienced nothing but reverses; the parliament had a plea for calling
Mazarin to account for imaginary victories, always promised, ever
deferred; but this time there really had been fighting, a triumph and a
complete one. And this all knew so well that it was a double victory
for the court, a victory at home and abroad; so that even when the
young king learned the news he exclaimed, “Ah, gentlemen of the
parliament, we shall see what you will say now!” Upon which the queen
had pressed the royal child to her heart, whose haughty and unruly
sentiments were in such harmony with her own. A council was called on
the same evening, but nothing transpired of what had been decided on.
It was only known that on the following Sunday a _Te Deum_ would be
sung at Notre Dame in honor of the victory of Lens.
The following Sunday, then, the Parisians arose with joy; at that
period a _Te Deum_ was a grand affair; this kind of ceremony had not
then been abused and it produced a great effect. The shops were
deserted, houses closed; every one wished to see the young king with
his mother, and the famous Cardinal Mazarin whom they hated so much
that no one wished to be deprived of his presence. Moreover, great
liberty prevailed throughout the immense crowd; every opinion was
openly expressed and chorused, so to speak, of coming insurrection, as
the thousand bells of all the Paris churches rang out the _Te Deum_.
The police belonging to the city being formed by the city itself,
nothing threatening presented itself to disturb this concert of
universal hatred or freeze the frequent scoffs of slanderous lips.
Nevertheless, at eight o’clock in the morning the regiment of the
queen’s guards, commanded by Guitant, under whom was his nephew
Comminges, marched publicly, preceded by drums and trumpets, filing off
from the Palais Royal as far as Notre Dame, a manœuvre which the
Parisians witnessed tranquilly, delighted as they were with military
music and brilliant uniforms.
Friquet had put on his Sunday clothes, under the pretext of having a
swollen face which he had managed to simulate by introducing a handful
of cherry kernels into one side of his mouth, and had procured a whole
holiday from Bazin. On leaving Bazin, Friquet started off to the Palais
Royal, where he arrived at the moment of the turning out of the
regiment of guards; and as he had only gone there for the enjoyment of
seeing it and hearing the music, he took his place at their head,
beating the drum on two pieces of slate and passing from that exercise
to that of the trumpet, which he counterfeited quite naturally with his
mouth in a manner which had more than once called forth the praises of
amateurs of imitative harmony.
This amusement lasted from the Barrière des Sergens to the place of
Notre Dame, and Friquet found in it very real enjoyment; but when at
last the regiment separated, penetrated the heart of the city and
placed itself at the extremity of the Rue Saint Christophe, near the
Rue Cocatrix, in which Broussel lived, then Friquet remembered that he
had not had breakfast; and after thinking in which direction he had
better turn his steps in order to accomplish this important act of the
day, he reflected deeply and decided that Councillor Broussel should
bear the cost of this repast.
In consequence he took to his heels, arrived breathlessly at the
councillor’s door, and knocked violently.
His mother, the councillor’s old servant, opened it.
“What doest thou here, good-for-nothing?” she said, “and why art thou
not at Notre Dame?”
“I have been there, mother,” said Friquet, “but I saw things happen of
which Master Broussel ought to be warned, and so with Monsieur Bazin’s
permission—you know, mother, Monsieur Bazin, the verger—I came to speak
to Monsieur Broussel.”
“And what hast thou to say, boy, to Monsieur Broussel?”
“I wish to tell him,” replied Friquet, screaming with all his might,
“that there is a whole regiment of guards coming this way. And as I
hear everywhere that at the court they are ill-disposed to him, I wish
to warn him, that he may be on his guard.”
Broussel heard the scream of the young oddity, and, enchanted with this
excess of zeal, came down to the first floor, for he was, in truth,
working in his room on the second.
“Well,” said he, “friend, what matters the regiment of guards to us,
and art thou not mad to make such a disturbance? Knowest thou not that
it is the custom of these soldiers to act thus and that it is usual for
the regiment to form themselves into two solid walls when the king goes
by?”
Friquet counterfeited surprise, and twisting his new cap around in his
fingers, said:
“It is not astonishing for you to know it, Monsieur Broussel, who knows
everything; but as for me, by holy truth, I did not know it and I
thought I would give you good advice; you must not be angry with me for
that, Monsieur Broussel.”
“On the contrary, my boy, on the contrary, I am pleased with your zeal.
Dame Nanette, look for those apricots which Madame de Longueville sent
to us yesterday from Noisy and give half a dozen of them to your son,
with a crust of new bread.”
“Oh, thank you, sir, thank you, Monsieur Broussel,” said Friquet; “I am
so fond of apricots!”
Broussel then proceeded to his wife’s room and asked for breakfast; it
was nine o’clock. The councillor placed himself at the window; the
street was completely deserted, but in the distance was heard, like the
noise of the tide rushing in, the deep hum of the populous waves
increasing now around Notre Dame.
This noise redoubled when D’Artagnan, with a company of musketeers,
placed himself at the gates of Notre Dame to secure the service of the
church. He had instructed Porthos to profit by this opportunity to see
the ceremony; and Porthos, in full dress, mounted his finest horse,
taking the part of supernumerary musketeer, as D’Artagnan had so often
done formerly. The sergeant of this company, a veteran of the Spanish
wars, had recognized Porthos, his old companion, and very soon all
those who served under him were placed in possession of startling facts
concerning the honor of the ancient musketeers of Tréville. Porthos had
not only been well received by the company, but he was moreover looked
on with great admiration.
At ten o’clock the guns of the Louvre announced the departure of the
king, and then a movement, similar to that of trees in a stormy wind
that bend and writhe with agitated tops, ran though the multitude,
which was compressed behind the immovable muskets of the guard. At last
the king appeared with the queen in a gilded chariot. Ten other
carriages followed, containing the ladies of honor, the officers of the
royal household, and the court.
“God save the king!” was the cry in every direction; the young monarch
gravely put his head out of the window, looked sufficiently grateful
and even bowed; at which the cries of the multitude were renewed.
Just as the court was settling down in the cathedral, a carriage,
bearing the arms of Comminges, quitted the line of the court carriages
and proceeded slowly to the end of the Rue Saint Christophe, now
entirely deserted. When it arrived there, four guards and a police
officer, who accompanied it, mounted into the heavy machine and closed
the shutters; then through an opening cautiously made, the policeman
began to watch the length of the Rue Cocatrix, as if he was waiting for
some one.
All the world was occupied with the ceremony, so that neither the
chariot nor the precautions taken by those who were within it had been
observed. Friquet, whose eye, ever on the alert, could alone have
discovered them, had gone to devour his apricots upon the entablature
of a house in the square of Notre Dame. Thence he saw the king, the
queen and Monsieur Mazarin, and heard the mass as well as if he had
been on duty.
Toward the end of the service, the queen, seeing Comminges standing
near her, waiting for a confirmation of the order she had given him
before quitting the Louvre, said in a whisper:
“Go, Comminges, and may God aid you!”
Comminges immediately left the church and entered the Rue Saint
Christophe. Friquet, seeing this fine officer thus walk away, followed
by two guards, amused himself by pursuing them and did this so much the
more gladly as the ceremony ended at that instant and the king
remounted his carriage.
Hardly had the police officer observed Comminges at the end of the Rue
Cocatrix when he said one word to the coachman, who at once put his
vehicle into motion and drove up before Broussel’s door. Comminges
knocked at the door at the same moment, and Friquet was waiting behind
Comminges until the door should be opened.
“What dost thou there, rascal?” asked Comminges.