opposition and was unwilling to deprive himself in his own
view of the credit of her conversion.
"Madame," he said, "you have wished to conquer the prince
your brother -- that is to say, the greatest captain of the
age; and when women of genius wish anything they always
succeed in attaining it. You have succeeded; the prince is
beaten, since he can no longer fight. Now attach him to our
party. Withdraw him gently from the queen, whom he does not
like, from Mazarin, whom he despises. The Fronde is a
comedy, of which the first act only is played. Let us wait
for a denouement -- for the day when the prince, thanks to
you, shall have turned against the court."
Madame de Longueville was persuaded. This Frondist duchess
trusted so confidently to the power of her fine eyes, that
she could not doubt their influence even over Monsieur de
Conde; and the chronicles of the time aver that her
confidence was justified.
Athos, on quitting Aramis, went to Madame de Chevreuse. Here
was another frondeuse to persuade, and she was even less
open to conviction than her younger rival. There had been no
stipulation in her favor. Monsieur de Chevreuse had not been
appointed governor of a province, and if the queen should
consent to be godmother it could be only of her grandson or
granddaughter. At the first announcement of peace Madame de
Chevreuse frowned, and in spite of all the logic of Athos to
show her that a prolonged war would have been impracticable,
contended in favor of hostilities.
"My fair friend," said Athos, "allow me to tell you that
everybody is tired of war. You will get yourself exiled, as
you did in the time of Louis XIII. Believe me, we have
passed the time of success in intrigue, and your fine eyes
are not destined to be eclipsed by regretting Paris, where
there will always be two queens as long as you are there."
"Oh," cried the duchess, "I cannot make war alone, but I can
avenge myself on that ungrateful queen and most ambitious
favorite-on the honor of a duchess, I will avenge myself."
"Madame," replied Athos, "do not injure the Vicomte de
Bragelonne -- do not ruin his prospects. Alas! excuse my
weakness! There are moments when a man grows young again in
his children."
The duchess smiled, half tenderly, half ironically.
"Count," she said, "you are, I fear, gained over to the
court. I suppose you have a blue ribbon in your pocket?"
"Yes, madame; I have that of the Garter, which King Charles
I. gave me some days before he died."
"Come, I am growing an old woman!" said the duchess,
pensively.
Athos took her hand and kissed it. She sighed, as she looked
at him.
"Count," she said, "Bragelonne must be a charming place. You
are a man of taste. You have water -- woods -- flowers
there?"
She sighed again and leaned her charming head, gracefully
reclined, on her hand, still beautiful in form and color.
"Madame!" exclaimed Athos, "what were you saying just now
about growing old? Never have I seen you look so young, so
beautiful!"
The duchess shook her head.
"Does Monsieur de Bragelonne remain in Paris?" she inquired.
"What think you of it?" inquired Athos.
"Leave him with me," replied the duchess.
"No, madame; if you have forgotten the history of Oedipus,
I, at least, remember it."
"Really, sir, you are delightful, and I should like to spend
a month at Bragelonne."
"Are you not afraid of making people envious of me,
duchess?" replied Athos.
"No, I shall go incognito, count, under the name of Marie
Michon."
"You are adorable, madame."
"But do not keep Raoul with you."
"Why not?"
"Because he is in love."
"He! he is quite a child!"
"And 'tis a child he loves."
Athos became thoughtful.
"You are right, duchess. This singular passion for a child
of seven may some day make him very unhappy. There is to be
war in Flanders. He shall go thither."
"And at his return you will send him to me. I will arm him
against love."
"Alas, madame!" exclaimed Athos, "to-day love is like war --
the breastplate is becoming useless."
Raoul entered at this moment; he came to announce that the
solemn entrance of the king, queen, and her ministers was to
take place on the ensuing day.
The next day, in fact, at daybreak, the court made
preparations to quit Saint Germain.
Meanwhile, the queen every hour had been sending for
D'Artagnan.
"I hear," she said, "that Paris is not quiet. I am afraid
for the king's safety; place yourself close to the coach
door on the right."
"Reassure yourself, madame, I will answer for the king's
safety."
As he left the queen's presence Bernouin summoned him to the
cardinal.
"Sir," said Mazarin to him "an emeute is spoken of in Paris.
I shall be on the king's left and as I am the chief person
threatened, remain at the coach door to the left."
"Your eminence may be perfectly easy," replied D'Artagnan;
"they will not touch a hair of your head."
"Deuce take it!" he thought to himself, "how can I take care
of both? Ah! plague on't, I will guard the king and Porthos
shall guard the cardinal."
This arrangement pleased every one. The queen had confidence
in the courage of D'Artagnan, which she knew, and the
cardinal in the strength of Porthos, which he had
experienced.
The royal procession set out for Paris. Guitant and
Comminges, at the head of the guards, marched first; then
came the royal carriage, with D'Artagnan on one side,
Porthos on the other; then the musketeers, for two and
twenty years staunch friends of D'Artagnan. During twenty he
had been lieutenant, their captain since the night before.
The cortege proceeded to Notre Dame, where a Te Deum was
chanted. All Paris were in the streets. The Swiss were drawn
up along the road, but as the road was long, they were
placed at six or eight feet distant from each other and one
deep only. This force was therefore wholly insufficient, and
from time to time the line was broken through by the people
and was formed again with difficulty. Whenever this
occurred, although it proceeded only from goodwill and a
desire to see the king and queen, Anne looked at D'Artagnan
anxiously.
Mazarin, who had dispensed a thousand louis to make the
people cry "Long live Mazarin," and who had accordingly no
confidence in acclamations bought at twenty pistoles each,
kept one eye on Porthos; but that gigantic body-guard
replied to the look with his great bass voice, "Be tranquil,
my lord," and Mazarin became more and more composed.
At the Palais Royal, the crowd, which had flowed in from the
adjacent street was still greater; like an impetuous mob, a
wave of human beings came to meet the carriage and rolled
tumultuously into the Rue Saint Honore.
When the procession reached the palace, loud cries of "Long
live their majesties!" resounded. Mazarin leaned out of the
window. One or two shouts of "Long live the cardinal"
saluted his shadow; but instantly hisses and yells stifled
them remorselessly. Mazarin turned pale and shrank back in
the coach.
"Low-born fellows!" ejaculated Porthos.
D'Artagnan said nothing, but twirled his mustache with a
peculiar gesture which showed that his fine Gascon humor was
awake.
Anne of Austria bent down and whispered in the young king's
ear:
"Say something gracious to Monsieur d'Artagnan, my son."
The young king leaned toward the door.
"I have not said good-morning to you, Monsieur d'Artagnan,"
he said; "nevertheless, I have remarked you. It was you who
were behind my bed-curtains that night the Parisians wished
to see me asleep."
"And if the king permits me," returned the Gascon, "I shall
be near him always when there is danger to be encountered."
"Sir," said Mazarin to Porthos, "what would you do if the
crowd fell upon us?"
"Kill as many as I could, my lord."
"Hem! brave as you are and strong as you are, you could not
kill them all."
"'Tis true," answered Porthos, rising on his saddle, in
order that he might appraise the immense crowd, "there are a
lot of them."
"I think I should like the other fellow better than this
one," said Mazarin to himself, and he threw himself back in
his carriage.
The queen and her minister, more especially the latter, had
reason to feel anxious. The crowd, whilst preserving an
appearance of respect and even of affection for the king and
queen regent, began to be tumultuous. Reports were whispered
about, like certain sounds which announce, as they whistle
from wave to wave, the coming storm -- and when they pass
athwart a multitude, presage an emeute.
D'Artagnan turned toward the musketeers and made a sign
imperceptible to the crowd, but very easily understood by
that chosen regiment, the flower of the army.
The ranks closed firmly in and a kind of majestic tremor ran
from man to man.
At the Barriere des Sergents the procession was obliged to
stop. Comminges left the head of the escort and went to the
queen's carriage. Anne questioned D'Artagnan by a look. He
answered in the same language.
"Proceed," she said.
Comminges returned to his post. An effort was made and the
living barrier was violently broken through.
Some complaints arose from the crowd and were addressed this
time to the king as well as the minister.
"Onward!" cried D'Artagnan, in a loud voice.
"Onward!" cried Porthos.
But as if the multitude had waited only for this
demonstration to burst out, all the sentiments of hostility
that possessed it exploded simultaneously. Cries of "Down
with Mazarin!" "Death to the cardinal!" resounded on all
sides.
At the same time through the streets of Grenelle, Saint
Honore, and Du Coq, a double stream of people broke the
feeble hedge of Swiss guards and came like a whirlwind even
to the very legs of Porthos's horse and that of D'Artagnan.
This new eruption was more dangerous than the others, being
composed of armed men. It was plain that it was not the
chance combination of those who had collected a number of
the malcontents at the same spot, but a concerted organized
attack.
Each of these mobs was led by a chief, one of whom appeared
to belong, not to the people, but to the honorable
corporation of mendicants, and the other, notwithstanding
his affected imitation of the people, might easily be
discerned to be a gentleman. Both were evidently stimulated
by the same impulse.
There was a shock which was perceived even in the royal
carriage. Myriads of hoarse cries, forming one vast uproar,
were heard, mingled with guns firing.
"Ho! Musketeers!" cried D'Artagnan.
The escort divided into two files. One of them passed around
to the right of the carriage, the other to the left. One
went to support D'Artagnan, the other Porthos. Then came a
skirmish, the more terrible because it had no definite
object; the more melancholy, because those engaged in it
knew not for whom they were fighting. Like all popular
movements, the shock given by the rush of this mob was
formidable. The musketeers, few in number, not being able,
in the midst of this crowd, to make their horses wheel
around, began to give way. D'Artagnan offered to lower the
blinds of the royal carriage, but the young king stretched
out his arm, saying:
"No, sir! I wish to see everything."
"If your majesty wishes to look out -- well, then, look!"
replied D'Artagnan. And turning with that fury which made
him so formidable, he rushed toward the chief of the
insurgents, a man who, with a huge sword in his hand, was
trying to hew a passage to the coach door through the
musketeers.
"Make room!" cried D'Artagnan. "Zounds! give way!"
At these words the man with a pistol and sword raised his
head, but it was too late. The blow was sped by D'Artagnan;
the rapier had pierced his bosom.
"Ah! confound it!" cried the Gascon, trying in vain, too
late, to retract the thrust. "What the devil are you doing
here, count?"
"Accomplishing my destiny," replied Rochefort, falling on
one knee. "I have already got up again after three stabs
from you, I shall never rise after this fourth."
"Count!" said D'Artagnan, with some degree of emotion, "I
struck without knowing that it was you. I am sorry, if you
die, that you should die with sentiments of hatred toward
me."
Rochefort extended his hand to D'Artagnan, who took it. The
count wished to speak, but a gush of blood stifled him. He
stiffened in the last convulsions of death and expired.
"Back, people!" cried D'Artagnan, "your leader is dead; you
have no longer any business here."
Indeed, as if De Rochefort had been the very soul of the
attack, the crowd who had followed and obeyed him took to
flight on seeing him fall. D'Artagnan charged, with a party
of musketeers, up the Rue du Coq, and the portion of the mob
he assailed disappeared like smoke, dispersing near the
Place Saint Germain-l'Auxerrois and taking the direction of
the quays.
D'Artagnan returned to help Porthos, if Porthos needed help;
but Porthos, for his part, had done his work as
conscientiously as D'Artagnan. The left of the carriage was
as well cleared as the right, and they drew up the blind of
