Boulogne."
"We come from Paris, yes," replied Athos, with the same
courtesy; "what is there we can do for you?"
"Sir," said the young man, "will you be so good as to tell
me if it be true that Cardinal Mazarin is no longer
minister?"
"That is a strange question," said Aramis.
"He is and he is not," replied Athos; "that is to say, he is
dismissed by one-half of France, but by intrigues and
promises he makes the other half sustain him; you will
perceive that this may last a long time."
"However, sir," said the stranger, "he has neither fled nor
is in prison?"
"No, sir, not at this moment at least."
"Sirs, accept my thanks for your politeness," said the young
man, retreating.
"What do you think of that interrogator?" asked Aramis.
"I think he is either a dull provincial person or a spy in
search of information."
"And you replied to him with that notion?"
"Nothing warranted me to answer him otherwise; he was polite
to me and I was so to him."
"But if he be a spy ---- "
"What do you think a spy would be about here? We are not
living in the time of Cardinal Richelieu, who would have
closed the ports on bare suspicion."
"It matters not; you were wrong to reply to him as you did,"
continued Aramis, following with his eyes the young man, now
vanishing behind the cliffs.
"And you," said Athos, "you forget that you committed a very
different kind of imprudence in pronouncing Lord de Winter's
name. Did you not see that at that name the young man
stopped?"
"More reason, then, when he spoke to you, for sending him
about his business."
"A quarrel?" asked Athos.
"And since when have you become afraid of a quarrel?"
"I am always afraid of a quarrel when I am expected at any
place and when such a quarrel might possibly prevent my
reaching it. Besides, let me own something to you. I am
anxious to see that young man nearer."
"And wherefore?"
"Aramis, you will certainly laugh at me, you will say that I
am always repeating the same thing, you will call me the
most timorous of visionaries; but to whom do you see a
resemblance in that young man?"
"In beauty or on the contrary?" asked Aramis, laughing.
"In ugliness, in so far as a man can resemble a woman."
"Ah! Egad!" cried Aramis, "you set me thinking. No, in truth
you are no visionary, my dear friend, and now I think of it
-- you -- yes, i'faith, you're right -- those delicate, yet
firm-set lips, those eyes which seem always at the command
of the intellect and never of the heart! Yes, it is one of
Milady's bastards!"
"You laugh Aramis."
"From habit, that is all. I swear to you, I like no better
than yourself to meet that viper in my path."
"Ah! here is De Winter coming," said Athos.
"Good! one thing now is only awanting and that is, that our
grooms should not keep us waiting."
"No," said Athos. "I see them about twenty paces behind my
lord. I recognize Grimaud by his long legs and his
determined slouch. Tony carries our muskets."
"Then we set sail to-night?" asked Aramis, glancing toward
the west, where the sun had left a single golden cloud,
which, dipping into the ocean, appeared by degrees to be
extinguished.
"Probably," said Athos.
"Diable!" resumed Aramis, "I have little fancy for the sea
by day, still less at night; the sounds of wind and wave,
the frightful movements of the vessel; I confess I prefer
the convent of Noisy."
Athos smiled sadly, for it was evident that he was thinking
of other things as he listened to his friend and moved
toward De Winter.
"What ails our friend?" said Aramis, "he resembles one of
Dante's damned, whose neck Apollyon has dislocated and who
are ever looking at their heels. What the devil makes him
glower thus behind him?"
When De Winter perceived them, in his turn he advanced
toward them with surprising rapidity.
"What is the matter, my lord?" said Athos, "and what puts
you out of breath thus?"
"Nothing," replied De Winter; "nothing; and yet in passing
the heights it seemed to me ---- " and he again turned
round.
Athos glanced at Aramis.
"But let us go," continued De Winter; "let us be off; the
boat must be waiting for us and there is our sloop at anchor
-- do you see it there? I wish I were on board already," and
he looked back again.
"He has seen him," said Athos, in a low tone, to Aramis.
They had reached the ladder which led to the boat. De Winter
made the grooms who carried the arms and the porters with
the luggage descend first and was about to follow them.
At this moment Athos perceived a man walking on the seashore
parallel to the jetty, and hastening his steps, as if to
reach the other side of the port, scarcely twenty steps from
the place of embarking. He fancied in the darkness that he
recognized the young man who had questioned him. Athos now
descended the ladder in his turn, without losing sight of
the young man. The latter, to make a short cut, had appeared
on a sluice.
"He certainly bodes us no good," said Athos; "but let us
embark; once out at sea, let him come."
And Athos sprang into the boat, which was immediately pushed
off and which soon sped seawards under the efforts of four
stalwart rowers.
But the young man had begun to follow, or rather to advance
before the boat. She was obliged to pass between the point
of the jetty, surmounted by a beacon just lighted, and a
rock which jutted out. They saw him in the distance climbing
the rock in order to look down upon the boat as it passed.
"Ay, but," said Aramis, "that young fellow is decidedly a
spy."
"Which is the young man?" asked De Winter, turning around.
"He who followed us and spoke to us awaits us there;
behold!"
De Winter turned and followed the direction of Aramis's
finger. The beacon bathed with light the little strait
through which they were about to pass and the rock where the
young man stood with bare head and crossed arms.
"It is he!" exclaimed De Winter, seizing the arm of Athos;
"it is he! I thought I recognized him and I was not
mistaken."
"Whom do you mean?" asked Aramis.
"Milady's son," replied Athos.
"The monk!" exclaimed Grimaud.
The young man heard these words and bent so forward over the
rock that one might have supposed he was about to
precipitate himself from it.
"Yes, it is I, my uncle -- I, the son of Milady -- I, the
monk -- I, the secretary and friend of Cromwell -- I know
you now, both you and your companions."
In that boat sat three men, unquestionably brave, whose
courage no man would have dared dispute; nevertheless, at
that voice, that accent and those gestures, they felt a
chill access of terror cramp their veins. As for Grimaud,
his hair stood on end and drops of sweat ran down his brow.
"Ah!" exclaimed Aramis, "that is the nephew, the monk, and
the son of Milady, as he says himself."
"Alas, yes," murmured De Winter.
"Then wait," said Aramis; and with the terrible coolness
which on important occasions he showed, he took one of the
muskets from Tony, shouldered and aimed it at the young man,
who stood, like the accusing angel, upon the rock.
"Fire!" cried Grimaud, unconsciously.
Athos threw himself on the muzzle of the gun and arrested
the shot which was about to be fired.
"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."
44
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 Chatillon, 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 manoeuvre 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 Barriere des Sergens to the
place of Notre Dame, and Friquet found in it very real
