 CHAPTER 24 THE FALSE KING In the meantime, usurped royalty was playing out its part bravely at vaux. Philippe gave orders that for his petit levée, the grand entree, already prepared to appear before the king, should be introduced. He determined to give this order notwithstanding the absence of M. de Blay, who did not return. Our readers know the reason. But the prince, not believing that absence could be prolonged, wished, as all rash spirits do, to try his valor and his fortune, far from all protection and instruction. Another reason urged him to this. Anne of Austria was about to appear. The guilty mother was about to stand in the presence of her sacrificed son. Philippe was not willing, if he had a weakness, to render the man a witness of it before whom he was bound, thenceforth, to display so much strength. Philippe opened his folding doors, and several persons entered silently. Philippe did not stir whilst his valet de chambre addressed him. He had watched, the evening before, all the habits of his brother, and played the king in such a manner as to awaken no suspicion. He was thus completely dressed in hunting costume when he received his visitors. His own memory and the notes of Eremus announced everybody to him. First of all, Anne of Austria, to whom Monsieur gave his hand, and then Madame, with Monsieur de Saint-Aignan. He smiled at seeing these countenances, but trembled on recognizing his mother. That still-so-noble and imposing figure, ravaged by pain, pleaded in his heart the cause of the famous queen who had immolated a child to reasons of state. He found his mother still handsome. He knew that Louis XIV loved her, and he promised himself to love her likewise, and not to prove a scourge to her old age. He contemplated his brother with a tenderness easily to be understood. The latter, had usurped nothing, had cast no shades a thwart his life. A separate tree, he allowed the stem to rise without heating its elevation or majestic life. Philippe promised himself to be a kind brother to this prince, who required nothing but gold to minister to his pleasures. He bowed with a friendly air to Saint-Aignan, who was all reverences and smiles, and trembling held out his hand to Henrietta, his sister-in-law, whose beauty struck him. But he saw in the eyes of that princess an expression of coldness which would facilitate, as he thought, their future relations. How much more easy, thought he, it will be to be the brother of that woman than her gallant, if she evinces toward me a coldness that my brother could not have for her, but which is imposed upon me as a duty. The only visit he dreaded at this moment was that of the queen. His heart, his mind, had just been shaken by so violent a trial, that in spite of their firm temperament they would not perhaps support another shock. Happily the queen did not come. Then commenced, on the part of Anne of Austria, a political dissertation upon the welcome Monsieur Fouquette had given to the House of France. She mixed up hostilities with compliments addressed to the king, and questions as to his health, with little maternal flatteries and diplomatic artifices. Well, my son, said she, are you convinced with regard to Monsieur Fouquette? Saint-Agnan, said Philippe, have the goodness to go and inquire after the queen. At these words the first Philippe had pronounced aloud the slight difference that there was between his voice and that of the king was sensible to maternal ears, and Anne of Austria looked earnestly at her son. Saint-Agnan left the room, and Philippe continued, Madame, I do not like to hear Monsieur Fouquette ill-spoken of. You know I do not, and you have even spoken well of him yourself. That is true. Therefore I only question you on the state of your sentiments with respect to him. Sire, said Henrietta, I, on my part, have always liked Monsieur Fouquette. He is a man of good taste, a superior man. A superintendent who has never sorted or niggardly, added Monsieur, and who pays in gold all the orders I have on him. Every one in this thinks too much of himself, and nobody for the state, said the old queen. Monsieur Fouquette, it is a fact. Monsieur Fouquette is ruining the state. Well, mother, replied Philippe, in rather a lower key, do you likewise constitute yourself the buckler of Monsieur Colbert? How is that? replied the old queen, rather surprised. Why, in truth, replied Philippe, you speak that just as your old friend Madame Deschevres would speak. Why do you mention Madame Deschevres to me? said she. And what sort of humour are you in today towards me? Philippe continued, Is not Madame Deschevres always in league against somebody? Has not Madame Deschevres been to pay you a visit, mother? Monsieur, you speak to me now in such a manner that I can almost fancy I am listening to your father. My father did not like Madame Deschevres, and had good reason for not liking her, said the prince. For my part, I like her no better than he did. And if she thinks proper to come here as she formerly did, to sow divisions and hatreds under the pretext of begging money, why— Well, what? said Anne of Austria proudly, herself provoking the storm. Well, replied the young man firmly, I will drive Madame Deschevres out of my kingdom, and with her all who meddle with its secrets and mysteries. He had not calculated the effect of this terrible speech, or perhaps he wished to judge the effect of it, like those who, suffering from a chronic pain, and seeking to break the monotony of that suffering, touched their wound to procure a sharper pang. Anne of Austria was nearly fainting. Her eyes, open but meaningless, ceased to see for several seconds. She stretched out her arms towards her other son, who supported and embraced her without fear of irritating the king. Sire, murmured she, you are treating your mother very cruelly. In what respect, Madame? replied he. I am only speaking of Madame Deschevres. Does my mother prefer Madame Deschevres to the security of the state and of my person? Well then, Madame, I tell you Madame Deschevres has returned to France to borrow money, and that she has addressed herself to M. Fouquet to sell him a certain secret. A certain secret? cried Anne of Austria. Concerning pretended robberies that M. Le Sur intended had committed, which is false, added Philippe. M. Fouquet rejected her offers with indignation, preferring the esteem of the king to complicity with such intrigues. Then Madame Deschevres sold the secret to M. Colbert, and as she is insatiable and was not satisfied with having distorted a hundred thousand crowns from a servant of the state, she has taken a still boulder flight in search of sure sources of supply. Is that true, Madame? You know all, Sire, said the queen, more uneasy than irritated. Now, continued Philippe, I have good reasons to dislike this fury, who comes to my court to plan the shame of some and the ruin of others. If heaven has suffered certain crimes to be committed, and has concealed them in the shadow of its clemency, I will not permit M. Deschevres to counteract the just designs of fate. The latter part of this speech had so agitated the queen mother that her son had pity on her. He took her hand and kissed it tenderly. He did not feel that in that kiss, given in spite of repulsion and bitterness of the heart, there was a pardon for eight years of suffering. Philippe allowed the silence of a moment to swallow the emotions that had just developed themselves. Then with a cheerful smile. We will not go today, said he, I have a plan. And turning towards the door he hoped to see Aramis, whose absence began to alarm him. The queen mother wished to leave the room. Remain where you are, mother, said he, I wish you to make your peace with M. Fouquette. I bear, M. Fouquette, no ill will. I only dreaded his prodigalities. We will put that to rights and will take nothing of the superintendent but his good qualities. What is your majesty looking for? Said Henrietta, seeing the eyes constantly turned towards the door, and wishing to let fly a little poisoned arrow at his heart, supposing he was so anxiously expecting either la Valière or a letter from her. My sister, said the young man, who had divined her thought, thanks to that marvelous perspicuity of which fortune was, from that time, about to allow him the exercise. My sister, I am expecting a most distinguished man, a most able counselor, whom I wish to present to you all, recommending him to your good graces. Ah, come in then, D'Artagnan. What does your majesty wish? Said D'Artagnan, appearing. Where is M. Le Bishop of Van, your friend? Why, Sire, I am waiting for him, and he does not come. Let him be sought for. D'Artagnan remained for an instant stupefied, but soon, reflecting that Arama said left Vaux privately on a mission from the king, he concluded that the king wished to preserve the secret. Sire, replied he, does your majesty absolutely require M. de Blay to be brought to you? Absolutely is not the word, said Philippe. I do not want him so particularly as that. But if he can be found, I thought so, said D'Artagnan to himself. Is this M. de Blay the bishop of Van? Yes, madam. A friend of M. Fouquette? Yes, madam, an old musketeer. Anne of Austria blushed. One of the four braves who formally performed such prodigies. The old queen repented of having wished to bite. She broke off the conversation in order to preserve the rest of her teeth. Whatever may be your choice, Sire, said she, I have no doubt it will be excellent. All bowed in support of that sentiment. You will find in him, continued Philippe, the depth and penetration of M. de Richelieu without the avarice of M. de Mazurin. A prime minister, Sire, said M. de Frite. I will tell you all about that, brother, but it is strange that M. de Blay is not here. He called out, Let M. de Fouquette be informed that I wish to speak to him. Oh, before you, before you, do not retire! M. de Sainte-Agne returned, bringing satisfactory news of the queen, who only kept her bed from precaution, and to have strength to carry out the king's wishes. Whilst everybody was seeking M. de Fouquette in Aramis, the new king quietly continued his experiments, and everybody, family, officers, servants, had not the least suspicion of his identity. His air, his voice, and manners were so like the king's. On his side, Philippe, applying to all countenances the accurate descriptions and keynotes of character supplied by his accomplice Aramis, conducted himself so as not to give birth to a doubt in the minds of those who surrounded him. Nothing from that time could disturb the usurper. With what strange facility had Providence just reversed the loftiest fortune of the world to substitute the lowliest in its stead? Philippe admired the goodness of God with regard to himself, and seconded it with all the resources of his admirable nature. But he felt, at times, something like a specter gliding between him and the rays of his new glory. Aramis did not appear. The conversation had languished in the royal family. Philippe preoccupied, forgot to dismiss his brother and Madame Henrietta. The latter was astonished, and began by degrees to lose all patience. Anne of Austria stooped toward her son's ear and addressed some words to him in Spanish. Philippe was completely ignorant of that language, and grew pale at this unexpected obstacle. But as if the spirit of the imperturbable Aramis had covered him with his infallibility, instead of appearing disconcerted, Philippe arose. Well, what? said Anne of Austria. What is all that noise? said Philippe, turning round towards the door of the second staircase, and a voice was heard saying, This way, this way, a few steps more, Sire! The voice of Monsieur Fouquette, said d'Artagnan, who was standing close to the queen mother. Even Monsieur Dublé cannot be far off, added Philippe. But he then saw what he little thought to have beheld so near to him. All eyes were turned towards the door at which Monsieur Fouquette was expected to enter. But it was not Monsieur Fouquette who entered. A terrible cry resounded from all corners of the chamber. A painful cry uttered by the king and all present. It is given to but few men. Even those whose destiny contains the strangest elements, at accidents, the most wonderful, to contemplate such a spectacle similar to that which presented itself in the royal chamber at that moment. The half-close shutters only admitted the entrance of an uncertain light passing through thick, violent, velvet curtains lined with silk. In this soft shade, the eyes were by degrees dilated, and every one present saw others rather with imagination than with actual sight. There could not, however, escape, in these circumstances one of the surrounding details, and the new object which presented itself appeared as luminous as though it shone out in full sunlight. So it happened with Louis XIV, when he showed himself, pale and frowning, in the doorway of the secret stairs. The face of Phuket appeared behind him, stamped with sorrow and determination. The queen mother, who perceived Louis XIV, and who held the hand of Philippe, uttered a cry of which we have spoken, as if she beheld a phantom. Monsieur was bewildered, and kept turning his head in astonishment from one to the other. Madame made a step forward, thinking she was looking at the form of her brother-in-law reflected in a mirror, and in fact the illusion was possible. The two princes both pale as death, for we renounced the hope of being able to describe the fearful state of Philippe. Trembling, clenching their hands convulsively, measured each other with looks, and darted their glances sharp as poignards at each other. Silent, panting, bending forward, they appeared as if about to spring upon an enemy. The unheard of resemblance of countenance, gesture, shape, height, even to the resemblance of costume produced by chance. For Louis XIV had been to the Louvre, and put on a violet-colored dress. The perfect analogy of the two princes completed the consternation of Anne of Austria. And yet she did not at once guess the truth. There are misfortunes in life so truly dreadful that no one will at first accept them. People rather believe in the supernatural and the impossible. Louis had not reckoned on these obstacles. He expected that he had only to appear to be acknowledged. A living son he could not endure the suspicion of equality with anyone. He did not admit that every torch should not become darkness at the instant he shone out with his conquering ray. At the aspect of Philippe then, he was perhaps more terrified than anyone around him, and his silence, his immobility, were this time a concentration and a calm which precede the violent explosions of concentrated passion. But Fouquet, who shall paint his emotion and stupor in presence of this living portrait of his master? Fouquet thought Aramis was right, that this newly arrived was a king as pure in his race as the other, and that, for having repudiated all participation in this coup d'etat, so skillfully got up by the general of the Jesuits, he must be a mad enthusiast, unworthy of ever dipping his hands in political grand strategy work. And then it was the blood of Louis XIII, which Fouquet was sacrificing to the blood of Louis XIII. It was to a selfish ambition he was sacrificing a noble ambition. To the right of keeping he sacrificed the right of having. The whole extent of his fault was revealed to him at simple sight of the pretender. All that passed in the mind of Fouquet was lost upon the person's present. He had five minutes to focus meditation on this point of conscience. Five minutes. That is to say, five ages during which the two kings and their family scarcely found energy to breathe after so terrible a shock. Bartanian, leaning against the wall, in front of Fouquet, with his hand to his brow, asked himself the cause of such a wonderful prodigy. He could not have said at once why he doubted, but he knew assuredly that he had reason to doubt, and that in this meeting of the two Louis XIVs lay all the doubt and difficulty that during late days had rendered the conduct of Aramis so suspicious to the musketeer. These ideas were, however, enveloped in a haze, a veil of mystery. The actors in this assembly seemed to swim in the vapors of a confused waking. Suddenly, Louis XIV, more impatient and more accustomed to command, ran to one of the shutters which he opened, tearing the curtains in his eagerness. A flood of living light entered the chamber, and made Philippe draw back to the alcove. He seized upon this movement with eagerness, and addressing himself to the queen. "'My mother,' said he, "'do you not acknowledge your son, since everyone here has forgotten his king?' Anne of Austria started, and raised her arms towards heaven, without being able to articulate a single word. "'My mother,' said Philippe, with a calm voice, "'do you not acknowledge your son?' and this time, in his turn, Louis drew back. As to Anne of Austria, struck suddenly in head and heart with fell remorse, she lost her equilibrium. No one aiding her, for all were petrified. She sank back in her foetoya, breathing a weak trembling sigh. Louis could not endure the spectacle and the affront. He bounded towards D'Artagnan over whose brain a vertigo was stealing, and who staggered as he caught at the door for support. "'Amois muscataire,' said he, "'look us in the face, and say which is the paler, he or I.' This cry roused D'Artagnan, and stirred in his heart the fibers of obedience. He shook his head, and without more hesitation he walked straight up to Philippe, on whose shoulder he laid his hand, saying, "'Monsieur, you are my prisoner.'" Louis did not raise his eyes toward heaven, nor stir from the spot, where he seemed nailed to the floor, his eye intently fixed upon the king his brother. He reproached him with a sublime silence for all misfortunes past, all tortures to come. Against this language of the soul the king felt he had no power. He cast down his eyes, dragging away precipitately his brother and sister, forgetting his mother, sitting motionless within three paces of the sun, whom she left a second time to be condemned to death. Philippe approached Anne of Austria and said to her, in a soft and nobly agitated voice, "'If I were not your son, I should curse you, my mother, for having rendered me so unhappy.'" D'Artagnan felt a shudder pass through the marrow of his bones. He bowed respectfully to the young prince, and said as he bent, "'Excuse me, Monsignor, I am but a soldier, and my oaths are his, who has just left the chamber.' "'Thank you, M. D'Artagnan. What has become of M. de Blay?' "'M. de Blay is in safety, Monsignor,' said a voice behind them, "'And no one, while I live in him free, shall cause a hair to fall from his head.' "'M. Fouquette,' said the prince, smiling sadly. "'Pardon me, Monsignor,' said Fouquette kneeling. "'But he, who has just gone out from hence, was my guest. "'Here are,' murmured Philippe, with a sigh, "'brave friends and good hearts. They make me regret the world. On, M. de D'Artagnan, I follow you.' At the moment the captain of the musketeers was about to leave the room with his prisoner, Colbert appeared, and, after remitting an order from the king de D'Artagnan, retired. D'Artagnan read the paper, and then crushed it at his hand with rage. "'What is it?' asked the prince. "'Read, Monsignor,' replied the musketeer. Philippe read the following words hastily traced by the hand of the king. "'M. de D'Artagnan will conduct the prisoner to the île Saint Marguerite. He will cover his face with an iron visor, which the prisoner shall never raise except at peril of his life.' "'That is just,' said Philippe, with resignation. I am ready.' "'Aremus was right,' said Fouquet, in a low voice to the musketeer. "'This one is every wit as much a king as the other.' "'More so,' replied D'Artagnan. "'He wanted only you and me.' End of chapter. CHAPTER XXV This LibriVox recording is in the public domain, and is read by Mark Smith of Simpsonville, SC. THE MAN IN THE IRON MASK by Alexandre Dumas. CHAPTER XXV. IN WHICH PORTHOS THINKS HE IS PERSUING A DUTCHY. Aremus and Porthos, having profited by the time granted them by Fouquet, did honor to the French cavalry by their speed. Porthos did not clearly understand on what kind of mission he was forced to display so much velocity, but as he saw Aremus spurring on furiously, he, Porthos, spurred on in the same way. They had soon in this manner placed twelve leagues between them and Vaux. They were then obliged to change horses, and organize a sort of post-arrangement. It was during a relay that Porthos ventured to interrogate Aremus discreetly. Hush, replied the latter, know only that our fortune depends on our speed. As if Porthos had still been the musketeer without a sue or a maya of 1626, he pushed forward. That magic word, fortune, always means something in the human ear. It means enough for those who have nothing. It means too much for those who have enough. I shall be made a duke, said Porthos aloud. He was speaking to himself. That is possible, replied Aremus, smiling after his own fashion, as Porthos' horse passed him. Aremus felt notwithstanding as though his brain were on fire. The activity of the body had not yet succeeded in subduing that of the mind. All there is of raging passion, mental toothache or mortal threat, raged, gnawed and grumbled in the thoughts of the unhappy prelate. His countenance exhibited visible traces of this rude combat. Free on the highway to abandon himself to every impression of the moment, Aremus did not fail to swear at every start of his horse, at every inequality in the road. Pale, at times inundated with boiling sweats, then again dry and icy. He flogged his horses till the blood streamed from their sides. Porthos, whose dominant fault was not sensibility, groaned at this. Thus traveled they on for eight long hours, and then arrived at Orléans. It was four in the afternoon. Aremus, on observing this, judged that nothing showed pursuit to be a possibility. It would be without example that a troop capable of taking him and Porthos should be furnished with relays sufficient to perform forty leagues in eight hours. Thus admitting pursuit, which was not at all manifest, the fugitives were five hours in advance of their pursuers. Aremus thought that there might be no imprudence in taking a little rest, but that to continue would make the matter more certain. Twenty leagues more, performed with the same rapidity, twenty more leagues devoured, and no one, not even D'Artagnan, could overtake the enemies of the king. Aremus felt obliged, therefore, to inflict upon Porthos the pain of mounting on horseback again. They rode on till seven o'clock in the evening, and had only one more post more between them and Blois. But here a diabolical accident alarmed Aremus greatly. There were no horses at the post. The prelude asked himself by what infertile machinations his enemies had succeeded in depriving him of the means of going further. He who never recognized chance as a deity, who found a cause for every accident, preferred believing that the refusal of the postmaster at such an hour in such a country was the consequence of an order emanating from above, an order given with a view of stopping short the king-maker in the midst of his flight. But at the moment he was about to fly into a passion so as to procure either a horse or an explanation, he was struck with a recollection that the Comp de la Faire lived in the neighborhood. I am not travelling, said he. I do not want horses for a whole stage. Find me two horses to go and pay a visit to a nobleman of my acquaintance who resides near this place. What nobleman? asked the postmaster. Monsieur le Comp de la Faire. Oh! replied the postmaster, uncovering with respect, a very worthy nobleman. But whatever may be my desire to make myself agreeable to him, I cannot furnish you with horses, for all mine are engaged by Monsieur le Duc de Beaufort. Indeed! said Hermes, much disappointed. Only, continued the postmaster, if you will put up with a little carriage I have, I will harness an old blind horse who has still his legs left, and peraventure will draw you to the house of Monsieur le Comp de la Faire. It is worth the Louis, said Hermes. No, Monsieur, such a ride is worth no more than a crown. That is what Monsieur Grimoire, the comp's intended, always pays me when he makes use of that carriage. And I should not wish the Comp de la Faire to have to reproach me with having imposed on one of his friends. As you please, said Hermes, particularly as regards disobliging the Comp de la Faire, only I think I have a right to give you a Louis for your idea. Oh, doubtless! replied the postmaster with delight, and he himself harnessed the ancient horse to the creaking carriage. In the meantime, Porthos was curious to behold. He imagined he had discovered a clue to the secret, and he felt pleased, because a visit to Athos in the first place promised him much satisfaction, and, in the next, gave him the hope of finding at the same time a good bed and good supper. The master, having got the carriage ready, ordered one of his men to drive the stages to la Faire. Porthos took his seat by the side of Hermes, whispering in his ear, I understand. Aha! said Hermes, and what do you understand, my friend? We are going on the part of the king to make some great proposal to Athos. Poo! said Hermes. You need tell me nothing about it! added the worthy Porthos, endeavouring to recede himself so as to avoid the jolting. You need tell me nothing. I shall guess. Well, do, my friend, guess away! They arrived at Athos's dwelling about nine o'clock in the evening, favoured by a splendid moon. This cheerful light rejoiced Porthos beyond expression, but Hermes appeared annoyed by it to an equal degree. He could not help showing something of this to Porthos, who replied, I, I, I guess how it is? The mission is a secret one! Those were his last words in the carriage. The driver interrupted him by saying, Gentlemen, we have arrived! Porthos and his companion alighted before the gate of the little chateau, where we are about to meet again our old acquaintances Athos and Bragelon, the latter of whom had disappeared since the discovery of the infidelity of La Valière. If there be one saying, truer than another, it is this. Great griefs contain within themselves the germ of consolation. This painful wound, inflicted upon Raoul, had drawn him nearer to his father again, and God knows how sweet were the consolations which flowed from the eloquent mouth and generous heart of Athos. The wound was not psychotrised, but Athos, by dint of conversing with his son and mixing a little more of his life with that of the young man, had brought him to understand that this pang of a first infidelity is necessary to every human existence, and that no one has loved without encountering it. Raoul listened again and again, but never understood. Nothing replaces in the deeply afflicted heart the remembrance and thought of the beloved object. Raoul then replied to the reasoning of his father, Monsieur, all that you tell me is true. I believe that no one has suffered in the affections of the heart so much as you have. But you are a man too great by reason of intelligence, and too severely tried by adverse fortune not to allow for the weakness of the soldier who suffers for the first time. I am paying a tribute that will not be paid a second time. Permit me to plunge myself so deeply in my grief that I may forget myself in it, that I may drown even my reason in it. Raoul! Raoul! Listen, Monsieur, never shall I accustom myself to the idea that Louis, the chastis and most innocent of women, has been able to so basely deceive a man so honest and so true a lover as myself. Never can I persuade myself that I see that sweet and noble mask change into a hypocritical, lascivious face. Louis lost! Louis infamous! Ah! Monsignor, that idea is much more cruel to me than Raoul abandoned! Raoul unhappy! Athos then employed the heroic remedy. He defended Louis against Raoul and justified her perfidy by her love. A woman who would have yielded to a king because he is a king, said he, would desire to be styled infamous, but Louis loves Louis. Young, both, they have forgotten. He his rank, she her vows. Love absolves everything, Raoul. The two young people love each other with sincerity. And when he had dealt the severe poignant thrust, Athos, with a sigh, saw Raoul bound away beneath the rankling wound and fly to the thickest recesses of the wood, or the solitude of his chamber, whence an hour after he would return pale, trembling, but subdued. Then, coming up to Athos with a smile, he would kiss his hand like the dog who, having been beaten, caresses a respected master to redeem his fault. Raoul redeemed nothing but his weakness, and only confessed his grief. Thus passed away the days that followed that scene in which Athos had so violently shaken the indomitable pride of the king. Never, when conversing with his son, did he make any allusion to that scene, never did he give him the details of that vigorous lecture which might perhaps have consoled the young man by showing him his rival humbled. Athos did not wish that the offended lover should forget the respect due to his king. And when Brajalon, ardent, angry, and melancholy, spoke with contempt of royal words, of the equivocal faith which certain madmen drew from promises that emanate from thrones, when, passing over two centuries, with that rapidity of a bird that traverses a narrow strait to go from one continent to the other, Raoul ventured to predict the time in which kings would be esteemed as less than other men. Athos said to him, in his serene persuasive voice, You are right, Raoul, all that you say will happen. Kings will lose their privileges. As stars which have survived their eons lose their splendor. But when that moment comes, Raoul, we shall be dead. And remember well what I say to you. In this world all men, women and kings, must live for the present. We can only live for the future, for God. This was the manner in which Athos and Raoul were as usual conversing and walking backwards and forwards in the long alley of limes in the park, when the bell which served to announce to the compt either the hour of dinner or the arrival of a visitor was rung. And without attaching any importance to it, he turned towards the house with his son, and at the end of the alley they found themselves in the presence of Aramis and Porthos. CHAPTER XXVI The man in the iron mask by Alexander Dumas. CHAPTER XXVI. THE LAST DEAD YOU. Raoul uttered a cry, and affectionately embraced Porthos. Aramis and Athos embraced like old men, and this embraced itself being a question for Aramis, he immediately said, My friend, we have not long to remain with you. Ah! said the compt. Only time to tell you of my good fortune! interrupted Porthos. Ah! said Raoul. Athos looked silently at Aramis, whose somber air had already appeared to him very little in harmony, with the good news Porthos hinted. What is the good fortune that has happened to you? Let us hear it. said Raoul with a smile. The king has made me a duke! said the worthy Porthos, with an air of mystery in the ear of the young man. A duke by Brevet! But the assides of Porthos were always loud enough to be heard by everybody. His murmurs were in the diapason of ordinary roaring. Athos heard him, and uttered an exclamation which made Aramis start. The latter took Aramis by the arm, and after having asked Porthos his permission to say a word to his friend in private, my dear Athos, he began, you see me overwhelmed with grief and trouble. What grief and trouble, my dear friend! cried the compt. Oh! what! In two words, I have conspired against the king. That conspiracy has failed, and at this moment I am doubtless pursued. You are pursued! A conspiracy! Hey! My friend, what do you tell me? The saddest truth. I am entirely ruined. Well, but Porthos, this title of duke, what does all that mean? That is the subject of my severest pain. That is the deepest of my wounds. I have, believing in infallible success, drawn Porthos into my conspiracy. He threw himself into it, as you know he would do, with all his strength, without knowing what he was about, and now he is as much compromised as myself, as completely ruined as I am. Good God! An Athos turned toward Porthos, who was smiling complacently. I must make you acquainted with the whole. Listen to me. Continued Aramis, and he related the history as we know it. Porthos, during the recital, several times felt the sweat break from his forehead. It was a great idea, said he, but a great error, for which I am punished, Athos. Therefore I will not tell you my entire thought. Tell it nevertheless. It is a crime. A capital crime, I know it is, les majestes. Porthos! Poor Porthos! What would you advise me to do? Success, as I have told you, was certain. Monsieur Fouquet is an honest man. And I a fool for having so ill judged him, said Aramis. Oh, the wisdom of man! Oh, millstone that grinds the world, and which is one day stopped by a grain of sand which has fallen, no one knows how, between its wheels. Say by a diamond, Aramis, but the thing is done. How do you think of acting? I am taking away Porthos. The king will never believe that that worthy man has acted innocently. He never can believe that Porthos has thought he was serving the king, whilst acting as he has done. His head would pay my fault. It shall not, must not, be so. You are taking him away wither. To Belial at first, that is an impregnable place of refuge. Then I have the sea, and a vessel to pass over into England, where I have many relations. You in England? Yes, or else in Spain, where I have still more. But, our excellent Porthos, you ruin him, for the king will confiscate all his property. All is provided for. I know how, when once in Spain, to reconcile myself with Louis XIV, and restore Porthos to favour. You have credit, seemingly, Aramis, said Athos, with the discreet air. Much, and at the service of my friends. These words were accompanied by a warm pressure of the hand. Thank you," replied the compt. And while we are on this head, said Aramis, you also are a malcontent. You also, rural, have griefs to lay to the king. Follow our example. Pass over into Belial. Then we shall see, I guarantee upon my honour, that at a month there will be war between France and Spain on the subject of this son of Louis XIII, who is an infant likewise, and whom France detains inhumanly. Now, as Louis XIV would have no inclination for a war on that subject, I will answer for an arrangement, the result of which must bring greatness to Porthos and to me, and a duchy in France to you, who are already a grandee of Spain. Will you join us? No. For my part, I prefer having something to reproach the king with. It is a pride natural to my race to pretend to a superiority over royal races. Doing what you propose, I should become the obliged of the king. I should certainly be the gainer on that ground, but I should be a loser in my conscience. No, thank you. Then give me two things, Athos. Your absolution? Oh, I give it to you if you really wish to avenge the weak and oppressed against the oppressor. That is sufficient for me, said Aramis, with a blush which was lost in the obscurity of the night. And now, give me your two best horses to gain the second post, as I have been refused any under the pretext of the duke de Beaufort being travelling in this country. You shall have the two best horses, Aramis, and again I recommend poor Porthos strongly to your care. Oh, I have no fear on that score. One word more. Do you think I am manoeuvring for him as I ought? The evil being committed, yes, for the king would not pardon him, and you have whatever may be said, always a supporter in Monsieur Fouquette, who will not abandon you, he being himself compromised, notwithstanding his heroic action. You are right, and that is why, instead of gaining the sea at once, which would proclaim my fear and guilt, that is why I remain upon French ground. But Belial will be for me whatever ground I wish it to be, English, Spanish, or Roman. All will depend with me on the standard I shall think proper to unfurl. How so? It was I who fortified Belial, and so long as I defend it, nobody can take Belial from me. And then, as you have said just now, Monsieur Fouquette is there. Belial will not be attacked without the signature of Monsieur Fouquette. That is true. Nevertheless be prudent. The king is both cunning and strong. Eremus smiled. I again recommend Porthos to you, repeated the count with a sort of cold persistence. Whatever becomes of me, Count, replied Eremus in the same tone, our brother Porthos will fare as I do, or better. Athos bowed whilst pressing the hand of Eremus and turned to embrace Porthos with emotion. I was born lucky, was I not? murmured the latter, transported with happiness as he folded his cloak round him. Come, my dear friend, said Eremus. Raoul had gone out to give orders for the saddling of the horses. The group was already divided. Athos saw his two friends on the point of departure and something like a mist passed before his eyes and weighed upon his heart. It is strange, thought he, whence comes the inclination I feel to embrace Porthos once more? At that moment Porthos turned round and he came towards his old friend with open arms. This last endearment was tender, as in youth, as in times when hearts were warm, life-happy. And then Porthos mounted his horse. Eremus came back once more to throw his arms round the neck of Athos. The latter watched them along the high road, elongated by the shade in their white cloaks. Like phantoms they seemed to enlarge on their departure from the earth and it was not in the mist but in the declivity of the ground that they disappeared. At the end of the perspective both seemed to have given a spring with their feet which made them vanish as if evaporated into cloud-land. Then Athos, with a very heavy heart, returned towards the house, saying to Brajalon, Raul, I don't know what it is that has just told me that I have seen those two for the last time. It does not astonish me, monsieur, that you should have such a thought, replied the young man, for I have at this moment the same and think also that I shall never see Monsieur Duvalon and Derbley again. Oh, you, replied the Count, you speak like a man rendered sad by a different cause. You see everything in black, you are young, and if you chance never to see those old friends again, it will be because they no longer exist in the world in which you have yet so many years to pass, but I. Raul shook his head sadly and leaned upon the shoulder of the Count without either of them finding another word in their hearts which were ready to overflow. All at once a noise of horses and voices from the extremity of the road to Blois attracted their attention that way. Flambeau-bearers shook their torches merrily among the trees of their route and turned round from time to time to avoid distancing the horsemen who followed them. These flames, this noise, this dust of a dozen richly-comparisoned horses formed a strange contrast in the middle of the night with the melancholy and almost funeral disappearance of the two shadows of Aramis and Portos. Athos went towards the house, but he had hardly reached the parterre when the entrance gate appeared in a blaze. All the Flambeau stopped and appeared to inflame the road. A cry was heard of, Monsieur le Duc de Beaufort! And Athos sprang towards the door of his house, but the Duc had already alighted from his horse and was looking around him. I am here, Monsignor, said Athos. Ah, good evening, dear Count! Said the Prince with that frank cordiality which won him so many hearts. Is it too late for a friend? Ah, my dear Prince, come in! Said the Count. And, Monsieur de Beaufort, leaning on the arm of Athos, they entered the house, followed by Raoul, who walked respectfully and modestly among the officers of the Prince, with several of whom he was acquainted. End of chapter. Chapter 27 of The Man in the Iron Mask. This Lieber-Vox recording is in the public domain and is read by Mark Smith of Simpsonville, South Carolina. The Man in the Iron Mask. By Alexander Dumas. Chapter 27. Monsieur de Beaufort. The Prince turned round at the moment when Raoul, in order to leave him alone with Athos, was shutting the door and preparing to go with the other officers into an adjoining apartment. Is that the young man I have heard Monsieur le Prince speak so highly of? Asked Monsieur de Beaufort. It is, Monsignor. He is quite the soldier. Let him stay count. We cannot spare him. Remain, Raoul, since Monsignor permits it, said Athos. Muff, wha, he is tall and handsome, continued the Duke. Will you give him to me, Monsignor, if I ask him of you? How am I to understand you, Monsignor? Said Athos. Why, I call upon you to bid you farewell. Farewell? Yes, in good truth. Have you no idea of what I am about to become? Why, I suppose, what you have always been, Monsignor, a valiant prince and an excellent gentleman. I am going to become an African prince, a Bedouin gentleman. The King is sending me to make conquests among the Arabs. What is this you tell me, Monsignor? Strange is it not. I, the Parisian par essence, I who have reigned in the Foubourg and have been called King of the Hall, I am going to pass from the Place Maubert to the minarets of Jigeli. From a frondeur I am becoming an adventurer. Oh, Monsignor, if you did not yourself tell me that, it would not be credible, would it? Believe me, nevertheless, and we have but to bid each other farewell. This is what comes of getting into favor again. Into favor? Yes, you smile. Ah, my dear Count, do you know why I have accepted this enterprise? Can you guess? Because your highness loves glory above everything. Oh, no, there is no glory in firing muskets at savages. I see no glory in that, for my part, and it is more probable that I shall there meet with something else. But I have wished, and still wish earnestly, my dear Count, that my life should have that last facet after all the whimsical exhibitions I have seen myself make during 50 years. For, in short, you must admit that it is sufficiently strange to be born the grandson of a king, to have made war against kings, to have been reckoned among the powers of the age, to have maintained my rank, to feel Henry IV within me, to be great admiral of France, and then to go and get killed at Gichelli among all those Turks, Saracens, and Moors. Mount Senior, you harp with strange persistence on that theme, said Athos in an agitated voice. How can you suppose it so brilliant a destiny will be extinguished in that remote and miserable scene? And can you believe, upright and simple as you are, that if I go into Africa for this ridiculous motive, I will not endeavor to come out of it without ridicule? Shall I not give the world cause to speak of me? And to be spoken of, nowadays, when there are Monsieur le Prince, Monsieur de Turin, and many others, my contemporaries. I, admiral of France, grandson of Henry IV, King of Paris, have I anything left but to get myself killed? Cordier, I will be talked of, I tell you, I shall be killed whether or not, if not there, somewhere else. Why, Mount Senior, this is mere exaggeration, and hitherto you have shown nothing exaggerated, save him bravery. Pest, my dear friend, there is bravery in facing scurvy, dicitory, locus, poison arrows, as my ancestor St. Louis did. Do you know those fellows still use poisoned arrows? And then, you know me of old, I fancy, and you know that when I once make up my mind to a thing, I perform it in grim earnest. Yes, you made up your mind to escape from Vincent. I, but you aided me in that, my master, and, upper-paw, I turn this way and that without seeing my old friend, Monsieur Vogue Grimaud. How is he? Monsieur Vogue Grimaud is still your Highness's most respectful servant, said Arthur's smiling. I have a hundred pistolets here for him, which I bring as a legacy. My will is made, count. Ah, Mount Senior, Mount Senior, and you may understand that if Grimaud's name were to appear in my will, the Duke began to laugh, then addressing Raoul, who from the commencement of this conversation had sunk into a profound reverie. Young man, said he. I know there is to be found here a certain devrouveré wine, and I believe Raoul left the room precipitately to order the wine. In the meantime, Monsieur de Beaufort took the hand of Athos. What do you mean to do with him? Asked he. Nothing at present, Mount Senior. Ah, yes, I know, since the Passion of the King for Lavalierre. Yes, Mount Senior. That is all true, then, is it? I think I know her, that little Lavalierre. She is not particularly handsome, if I remember right. No, Mount Senior, said Athos. Do you know whom she reminds me of? Does she remind your highness of any one? She reminds me of a very agreeable girl whose mother lived in the hall. Ah, ha, said Athos, smiling. Oh, the good old times, added Monsieur de Beaufort. Yes, Lavalierre reminds me of that girl, who had a son, had she not? Footnote. It is possible that the preceding conversation is an obscure allegorical allusion to the frond, or perhaps an intimation that the duke was the father of Mordeaux from twenty years after, but a definite interpretation still eludes modern scholars. End of footnote. I believe she had, replied the duke with careless naivete and a complacent forgetfulness of which no words could translate the tone and the vocal expression. Now, here is poor Raoul, who is your son, I believe. Yes, he is my son, Mount Senior. And the poor lad has been cut out by the king, Ady Fretz. Still better, Mount Senior, he abstains. You are going to let the boy rust in idleness. It is a mistake. Come, give him to me. My wish is to keep him at home, Mount Senior. I have no longer anything in the world but him, and as long as he likes to remain. Well, well, replied the duke. I could, nevertheless, have soon put matters to rights again. I assure you, I think he has in him the stuff of which Marichales of France are made. I have seen more than one produced from less likely rough material. That is very possible, Mount Senior, but it is the king who makes Marichales of France, and Raoul will never accept anything of the king. Raoul interrupted this conversation by his return. He preceded Grimaud, who still steady hands carried the plateau with one glass and a bottle of the duke's favorite wine. On seeing his old protégé, the duke uttered an exclamation of pleasure. Grimaud! Good evening, Grimaud! Said he, how goes it? The servant bowed profoundly as much gratified as his noble interlocutor. Two old friends, said the duke, shaking honest Grimaud's shoulder after a vigorous fashion, which was followed by another still more profound and delighted bow from Grimaud. But what is this count, only one glass? I should not think of drinking with your highness unless your highness permitted me, replied Athos with noble humility. Cordier, you were right to bring only one glass. We will both drink out of it, like two brothers in arms. Begin, count. Do me the honor, said Athos, gently putting back the glass. You are a charming friend, replied the duke de Beaufort, who drank and passed the goblet to his companion. But that is not all, continued he. I am still thirsty, and I wish to do honor to this handsome young man who stands here. I carry good luck with me, Vicompt, said he to Raoul. Wish for something while drinking out of my glass, and may the black plague grab me if what you wish does not come to pass. He held the goblet to Raoul, who hastily moistened his lips, and replied with the same promptitude, I have wished for something, Monsignor. His eyes sparkled with a gloomy fire, and the blood mounted to his cheeks. He terrified Athos, if only with his smile. And what have you wished for? replied the duke, sinking back into his foetoya, whilst with one hand he returned the bottle to Grimaud, and with the other gave him a purse. Will you promise me, Monsignor, to grant me what I wish for? Par, dear, that is agreed upon. I wished, Monsieur Le Duc, to go with you to Giselle. Athos became pale, and was unable to conceal his agitation. The duke looked at his friend as if desirous to assist him to parry this unexpected blow. That is difficult, my dear Viscount, very difficult, added he in a lower tone of voice. Pardon me, Monsignor, I have been indiscreet, replied Raoul in a firm voice, but as you yourself invited me to wish. To wish to leave me, said Athos. Oh, Monsieur, can you imagine? Well, Maudier, cried the duke. The young Viscount is right. What can he do here? He will go moldy with grief. Raoul blushed, and the excitable prince continued, war is a distraction. We gain everything by it. We can only lose one thing by it, life. Then, so much the worse. That is to say, memory, said Raoul eagerly, and that is to say, so much the better. He repented of having spoken so warmly when he saw Athos rise and open the window, which was doubtless to conceal his emotion. Raoul sprang towards the compt, but the latter had already overcome his emotion and turned to the lights with a serene and impassable countenance. Well, come, said the duke, let us see. Shall he go, or shall he not? If he goes, compt, he shall be my edde de camp, my son. Monsignor, cried Raoul, bending his knee. Monsignor, cried Athos, taking the hand of the duke. Raoul shall do just as he likes. Oh, no, monsieur, just as you like, interrupted the young man. Parla cor bleu, said the prince in his turn. It is neither the compt nor the Viscount that shall have his way. It is I. I will take him away. The marine offers a superb fortune, my friend. Raoul smiled again so sadly that this time Athos felt his heart penetrated by it and replied to him by a severe look. Raoul comprehended it all. He recovered his calmness and was so guarded that not another word escaped him. The duke at length rose on observing the advanced hour and said with animation, I am in great haste, but if I am told I have lost time in talking with a friend, I will reply I have gained, on the balance, a most excellent recruit. Pardon me, monsieur le duke, interrupted Raoul. Do not tell the king so, for it is not the king I wish to serve. Eh, my friend, whom then will you serve? The times are past when you might have said, I belong to monsieur de Beaufort. No, nowadays we all belong to the king, great or small. Therefore, if you serve on board my vessels, there can be nothing equivocal about it, my dear V. Compte. It will be the king you will serve. Athos waited with a kind of impatient joy for the reply about to be made to this embarrassing question by Raoul, the intractable enemy of the king, his rival. The father hoped that the obstacle would overcome the desire. He was thankful to monsieur de Beaufort, whose lightness or generous reflection had thrown an impediment in the way of the departure of a son, now his only joy. But Raoul, still firm and tranquil, replied, monsieur le duke, the objection you make, I have already considered in my mind. I will serve on board your vessels because you do me the honor to take me with you. But I shall there serve a more powerful master than the king. I shall serve God. God, how so? said the duke and Athos together. My intention is to make profession and become a knight of Malta. Added Brajalon, letting fall one by one, words more icy than the drops which fall from the bare trees after the tempests of winter. Footnote. The dictates of such a service would require Raoul to spend the rest of his life outside of France, hence Athos' and Grimaud's extreme reactions. And a footnote. Under this blow, Athos staggered and the prince himself was moved. Grimaud uttered a heavy groan and let fall the bottle, which was broken without anybody paying attention. Monsieur de Beaufort looked the young man in the face and read plainly, though his eyes were cast down, the fire of resolution before which everything must give way. As to Athos, he was too well acquainted with that tender but inflexible soul. He could not hope to make it deviate from the fatal road it had just chosen. He could only press the hand the duke held out to him. Conte, I shall set off in two days for Toulon, said Monsieur de Beaufort. Will you meet me at Paris in order that I may know your determination? I will have the honor of thanking you there, Mont-Prince, for all your kindness, replied the compt. And be sure to bring the V compt with you, whether he follows me or does not follow me, added the duke. He has my word and I only ask yours. Having thrown a little balm upon the wound of the paternal heart, he pulled the ear of Grimaud, whose eyes sparkled more than usual, and regained his escort in the parterre. The horses, rested and refreshed, set off with spirit through the lovely night, and soon placed a considerable distance between their master and the chateau. Athos and Brajolon were again face to face. Eleven o'clock was striking. The father and son preserved a profound silence towards each other, where an intelligent observer would have expected cries and tears. But these two men were of such a nature that all emotion following their final resolutions plunged itself so deep into their hearts that it was lost for ever. They passed then, silently and almost breathlessly, the hour that preceded midnight. The clock, by striking, alone pointed out to them how many minutes had lasted the painful journey made by their souls and the immensity of their remembrances of the past and fear of the future. Athos rose first, saying, "'It is late then, till to-morrow.'" Rahu rose, and in his turn embraced his father. The latter held him clasped to his breast and said, in a tremulous voice, "'In two days, you will have left me, my son. "'Left me forever, Rahu.' "'Monsieur,' replied the young man, "'I had formed a determination "'that of piercing my heart with my sword. "'But you would have thought that cowardly. "'I have renounced that determination, "'and therefore we must part.' "'You leave me desolate by going, Rahu. "'Listen to me again, monsieur, I implore you. "'If I do not go, I shall die here of grief and love. "'I know how long a time I have to live thus. "'Send me away quickly, monsieur, "'or you will see me basely die before your eyes, "'in your house. "'This is stronger than my will, stronger than my strength. "'You may plainly see that within one month "'I have lived thirty years, "'and that I approached the end of my life.' "'Then,' said Athos coldly, "'you go with the intention of getting killed in Africa? "'Oh, tell me, do not lie.' Rahu grew deadly pale, and remained silent for two seconds, which were to his father two hours of agony. Then, all at once, "'Monsieur,' said he, "'I have promised to devote myself to God. "'In exchange for the sacrifice I make of my youth "'and liberty, I will only ask of him one thing, "'and that is, to preserve me for you, "'because you are the only tie which attaches me to this world. "'God alone can give me the strength "'not to forget that I owe you everything, "'and that nothing ought to stand in my esteem before you.' Athos embraced his son tenderly and said, "'You have just replied to me "'on the word of honor of an honest man. "'In two days we shall be with Monsieur de Beaufort at Paris, "'and you will then do what will be proper for you to do. "'You are free, Rahu.' "'I do.' And he slowly gained his bedroom. Rahu went down into the garden and passed the night in the alley of Limes." End of chapter. Chapter 28 of The Man in the Iron Mask This LibriVox recording is in the public domain and is read by Mark Smith of Simpsonville, South Carolina. The Man in the Iron Mask by Alexandre Dumas. Chapter 28 Preparations for Departure Athos lost no more time in combating this immutable resolution. He gave all his attention to preparing during the two days the Duke had granted him the proper appointments for Rahu. This labor chiefly concerned Grimaud, who immediately applied himself to it with the goodwill and intelligence we know he possessed. Athos gave this worthy servant orders to take the route to Paris when the equipments should be ready, and not to expose himself to the danger of keeping the Duke waiting or delaying Rahu so that the Duke should perceive his absence. He himself, the day after the visit of Monsieur de Beaufort, set off for Paris with his son. For the poor young man it was an emotion easily to be understood, thus to return to Paris amongst all the people who had known and loved him. Every face recalled a pang to him who had suffered so much, to him who had loved so much, some circumstance of his unhappy love. Rahu, on approaching Paris, felt as if he were dying. Once in Paris he really existed no longer. When he reached Guiche's residence he was informed that Guiche was with Monsieur. Rahu took the road to the Luxembourg, and when arrived, without suspecting that he was going to the place where Lavallier had lived. He heard so much music and respired so many perfumes. He heard so much joyous laughter and saw so many dancing shadows that if it had not been for a charitable woman who perceived him so dejected and pale beneath the doorway, he would have remained there a few minutes and then would have gone away, never to return. But, as we have said, in the first antechamber he had stopped, solely for the sake of not mixing himself with all those happy beings, he felt were moving around him in the adjacent salons. And as one of Monsieur's servants, recognizing him, had asked him if he wished to see Monsieur or Madame, Rahu had scarcely answered him, but had sunk down upon a bench near the velvet doorway, looking at a clock which had stopped for nearly an hour. The servant had passed on, and another, better acquainted with him, had come up and interrogated Rahu whether he should inform Monsieur de Guiche of his being there. This name did not even arouse the recollections of Rahu. The persistent servant went on to relate that de Guiche had just invented a new game of lottery and was teaching it to the ladies. Rahu, opening his large eyes, like the absent man in Theophrastus, made no answer, but his sadness increased two shades. With his head hanging down, his limbs relaxed, his mouth half open for the escape of his sighs. Rahu remained thus forgotten in the antechamber when all at once a lady's robe passed, rubbing against the doors of a side salon, which opened on the gallery. A lady, young, pretty and gay, scolding an officer of the household, entered by that way and expressed herself with much vivacity. The officer replied in calm but firm sentences. It was rather a little love-pet than a quarrel of courtiers and was terminated by a kiss on the fingers of the lady. Suddenly, on perceiving Rahu, the lady became silent and pushing away the officer. Make your escape, Malicorn, said she. I did not think there was anyone here. I shall curse you if they have either heard or seen us. Malicorn hastened away. The young lady advanced behind Rahu and stretching her joyous face over him as he lay. Monsieur is a gallant man, she said she, and no doubt. She here interrupted herself by uttering a cry. Rahu said she, blushing. Madame Moselle de Montelet, said Rahu, paler than death. He rose unsteadily and tried to make his way across the slippery mosaic of the floor, but she had comprehended that savage and cruel grief. She felt that in the flight of Rahu there was an accusation of herself. A woman, ever vigilant, she did not think she ought to let the opportunity slip of making good her justification. But Rahu, though stopped by her in the middle of the gallery, did not seem disposed to surrender without a combat. He took it up in a tone so cold and embarrassed that if they had been thus surprised, the whole court would have no doubt about the proceedings of Madame Moselle de Montelet. Ah, Monsieur, said she with disdain. What you are doing is very unworthy of a gentleman. My heart inclines me to speak to you. You compromise me by a reception almost uncivil. You are wrong, Monsieur, and you confound your friends with enemies. Farewell. Rahu had sworn never to speak of Louise, never even to look at those who might have seen Louise. He was going into another world that he might never meet with anything Louise had seen or even touched. But after the first shock of his pride, after having had a glimpse of Montelet, the companion of Louise, Montelet, who reminded him of the tour de Blois and the joys of youth, all his reason faded away. Pardon me, Madame Moselle. It enters not. It cannot enter into my thoughts to be uncivil. Do you wish to speak to me? Said she with a smile of former days. Well, come somewhere else, or we may be surprised. Oh, said he. She looked at the clock, doubtingly then having reflected. In my apartment, said she, we shall have an hour to ourselves. And, taking her course, lighter than a ferry, she ran up to her chamber, followed by Raoul, shutting the door and placing in the hands of her comariste, the mantle she held upon her arm. You were seeking Monsieur de Guiche, were you not? Said she to Raoul. Yes, Madame Moselle. I will go and ask him to come up here, presently, after I have spoken to you. Do so, Madame Moselle. Are you angry with me? Raoul looked at her for a moment, then casting down his eyes. Yes, said he. You think I was concerned in the plot which brought about the rupture, do you not? Rupture, said he with bitterness. Oh, Madame Moselle, there can be no rupture where there has been no love. You are in error, replied Montelet. Louise did love you. Raoul started. Not with love, I know, but she liked you, and you ought to have married her before you set out for London. Raoul broke into a sinister laugh which made Montelet shudder. You tell me that very much at your ease, Madame Moselle. Do people marry whom they like? You forget that the king then kept for himself as his mistress, her of whom we are speaking. Listen, said the young woman, pressing the hands of Raoul in her own. You were wrong in every way. A man of your age ought never to leave a woman of hers alone. There is no longer any faith in the world, then, said Raoul. No, v'compt, said Montelet quietly. Nevertheless, let me tell you that if, instead of loving Louise coldly and philosophically, you had endeavored to awaken her to love. Enough, I pray you, Madame Moselle, said Raoul. I feel as though you were all of both sexes of a different age from me. You can laugh, and you can banter agreeably. I, Madame Moselle, I loved Madame Moselle to, Raoul could not pronounce her name. I loved her well. I put my faith in her. Now I am quits by loving her no longer. Oh, v'compt, said Montelet, pointing to his reflection in a looking glass. I know what you mean, Madame Moselle. I am much altered. Am I not? Well, do you know why? Because my face is the mirror of my heart. The outer surface change to match the mind within. You are consoled, then? Said Montelet sharply. No, I shall never be consoled. I don't understand you, Monsieur de Brajolon. I care but little for that. I do not quite understand myself. You have not even tried to speak to Louise? Who, I? exclaimed the young man with eyes flashing fire. I, why do you not advise me to marry her? Perhaps the king would consent now. And he rose from his chair full of anger. I see, said Montelet, that you are not cured and that Louise has one enemy the more. One enemy the more? Yes, favorites are but little loved at the court of France. Oh, while she has her lover to protect her, is not that enough? She has chosen him of such a quality that her enemies cannot prevail against her. But stopping all at once. And then she has you for a friend, Madame Moselle. Added he with a shade of irony which did not glide off the queer ass. Who, I? Oh, no, I am no longer one of those whom Madame Moselle de la Valière condescends to look upon, but this but, so big with menace and with storm, this but, which made the heart of Raoul beat, such griefs did it presage for her, whom lately he loves so dearly. This terrible but, so significant in a woman like Montelet, was interrupted by a moderately loud noise heard by the speakers, proceeding from the alcove behind the wainscoting. Montelet turned to listen, and Raoul was already rising when a lady entered the room quietly by the secret door which she closed after her. Madame, exclaimed Raoul on recognizing the sister-in-law of the king. Stupid wretch, murmured Montelet, throwing herself but too late before the princess. I have been mistaken in an hour. She had, however, time to warn the princess who was walking towards Raoul. Monsieur de Brajolon, Madame, and at these words the princess drew back, uttering a cry in her turn. Your royal highness, said Montelet, with volubility, is kind enough to think of this lottery and the princess began to lose countenance. Raoul hastened his departure without dividing all, but he felt that he was in the way. Madame was preparing a word of transition to recover herself when a closet open in front of the alcove and Monsieur de Guiche issued all radiant also from that closet. The palest of the four, we must admit, was still Raoul. The princess, however, was near fainting and was obliged to lean upon the foot of the bed for support. No one ventured to support her. This scene occupied several minutes of terrible suspense, but Raoul broke it. He went up to the count, whose inexpressible emotion made his knees tremble and taking his hand. Dear Count, said he, tell Madame I am too unhappy not to merit pardon. Tell her also that I have loved in the course of my life and that the horror of the treachery that has been practised on me renders me inexorable towards all other treachery that may be committed around me. This is why, Madame Waselle, said he, smiling to Montelet, I never would divulge the secret of the visits of my friend to your apartment. Obtained from Madame, from Madame, who is so clement and so generous, obtain her pardon for you whom she has just surprised also. You are both free, love each other, be happy. The Princess felt for a moment of despair that cannot be described. It was repugnant to her, notwithstanding the exquisite delicacy which Raoul had exhibited, to feel herself at the mercy of one who had discovered such an indiscretion. It was equally repugnant to her to accept the evasion offered by this delicate deception. Agitated, nervous, she struggled against the double stings of these two troubles. Raoul comprehended her position and came once more to her aid, bending his knee before her. Madame, said he in a low voice, in two days I shall be far from Paris. In a fortnight I shall be far from France where I shall never be seen again. Are you going away then? said she with great delight. With Monsieur de Beaufort. Into Africa! cried Deguish in his turn. You, Raoul, oh, my friend, into Africa where everybody dies. And forgetting everything, forgetting that that forgetfulness itself compromised the Princess more eloquently than his presence. In great, said he, and you have not even consulted me. And he embraced him, during which time Montelet had led away Madame and disappeared herself. Raoul passed his hand over his brow and said with a smile, I have been dreaming. Then warmly to Deguish, who by degrees absorbed him. My friend, said he, I conceal nothing from you who are the elected of my heart. I am going to seek death in yonder country. Your secret will not remain in my breast more than a year. Ah, Raoul, a man! Do you know what is my thought count? This is it. I shall live more vividly, being buried beneath the earth, than I have lived for this month past. We are Christians, my friend, and if such sufferings were to continue, I would not be answerable for the safety of my soul. Deguish was anxious to raise objections. Not one word more on my account, said Raoul. But advice to you, dear friend, what I am going to say to you is of much greater importance. What is that? Without doubt, you risk much more than I do, because you love. Ah, it is a joy so sweet to me to be able to speak to you thus. Well then, Deguish, beware of Montelet. What of that kind friend? She was the friend of her you know of. She ruined her by pride. You are mistaken. And now, when she has ruined her, she would ravish from her the only thing that renders that woman excusable in my eyes. What is that? Her love. What do you mean by that? I mean that there is a platformed against her who is the mistress of the king, a platformed in the very house of Madame. Can you think so? I am certain of it. By Montelet? Take her as the least dangerous of the enemies I dread for, the other. Explain yourself clearly, my friend, and if I can understand you in two words, Madame has been long jealous of the king. I know she has. Oh, fear nothing. You are beloved. You are beloved, Count. Do you feel the value of these three words? They signify that you can raise your head, that you can sleep tranquilly, that you can thank God every minute of your life. You are beloved. That signifies that you may hear everything, even the counsel of a friend who wishes to preserve your happiness. You are beloved, Degish. You are beloved. You do not endure these atrocious nights, those nights without end, which, with arid eye and fainting heart, others pass through who are destined to die. You will live long, if you act like the miser who, bit by bit, crumb by crumb, collects and heaps up diamonds and gold. You are beloved. Allow me to tell you what you must do, that you may be beloved forever. Degish contemplated for some time this unfortunate young man, half mad with despair, till there passed through his heart something like remorse at his own happiness. Raul suppressed his feverish excitement to assume the voice and countenance of an impassable man. They will make her, whose name I should wish still to be able to pronounce. They will make her suffer. Swear to me that you will not second them in anything, but that you will defend her when possible, as I would have done myself. I swear I will, replied Degish. And, continued Raul, some day when you shall have rendered her a great service, some day when she shall thank you, promise me to say these words to her. I have done you this kindness, madame, at the warm request of Mr. de Brajalon, whom you so deeply injured. I swear I will, murmured Degish. That is all, adieu. I set out tomorrow or the day after for too long. If you have a few hours to spare, give them to me. All, all, cried the young man. Thank you. And what are you going to do now? I am going to meet Monsieur Le Compte at Plancher's residence, where we hope to find Monsieur D'Artagnan. Monsieur D'Artagnan? Yes, I wish to embrace him before my departure. He is a brave man who loves me dearly. Farewell, my friend. You are expected, no doubt. You will find me when you wish at the lodgings of the Compte. Farewell. The two young men embraced. Those who chanced to see them both thus would not have hesitated to say, pointing to Raoul. That is the happy man. End of chapter. Chapter 29 of The Man in the Iron Mask. This LibriVox recording is in the public domain and is read by Mark Smith of Simpsonville, South Carolina. The Man in the Iron Mask by Alexander Dumas. Chapter 29. Plancher's Inventory. Authos, during the visit made to the Luxembourg by Raoul, had gone to Plancher's residence to inquire after D'Artagnan. The Compte, on arriving at the Rue des Dombards, found the shop of the grocer in great confusion, but it was not the encumberment of a lucky sale, or that of an arrival of goods. Plancher was not enthroned, as usual, on sacks and barrels. No, a young man with a pen behind his ear, and another with an account book in his hand, were setting down a number of figures, whilst a third counted in Wade. An inventory was being taken. Authos, who had no knowledge of commercial matters, felt himself a little embarrassed by material obstacles and the majesty of those who were thus employed. He saw several customers sent away and asked himself whether he, who came to buy nothing, would not be more properly deemed importunate. He therefore asked very politely if he could see Monsieur Plancher. The reply, quite carelessly given, was that Monsieur Plancher was packing his trunks. These words surprised Authos. What, his trunks? Said he, is Monsieur Plancher going away? Yes, Monsieur, directly. Then, if you please, inform him that Monsieur Le Compte de l'affaire desires to speak to him for a moment. At the mention of the comp's name, one of the young men, no doubt accustomed to hear it, pronounced with respect, immediately went to inform Plancher. It was at this moment that Raoul, after his painful scene with Montelet and Deguiche, arrived at the grocer's house. Plancher left his job directly. He received the comp's message. Ah, Monsieur Le Compte, exclaimed he, how glad I am to see you. What good star brings you here? My dear Plancher, said Authos, pressing the hand of his son, who said, look, he silently observed, we are come to learn of you, but in what confusion do I find you? You are as white as a miller. Where have you been rummaging? Ha, diable, take care, Monsieur, don't come near me till I have well shaken myself. What for, flour or dust only whiten? No, no, what you see on my arms is arsenic. Arsenic? Yes, I am taking my precautions against rats. I, I suppose in an establishment like this, rats play a conspicuous part. It is not with this establishment I concern myself, Monsieur Le Compte. The rats have robbed me of more here than they will ever rob me of again. What do you mean? Why, you may have observed, Monsieur, my inventory is being taken. Are you leaving trade then? Hey, mon dear, yes, I have disposed of my business to one of my young men. Pa, you are rich then, I suppose. Monsieur, I have taken a dislike to the city. I don't know whether it is because I'm growing old, or as Monsieur D'Artagnan one day said, when we grow old we more often think of the adventures of our youth. But for some time past I have felt myself attracted towards the country and gardening. I was a countryman formerly, and Plancher marked this confession with a rather pretentious laugh for a man making profession of humility. Athas made a gesture of approval and then added, you are going to buy in a state then. I have bought one, Monsieur. Ah, that is still better. A little house at Fontainebleau, with something like 20 acres of land rounded. Very well, Plancher, accept my compliments on your acquisition. But Monsieur, we are not comfortable here. The cursed dust makes you cough, coupler. I do not wish to poison the most worthy gentleman in the kingdom. Athos did not smile at this little pleasantry which Plancher had aimed at him in order to try his strength in mundane facetiousness. Yes, said Athos, let us have a little talk by ourselves. In your own room, for example. You have a room, have you not? Certainly, Monsieur de Compte. Upstairs, perhaps. And Athos seemed Plancher a little embarrassed, wished to relieve him by going first. It is, but, said Plancher, hesitating. Athos was mistaken in the cause of this hesitation and attributing it to a fear the grocer might have of offering humble hospitality. Never mind, never mind, said he, still going up. The dwelling of a tradesman in this quarter is not expected to be a palace. Come on. Role nimbly preceded him and entered first. Two cries were heard simultaneously. We may say three. One of these cries dominated the others. It emanated from a woman. Another proceeded from the mouth of Raoul. It was an exclamation of surprise. He had no sooner uttered it than he shut the door sharply. The third was from fright. It came from Plancher. I ask your pardon, added he. Madame is dressing. Role had no doubt seen that what Plancher said was true, for he turned round to go downstairs again. Madame, said Athos. Oh, pardon me, Plancher. I did not know that you had upstairs. It is true, him, added Plancher, blushing a little. It is whoever you please, my good Plancher, but pardon my rudeness. No, no, go up now, gentlemen. We will do no such thing, said Athos. Oh, Madame, having noticed, has had time. No, Plancher, farewell. Hey, gentlemen, you would not disoblige me by thus standing on the staircase or by going away without having sat down. If we had known you had a lady upstairs, replied Athos with his customary coolness, we would have asked permission to pay our respects to her. Plancher was so disconcerted by this little extravagance that he forced the passage and himself opened the door to admit the compt and his son. Trucken was quite dressed, in the costume of the shopkeeper's wife, rich yet coquettish, German eyes attacking French eyes, she left the apartment after two courtesies and went down into the shop, but not without having listened at the door to know what Plancher's gentlemen visitors would say of her. Athos suspected that and therefore turned the conversation accordingly. Plancher, on his part, was burning to give explanations which Athos avoided. But, as certain tenacities are stronger than others, Athos was forced to hear Plancher recite his idols of felicity, translated into a language more chaste than that of longus. So Plancher related how Trucken had charmed the years of his advancing age and brought good luck to his business as Ruth did to Boaz. You want nothing now, then, but heirs to your property. If I had one he would have 300,000 livres, said Plancher. Huh! You must have one, then, said Athos, flematically. If only to prevent your little fortune being lost. This word, little fortune, placed Plancher in his rank, like the voice of the sergeant when Plancher was but a piqueur in the regiment of Piedmont in which Rochefort had placed him. Athos perceived that the grocer would marry Trucken and, in spite of fate, establish a family. This appeared the more evident to him when he learned that the young man to whom Plancher was selling the business was her cousin. Having heard all that was necessary of the happy prospects of the retiring grocer, what is Monsieur d'Artagnan about? Said he. He is not at the Louvre. Ah, Monsieur de Compte. Monsieur d'Artagnan has disappeared. Disappeared, said Athos in surprise. Oh, Monsieur, we know what that means. But I do not know. Whenever Monsieur d'Artagnan disappears, it is always for some mission or some great affair. Has he said anything to you about it? Never. You were acquainted with his departure for England formally. Were you not? On account of the speculation, said Plancher heedlessly. The speculation? I mean, interrupted Plancher, quite confused. Well, well, neither your affairs nor that of your master are in question. The interest we take in him alone has induced me to apply to you. Since the captain of the musketeers is not here, and as we cannot learn from you where we are likely to find Monsieur d'Artagnan, we will take our leave of you. Au revoir, Plancher. Au revoir. Let us be gone, Raoul. Monsieur de Compte, I wish I were able to tell you. Oh, not at all. I am not the man to reproach a servant with discretion. This word servant struck rudely on the ears of the demi-millionaire, Plancher, but natural respect and bonhomie prevailed over pride. There is nothing indiscreet in telling you, Monsieur de Compte. Monsieur d'Artagnan came here the other day. Aha! And remained several hours consulting a geographical chart. You are right, then, my friend. Say no more about it. And the chart there is a proof, added Plancher who went to fetch from the neighboring wall where it was suspended by a twist forming a triangle with a bar of the window to which it was fastened, the plan consulted by the captain on his last visit to Plancher. This plan, which he had brought to the Compte, was a map of France, upon which the practice eye of that gentleman discovered an itinerary marked out with small pins. Wherever a pin was missing, a hole denoted its having been there. Athos, by following with his eye the pins and holes, saw that D'Artagnan had taken the direction of the south and gone as far as the Mediterranean towards Toulon. It was near Cannes that the marks and the puncture places ceased. The Compte de la Faire puzzled his brains for some time to divine what the musketeer could be going to do at Cannes and what motive could have led him to examine the banks of the Vare. The reflection of Athos suggested nothing. His accustomed perspicacity was at fault. Raoul's researches were not more successful than his father's. Never mind, said the young man to the Compte, who silently and with his finger had made him understand the root of D'Artagnan. We must confess that there is a providence always occupied in connecting our destiny with that of Monsieur D'Artagnan. There he is on the coast of Cannes, and you, Monsieur, will at least conduct me as far as too long. Be assured that we shall meet with him more easily upon our route than on this map. Then, taking leave of Plancher, who was scolding his shopman, even the cousin of Trucan, his successor, the gentlemen set out to pay a visit to Monsieur de Beaufort. On leaving the grocer's shop, they saw a coach, the future depository of the charms of mademoiselle Trucan and Plancher's bags of crowns. Every one journeys toward happiness by the route he chooses, said Raoul in a melancholy tone. Road de Fontainebleau cried Plancher to his coachman. End of chapter.