 Chapter 91 of the D'Artagnan Romance's Volume 3, Part 1 by Alexander Dumas, translated by William Robson. This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Monsieur becomes jealous of the Duke of Buckingham. While the Compte l'Effet was proceeding on his way to Paris, accompanied by Raoul, Le Palais Royale was the theatre wherein a scene of what Molière would have called excellent comedy was being performed. Four days had elapsed since his marriage, and Monsieur, having breakfasted very hurriedly, passed into his anti-chamber frowning and out of temper. The repast had not been over-agreable. Madame had had breakfast served in her own apartment, and Monsieur had breakfasted almost alone. The Chevalier de la Reine and Manacamp were the only persons present at the meal which lasted three-quarters of an hour, without a single syllable having been uttered. Manacamp, who was less intimate with his royal highness than the Chevalier de la Reine, vainly endeavored to detect from the expression of the prince's face what had made him so ill-humoured. The Chevalier de la Reine, who had no occasion to speculate about anything in as much as he knew all, ate his breakfast with that extraordinary appetite which the troubles of one's friends but stimulates, and enjoyed at the same time both Monsieur's ill-humour and the vexation of Manacamp. He seemed delighted while he went on eating to detain the prince who was very impatient to move still at table. Monsieur at times repented the ascendancy which he had permitted the Chevalier de la Reine to acquire over him, and which exempted the latter from any observance of etiquette toward him. Monsieur was now in one of those moods, but he dreaded as much as he liked the Chevalier, and contented himself with nursing his anger without betraying it. Every now and then, Monsieur raised his eyes to the ceiling, then lowered them toward the slices of pâté, which the Chevalier was attacking, and finally, not caring to betray his resentment, he gesticulated in a manner which Harlequin might have envied. At last, however, Monsieur could control himself no longer, and at the dessert, rising from the table in excessive wrath as we have related, he left the Chevalier de la Reine to finish his breakfast as he pleased. Seeing Monsieur rise from the table, Manacamp, napkin and hand rose also. Monsieur ran rather than walked toward the anti-chamber where, noticing an usher in attendance, he gave him some directions in a low tone of voice. Then turning back again, but avoiding passing through the breakfast department, he crossed several rooms with the intention of seeking the Queen Mother in her oratory, where she usually remained. It was about ten o'clock in the morning, and of Austria he was engaged in writing as Monsieur entered. The Queen Mother was extremely attached to her son, for he was handsome in person and amiable in disposition. He was, in fact, more affectionate, and it might be more effeminate than the King. He pleased his mother by those trifling, sympathizing attentions all women are glad to receive, and of Austria, who would have been rejoiced to have had a daughter, almost found in this her favourite son the attention, solicitude and playful manners of a child of twelve years of age. All the time he passed with his mother he employed in admiring her arms, in giving his opinion upon her cosmetics and receipts for compounding essences in which she was very particular, and then, too, he kissed her hands and cheeks in the most childlike and endearing manner, and had always some sweet meets to offer her, or some new style of dress to recommend. And of Austria loved the King, or rather the regal power of her eldest son, Louis XIV, represented legitimacy by right divine. With the King her character was that of the Queen Mother. With Philip she was simply the Mother. The latter knew that, of all places of refuge, a mother's heart is the most compassionate and surest. When quite a child he always fled there for refuge when he and his brother quarrelled, often, after having struck him, which constituted the crime of high treason on his part, after certain engagements of hands and nails in which the King and his rebellious subject indulged in their night dresses respecting the right to a disputed bed. Having their servant Le Porte as umpire, Philip, conqueror but terrified at victory, used to flee to his mother to obtain reinforcements from her, or at least the assurance of forgiveness, which Louis XIV granted with difficulty and after an interval. And, from this habit of peaceable intervention, succeeded in arranging the disputes of her sons and in sharing at the same time all their secrets. The King, somewhat jealous of that maternal solicitude, which was bestowed particularly upon his brother, felt disposed to show toward Anne of Austria more submission and attachment than his character really dictated. Anne of Austria had adopted this line of conduct especially toward the young queen. In this manner she ruled with almost despotic sway over the royal household, and she was already preparing her batteries to govern with the same absolute authority the household of her second son. Anne experienced almost a feeling of pride whenever she saw anyone enter her apartment with woe-begone looks, pale cheeks or red eyes, gathering from appearances that assistance was required either by the weakest or the most rebellious. She was writing, we have said, when Monsieur entered her oratory not with red eyes or pale cheeks, but restless, out of temper and annoyed. With an absent air he kissed his mother's hands and sat himself down before receiving her permission to do so. Considering the strict rules of etiquette established at the court of Anne of Austria, this forgetfulness of customary civilities was a sign of preoccupation, especially on Philip's part, who of his own accord observed a respect toward her of somewhat exaggerated character. If, therefore, he so notoriously failed in this regard there must be a serious cause for it. What is the matter, Philip? inquired Anne of Austria, turning toward her son. A good many things! murmured the prince in a dull full tone of voice. You look like a man who has a great deal to do, said the queen, laying down her pen. Philip frowned but did not reply. Among the various subjects which occupy your mind, said Anne of Austria, there must surely be one that absorbs it more than others. One indeed has occupied me more than any other. Well, what is it? I am listening. Philip opened his mouth as if to express all the troubles his mind was filled with, in which he seemed to be waiting only for an opportunity of declaring, but he suddenly became silent, and a sigh alone expressed all that his heart was overflowing with. Come, Philip, show a little firmness, said the queen mother. When one has to complain of anything, it is generally an individual who is the cause of it. Am I not right? I do not say so, madame. Whom do you wish to speak about? Come, take courage. In fact, madame, what I might possibly have to say must be kept a profound secret for when a lady is in the case. Ah, you are speaking of madame, then? inquired the queen mother with a feeling of the liveliest curiosity. Yes. Well, then, if you wish to speak of madame, do not hesitate to do so. I am your mother, and she is no more than a stranger to me. Yet, as she is my daughter-in-law, rest assured I shall be interested, even worried for your own sake alone in hearing all you may have to say about her. Pray tell me, madame, in your turn, whether you have not remarked something? Something? Philip, your words almost frighten me from their want of meaning. What do you mean by something? Madame is pretty certainly. No doubt of it. Yet not altogether beautiful. No, but as she grows older she will probably become strikingly beautiful. You must have remarked the change which a few years have already made in her. Her beauty will improve more and more. She is now only sixteen years of age. At fifteen I was myself very thin, but even as she is at present madame is very pretty. And consequently others have remarked it. Undoubtedly for a woman of ordinary rank is noticed, and was still greater reason a princess. She has been well brought up, I suppose. Madame Henrietta, her mother is a woman somewhat cold in manner, slightly pretentious but full of noble thoughts. The princess's education may have been neglected but her principles, I believe, are good. Such at least was the opinion I formed of her when she resided in France, but she afterward returned to England, and I am ignorant what may have occurred there. What do you mean? Simply that there are some heads naturally giddy which are easily turned by prosperity. That is the very word, madame. I think the princess rather giddy. We must not exaggerate, Philip. She is clever and witty and has a certain amount of cocketry very natural in a young woman, but this defect in persons of high rank and position is a great advantage at a court. A princess who is tinged with cocketry usually forms a brilliant court around her. Her smile stimulates luxury, arouses wit and even courage. The nobles, too, fight better for a prince whose wife is beautiful. Thank you extremely, madame. Said Philip with some temper. You really have drawn some very alarming pictures for me. In what respect? asked the queen with pretended simplicity. You know, madame. Said Philip dolefully. Whether I had or had not a very great dislike to getting married. Now indeed you alarm me. You have some serious cause of complaint against madame. I do not precisely say it is serious. In that case then, though aside your doleful looks, if you show yourself to others in your present state people will take you for a very unhappy husband. The fact is, replied Philip, I am not altogether satisfied as a husband and I shall not be sorry if others know it. For shame, Philip. Well then, madame, I will tell you frankly that I do not understand the life I am required to lead. Explain yourself. My wife does not seem to belong to me. She is always leaving me for some reason or another. In the mornings there are visits, correspondences and toilets, in the evening, balls and concerts. You are jealous, Philip. I, heaven forbid, let others act the part of a jealous husband, not I, but I am annoyed. All these things you reproach your wife with are perfectly innocent, and so long as you have nothing of greater importance. Yet listen, without being very blameable a woman can excite a good deal of uneasiness. Certain visitors may be received, certain preferences shown which expose young women to remark, and which are enough to drive out of their senses even those husbands who are least disposed to be jealous. Ah, now we are coming to the real point at last, and not without some difficulty. You speak of frequent visits and certain preferences. Very good. For the last hour we have been beating about the bush, and at last you have broached the true question. This is more serious than I thought. Is it possible then that Madame can have given you grounds for these complaints against her? Precisely so. What? Your wife married only four days ago, prefers some other person to yourself? Take care, Philip, you exaggerate your grievances, in wishing to prove everything, you prove nothing. The prince bewildered by his mother's serious manner wished to reply, but he could only stammer out some unintelligible words. You draw back, then, said Anne of Austria. I prefer that, as it is an acknowledgement of your mistake. No, exclaimed Philip. I do not draw back, and I will prove all I asserted. I spoke of preference and of visits, did I not? Well, listen. Anne of Austria prepared herself to listen with that love of gossip, which the best woman living and the best mother, where she a queen even, always finds in being mixed up with the petty squabbles of a household. Well, said Philip, tell me one thing. What is that? Why does my wife retain an English court about her? Said Philip as he crossed his arms and looked at his mother steadily in the face, as if he were convinced that she could not answer the question. For a very simple reason, returned Anne of Austria, because the English are her countrymen, because they have expended large sums in order to accompany her to France, because it would be hardly polite, not politic certainly, to dismiss abruptly those members of the English nobility who have not shrunk from any devotion or from any sacrifice. A wonderful sacrifice indeed, returned Philip, to desert a wretched country to come to a beautiful one, where a greater effect can be produced for a crown than can be procured elsewhere for four. Extraordinary devotion, really, to travel a hundred leagues in company with a woman one is in love with— In love, Philip, think what you are saying. Who is in love with Madame? The Duke of Buckingham. Perhaps you will defend him too? Anne of Austria blushed and smiled at the same time. The name of the Duke of Buckingham recalled certain recollections of a very tender and melancholy nature. The Duke of Buckingham? She murmured. Yes, one of those arm-chair soldiers. The Buckinghams are loyal and brave, said Anne of Austria courageously. This is too bad. My own mother takes the part of my wife's lover against me. exclaimed Philip, incensed to such an extent that his weak organization was affected almost at tears. Philip, my son, exclaimed Anne of Austria. Such an expression is unworthy of you. Your wife has no lover, and had she won it would not be the Duke of Buckingham. The members of that family, I repeat, are loyal and discreet, and the rites of hospitality are sure to be respected by them. The Duke of Buckingham is an Englishman, Madame, said Philip. And may I ask if the English so very religiously respect what belongs to princes of France? Anne blushed a second time, and turned aside under the pretext of taking her pen from her desk again, but in reality to conceal her confusion from her son. Really, Philip, she said, you seem to discover expressions for the purpose of embarrassing me, and your anger blinds you while it alarms me. Reflect a little. There is no need for reflection, Madame. I can see with my own eyes. Well, and what do you see? That Buckingham never quits my wife. He presumes to make presents to her, and she ventures to accept them. Yesterday she was talking about sachets à la voilette. Well, our French perfumers, you know very well, Madame, for you have over and over again asked for it without success. Our French perfumers, I say, have never been able to procure this scent. The Duke, however, wore about him a sachet à la voilette, and I am sure that the one my wife has come from him. Indeed, monsieur, said Anne of Austria, you build your pyramids on needle points. Be careful. What harm, I ask, you can there be in a man giving to his countrywoman a receipt for a new essence. These strange ideas I protest painfully recall your father to me, he who so frequently and unjustly made me suffer. The Duke of Buckingham's father was probably more reserved and more respectful than his son, said Philip, thoughtlessly not perceiving how deeply he had wounded his mother's feelings. The Queen turned pale and pressed her clenched hands upon her bosom, but recovering herself immediately, she said. You came here with some intention or another, I suppose? Certainly. What was it? I came, madame, intending to complain energetically, and to inform you that I will not submit to such behaviour from the Duke of Buckingham. What do you intend to do, then? I shall complain to the King. And what do you expect the King to reply? Very well, then, said monsieur with an expression of stern determination on his countenance, which offered a singular contrast to its usual gentleness. Very well, I will write myself. What do you call writing yourself? Inquired Anne of Austria in alarm. I will have the Duke of Buckingham quit the Princess. I will have him quit France. I will see that my wishes are intimated to him. You will intimate nothing of the kind, Philip, said the Queen, for if you act in that manner, and violate hospitality to that extent, I will invoke the severity of the King against you. Do you threaten me, madame? exclaimed Philip almost in tears. Do you threaten me in the midst of my complaints? I do not threaten you. I do but place an obstacle in the path of your hasty anger. I maintain that to adopt to the Duke of Buckingham or any other Englishman any rigorous measure, to take even a discourteous step toward him would be to plunge France and England into the most disastrous disagreement. Can it be possible that a prince of the blood, the brother of the King of France, does not know how to hide an injury? Even did it exist in reality where political necessity requires it? Philip made a movement. Besides, continued the Queen, the injury is neither true nor possible, and it is merely a matter of silly jealousy. Madame, I know what I know. Whatever you may know, I can only advise you to be patient. I am not patient by disposition, madame. The Queen rose full of severity, and with an icy ceremonious manner, explain what you really require, monsieur. She said, I do not require anything, madame. I simply express what I desire. If the Duke of Buckingham does not of his own accord, discontinue his visits to my apartments, I shall forbid him entrance. That is a point you will refer to the King, said Anne of Austria, her heart swelling as she spoke and her voice trembling with emotion. But madame, exclaimed Philip, striking his hands together, act as my mother and not as the Queen, since I speak to you as a son. It is simply a matter of a few minutes' conversation between the Duke and myself. It is that very conversation I forbid, said the Queen, resuming her authority, because it is unworthy of you. Be it so, I will not appear in the matter, but I shall intimate my will to madame. Oh, said the Queen Mother, with a melancholy arising from reflection. Never tyrannize over a wife. Never behave too heartily or imperiously toward your own. A woman unwillingly convinced is unconvinced. What is to be done then? I will consult my friends about it. Yes, your double-dealing advisers, your chevrolet de la Reine, your deward, entrust the conduct of this affair to me. You wish the Duke of Buckingham to leave you, do you not? As soon as possible, madame. Send the Duke to me, then. Smile upon your wife. Behave to her, to the King, to everyone as usual. But follow no advice but mine. Alas! I too well know what any household comes to that is troubled by advisers. You shall be obeyed, madame. And you will be satisfied at the result. Send the Duke to me. That would not be difficult. Where do you suppose him to be? At my wife's door, whose levée he is probably awaiting. Very well. Said Anne of Austria calmly. Be good enough to tell the Duke that I shall be charmed if he will pay me a visit. Philip kissed his mother's hand and started off to find the Duke of Buckingham. End of Chapter 91, Recording by John Van Stan, Savannah, Georgia. Chapter 92 of the D'Artagnan Romance's Volume 3, Part 1 by Alexander Dumas, translated by William Robson, this sleeper-box recording is in the public domain. FOREVER! The Duke of Buckingham, obedient to the Queen's mother's invitation, presented himself in her apartment half an hour after the departure of the Duke D'olean. When his name was announced by the gentleman Usher in attendance, the Queen, who was sitting with her elbow resting on a table, and her head buried in her hands, rose and smilingly received the graceful and respectful salutations which the Duke addressed to her. Anne of Austria was still beautiful. It is well known that at her, then, somewhat advanced age, her long, auburn hair perfectly formed hands and bright ruby lips were still the admiration of all who saw her. On the present occasion, abandoned entirely to a remembrance which evoked all the past in her heart, she looked almost as beautiful as in the days of her youth when her palace was open to the visits of the Duke of Buckingham's father, then a young and impassioned man as well as an unfortunate prince who lived for her alone and died with her name upon his lips. Anne of Austria fixed upon Buckingham a look so tender in its expression that it denoted not alone the indulgence of maternal affection but a gentleness of expression like the cockatry of a woman who loves. Your Majesty, said Buckingham respectfully, desired to speak to me. Yes, Duke, said the Queen in English. Will you be good enough to sit down? The favour which Anne of Austria thus extended to the young man and the welcome sound of the language of a country from which the Duke had been estranged since his stay in France, deeply affected him. He immediately conjectured that the Queen had a request to make of him. After having abandoned the first few moments to the irrepressible emotion she experienced, the Queen resumed the smiling air with which she had received him. What do you think of France? she said in French. It is a lovely country, madame. replied the Duke. Had you ever seen it before? Only once, madame. But, like all true Englishmen, you prefer your England. I prefer my own native land to France, replied the Duke. But if your Majesty were to ask me which of the two cities, London or Paris, I should prefer as a residence. I should be forced to answer Paris. Anne of Austria observed the ardent manner with which these words had been pronounced. I am told, my lord, you have rich possessions in your own country, and that you live in a splendid and time-honored palace. It was my father's residence, replied Buckingham, casting down his eyes. Those are indeed great advantages and souvenirs, replied the Queen, alluding in spite of herself, to recollections from which it is impossible voluntarily to detach oneself. In fact, said the Duke, yielding to the melancholy influence of this opening conversation, sensitive persons live as much in the past or the future as in the present. That is very true, said the Queen in a low tone of voice. It follows then that, my lord, she added, that you who are a man of feeling will soon quit France in order to shut yourself up with your wealth and your relics of the past. Buckingham raised his head and said, I think not, madame. What do you mean? On the contrary, I think of leaving England in order to take up my residence in France. It was now Anne of Austria's turn to exhibit surprise. Why, she said, are you not in favour with the new king? Perfectly so, madame, for his majesty's kindness to me is unbounded. It cannot, said the Queen, be because your fortune has diminished, for it is said to be enormous. My income, madame, has never been so large. There is some secret cause, then. No, madame, said Buckingham eagerly, there is nothing secret in my reason for this determination. I prefer residence in France. I like a court so distinguished by its refinement and courtesy. I like the amusements, somewhat serious in their nature, which are not the amusements of my own country and which are met within France. Anne of Austria smiled shrewdly. Amusements of a serious nature, she said, has your grace well reflected on their seriousness? The duke hesitated. There is no amusement so serious, continued the Queen, as to prevent a man of your rank. Your majesty seems to insist greatly on that point, interrupted the duke. Do you think so, my lord? If you will forgive me for saying so, it is the second time you have vaunted the attractions of England at the expense of the delight which all experience who live in France. Anne of Austria approached the young man and placing her beautiful hand upon his shoulder, which trembled at the touch, said, Believe me, monsieur, nothing can equal a residence in one's own native country. I have very frequently had occasion to regret Spain. I have lived long, my lord, very long for a woman, and I confess to you that not a year has passed I have not regretted Spain. Not one year, madame, said the young duke coldly. Not one of those years when you reigned queen of beauty as you still are indeed. A truce to flattery, duke, for I am old enough to be your mother. She emphasized these latter words in a manner, and with a gentleness which penetrated Buckingham's heart. Yes, she said, I am old enough to be your mother, and for this reason I will give you a word of advice. That advice being that I should return to London, he exclaimed, Yes, my lord. The duke clasped his hands the terrified gesture which could not fail of its effect upon the queen already disposed of softer feelings by the tenderness of her own reflections. It must be so, added the queen. What? he again exclaimed, Am I seriously told that I must leave, that I must exile myself, that I am to flee at once. Exile yourself, did you say? One would fancy France was your native country. Madame, the country of those who love is the country of those whom they love. Not another word, my lord. You forget whom you are addressing. Buckingham threw himself on his knees. Madame, you are the source of intelligence, of goodness, and of compassion. You are the first person in this kingdom, not only by your rank, but the first person in the world on account of your angelic attributes. I have said nothing, madame. Have I indeed said anything you should answer with such a cruel remark? What have I betrayed? You have betrayed yourself, said the queen in a low tone of voice. I have said nothing. I know nothing. You forget you have spoken and thought in the presence of a woman, and besides. Besides, said the duke, no one knows you are listening to me. On the contrary, it is known you have all the defects and all the qualities of youth. I have been betrayed or denounced, then. By whom? By those who, at half, had with infernal perspicacity read my heart like an open book. I do not know whom you mean. Mr. de Bragalon, for instance. I know the name without being acquainted with the person to whom it belongs. The show de Bragalon has said nothing. Who can it be, then, if any one madame had had the boldness to notice in me that which I do not myself wish to behold? What would you do, duke? There are secrets which kill those who discover them. He, then, who has discovered your secret madman that you are, still lives, and what is more, you will not slay him, for he is armed on all sides. He is a husband, a jealous man. He is the second gentleman in France. He is my son, the duke d'olier. The duke turned pale as death. You are very cruel, madame. He said. You see, Buckingham. Said Anne of Austria sadly, how you pass from one extreme to another, and fight with shadows, when it would seem so easy to remain at peace with yourself. If we fight, madame, we die on the field of battle. Replied the young man gently, abandoning himself to the most gloomy depression. Anne ran toward him and took him by the hand. Fillier, she said in English, with a vehemence of tone which nothing could resist. What is it you ask? Do you ask a mother to sacrifice her son, a queen to consent to the dishonour of her house? Child that you are, do not dream of it. What? In order to spare your tears, am I to commit these crimes? Filliers, you speak of the dead. The dead at least were full of respect and submission. They resigned themselves to an order of exile. They carried their despair away with them in their hearts, like a priceless possession, because the despair was caused by the woman they loved, and because death, thus deceptive, was like a gift or a favour conferred upon them. Bucking him, Rose, his features distorted in his hands pressed against his heart. You are right, madame, he said. But those of whom you speak had received their order of exile from the lips of one whom they loved. They were not driven away. They were not entreated to leave and were not laughed at. What? No. Mo' madame of Austria, they were not forgotten. But who says you are driven away or that you are exiled? Who says that your devotion will not be remembered? I do not speak on any one's behalf but my own, when I tell you to leave. Do me this kindness, grant me this favour, let me for this also be indebted to one of your name. It is for your sake then, madame. For mine alone. No one whom I shall leave behind me will venture to mock. No prince even who shall say I required it. Listen to me, Duke. And hereupon the dignified features of the Queen assumed a solemn expression. I swear to you that no one commands in this matter but myself. I swear to you that not only shall no one either laugh or both in any way, but no one shall even fail in respect due to your rank. Rely upon me, Duke, as I rely upon you. You do not explain yourself, madame. My heart is full of bitterness, and I am in utter despair. No consolation, however gentle and affectionate, can afford me relief. Do you remember your mother, Duke? Replied the Queen with a winning smile. Very slightly, madame. Yet I remember how she used to cover me with her caresses and her tears whenever I wept. Villiers murmured the Queen passing her arm round the young man's neck. Look upon me as your mother, and believe that no one shall ever make my son weep. I thank you, madame. Said the young man, affected and almost suffocated by his emotion. I feel there is indeed still room in my heart for a gentler and noble sentiment than love. The Queen mother looked at him and pressed his hand. Go, she said. When must I leave? Command me. At any time that may suit you, my lord. Resume, the Queen. You will choose your own day of departure. Instead, however, of setting off today as you would doubtless wish to do, or to-morrow as others may have expected. Leave the day after to-morrow, in the evening, but announce to-day that it is your wish to leave. My wish? murmured the young Duke. Yes, Duke. And shall I never return to France? Anne of Austria reflected for a moment, seemingly absorbed in sad and serious thought. It would be a consolation for me. She said, if you were to return on the day when I shall be carried to my final resting place, at St. Denis beside the King, my husband. Madame, you are goodness itself. The tide of prosperity is setting in on you. Your cup brims over with happiness, and many long years are yet before you. In that case, you will not come for some time, then. Said the Queen, endeavouring to smile. I shall not return, said Buckingham. Young as I am, death does not reckon by years. It is impartial. Some die young, some reach old age. I will not harbour any sorrowful ideas, Duke. Let me comfort you. Return in two years. I perceive from your face that the very idea which saddens you so much now will have disappeared before six months have passed, and will not be only dead but forgotten in the period of absence I have assigned you. I think you judged me better, a little while ago, madame. Replied the young man. When you said that time is powerless against members of the family of Buckingham. Silence. Said the Queen, kissing the Duke upon the forehead with an affection she could not restrain. Go, go. Spare me and forget yourself no longer. I am the Queen. You are the subject of the King of England. King Charles awaits your return. Adieu, Villier. Farewell. Forever. Replied the young man, and he fled endeavouring to master his emotion. Anne leaned her head upon her hands, and then looking at herself in the glass murmured, It has been truly said that a woman who has truly loved is always young, and that the bloom of twenty years ever lies concealed in some secret cloister of the heart. End of Chapter 92, Recording by John Van Stan, Savannah, Georgia. Chapter 93 of the D'Artagnan Romances, Volume 3, Part 1 by Alexander Dumas, translated by William Robson. This Librivox recording is in the public domain. King Louis XIV does not think mademoiselle de la Valière either rich enough, or pretty enough for a gentleman of the rank of the Vicomte Bragalone. Raoul and the Comte de la Faire reached Paris the evening of the same day, on which Buckingham had held the conversation with the Queen Mother. The count had scarcely arrived when, through Raoul, he solicited an audience of the King. His Majesty had passed a portion of the morning in looking over with Madame and the ladies of the court various goods of Lyon manufacture, of which he had made his sister-in-law present. A court dinner had succeeded, then cards, and afterwards, according to his usual custom, the King leaving the card-tables at eight o'clock passed into his cabinet in order to work with Monsieur Colbert and Monsieur Fouquet. Raoul entered the antechamber at the very moment the two ministers quitted it, and the King perceiving him through the half-closed door said, What do you want, Monsieur de Bragalone? The young man approached. An audience sire, he replied, for the Comte de la Faire, who has just arrived from Blois, and is most anxious to have an interview with your Majesty. I have an hour to spare between cards and supper, said the King. Is the Comte de la Faire at hand? He is below, and awaits your Majesty's permission. Let him come up at once. Said the King, and five minutes afterwards, Athos entered the presence of Louis XIV. He was received by the King with that gracious kindness of manner which Louis, with attacked beyond his years, reserved for the purpose of gaining those who were not to be conquered by ordinary favours. Let me hope, Comte, said the King, that you have come to ask me for something. I will not conceal from your Majesty, replied the Comte, that I am indeed come for that purpose. That is well, said the King joyously. It is not for myself, sire. So much the worse, but at least I will do for your protégé what you refuse to permit me to do for you. Your Majesty encourages me. I have come to speak on behalf of the Vicomte Bragalone. It is the same as if you spoke on your own behalf, Comte. Not altogether so, sire. I am desirous of obtaining from your Majesty that which I cannot ask for myself. The Vicomte thinks of marrying. He is still very young, but that does not matter. He is an eminently distinguished man. I will choose a wife for him. He has already chosen one, sire, and only awaits your consent. It is only a question, then, of signing the marriage contract. Athos bowed. Has he chosen a wife whose fortune and position accord with your own anticipations? Athos hesitated for a moment. His affianced wife is of good birth, but has no fortune. That is a misfortune we can remedy. You overwhelm me with gratitude, sire, but your Majesty will permit me to offer a remark. Do so, Comte. Your Majesty seems to intimate an intention of giving a marriage portion to this young lady. Certainly. I should regret, sire, if the step I have taken towards your Majesty should be attended by this result. No false delicacy, Comte. What is the bride's name? Mademoiselle de la Banque de la Valière, said Athos coldly. I seem to know that name, said the King, as if reflecting. There was a Marquis de la Valière. Yes, sire, it is his daughter. But he died, and his widow married again, Monsieur de Saint-Remy, I think, steward of the wager, madame's former household. Your Majesty is correctly informed. More than that, the young lady has lately become one of the princesses' maids of honour. Your Majesty is better acquainted with her history than I am. The King again reflected in glancing at the Comte's anxious countenance, said, The young lady does not seem to me to be very pretty, Comte. I am not quite sure, replied Athos. I have seen her, but she hardly struck me as being so. She seems to be a good and modest girl, but has little beauty, sire. Beautiful fair hair, however. I think so. And her blue eyes are tolerably good. Yes, sire. With regard to beauty, then, the match is but an ordinary one. Now for the money side of the question. Fifteen to twenty thousand franc d'alry at the very outside, sire. The lovers are disinterested enough. For myself, I care little for money. For superfluity, you mean, but a needful amount is of importance. With fifteen thousand franc, without landed property, a woman cannot live at court. We will make up the deficiency. I will do it for de Braguelon. The King again remarked the coldness with which Athos received the remark. Let us pass from the question of money to that of rank, said Louis XIV. The daughter of the Marquis de la Valière? That is well enough. But there is that excellent Saint-Remy, who somewhat damages the credit of the family. And you, Comte, are rather particular, I believe, about your own family. Sire, I no longer hold to anything but to my devotion to your majesty. The King again paused. A moment, Comte. You have surprised me at no little degree from the beginning of your conversation. You came to ask me to authorise a marriage, and you seem greatly disturbed in having to make the request. Nay, pardon me, Comte, but I am rarely deceived young as I am, for while with some persons I place my friendship at the disposal of my understanding. With others I call my distrust to my aid, by which my discernment is increased. I repeat that you do not prefer your request as though you wished its success. Well, Sire, that is true. I do not understand you, then. Refuse. Nay, Sire, I love de Braguelon with my whole heart. He is smitten with mademoiselle de la Valière. He weaves dreams of bliss for the future. I am not one who is willing to destroy the illusions of youth. This marriage is objectionable to me, but I implore your Majesty to consent to it forthwith, and thus make Raoul happy. Tell me, Comte, is she in love with him? If your Majesty requires me to speak candidly, I do not believe in mademoiselle de la Valière's affection. The delight at being at court, the honour of being in the service of madame, counteract in her head whatever affection she may have happened to have in her heart. It is a marriage similar to many others which already exist at court. But de Braguelon wishes it, and so let it be. And yet you do not resemble those easy-tempered fathers who volunteer as stepping-stones for their children, said the King. I am determined enough against the viciously disposed, but not so against the men of upright character. Raoul is suffering. He is in great distress of mind. His disposition naturally light and cheerful has become gloomy and melancholy. I do not wish to deprive your Majesty of the services he may be able to render. I understand you, said the King. And what is more, I understand your heart, too, Comte. There is no occasion, therefore, replied the Comte, to tell your Majesty that my object is to make these children, or rather, Raoul, happy. And I, too, as much as yourself, Comte, wish to secure a mature de Braguelon's happiness. I only await your Majesty's signature. Raoul will have the honour of presenting himself before your Majesty to receive your consent. You are mistaken, Comte, said the King firmly. I have just said that I desire to secure a mature de Braguelon's happiness, and from the present moment, therefore, I oppose his marriage. But, Sire, exclaimed Athos, your Majesty has promised. Not so, Comte, I did not promise you, for it is opposed to my own views. I appreciate your Majesty's considerate and generous intentions in my behalf, but I take the liberty of recalling to you that I undertook to approach you as an ambassador. An ambassador, Comte, frequently asks, but does not always obtain what he asks. But, Sire, it will be such a blow for de Braguelon. My hand shall deal the blow. I will speak to the de Comte. Love, sir, is overwhelming in its might. Love can be resisted, Comte. I myself can assure you of that. When one has the soul of a king, your own, for instance, Sire. Do not make yourself uneasy on the subject. I have certain views for de Braguelon. I do not say that he shall not marry Mademoiselle de Lavalier, but I do not wish him to marry so young. I do not wish him to marry her until she has acquired a fortune, and he on his side no less deserves favor, such as I wish to confer upon him. In a word, Comte, I wish them to wait. Yet, once more, Sire. Comte, you told me you came to request a favor. Assuredly, Sire. Grant me one, then, instead. Let us speak no longer upon this matter. It is probable that before long war may be declared. I require men about me who are unfettered. I should hesitate to send under fire a married man or a father of a family. I should hesitate also on de Braguelon's account to endow with a fortune, without some sound reason for it, a young girl, a perfect stranger. Such an act would sow jealousy amongst my nobility. Athos bowed and remained silent. Is that all you wish to ask me? Asked Louis XIV. Absolutely all, Sire, and I take my leave of your majesty. It is, however, necessary that I should inform Raoul. Spare yourself the trouble and annoyance. Tell the Vicomte that at my lavée to-morrow morning I will speak to him. I shall expect you this evening, Comte, to join my card-table. I am in travelling, costume, Sire. A day will come, I hope, when you will leave me no more. Before long, Comte, the monarchy will be established in such a manner as to enable me to offer a worthy hospitality to men of your merit. Provided, Sire, a monarch reigns grandly in the hearts of his subject. The palace he inhabits matters little, since he is worshiped in a temple. With these words, Athos left the cabinet and found a brag alone, who was awaiting him anxiously. Well, Mr. said the young man. The king, Raoul, is well in tension toward us both. Not, perhaps, in the sense you suppose, but he is kind and generously disposed to our house. You have bad news to communicate to me, monsieur. Said the young man, turning very pale. The king himself will inform you to-morrow morning that it is not bad news. The king has not signed, however. The king wishes himself to settle the terms of the contract, and he desires to make it so grand that he requires time for consideration. Throw the blame rather on your own impatience than on the king's good feelings toward you. Raoul and utter consternation, on account of his knowledge of the count's frankness, as well as his diplomacy, remained plunged in dull and gloomy stupor. Will you not go with me to my lodgings? Said Athos. I beg your pardon, monsieur. I will follow you. He stammered out, following Athos down the staircase. Since I am here, said Athos suddenly, cannot I see, monsieur D'Artagnan? Shall I show you his apartments? said De Bragalone. Do so. They are on the opposite staircase. They altered their course, but on reaching the landing of the grand staircase, Raoul perceived a servant in the comp de Guiche's livery, who ran toward him as soon as he heard his voice. What is it? said Raoul. This note, monsieur. My master heard of your return and wrote to you without delay. I have been looking for you for the last half hour. Raoul approached Athos as he unsealed the letter, saying, With your permission, monsieur. Certainly. Dear Raoul, wrote the comp de Guiche. I have an affair in hand which requires immediate attention. I know you have returned. Come to me as soon as possible. Hardly had he finished reading it when a servant in the livery of the Duke of Buckingham, turning out of the gallery, recognized Raoul and approached him respectfully, saying, From his grace, monsieur. Well, Raoul, as I see you are already as busy as a general of an army, I shall leave you and will find monsieur D'Artagnan myself. You will excuse me, I trust, said Raoul. Yes, yes, I excuse you. Adieu, Raoul. You will find me at my apartments until tomorrow. During the day I must set out for Blois, unless I have orders to the contrary. I shall present my respects to you tomorrow, monsieur. As soon as Athos had left, Raoul opened Buckingham's letter. Monsieur de Braguelon. It ran. You are of all the Frenchmen I have known, the one with whom I am most pleased. I am about to put your friendship to the proof. I have received a certain message, written in very good French. As I am an Englishman, I am afraid of not comprehending it very clearly. The letter has a good name attached to it, and that is all I can tell you. Will you be good enough to come and see me? For I am told you have arrived from Blois. You are devoted, Philius, Duke of Buckingham. I am going now to see your master. Said Raoul to de Geisha's servant as he dismissed him. And I shall be with Duke of Buckingham in an hour. He added, dismissing with these words, the Duke's messenger. End of Chapter 93 Recording by John Van Stan Savannah, Georgia Chapter 94 of the D'Artagnan Romance's volume 3 Part 1 by Alexander Dumas Translated by William Robson This Librivox recording is in the public domain. Sword thrusts in the water Raoul on betaking himself to de Geisha found him conversing with De Ward and Manicamp. De Ward, since the affair of the barricade, had treated Raoul as a stranger. They behaved as if they were not acquainted. As Raoul entered, de Geisha walked up to him, and Raoul as he grasped his friend's hand glanced rapidly at his two companions, hoping to be able to read on their faces what was passing in their minds. De Ward was cold and impenetrable. Manicamp seemed absorbed in the contemplation of some trimming to his dress. De Geisha led Raoul to an adjoining cabinet and made him sit down, saying, How well you look! That is singular, replied Raoul, for I am far from being in good spirits. It is your case, and Raoul, as it is with my own. Our love affairs do not progress. So much the better count, as far as you are concerned, the worse news would be good news. In that case, do not distress yourself, for not only am I very unhappy, but what is more, I see others about me who are happy. Really, I do not understand you, replied Raoul. Explain yourself. You will soon learn. I have tried but in vain to overcome the feeling you saw dawn in me. Increase and take entire possession of me. I have summoned all your advice and my own strength to my aid. I have well weighed the unfortunate affair in which I have embarked. I have sounded its depths, that it is an abyss I am aware. But it matters little, for I shall pursue my own course. This is madness, Degish. You cannot advance another step without risking your own ruin today, perhaps your life tomorrow. Whatever may happen, I have done with reflections. Listen. And you hope to succeed? You believe that Madame will love you? Raoul, I believe nothing. I hope, because hope exists in man and never abandons him till death. But admitting that you obtain the happiness you covet, even then you are more certainly lost than if you had failed in obtaining it. I beseech you, Raoul, not to interrupt me any more. You could never convince me, for I tell you beforehand, I do not wish to be convinced. I have gone so far I cannot recede. I have suffered so much, death itself would be a boon. I no longer love to madness, Raoul. I am being engulfed by a whirlpool of jealousy. Raoul struck his hands together with an expression resembling anger. Well, said he, well, or ill matters little. This is what I claim from you, my friend, my almost brother. During the last three days, Madame has been living in a perfect intoxication of gaiety. On the first day I dared not look at her. I hated her for not being as unhappy as myself. The next day I could not bear her out of my sight. And she, Raoul, at least I thought I remarked it, she looked at me, if not with pity at least with gentleness. But between her looks and mine, a shadow intervened. Another smile invited hers. Besides her horse and others always gallops, which is not mine. In her ear another's caressing voice, not mine, unceasingly vibrates. Raoul, for three days past my brain, has been on fire. Flame not blood courses through my veins. That shadow must be driven away. That smile must be quenched. That voice must be silenced. You wish, Mishir's death? exclaimed Raoul. No, no, I am not jealous of the husband. I am jealous of the lover. Of the lover? said Raoul. Have you not observed it? You who were formerly so keen sighted. Are you jealous of the Duke of Buckingham? To the very death. Again jealous? This time the affair will be easy to arrange between us. I have taken the initiative and have sent him a letter. It was you then who wrote him? How do you know that? I know it because he told me so. Look at this. And he handed Degish the letter he had received nearly at the same moment as his own. Degish read it eagerly and said, He is a brave man, and more than that a gallant man. Most certainly the Duke is a gallant man. I need not ask if you wrote to him in a similar style. He will show you my letter when you call on him on my behalf. But that is almost out of the question. What is? That I shall call on him for that purpose. Why so? The Duke consults me as you do. I suppose you will give me the preference. Listen to me, Raul. I wish to tell you his grace. It is a very simple matter, that today, tomorrow, the following day, or any other day he may choose, I will meet him at Vincen. Reflect, Degish. I thought I told you I have reflected. The Duke is a stranger here. He is on a mission which renders his person inviolable. Then Chen is close to the Bastille. The consequences concern me. But the motive for this meeting, what motive do you wish me to assign? Be perfectly easy on that score. He will not ask any. The Duke must be as sick of me as I am of him. I implore you therefore, seek the Duke, and if it is necessary to entreat him to accept my offer, I will do so. That is useless. The Duke has already informed me that he wishes to speak to me. The Duke is now playing cards with the King. Let us both go there. I will draw him aside in the gallery. You will remain aloof. Two words will be sufficient. That is well arranged. I will take De Ward to keep me in countenance. Why not, Manny Camp? De Ward can join us at any time. We can leave him here. Yes, that is true. He knows nothing. Positively nothing. You continue still on in unfriendly footing, then? He has not told you anything. Nothing. I do not like the man, and as I never liked him the result is that I am on no worse terms of him today than I was yesterday. Let us go, then. The four descended the stairs. Degish's carriage was waiting at the door and took them to the Palais Royale. As they were going along, Raoul was engaged in devising his scheme of action. The sole depository of two secrets he did not despair of concluding some arrangement between the two parties. He knew the influence he exercised over Buckingham and the ascendancy he had acquired over Degish, and affairs did not look utterly hopeless. On their arrival in the gallery, dazzling with the blaze of light, where the most beautiful and illustrious women of the court moved to and fro, like stars in their own atmosphere, Raoul could not prevent himself for a moment. Forgetting Degish in order to seek out Louise, who, amidst her companions, like a dove completely fascinated, gazed long and fixedly upon the royal circle, which glittered with jewels and gold. All its members were standing, the king alone being seated. Raoul perceived Buckingham, who was standing a few places from Monsieur, in a group of French and English who were admiring his aristocratic carriage, and the incomparable magnificence of his costume. Some of the older courtiers remembered having seen his father, but their recollections were not prejudicial to the son. Buckingham was conversing with Fouquet, who was talking with him aloud about Belial. I cannot speak to him at present, said Raoul. Wait then and choose your opportunity, but finish everything speedily. I am on thorns. See, our deliverer approaches, said Raoul, perceiving D'Artagnan, who magnificently dressed in his new uniform of captain of the musketeers, had just made his entry into the gallery, and he advanced toward D'Artagnan. The compel of fare has been looking for you, Chevalier, said Raoul. Yes, replied D'Artagnan. I have just left him. I thought you would have passed a portion of the evening together. We have arranged to meet again. As he answered Raoul, his absent looks were directed on all sides, as if seeking someone in the crowd or looking for something in the room. Suddenly his gaze became fixed, like that of an eagle on its prey. Raoul followed the direction of his glance and noticed that D'Artagnan and D'Artagnan saluted each other, but he could not distinguish at whom the captain's inquiring and halting glance was aimed. Chevalier, said Raoul, there is no one here but yourself who can render me a service. What is it, my dear Vekampt? It is simply to go and interrupt the Duke of Buckingham, to whom I wish to say two words, and, as the Duke is conversing with M'shurfouquet, you understand that it would not do for me to throw myself into the middle of the conversation. Ha-ha! Is M'shurfouquet there? inquired D'Artagnan. Do you not see him? Yes, now I do, but do you think I have a greater right than you have? You are a more important personage. Yes, you are right. I am captain of the musketeers. I have had the post promised me so long, and have enjoyed it for so brief a period that I am always forgetting my dignity. You will do me this service, will you not? M'shurfouquet, the deuce! Are you not on good terms with him? It is rather he who may not be on good terms with me, however, since it must be done some day or another. Stay. I think he is looking at you, or it is likely that it might be. No, no, don't deceive yourself. It is indeed me for whom this honour is intended. Oh, the opportunity is a good one, then. Do you think so? Pray, go. Well, I will. Deguise had not removed his eyes from Raoul, who made a sign to him that all was arranged. D'Artagnan walked straight up to the group, and civilly saluted M'shurfouquet as well as the others. Good evening, M'shurd Artagnan, we were speaking of Belial, said Fouquet with that usage of society and that perfect knowledge of the language of looks which require half a lifetime thoroughly to acquire, and which some persons not withstanding all their study never attain. Of Belial on Mare. Ha! said D'Artagnan. It belongs to you, I believe, M'shurfouquet. M'shurfouquet has just told me that he had presented it to the king, said Buckingham. Do you know Belial, Chevalier? inquired Fouquet. I have only been there once, replied D'Artagnan with readiness and good humour. Did you remain there long? Scarcely a day. Did you see much of it while you were there? All that could be seen in a day. A great deal can be seen with observation as keen as yours, said Fouquet, at which D'Artagnan bowed. During this Raoul made a sign to Buckingham. M'shurfouquet, said Buckingham, I leave the captain with you. He is more learned than I am in bastion, scops, and counter-scops, and I will join one of my friends, who has just beckoned me. Saying this, Buckingham disengaged himself from the group and advanced toward Raoul, stopping for a moment at the table where the queen mother, the young queen, and the king were playing together. Now, Raoul, said D'Geesh. There he is. Be firm and quick. Buckingham had made some complimentary remark to Madame, continued his way toward Raoul who advanced to meet him, while D'Geesh remained in his place, although he followed him with his eyes. The manoeuvre was so arranged that the young men met in an open space which was left vacant, between the group of players and the gallery where they walked, stopping now and then for the purpose of saying a few words to some of the gray recordiers who were walking there. At the moment when the two lions were about to unite, they were broken by a third. It was M'shurfouquet who advanced toward the Duke of Buckingham. M'shurf had his most engaging smile on his red and perfumed lips. My dear Duke, said he with the most affectionate politeness, is it really true what I have just been told? Buckingham turned round, yet not noticed M'shurfouquet's approach, but had merely heard his voice. He started in spite of his command over himself in a slight pallor overspread his face. Monsignor, he asked, what has been told to you that surprises you so much? That which throws me into despair and will in truth be a real cause of mourning for the whole court. Your Highness is very kind, for I perceive that you allude to my departure. Precisely, D'Geesh had overheard the conversation from where he was standing and started in his turn. His departure? He murmured. What does he say? Philip continued with the same gracious air. I can easily conceive, M'shurf, why the King of Great Britain recalls you. We all know that King Charles II, who appreciates true gentleman, cannot dispense with you. But it cannot be supposed we can let you go without great regret, and I beg you to receive the expression of my own. Believe me, Monsignor, said the Duke, that if I quit the court of frats, because you are recalled, but if you suppose the expression of my own wish on the subject might possibly have any influence with the King, I will gladly volunteer to entreat His Majesty Charles II to leave you with us a little while longer. I am overwhelmed, Monsignor, by so much kindness, replied Buckingham. But I have received positive commands. My residence in France was limited. I have prolonged it at the risk of displeasing my gracious sovereign. It is only this very day that I recollected I ought to have set off four days ago. Indeed, said M'shurf, yes, but added Buckingham raising his voice in a manner such that the princess could hear him. But I resemble that dweller in the east, who turned mad, and remained so for several days, owing to a delightful dream that he had had, but who one day awoke, if not completely cured, in some respects rational at least. The court of France has its intoxicating properties, which are not unlike this dream, my lord. But at your last, I wake and leave it. I shall be unable, therefore, to prolong my residence, as your Highness has so kindly invited me to do. When do you leave? inquired Philip with an expression full of interest. Tomorrow, Monsignor, my carriages have been ready for three days. The Duke Dolien made a movement of the head which seemed to signify, Since you are determined, Duke, there is nothing to be said. Buckingham returned the gesture, concealing under a smile a contraction of his heart, and then M'shurf moved away in the same direction by which he had approached. At the same moment, however, the geesh advanced from the opposite direction. Raoul feared that the impatient young man might possibly make the proposition himself, and hurried forward before him. No, no, Raoul. All is useless now. Said geesh, holding both his hands toward the Duke and leading him behind a column. Forgive me, Duke, for what I wrote you. I was mad. Give me back my letter. It is true, said the Duke. You cannot owe me a grudge any longer now. Forgive me, Duke, my friendship. My lasting friendship is yours. There is certainly no reason why you should bear me any ill-will from the moment I leave her never to see her again. Raoul heard these words, and comprehending that his presence was now useless between the two men, who had now only friendly words to exchange, withdrew a few paces. A movement which brought him closer to DeWard, who was conversing with the Chevalier de Lorraine respecting the departure of Buckingham. A strategic retreat, said DeWard. Why so? Because the dear Duke saves a sword-thrust by it. At which reply both laughed. Raoul indignant, turned round frowningly, flushed with anger and his lip curling with disdain. The Chevalier de Lorraine turned on his heel, but DeWard remained unweighted. You will not break yourself of the habit, said Raoul to DeWard, of insulting the absent. Yesterday it was Monsieur d'Artagnan, today it is the Duke of Buckingham. You know very well, Monsieur, returned DeWard, that I sometimes insult those who are present. DeWard was close to Raoul, their shoulders met, their faces approached as if to mutually inflame each other by the fire of their looks and of their anger. It could be seen that the one was at the height of fury, the other at the end of his patience. Suddenly a voice was heard behind them full of grace and courtesy, saying, I believe I heard my name pronounced. They turned round and saw d'Artagnan, who with a smiling eye and a cheerful face had just placed his hands on DeWard's shoulder. Raoul set back to make room for the musketeer. DeWard trembled from head to foot turned pale, but did not move. d'Artagnan, still with the same smile, took the place which Raoul abandoned to him. Thank you, my dear Raoul. He said, Mr. DeWard, I wish to talk with you. Do not leave us, Raoul. Everyone can hear what I have to say to Monsieur DeWard. His smile immediately faded away, and his glance became cold and sharp as a sword. I am at your orders, Monsieur, said DeWard, for a very long time, resumed Artagnan. I have sought an opportunity of conversing with you. Today is the first time I have found it. The place is badly chosen, I admit, but you will perhaps have the goodness to accompany me to my apartments, which are on the staircase at the end of the gallery. I follow you, Monsieur, said DeWard. Are you alone here? said d'Artagnan. No, I have Mr. Manicamp and Monsieur de Guiche, two of my friends. That's well, said d'Artagnan, but two persons are not sufficient. You will be able to find a few others, I trust. Certainly, said the young man who did not know what object Artagnan had in view, as many as you please. Are they friends? Yes, Monsieur, real friends. No doubt of it. Very well. Get a good supply, then. Do you come, too, Raoul? Bring Monsieur de Guiche and the Duke of Buckingham. What a disturbance! replied DeWard, attempting to smile, but Captain slightly signed to him with his hand as though to recommend him to be patient, and then led the way to his apartments. End of Chapter 94 Recording by John Van Stan, Savannah, Georgia Chapter 95 of the D'Artagnan Romance is Volume 3, Part 1 by Alexandre Dumas, translated by William Robson. This Librivox recording is in the public domain. Sword thrust in the water concluded. D'Artagnan's apartment was not unoccupied, for the Comp de la Faire seated in the recess of a window awaited him. Well, said he to D'Artagnan as he saw him enter. Well, said the latter, Monsieur de Vord has done me the honour to pay me a visit, in company with some of his own friends as well as ours. In fact, behind the musketeer appeared DeWard and Manacamp, followed by de Guiche and Buckingham, who looked surprised not knowing what was expected of them. Raoul was accompanied by two or three gentlemen, and as he entered glanced around the room, and perceiving the count, he went and placed himself by his side. D'Artagnan received his visitors with all the courtesy he was capable of. He preserved his unmoved and unconcerned look. All the persons present were men of distinction, occupying posts of honour and credit at the court. After he had apologised to each of them for any inconvenience he might have put them to, he turned toward DeWard, who, in spite of his customary self-command, could not prevent his face betraying some surprise, mingled with not a little uneasiness. Now, Monsieur, said D'Artagnan, since we are no longer within the precincts of the King's palace, and since we can speak out without failing in respect to propriety, I will inform you why I have taken the liberty to request you to visit me here, and why I have invited these gentlemen to be present at the same time. My friend, the Compted Affair, has acquainted me with the injurious report you are spreading about myself. You have stated that you regard me as your mortal enemy, because I was, so you affirm, that of your father. Perfectly true, Monsieur, I have said so, replied DeWard, whose pallid face became slightly tinged with colour. You accuse me therefore of a crime, or a fault, or of some mean and cowardly act. Have the goodness to state your charge against me in precise terms. In the presence of witnesses—most certainly in the presence of witnesses—and you see I have selected them as being experienced in affairs of honour. You do not appreciate my delicacy, Monsieur. I have accused you it is true, but I have kept the nature of the accusation a perfect secret. I entered into no details, but have rested satisfied by expressing my hatred in the presence of those on whom a duty was almost imposed to acquaint you with it. You have not taken the discreteness I have shown into consideration. Although you were interested in remaining silent, I can hardly recognise your habitual prudence in that, Monsieur D'Artagnan. D'Artagnan, who was quietly biting the corner of his mustache, said, I have already had the honour to beg you to state the particulars of the grievances you say you have against me. Allowed? Certainly allowed. In that case, I speak. Speak, Monsieur, said D'Artagnan, bowing. We are all listening to you. Well, Monsieur, it is not a question of a personal injury toward myself, but one toward my father. That you have already stated. Yes, but there are certain subjects which are only approached with hesitation. If that hesitation in your case really does exist, I entreat you to overcome it. Even if it refer to a disgraceful action? Yes, in every and any case. Those who were present at this scene had at first looked at each other with a good deal of uneasiness. They were reassured, however, when they saw that D'Artagnan manifested no emotion, whatever. D'Ward still maintained the same unbroken silence. Speak, Monsieur, said the musketeer. You see you are keeping us waiting. Listen, then. My father loved the lady of noble birth, and this lady loved my father. D'Artagnan and Athos exchanged looks. D'Ward continued, Monsieur D'Artagnan found some letters which indicated a rendezvous, substituted himself under disguise for a person who was expected and took advantage of the darkness. That is perfectly true, said D'Artagnan. A slight murmur was heard from those present. Yes, I was guilty of that dishonorable action. You should have added, Monsieur, since you are so impartial, that at the period when the circumstance which you have just related happened, I was not one in twenty years of age. Such inaction is not the less shameful on that account, said D'Ward, and it is quite sufficient for a gentleman to have attained the age of reason to avoid committing an act of indelicacy. A renewed murmur was heard, but this time of astonishment and almost of doubt. It was a most shameful deception, I admit, said D'Artagnan, and I have not waited for Monsieur D'Ward's reproaches to reproach myself for it, and very bitterly too. Age has, however, made me more reasonable, and above all, more upright, and this injury has been atoned for by a long and lasting regret. But I appeal to you gentlemen, this affair took place in sixteen twenty-six, and a period, happily for yourselves, known to you by tradition only, and a period when love was not overscrupulous, when consciences did not distill as in the present day poison and bitterness. We were young soldiers, always fighting or being attacked. Our swords always in our hands are at least ready to be drawn from their sheaths. Death then always stared us in the face. War hardened us, and the cardinal pressed us sorely. I have repented of it, and more than that, I still repentant, Monsieur D'Ward. I can well understand that, Monsieur, but for the action itself needed repentance. But you were not the less the cause of that lady's disgrace. She of whom you have been speaking, covered with shame, born down by the affront you brought upon her fled, quitted France, and no one ever knew what became of her. Stay! said the comptile affair stretching his hand toward D'Ward, with a peculiar smile upon his face. You are mistaken. She was seen, and there are persons even now present who, having often heard her spoken of, will easily recognise her by the description I am about to give. She was about five and twenty years of age, slender in form, of a pale complexion and fair haired. She was married in England. Married? exclaimed D'Ward. So you are not aware she was married? You see we are far better informed than yourself. Do you happen to know she was usually styled, my lady, without the addition of any name to that description? Yes, I know that. Good heavens! murmured Buckingham. Very well, monsieur. That woman who came from England returned to England after having thrice attempted Monsieur D'Artagnan's life. That was but just, you will say, since Monsieur D'Artagnan had insulted her. But that which was not just was, that when in England this woman, by her seductions, completely enslaved a young man in the service of Lord D'Winter, by name Felton, you change colour, my lord? said Athos, turning to the Duke of Buckingham. And your eyes kindle with anger and sorrow? Let your grace finish the recital, then, and tell, monsieur D'Ward, who this woman was, who placed the knife in the hand of your father's murderer. A cry escaped from the lips of all present. The young Duke passed his handkerchief across his forehead, which was covered with perspiration. A dead silence ensued among the spectators. You see, monsieur D'Ward! said D'Artagnan whom this recital had impressed more and more, as his own recollection revived as Athos spoke. You see that my crime did not cause the destruction of any one soul, and that the soul in question may fairly be considered to have been altogether lost before my regret. It is, however, an act of conscience on my part. Now this matter is settled. Therefore, it remains me to ask, with the greatest humility, your forgiveness for this shameless action, as most certainly I should have asked it of your father if he were still alive, and if I had met him after my return to France subsequent to the death of King Charles I. That is too much, monsieur D'Artagnan, exclaimed many voices with animation. No, gentlemen, said the captain, and now, monsieur D'Ward, I hope all is finished between us, and that you will have no further occasion to speak ill of me again. Or do you consider it completely settled? D'Ward bowed and muttered to himself inarticulately. I trust also, said D'Artagnan, approaching the young man closely, that you will no longer speak ill of anyone, as it seems you have the unfortunate habit of doing. For a man so puritanically conscientious as you are, who can reproach an old soldier for a youthful freak five and thirty years after it happened, will allow me to ask whether you who advocate such excessive purity of conscience will undertake on your side to do nothing contrary either to conscience or the principle of honour, and now listen attentively to what I am going to say, monsieur D'Ward, in conclusion. Take care that no tale, with which your name may be associated, reaches my ear. Monsieur, said D'Ward, it is useless threatening to no purpose. I have not yet finished, monsieur D'Ward, and you must listen to me still further. The circle of listeners, full of eager curiosity, drew closer. You spoke just now of the honour of a woman, and of the honour of your father. We were glad to hear you speak in that manner, for it is pleasing to think that such a sentiment of delicacy and rectitude, and which did not exist, it seems, in our minds, lives in our children, and it is delightful, too, to see a young man at an age when men from habit become the destroyers of honour of women, respect and defend it. D'Ward bit his lips and clenched his hands, evidently much disturbed to learn how this discourse, the commencement of which was announced and so threatening a manner, would terminate. How did it happen, then, that you allowed yourself to say to monsieur de Braglone that he did not know who his mother was? Raul's eye flashed as darting forward he exclaimed, Chevalier, this is a personal affair of my own. At which exclamation a smile full of malice passed across D'Ward's face. D'Artagnan put Raul aside, saying, Do not interrupt me, young man. And looking at D'Ward in an authoritative manner he continued, I am now dealing with a matter which cannot be settled by means of the sword. I discuss it before men of honour, all of whom have more than once had their swords in their hands in affairs of honour. I selected them expressly. These gentlemen well know that every secret for which men fight ceases to be a secret. I again put my question to monsieur D'Ward. What was the subject of conversation which you offended this young man in offending his father and mother at the same time? It seems to me, returned of D'Ward, that liberty of speech is allowed when it is supported by every means which a man of courage has at his disposal. Tell me what that means are by which a man of courage can sustain a slanderous expression. The sword! You fail not only in logic, in your argument, but in religion and honour. You expose the lives of many others without referring to your own which seems to be full of hazard. Besides, fashions pass away, monsieur, and the fashion of dueling has passed away without referring in any way to the edicts of his majesty which forbid it. Therefore, in order to be consistent with your own chivalrous notions, you will at once apologise to monsieur D'Bragalon. You will tell him how much you regret having spoken so lightly and that the nobility and purity of his race are inscribed, not in his heart alone, but still more in every action of his life. You will do and say this, monsieur D'Ward, as I, an old officer, did and said just now to your boy's mustache. And if I refuse, inquired D'Ward, in that case the result will be, that which you think you will prevent, said D'Ward laughing, the result will be that your conciliatory address will end in a violation of the king's prohibition. Not so, said the captain. You are quite mistaken. What will the result be, then? The result will be, that I shall go to the king with whom I am on tolerably good terms, to whom I have been happy enough to render certain services dating from a period when you were not born, and who at my request has just sent me an order in blank for monsieur Bayes Maud de Montalzune, Governor of the Bastille, and I shall say to the king, Sire, a man has, in a most cowardly way, insulted monsieur de Bregolone by insulting his mother. I have written this man's name upon the letter to Cachet, which your Majesty has been kind enough to give me, so that monsieur D'Ward is in the Bastille for three years. And Artanian drawing the order signed by the king from his pocket, held it toward D'Ward. Remarking that the young man was not quite convinced, and received the warning as an idle threat, he shrugged his shoulders and walked leisurely toward the table, upon which lay a writing case and a pen, the length of which would have terrified the topographical porthos. D'Ward then saw that nothing could well be more seriously intended than the threatened question for the Bastille, even at that period was already held in dread. He advanced a step toward Raoul, and in an almost unintelligible voice said, I offer my apologies in the terms which monsieur D'Artanian just now dictated, and which I am forced to make to you. One moment, monsieur, said the musketeer with the greatest tranquillity. You mistake the terms of the apology, I did not say in which I am forced to make. I said in which my conscience induces me to make. This latter expression, believe me, is better than the former, and it will be far preferable since it will be the most truthful expression of your own sentiments. I subscribed to it, said D'Ward, but submit, gentlemen, that a thrust of a sword through the body, as was the custom formerly, was far better than tyranny like this. No, monsieur, replied Buckingham, for the sword thrust, when received, was no indication that a particular person was right or wrong. It only showed that he was more or less skillful in the use of the weapon. Monsieur, exclaimed D'Ward, there, now, interrupted D'Artanian, you are going to say something very rude, and I am rendering you a service by stopping you in time. Is that all, monsieur? inquired D'Ward. Absolutely everything, replied D'Artanian, and these gentlemen, as well as myself, are quite satisfied with you. Believe me, monsieur, that your reconciliations are not successful. In what way? Because, as we are now about to separate, I would rate you that monsieur de Pragolone and myself are greater enemies than ever. You are deceived, monsieur, as far as I am concerned. Returned Raul, for I do not retain the slightest animosity in my heart against you. This last blow overwhelmed D'Ward. He cast his eyes around him like a man bewildered. D'Artanian saluted most courteously the gentlemen who had been present at the explanation, and everyone on leaving the room shook hands with him, but not one hand was held out toward D'Ward. Oh! exclaimed the young man, abandoning himself to the rage which consumed him. Can I not find someone on whom to wreak my vengeance? You can, monsieur, for I am here. Whispered a voice full of menace in his ear, D'Ward turned round and saw the Duke of Buckingham, who having probably remained behind with that intention had just approached him. You, monsieur! exclaimed D'Ward. Yes, I. I am no subject of the King of France. I am not going to remain on the territory since I am about setting off for England. I have accumulated in my heart such a massive despair and rage that I, too, like yourself, need to revenge myself upon someone. I have proved, monsieur D'Artanian's principles profoundly, but I am not bound to apply them to you. I am an Englishman, and in my turn I propose to you what you propose to others to no purpose. Since you, therefore, are so terribly incensed, take me as a remedy. In thirty-four hours' time I shall be accolée. Come with me. The journey will appear shorter if together than if alone. We will fight when we get there, upon the sands which are covered by the rising tide, which form part of the French territory during six hours of the day, but belong to the territory of heaven during the other six. I accept willingly, said De Ward. I assure you, said the Duke, that if you kill me you will be rendering me an infinite service. I will do my utmost to make myself agreeable to you, Duke, said De Ward. It is agreed, then, that I carry you off with me. I shall be at your commands. I need some real danger and some mortal risk to run to tranquilize me. In that case, I think you have met with what you are looking for. Farewell, monsieur De Ward. Tomorrow morning my valet will tell you the exact hour of our departure. We can travel together like two excellent friends. I generally travel as fast as I can. Adieu. Buckingham saluted De Ward and returned toward the king's apartments. De Ward, irritated beyond measure, left the palais royale, and hurried through the streets homeward to the house where he lodged. End of Chapter 95, Recording by John Van Stan, Savannah, Georgia Chapter 96 of the D'Artagnan Romances, Volume 3, Part 1 by Alexander Dumas, translated by William Robson, this Lebovox Recording is in the public domain. Besmo de Mont-Lizoun After the all-stair lesson administered to De Ward, others in D'Artagnan descended together the staircase which led to the courtyard of the palais royale. You perceive, said Athos to D'Artagnan, that Raoul cannot sooner or later avoid a duel with De Ward, for De Ward is as brave as he is vicious and wicked. I know such fellows well, replied D'Artagnan. I have had an affair with the father, I assure you that, although at that time I had good muscles and a sort of brute courage. I assure you that the father did me some mischief, but you should have seen how I fought it out with him. Athos, such encounters never take place in these times. I had a hand which could never remain at rest, a hand like quicksilver. You know its quality, for you have seen me at work. My sword was no longer a piece of steel. It was a serpent that assumed every form and every length, seeking where it might thrust its head. In other words, where it might fix its bite. I advanced half a dozen paces, then three, and then body to body. I pressed my antagonist closely. Then I darted back again ten paces. No human power could resist that ferocious ardor. Well, De Ward the father, with the bravery of his race, with his dogged courage, occupied a good deal of my time, and my fingers at the end of the engagement where I well remember, tired enough. It is, then, as I said, resumed Athos. The sun will always be looking out for Raul, and will end by meeting him, and Raul can easily be found when he is sought for. Agreed. But Raul calculates well. He bears no grudge against De Ward. He has said so. He will wait until he is provoked, and in that case his position is a good one. The king will not be able to get out of temper about the matter. Besides, we shall know how to pacify his majesty. But why so full of these fears and anxieties? You don't easily get alarmed. I will tell you what makes me anxious. Raul is to see the king tomorrow, when his majesty will inform him of his wishes respecting a certain marriage. Raul, loving as he does, will get out of temper, and once in an angry mood, if he were to meet De Ward, the shell would explode. We will prevent the explosion. Not I, said Athos, for I must return to Blois, all the skilled elegance of the court, all these intrigues, sicken me. I am no longer a young man who can make terms with the meadness of the day. I have read in the great book many things too beautiful, and too comprehensive to longer take any interest in the trifling phrases which these men whisper among themselves when they wish to deceive others. In one word, I am weary of Paris wherever and whenever you are not with me, and as I cannot have you with me always, I wish to return to Blois. How wrong you are, Athos! How you gain, say, your origin and the destiny of your noble nature! Men of your stamp are created to continue to the very last moment in full possession of their great faculties. Look at my sword, a Spanish blade, the one I wore at Rochelle. It served me for thirty years without fail. One day in the winter it fell upon the marble floor on the Louvre and was broken. I had a hunting knife made of it which will last a hundred years yet. You, Athos, with your loyalty, your frankness, your cool courage, and your sound information are the very man king's need to warn and direct them. Remain here. Mr. Fouquet will not last as long as my Spanish blade. It is possible, said Athos smiling, that my friend D'Artagnan, who, after having raised me to the skies, making me an object of worship, cast me down from the top of Olympus and hurls me to the ground, I have more exalted ambition, D'Artagnan, to be a minister, to be a slave. Never. Am I not still greater? I am nothing. I remember having heard you occasionally call me the Great Athos. I defy you, therefore, if I were minister, to continue to bestow that title upon me. No. No. I do not yield myself in this manner. We will not speak of it any more, then. Renounce everything, even the brotherly feeling which unites us. It is almost cruel what you say. D'Artagnan pressed Athos' hand warmly. No. No. Renounce everything without fear. Raul can get on without you. I am at Paris. In that case, I shall return to Blois. We will take leave of each other tonight. Tomorrow at daybreak I shall be on my horse again. You cannot return to your hotel alone. Why did you not bring Grimald with you? Grimald takes his rest now. He goes to bed early, for my poor old servant gets easily fatigued. He came from Blois with me, and I compelled him to remain with indoors, for if in retracing the forty leagues which separates us from Blois, he needed to draw breath even, he would die without a murmur. But I don't want to lose Grimald. You shall have one of my musketeers to carry a torch for you. Hula! Someone there! called out D'Artagnan, leaning over the gilded balistrade. The heads of seven or eight musketeers appeared. I wish some gentleman who was so disposed to escort the Comp de la Faire! cried D'Artagnan. Thank you for your readiness, gentlemen, said Athos. I regret to have occasion to trouble you in this manner. I would willingly escort the Comp de la Faire! said someone, if I had not to speak to Mr. D'Artagnan. Who is that? said D'Artagnan, looking into the darkness. I am Mr. D'Artagnan. Heaven forgive me, if that is not Mr. Bezemo's voice. It is, Mr. D'Artagnan. What are you doing in the courtyard, my dear Bezemo? I am waiting your orders, my dear Mr. D'Artagnan. Wretch that I am, thought D'Artagnan. True, you have been told, I suppose, that someone was to be arrested and have come yourself instead of sending an officer? I came because I had occasion to speak to you. You did not send to me. I waited until you were disengaged, said Mr. Bezemo timidly. I leave you, D'Artagnan, said Athos. Not before I have presented Mr. Bezemo de Mont-Lizoun, the governor of the Bastille. Bezemo and Athos saluted each other. Surely you must know each other, said D'Artagnan. I have an indistinct recollection of Mr. Bezemo, said Athos. You remember, my dear Bezemo, the king's guardsman with whom we used formally to have such delightful meetings in the Cardinals' time? Perfectly, said Athos, taking leave of him with affability. Mr. de Comte l'Effaire, whose nom de guerre was Athos, whispered D'Artagnan de Bezemo. Yes, yes, a brave man, one of the celebrated four. Precisely so, but, my dear Bezemo, shall we talk now? If you please. In the first place, as for the orders, there are none. The king does not intend to arrest the person in question. So much the worse, said Bezemo with a sigh. What do you mean by so much the worse? exclaimed D'Artagnan, laughing. No doubt of it. Returned the governor. My prisoners are my income. I beg your pardon. I did not see it in that light. And so there are no orders. Repeated Bezemo with a sigh. What an admirable situation yours is, Captain. He continued after a pause. Captain Lieutenant of the Musketeers. Oh, it is good enough, but I don't see why you should envy me. You, governor of the Bastille, the first castle in France. I am well aware of that, said Bezemo in a sorrowful tone of voice. You say that like a man confessing his sins. I would willingly exchange my profits for yours. Don't speak to me of profits if you wish to save me the bitterest anguish of mind. Why do you look first on one side, and then the other, as if you were afraid of being arrested yourself? You, whose business it is to arrest others. I was looking to see whether anyone could see or listen to us. It would be safer to confirm or in private, if you would grant me such a favour. Bezemo, you seem to forget we are acquaintances of five and thirty years standing. Don't assume such sanctified heirs. Make yourself quite comfortable. I don't eat governors of the Bastille raw. Heaven be praised. Come into the courtyard with me. It's a beautiful moonlit night. We will walk up and down, arm in arm, under the trees. While you tell me your pitiful tale. He drew the doleful governor into the courtyard, took him by the arm as he had said, and in his rough good-humoured way cried out, out with it, rattle away, Bezemo. What have you got to say? It's a long story. You prefer your own lamentations, then. My opinion is it will be longer than ever. I'll wager you are making fifty thousand franc out of your pigeons in the Bastille. What a heaven that were the case, Mr. D'Artagnan. You surprise me, Bezemo. Just look at you, acting the anchorite. I should like to show you your face in a glass, and you would see how plump and floored looking you are, as fat and round as a cheese with eyes like lighted coals. And if it were not for that ugly wrinkle you tried to cultivate on your forehead, you would hardly look fifty years old, and you are sixty if I'm not mistaken. All quite true. Of course, I knew it was true, as true as the fifty thousand franc profit you make, at which remark Bezemo stamped on the ground. Well, well, said D'Artagnan, I will add up your accounts for you. You were captain of Monsieur Mazarin's Guards, and twelve thousand franc a year would in twelve years amount to one hundred and forty thousand franc. Twelve thousand franc? Are you mad? Cried, Bezemo. The old miser gave me no more than six thousand, and the expenses of the post amounted to six thousand five hundred franc. Monsieur Colbert, who deducted the other six thousand franc condescended, to allow me to take fifty pistoles as a gratification. So that, if it were not for my little estate at Montlazoun, which brings me in twelve thousand franc a year, I could not have met my engagements. Well, then, how about the fifty thousand franc from the Bastille? There I trust you are boarded and lodged, and get your six thousand franc salary beside. Admitted! Whether the year be good or bad, there are fifty prisoners who, on average, bring you in a thousand franc a year each. I don't deny it! Well, there is at once an income of fifty thousand franc. You have held the post three years, and must have received in that time one hundred and fifty thousand franc. You forget one circumstance, dear Monsieur D'Artagnan. What is that? That while you received your appointment as captain from the king himself, I received mine as governor from Monsieur's Tremblay in Louviere. Quite right, and Tremblay was not a man to let you have the post for nothing. Nor Louviere, either. The result was that I gave seventy-five thousand franc to Tremblay as his share. Very agreeable that. And to Louviere, the very same. Money down? No, that would have been impossible. The king did not wish, or rather, Monsieur Mazarin did not wish, to have the appearance of removing those two gentlemen who had sprung from the barricades. He permitted them therefore to make certain extravagant conditions for their retirement. What were those conditions? Tremblay, three years' income for the goodwill. The deuce, so that the one hundred and fifty thousand franc have passed into their hands? Precisely so. And beyond that? A sum of one hundred and fifty thousand franc, or fifteen thousand pistoles, whichever you please, in three payments. Exorbitant. Yes, but then is not all. What besides? In default of the fulfilment by me of any one of those conditions, those gentlemen enter upon their functions again. The king has been induced to sign that. It is monstrous, incredible. Such is the fact, however. I do indeed pity you, Bezmo, but why in the name of fortune did Monsieur Mazarin grant you this pretended favour? It would have been far better to have refused you altogether. Certainly, but he was strongly persuaded to do so by my protector. Who is he? One of your friends indeed, Monsieur de Blay. Monsieur de Blay? Aramis? Just so. He has been very kind toward me. Kind? To make you enter into such a bargain? Listen, I wish to leave the cardinal's service. Monsieur de Blay spoke on my behalf to Louvière and Tremblay. They objected. I wish to have the appointment very much, for I knew what it could be made to produce. In my distress I confided in Monsieur de Blay, and he offered to become my surety for the different payments. You astound me. Aramis, become your surety. Like a man of honour, he procured the signature. Tremblay and Louvière resigned their appointments. I have paid every year twenty-five thousand francs to these two gentlemen. On the thirty-first of May every year, Monsieur de Blay himself comes to the Bastille and brings me five thousand pistoles to distribute between my crocodiles. You owe Aramis one hundred and fifty thousand francs then. That is the very thing which is the cause of my despair, for I only owe him one hundred thousand. I don't quite understand you. He came and settled with the vampires only two years. Today, however, is the thirty-first of May, and he has not been yet, and tomorrow at midday the payment falls due. If therefore I don't pay tomorrow, these gentlemen can, by the terms of the contract, break off the bargain. I shall be stripped of everything. I shall have worked for three years and given two hundred and fifty thousand francs for nothing. Absolutely for nothing at all, dear Monsieur d'Artagnan. This is very strange, murmur d'Artagnan. You can now imagine that I may well have wrinkles on my forehead. Can you not? Yes, indeed. And you can imagine, too, that notwithstanding I may be as round as a cheese with a complexion like an apple, and my eyes like coals on fire. I may almost be afraid that I shall not have a cheese or an apple left me to eat, and that my eyes will be left me only to weep with. It is really a very grievous affair. I have come to you, Monsieur d'Artagnan, for you are the only man who can get me out of my trouble. In what way? You are acquainted with the abbey d'Arblay, and you know that he is a somewhat mysterious gentleman. Yes. Well, you can perhaps give me the address of his presbytery, for I have been to Nozile sec, and he is no longer there. I should think not, indeed. He is Bishop of Vann. What? Vann? In Britannia? Yes. The little man began to tear his hair, saying, How can I get to Vann from here by midday tomorrow? I am a lost man. Your despair quite distresses me. Vann! Vann! cried Bezmo. But listen, a bishop is not always a resident. Monsieur d'Arblay may not possibly be so far away as you fear. Pray, tell me his address. I really don't know it. In that case I am lost. I will go and throw myself at the king's feet. But Bezmo, I can hardly believe what you tell me, but besides, since the Bastille is capable of producing fifty thousand franc a year, why have you not tried to screw one hundred thousand out of it? Because I am an honest man, Monsieur d'Artagnan, and because my prisoners are fed like ambassadors. Well, you're in a fair way to get out of your difficulties. Give yourself a good attack of indigestion with your excellent living, and put yourself out of the way between this and midday tomorrow. How can you be so hard-hearted enough to laugh? Nay, you really afflict me. Come, Bezmo, if you can pledge me your word of honor, do so, that you will not open your lips to anyone about what I am going to say to you. Never, never! You wish to put your hand on Aramis? At any cost. Well, go and see where Monsieur Fouquet is. Why? What connection can there be? How stupid are you? Don't you know that Van is in the Diocese of Belial, or Belial in the Diocese of Van? Belial belongs to Monsieur Fouquet, and Monsieur Fouquet nominated Monsieur de Blay to that bishopric. I see. I see. You restore me to life again. So much the better. Go and tell Monsieur Fouquet very simply that you wish to speak to Monsieur de Blay. Of course, of course! exclaimed Bezmo delightedly. But, said D'Artagnan, checking him by a severe look, your word of honor. I give you my sacred word of honor, replied the little man about to set off running. Where are you going? To Monsieur Fouquet's house. It is useless doing that. Monsieur Fouquet is playing at cards with the king. All you can do is to pay Monsieur Fouquet a visit early tomorrow morning. I will do so. Thank you. Good luck attend you, said D'Artagnan. Thank you. This is a strange affair, murmured D'Artagnan, as he slowly ascended the staircase after he had left Bezmo. What possible interests can Hermes have in obliging Bezmo in this manner? Well, I suppose we shall learn some day or another. End of Chapter 96, Recording by John Vance Stan, Savannah, Georgia