The king, after reperusing the letter, sealed it himself. "This letterfor my lord cardinal," said he.
The gentleman took it. At Mazarin's door he found Bernouin waiting withanxiety.
"Well?" asked the minister's valet de chambre.
"Monsieur," said the gentleman, "here is a letter for his eminence."
"A letter! Ah! we expected one after the little journey of the morning."
"Oh! you know, then, that his majesty----"
"As first minister, it belongs to the duties of our charge to knoweverything. And his majesty prays and implores, I presume."
"I don't know, but he sighed frequently whilst he was writing."
"'Yes, yes, yes; we understand all that; people sigh sometimes fromhappiness as well as from grief, monsieur."
"And yet the king did not look very happy when he returned, monsieur."
"You did not see clearly. Besides, you only saw his majesty on hisreturn, for he was only accompanied by the lieutenant of the guards. ButI had his eminence's telescope, I looked through it when he was tired,and I am sure they both wept."
"Well! was it for happiness they wept?"
"No, but for love, and they vowed to each other a thousand tendernesses,which the king asks no better than to keep. Now this letter is abeginning of the execution."
"And what does his eminence think of this love, which is, by the bye, nosecret to anybody?"
Bernouin took the gentleman by the arm, and whilst ascending thestaircase,--"In confidence," said he, in a low voice, "his eminencelooks for success in the affair. I know very well we shall have war withSpain; but, bah! war will please the nobles. My lord cardinal, besides,can endow his niece royally, nay, more than royally. There will bemoney, festivities, and fireworks--everybody will be delighted."
"Well, for my part," replied the gentleman, shaking his head, "itappears to me that this letter is very light to contain all that."
"My friend," replied Bernouin, "I am certain of what I tell you. M.d'Artagnan related all that passed to me."
"Ay, ay! and what did he tell you? Let us hear."
"I accosted him by asking him, on the part of the cardinal, ifthere were any news, without discovering my designs, observe, for M.d'Artagnan is a cunning hand. 'My dear Monsieur Bernouin,' he replied,'the king is madly in love with Mademoiselle de Mancini, that is all Ihave to tell you.' And then I asked him 'Do you think, to such a degreethat it will urge him to act contrary to the designs of his eminence?''Ah! don't ask me,' said he; 'I think the king capable of anything; hehas a will of iron, and what he wills he wills in earnest. If he takesit into his head to marry Mademoiselle de Mancini, he will marry her,depend upon it.' And thereupon he left me and went straight to thestables, took a horse, saddled it himself, jumped upon its back, and setoff as if the devil were at his heels."
"So that you believe, then----"
"I believe that monsieur the lieutenant of the guards knew more than hewas willing to say."
"In your opinion, then, M. d'Artagnan----"
"Is gone, according to all probability, after the exiles, to carry outall that can facilitate the success of the king's love."
Chatting thus, the two confidants arrived at the door of his eminence'sapartment. His eminence's gout had left him; he was walking about hischamber in a state of great anxiety, listening at doors and looking outof windows. Bernouin entered, followed by the gentleman, who had ordersfrom the king to place the letter in the hands of the cardinal himself.Mazarin took the letter, but before opening it, he got up a ready smile,a smile of circumstance, able to throw a veil over emotions of whateversort they might be. So prepared, whatever was the impression receivedfrom the letter, no reflection of that impression was allowed totranspire upon his countenance.
"Well," said he, when he had read and reread the letter, "very well,monsieur. Inform the king that I thank him for his obedience to thewishes of the queen-mother, and that I will do everything for theaccomplishment of his will."
The gentlemen left the room. The door had scarcely closed before thecardinal, who had no mask for Bernouin, took off that which had sorecently covered his face, and with a most dismal expression,--"Call M.de Brienne," said he. Five minutes afterward the secretary entered.
"Monsieur," said Mazarin, "I have just rendered a great service to themonarchy, the greatest I have ever rendered it. You will carry thisletter, which proves it, to her majesty the queen-mother, and when sheshall have returned it to you, you will lodge it in portfolio B., whichis filled with documents and papers relative to my ministry."
Brienne went as desired, and, as the letter was unsealed, did not failto read it on his way. There is likewise no doubt that Bernouin, who wason good terms with everybody, approached so near to the secretary as tobe able to read the letter over his shoulder; so that the news spreadwith such activity through the castle, that Mazarin might have fearedit would reach the ears of the queen-mother before M. de Brienne couldconvey Louis XIV.'s letter to her. A moment after orders were given fordeparture, and M. de Conde having been to pay his respects to theking on his pretended rising, inscribed the city of Poitiers upon histablets, as the place of sojourn and rest for their majesties.
Thus in a few instants was unraveled an intrigue which had covertlyoccupied all the diplomacies of Europe. It had nothing, however, veryclear as a result, but to make a poor lieutenant of musketeers lose hiscommission and his fortune. It is true, that in exchange he gained hisliberty. We shall soon know how M. d'Artagnan profited by this. For themoment, if the reader will permit us, we shall return to the hostelryof les Medici, of which one of the windows opened at the very moment theorders were given for the departure of the king.
The window that opened was that of one of the rooms of Charles II. Theunfortunate prince had passed the night in bitter reflections, his headresting on his hands, and his elbows on the table, whilst Parry, infirmand old, wearied in body and in mind, had fallen asleep in a corner. Asingular fortune was that of this faithful servant, who saw beginningfor the second generation the fearful series of misfortunes which hadweighed so heavily on the first. When Charles II. had well thought overthe fresh defeat he had experienced, when he perfectly comprehended thecomplete isolation into which he had just fallen, on seeing his freshhope left behind him, he was seized as with a vertigo, and sank backin the large armchair in which he was seated. Then God took pity on theunhappy prince, and sent to console him sleep, the innocent brother ofdeath. He did not wake till half-past six, that is to say, till thesun shone brightly into his chamber, and Parry, motionless with fear ofwaking him, was observing with profound grief the eyes of the young manalready red with wakefulness, and his cheeks pale with suffering andprivations.
At length the noise of some heavy carts descending towards the Loireawakened Charles. He arose, looked around him like a man who hasforgotten everything, perceived Parry, shook him by the hand, andcommanded him to settle the reckoning with Master Cropole. MasterCropole, being called upon to settle his account with Parry, acquittedhimself, it must be allowed, like an honest man; he only made hiscustomary remark, that the two travelers had eaten nothing, which hadthe double disadvantage of being humiliating for his kitchen, and offorcing him to ask payment for a repast not consumed, but not the lesslost. Parry had nothing to say to the contrary, and paid.
"I hope," said the king, "it has not been the same with the horses.I don't see that they have eaten at your expense, and it would be amisfortune for travelers like us, who have a long journey to make, tohave our horses fail us."
But Cropole, at this doubt, assumed his majestic air, and replied thatthe stables of les Medici were not less hospitable than its refectory.
The king mounted his horse; his old servant did the same, and both setout towards Paris, without meeting a single person on their road, in thestreets or the faubourgs of the city. For the prince the blow was themore severe, as it was a fresh exile. The unfortunates cling to thesmallest hopes, as the happy do to the greatest good; and when they areobl
iged to quit the place where that hope has soothed their hearts, theyexperience the mortal regret which the banished man feels when he placeshis foot upon the vessel which is to bear him into exile. It appearsthat the heart already wounded so many times suffers from the leastscratch; it appears that it considers as a good the momentary absence ofevil, which is nothing but the absence of pain; and that God, into themost terrible misfortunes, has thrown hope as the drop of water whichthe rich bad man in hell entreated of Lazarus.
For one instant even the hope of Charles II. had been more than afugitive joy;--that was when he found himself so kindly welcomed by hisbrother king; then it had taken a form that had become a reality; then,all at once, the refusal of Mazarin had reduced the fictitious realityto the state of a dream. This promise of Louis XIV., so soon retracted,had been nothing but a mockery; a mockery like his crown--like hisscepter--like his friends--like all that had surrounded his royalchildhood, and which had abandoned his proscribed youth. Mockery!everything was a mockery for Charles II. except the cold, black reposepromised by death.
Such were the ideas of the unfortunate prince while sitting listlesslyupon his horse, to which he abandoned the reins; he rode slowly alongbeneath the warm May sun, in which the somber misanthropy of the exileperceived a last insult to his grief.
CHAPTER 16. "Remember!"