THE THREE MUSKETEERS - Complete Series: The Three Musketeers, Twenty Years After, The Vicomte of Bragelonne, Ten Years Later, Louise da la Valliere & The Man in the Iron Mask. Alexandre Dumas

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      “Bad, monsieur, bad!” replied the king; “I am bored.”

      This was, in fact, the worst complaint of Louis XIII, who would sometimes take one of his courtiers to a window and say, “Monsieur So-and-so, let us weary ourselves together.”

      “How! Your Majesty is bored? Have you not enjoyed the pleasures of the chase today?”

      “A fine pleasure, indeed, monsieur! Upon my soul, everything degenerates; and I don’t know whether it is the game which leaves no scent, or the dogs that have no noses. We started a stag of ten branches. We chased him for six hours, and when he was near being taken—when St.-Simon was already putting his horn to his mouth to sound the mort—crack, all the pack takes the wrong scent and sets off after a two-year-older. I shall be obliged to give up hunting, as I have given up hawking. Ah, I am an unfortunate king, Monsieur de Treville! I had but one gerfalcon, and he died day before yesterday.”

      “Indeed, sire, I wholly comprehend your disappointment. The misfortune is great; but I think you have still a good number of falcons, sparrow hawks, and tiercets.”

      “And not a man to instruct them. Falconers are declining. I know no one but myself who is acquainted with the noble art of venery. After me it will all be over, and people will hunt with gins, snares, and traps. If I had but the time to train pupils! But there is the cardinal always at hand, who does not leave me a moment’s repose; who talks to me about Spain, who talks to me about Austria, who talks to me about England! Ah! A PROPOS of the cardinal, Monsieur de Treville, I am vexed with you!”

      This was the chance at which M. de Treville waited for the king. He knew the king of old, and he knew that all these complaints were but a preface—a sort of excitation to encourage himself—and that he had now come to his point at last.

      “And in what have I been so unfortunate as to displease your Majesty?” asked M. de Treville, feigning the most profound astonishment.

      “Is it thus you perform your charge, monsieur?” continued the king, without directly replying to de Treville’s question. “Is it for this I name you captain of my Musketeers, that they should assassinate a man, disturb a whole quarter, and endeavor to set fire to Paris, without your saying a word? But yet,” continued the king, “undoubtedly my haste accuses you wrongfully; without doubt the rioters are in prison, and you come to tell me justice is done.”

      “Sire,” replied M. de Treville, calmly, “on the contrary, I come to demand it of you.”

      “And against whom?” cried the king.

      “Against calumniators,” said M. de Treville.

      “Ah! This is something new,” replied the king. “Will you tell me that your three damned Musketeers, Athos, Porthos, and Aramis, and your youngster from Bearn, have not fallen, like so many furies, upon poor Bernajoux, and have not maltreated him in such a fashion that probably by this time he is dead? Will you tell me that they did not lay siege to the hotel of the Duc de la Tremouille, and that they did not endeavor to burn it?—which would not, perhaps, have been a great misfortune in time of war, seeing that it is nothing but a nest of Huguenots, but which is, in time of peace, a frightful example. Tell me, now, can you deny all this?”

      “And who told you this fine story, sire?” asked Treville, quietly.

      “Who has told me this fine story, monsieur? Who should it be but he who watches while I sleep, who labors while I amuse myself, who conducts everything at home and abroad—in France as in Europe?”

      “Your Majesty probably refers to God,” said M. de Treville; “for I know no one except God who can be so far above your Majesty.”

      “No, monsieur; I speak of the prop of the state, of my only servant, of my only friend—of the cardinal.”

      “His Eminence is not his holiness, sire.”

      “What do you mean by that, monsieur?”

      “That it is only the Pope who is infallible, and that this infallibility does not extend to cardinals.”

      “You mean to say that he deceives me; you mean to say that he betrays me? You accuse him, then? Come, speak; avow freely that you accuse him!”

      “No, sire, but I say that he deceives himself. I say that he is ill-informed. I say that he has hastily accused your Majesty’s Musketeers, toward whom he is unjust, and that he has not obtained his information from good sources.”

      “The accusation comes from Monsieur de la Tremouille, from the duke himself. What do you say to that?”

      “I might answer, sire, that he is too deeply interested in the question to be a very impartial witness; but so far from that, sire, I know the duke to be a royal gentleman, and I refer the matter to him—but upon one condition, sire.”

      “What?”

      “It is that your Majesty will make him come here, will interrogate him yourself, TETE-A-TETE, without witnesses, and that I shall see your Majesty as soon as you have seen the duke.”

      “What, then! You will bind yourself,” cried the king, “by what Monsieur de la Tremouille shall say?”

      “Yes, sire.”

      “You will accept his judgment?”

      “Undoubtedly.”

      “And you will submit to the reparation he may require?”

      “Certainly.”

      “La Chesnaye,” said the king. “La Chesnaye!”

      Louis XIII’s confidential valet, who never left the door, entered in reply to the call.

      “La Chesnaye,” said the king, “let someone go instantly and find Monsieur de la Tremouille; I wish to speak with him this evening.”

      “Your Majesty gives me your word that you will not see anyone between Monsieur de la Tremouille and myself?”

      “Nobody, by the faith of a gentleman.”

      “Tomorrow, then, sire?”

      “Tomorrow, monsieur.”

      “At what o’clock, please your Majesty?”

      “At any hour you will.”

      “But in coming too early I should be afraid of awakening your Majesty.”

      “Awaken me! Do you think I ever sleep, then? I sleep no longer, monsieur. I sometimes dream, that’s all. Come, then, as early as you like—at seven o’clock; but beware, if you and your Musketeers are guilty.”

      “If my Musketeers are guilty, sire, the guilty shall be placed in your Majesty’s hands, who will dispose of them at your good pleasure. Does your Majesty require anything further? Speak, I am ready to obey.”

      “No, monsieur, no; I am not called Louis the Just without reason. Tomorrow, then, monsieur—tomorrow.”

      “Till then, God preserve СКАЧАТЬ