The Man in the Iron Mask
High Treason.
The which took of the king at the and at the of Fouquet’s to La Valliere by into a of pain and weariness. Youth, by health and of spirits, soon that what it should be restored—youth not those endless, nights which us to the of the on Prometheus. In cases where the man of middle life, in his of will and purpose, and the old, in their of natural exhaustion, of their sorrow, a man, by the of misfortune, himself in sighs, and groans, and tears, directly with his grief, and is sooner by the enemy with he is engaged. Once overthrown, his cease. Louis not out more than a minutes, at the end of which he had to his hands, and in with his looks the objects of his hatred; he soon to attack with his not M. Fouquet alone, but La Valliere herself; from he into despair, and from to prostration. After he had himself for a minutes to and on his bed, his arms down; his on his pillow; his limbs, with emotion, still occasionally, by contractions; while from his and still issued. Morpheus, the of the apartment, Louis his eyes, by his anger and by his tears, upon him the sleep-inducing with which his hands are filled; so presently the closed his and asleep. Then it to him, as it often in that sleep, so light and gentle, which the above the couch, and the above the earth—it to him, we say, as if the god Morpheus, painted on the ceiling, looked at him with eyes; that something brightly, and moved to and in the above the sleeper; that the of terrible which together in his brain, and which were for a moment, a face, with a hand against the mouth, and in an of and meditation. And enough, too, this man so a to the king himself, that Louis he was looking at his own in a mirror; with the exception, however, that the was by a of the pity. Then it to him as if the retired, from his gaze, and that the and painted by Lebrun and as the more and more remote. A gentle, easy movement, as regular as that by which a the waves, had succeeded to the of the bed. Doubtless the king was dreaming, and in this the of gold, which the together, to from his vision, just as the dome, to which it suspended, had done, so that the which, with its hand, supported the crown, seemed, though so, to call upon the king, who was fast from it. The still sunk. Louis, with his open, not the of this hallucination. At last, as the light of the away into and gloom, something cold, gloomy, and in its nature to the air. No paintings, gold, hangings, were visible any longer, nothing but of a color, which the every moment. And yet the still to descend, and after a minute, which in its almost an age to the king, it a of air, black and as death, and then it stopped. The king no longer see the light in his room, as from the of a well we can see the light of day. “I am under the of some dream,” he thought. “It is time to from it. Come! let me wake.”
Every one has the the above conveys; there is a person who, in the of a is suffocating, has not said to himself, by the help of that light which still in the brain when every light is extinguished, “It is nothing but a dream, after all.” This was what Louis XIV. said to himself; but when he said, “Come, come! wake up,” he that not only was he already awake, but still more, that he had his open also. And then he looked all him. On his right hand and on his left two men in silence, each in a cloak, and the with a mask; one of them a small lamp in his hand, light the picture a king look upon. Louis not help saying to himself that his still lasted, and that all he had to do to it to was to move his arms or to say something aloud; he from his bed, and himself upon the damp, ground. Then, himself to the man who the lamp in his hand, he said:
“What is this, monsieur, and what is the meaning of this jest?”
“It is no jest,” in a voice the that the lantern.
“Do you to M. Fouquet?” the king, at his situation.
“It very little to we belong,” said the phantom; “we are your masters now, that is sufficient.”
The king, more than intimidated, to the other figure. “If this is a comedy,” he said, “you will tell M. Fouquet that I it and improper, and that I it should cease.”
The second person to the king had himself was a man of and circumference. He himself and as any of marble. “Well!” added the king, his foot, “you do not answer!”
“We do not answer you, my good monsieur,” said the giant, in a voice, “because there is nothing to say.”
“At least, tell me what you want,” Louis, his arms with a gesture.
“You will know by and by,” the man who the lamp.
“In the meantime tell me where I am.”
“Look.”
Louis looked all him; but by the light of the lamp which the for the purpose, he nothing but the which here and there with the of the snail. “Oh—oh!—a dungeon,” the king.
“No, a passage.”
“Which leads—?”
“Will you be good to us?”
“I shall not from hence!” the king.
“If you are obstinate, my dear friend,” the of the two, “I will you up in my arms, and roll you up in your own cloak, and if you should to be stifled, why—so much the for you.”
As he said this, he from his a hand of which Milo of Crotona would have him the possession, on the day when he had that idea of his last oak. The king violence, for he well that the two men into power he had had not gone so with any idea of back, and that they would be to to extremities, if necessary. He his and said: “It I have into the hands of a of assassins. Move on, then.”
Neither of the men answered a word to this remark. The one who the walked first, the king him, while the second closed the procession. In this manner they passed along a of some length, with as many leading out of it as are to be in the and of Ann Radcliffe’s creation. All these and turnings, which the king the of water over his head, ended at last in a long closed by an iron door. The with the lamp opened the door with one of the keys he at his girdle, where, the whole of the journey, the king had them rattle. As soon as the door was opened and the air, Louis the that trees in nights. He paused, hesitatingly, for a moment or two; but the who him him out of the passage.
“Another blow,” said the king, the one who had just had the to touch his sovereign; “what do you to do with the king of France?”
“Try to that word,” the man with the lamp, in a which as little of a reply as one of the famous of Minos.
“You to be on the wheel for the that you have just use of,” said the giant, as he the lamp his to him; “but the king is too kind-hearted.”
Louis, at that threat, so a movement that it as if he flight; but the giant’s hand was in a moment on his shoulder, and him where he stood. “But tell me, at least, where we are going,” said the king.
“Come,” the of the two men, with a of respect in his manner, and leading his a which to be in waiting.
The was the trees. Two horses, with their fettered, were by a to the of a large oak.
“Get in,” said the same man, opening the carriage-door and the step. The king obeyed, seated himself at the of the carriage, the door of which was and locked upon him and his guide. As for the giant, he cut the by which the were bound, them himself, and on the box of the carriage, which was unoccupied. The set off at a quick trot, into the road to Paris, and in the of Senart a of to the trees in the same manner the had been, and without a postilion. The man on the box the horses, and to the road Paris with the same rapidity, so that they entered the city about three o’clock in the morning. They along the Faubourg Saint-Antoine, and, after having called out to the sentinel, “By the king’s order,” the driver the into the of the Bastile, looking out upon the courtyard, called La Cour du Gouvernement. There the up, with sweat, at the of steps, and a of the ran forward. “Go and wake the governor,” said the in a voice of thunder.
With the of this voice, which might have been at the entrance of the Faubourg Saint-Antoine, as in the as in the prison. Ten minutes afterwards, M. de Baisemeaux appeared in his dressing-gown on the of the door. “What is the now?” he asked; “and have you me there?”
The man with the opened the carriage-door, and said two or three to the one who as driver, who got from his seat, took up a which he under his feet, and its on his prisoner’s chest.
“And fire at once if he speaks!” added the man who from the carriage.
“Very good,” his companion, without another remark.
With this recommendation, the person who had the king in the the of steps, at the top of which the was him. “Monsieur d’Herblay!” said the latter.
“Hush!” said Aramis. “Let us go into your room.”
“Good heavens! what you here at this hour?”
“A mistake, my dear Monsieur de Baisemeaux,” Aramis replied, quietly. “It that you were right the other day.”
“What about?” the governor.
“About the order of release, my dear friend.”
“Tell me what you mean, monsieur—no, monseigneur,” said the governor, almost by and terror.
“It is a very affair: you remember, dear M. de Baisemeaux, that an order of was sent to you.”
“Yes, for Marchiali.”
“Very good! we that it was for Marchiali?”
“Certainly; you will recollect, however, that I would not it, but that you me to it.”
“Oh! Baisemeaux, my good fellow, what a word to make use of!—strongly recommended, that was all.”
“Strongly recommended, yes; to give him up to you; and that you him off with you in your carriage.”
“Well, my dear Monsieur de Baisemeaux, it was a mistake; it was at the ministry, so that I now you an order from the king to set at Seldon,—that Seldon fellow, you know.”
“Seldon! are you sure this time?”
“Well, read it yourself,” added Aramis, him the order.
“Why,” said Baisemeaux, “this order is the very same that has already passed through my hands.”
“Indeed?”
“It is the very one I you I saw the other evening. Parbleu! I it by the of ink.”
“I do not know it is that; but all I know is, that I it for you.”
“But then, what about the other?”
“What other?”
“Marchiali.”
“I have got him here with me.”
“But that is not for me. I a new order to take him again.”
“Don’t talk such nonsense, my dear Baisemeaux; you talk like a child! Where is the order you Marchiali?”
Baisemeaux ran to his iron and took it out. Aramis of it, it in four pieces, them to the lamp, and them. “Good heavens! what are you doing?” Baisemeaux, in an of terror.
“Look at your position quietly, my good governor,” said Aramis, with self-possession, “and you will see how very the whole is. You no longer any order Marchiali’s release.”
“I am a man!”
“Far from it, my good fellow, since I have Marchiali to you, and all is just the same as if he had left.”
“Ah!” said the governor, overcome by terror.
“Plain enough, you see; and you will go and him up immediately.”
“I should think so, indeed.”
“And you will hand over this Seldon to me, is by this order. Do you understand?”
“I—I—”
“You do understand, I see,” said Aramis. “Very good.” Baisemeaux his hands together.
“But why, at all events, after having taken Marchiali away from me, do you him again?” the governor, in a of terror, and dumbfounded.
“For a friend such as you are,” said Aramis—“for so a servant, I have no secrets;” and he put his mouth close to Baisemeaux’s ear, as he said, in a low of voice, “you know the that fellow, and—”
“And the king?—yes!”
“Very good; the use that Marchiali of his was to persist—Can you what?”
“How is it likely I should guess?”
“To in saying that he was king of France; to dress himself up in like those of the king; and then to assume that he was the king himself.”
“Gracious heavens!”
“That is the why I have him again, my dear friend. He is and lets every one see how he is.”
“What is to be done, then?”
“That is very simple; let no one any with him. You that when his of came to the king’s ears, the king, who had his terrible affliction, and saw that all his had been by black ingratitude, perfectly furious; so that, now—and this very distinctly, dear Monsieur de Baisemeaux, for it you most closely—so that there is now, I repeat, of death against all those who may allow him to with any one else but me or the king himself. You understand, Baisemeaux, of death!”
“You need not ask me I understand.”
“And now, let us go down, and this to his again, unless you he should come up here.”
“What would be the good of that?”
“It would be better, perhaps, to enter his name in the prison-book at once!”
“Of course, certainly; not a of it.”
“In that case, have him up.”
Baisemeaux ordered the to be and the to be rung, as a to every one to retire, in order to avoid meeting a prisoner, about it was to a mystery. Then, when the passages were free, he to take the from the carriage, at Porthos, to the which had been him, still his leveled. “Ah! is that you, wretch?” the governor, as soon as he the king. “Very good, very good.” And immediately, making the king out of the carriage, he him, still by Porthos, who had not taken off his mask, and Aramis, who again his, up the stairs, to the second Bertaudiere, and opened the door of the room in which Philippe for six long years had his existence. The king entered the without a single word: he in as and as a rain-struck lily. Baisemeaux the door upon him, the key twice in the lock, and then returned to Aramis. “It is true,” he said, in a low tone, “that he a to the king; but less so than you said.”
“So that,” said Aramis, “you would not have been by the of the one for the other?”
“What a question!”
“You are a most valuable fellow, Baisemeaux,” said Aramis; “and now, set Seldon free.”
“Oh, yes. I was going to that. I will go and give orders at once.”
“Bah! to-morrow will be time enough.”
“To-morrow!—oh, no. This very minute.”
“Well; go off to your affairs, I will go away to mine. But it is understood, is it not?”
“What ‘is understood’?”
“That no one is to enter the prisoner’s cell, with an order from the king; an order which I will myself bring.”
“Quite so. Adieu, monseigneur.”
Aramis returned to his companion. “Now, Porthos, my good fellow, again to Vaux, and as fast as possible.”
“A man is light and easy enough, when he has his king; and, in him, saved his country,” said Porthos. “The will be as light as if our were of the wind of heaven. So let us be off.” And the carriage, of a prisoner, who might well be—as he in was—very in the of Aramis, passed across the of the Bastile, which was again it.
