The Man in the Iron Mask
The Morning.
In to the sad and terrible of the king in the Bastile, and tearing, in despair, the and of his dungeon, the of the of old would not fail to present, as a complete antithesis, the picture of Philippe asleep the canopy. We do not to say that such is always bad, and always scatters, in places where they have no right to grow, the flowers with which it and history. But we shall, on the present occasion, avoid the in question, but shall to another picture as as possible, to as and to the one in the chapter. The from Aramis’s room, in the same way the king had from the to Morpheus. The and slowly under Aramis’s pressure, and Philippe the bed, which had again after having deposited its in the of the passage. Alone, in the presence of all the luxury which him; alone, in the presence of his power; alone, with the part he was about to be to act, Philippe for the time his heart, and mind, and the of a thousand emotions, which are the of a king’s heart. He not help color when he looked upon the empty bed, still by his brother’s body. This mute had returned, after having the work it had been to perform; it returned with the of the crime; it spoke to the author of that crime, with the and language which an to use in the company of his in guilt; for it spoke the truth. Philippe over the bed, and a pocket-handkerchief on it, which was still from the cold which had from Louis XIV.‘s face. This sweat-bestained Philippe, as the of Abel Cain.
“I am to with my destiny,” said Philippe, his on fire, and his a white. “Is it likely to be more than my has been sad and gloomy? Though I am to out, at every moment, the power and authority I have usurped, shall I to to the of my heart? Yes! the king has on this bed; it is his that has left its on this pillow; his that have this handkerchief: and yet, I to myself on the bed, or to press in my hand the which is with my brother’s arms. Away with such weakness; let me M. d’Herblay, who that a man’s action should be always one above his thoughts; let me M. d’Herblay, are of and for himself alone, who himself as a man of honor, so long as he or his only. I, I alone, should have this bed, if Louis XIV. had not, to my mother’s abandonment, in my way; and this handkerchief, with the arms of France, would in right and to me alone, if, as M. d’Herblay observes, I had been left my cradle. Philippe, son of France, take your place on that bed; Philippe, king of France, the that is yours! Philippe, to Louis XIII., your father, without or for the who, at this moment, has not to the of the of all that you have had to submit to.”
With these words, Philippe, an of feeling, and in of the of terror which his will, himself on the bed, and his to press the still warm place where Louis XIV. had lain, while he his in the still by his brother’s tears. With his and in the soft of his pillow, Philippe above him the of France, suspended, as we have stated, by with wings.
A man may be of in a lion’s den, but can to sleep there quietly. Philippe to every sound; his and at the very of terror and misfortune; but in his own strength, which was by the of an determination, he waited until some should permit him to judge for himself. He that might be to him, like those lights of the which the the of the against which they have to struggle. But nothing approached. Silence, that enemy of hearts, and of minds, in the of its the of the night the king of France, who there his crown. Towards the a shadow, than a body, into the chamber; Philippe his approach and neither any surprise.
“Well, M. d’Herblay?”
“Well, sire, all is accomplished.”
“How?”
“Exactly as we expected.”
“Did he resist?”
“Terribly! and entreaties.”
“And then?”
“A perfect stupor.”
“But at last?”
“Oh! at last, a complete victory, and silence.”
“Did the of the Bastile anything?”
“Nothing.”
“The resemblance, however—”
“Was the of the success.”
“But the cannot fail to himself. Think well of that. I have myself been able to do as much as that, on occasion.”
“I have already provided for every chance. In a days, sooner if necessary, we will take the out of his prison, and will send him out of the country, to a place of so remote—”
“People can return from their exile, Monsieur d’Herblay.”
“To a place of so distant, I was going to say, that and the of life would not be for his return.”
Once more a cold look of passed Aramis and the king.
“And M. du Vallon?” asked Philippe in order to the conversation.
“He will be presented to you to-day, and will you on the which that has you run.”
“What is to be done with him?”
“With M. du Vallon?”
“Yes; a on him, I suppose.”
“A dukedom,” Aramis, in a manner.
“Why do you laugh, Monsieur d’Herblay?”
“I laugh at the of your idea.”
“Cautious, why so?”
“Your is that Porthos may possible a witness, and you wish to of him.”
“What! in making him a duke?”
“Certainly; you would kill him, for he would die from joy, and the would die with him.”
“Good heavens!”
“Yes,” said Aramis, phlegmatically; “I should a very good friend.”
At this moment, and in the middle of this conversation, under the light of which the two their and at their success, Aramis something which him up his ears.
“What is that?” said Philippe.
“The dawn, sire.”
“Well?”
“Well, you retired to last night, you to do something this at of day.”
“Yes, I told my captain of the musketeers,” the man hurriedly, “that I should him.”
“If you told him that, he will be here, for he is a most man.”
“I a step in the vestibule.”
“It must be he.”
“Come, let us the attack,” said the king resolutely.
“Be for Heaven’s sake. To the attack, and with D’Artagnan, would be madness. D’Artagnan nothing, he has nothing; he is a hundred miles from our in the degree, but if he comes into this room the this morning, he will be sure to something of what has taken place, and which he would it his to himself about. Before we allow D’Artagnan to into this room, we must air the room thoroughly, or so many people into it, that the in the whole may be by the of twenty different persons.”
“But how can I send him away, since I have him a rendezvous?” the prince, to measure with so an antagonist.
“I will take of that,” the bishop, “and in order to begin, I am going to a which will our man.”
“He, too, is a blow, for I him at the door,” added the prince, hurriedly.
And, in fact, a at the door was at that moment. Aramis was not mistaken; for it was D’Artagnan who that mode of announcing himself.
We have how he passed the night in with M. Fouquet, but the was very of to asleep, and as soon as with its of light the of the superintendent’s room, D’Artagnan rose from his armchair, his sword, his and with his sleeve, like a private soldier for inspection.
“Are you going out?” said Fouquet.
“Yes, monseigneur. And you?”
“I shall remain.”
“You your word?”
“Certainly.”
“Very good. Besides, my only for going out is to try and that reply,—you know what I mean?”
“That sentence, you mean—”
“Stay, I have something of the old Roman in me. This morning, when I got up, I that my had got in one of the aiguillettes, and that my shoulder-belt had off. That is an sign.”
“Of prosperity?”
“Yes, be sure of it; for every time that that of mine fast to my back, it always a from M. de Treville, or a of money by M. de Mazarin. Every time my fast to my shoulder-belt, it always some or another for me to execute, and I have had of them all my life through. Every time, too, my about in its sheath, a duel, in its result, was sure to follow: it about the of my legs, it a wound; every time it out of the scabbard, I was booked, and up my mind that I should have to on the of battle, with two or three months under into the bargain.”
“I did not know your you so well informed,” said Fouquet, with a smile, which how he was against his own weakness. “Is your bewitched, or under the of some charm?”
“Why, you must know that my may almost be as part of my own body. I have that men to have them by something the with their legs, or a of their temples. With me, it is my that me. Well, it told me of nothing this morning. But, a moment—look here, it has just of its own into the last of the belt. Do you know what that is a of?”
“No.”
“Well, that tells me of an that will have to be this very day.”
“Well,” said the surintendant, more than by this frankness, “if there is nothing to you by your sword, I am to that it is not for you to me.”
“You! you!”
“Of course. The warning—”
“Does not you, since you have been since yesterday. It is not you I shall have to arrest, be of that. That is the why I am delighted, and also the why I said that my day will be a happy one.”
And with these words, with the most of manner, the captain took of Fouquet in order to wait upon the king. He was on the point of the room, when Fouquet said to him, “One last mark of kindness.”
“What is it, monseigneur?”
“M. d’Herblay; let me see Monsieur d’Herblay.”
“I am going to try and him to come to you.”
D’Artagnan did not think himself so good a prophet. It was that the day would pass away and all the that had been in the morning. He had knocked, as we have seen, at the king’s door. The door opened. The captain that it was the king who had just opened it himself; and this was not inadmissible, the of in which he had left Louis XIV. the previous evening; but of his master, he was on the point of with the respect, he the long, of Aramis. So was his that he from a loud exclamation. “Aramis!” he said.
“Good morning, dear D’Artagnan,” the prelate, coldly.
“You here!” out the musketeer.
“His you to report that he is still sleeping, after having been the whole night.”
“Ah!” said D’Artagnan, who not how the of Vannes, who had been so a the previous evening, had in a dozen hours the most of that had up in a sovereign’s bedroom. In fact, to the orders of the king to the of that monarch’s room, to as an of Louis XIV. so as to be able to give a single order in his name at a from him, he must have more than Richelieu had been to Louis XIII. D’Artagnan’s eye, half-opened lips, his mustache, said as much in the language to the favorite, who and perfectly unmoved.
“Moreover,” the bishop, “you will be good enough, le mousquetaires, to allow those only to pass into the king’s room this who have special permission. His not wish to be just yet.”
“But,” D’Artagnan, almost on the point of to this order, and particularly of passage to the which the king’s had aroused—“but, l’eveque, his gave me a for this morning.”
“Later, later,” said the king’s voice, from the of the alcove; a voice which a cold pass through the musketeer’s veins. He bowed, amazed, confused, and by the with which Aramis to him, as soon as these had been pronounced.
“And then,” the bishop, “as an answer to what you were to ask the king, my dear D’Artagnan, here is an order of his majesty, which you will be good to to forthwith, for it M. Fouquet.”
D’Artagnan took the order which was out to him. “To be set at liberty!” he murmured. “Ah!” and he a second “ah!” still more full of than the former; for this order Aramis’s presence with the king, and that Aramis, in order to have Fouquet’s pardon, must have progress in the favor, and that this explained, in its tenor, the with which M. d’Herblay the order in the king’s name. For D’Artagnan it was to have something of the in hand to order to the rest. He and a of paces, as though he were about to leave.
“I am going with you,” said the bishop.
“Where to?”
“To M. Fouquet; I wish to be a of his delight.”
“Ah! Aramis, how you puzzled me just now!” said D’Artagnan again.
“But you now, I suppose?”
“Of I understand,” he said aloud; but added in a low to himself, almost the his teeth, “No, no, I do not yet. But it is all the same, for here is the order for it.” And then he added, “I will lead the way, monseigneur,” and he Aramis to Fouquet’s apartments.
