The Man in the Iron Mask
Epilogue.
Four years after the we have just described, two horsemen, well mounted, Blois early in the morning, for the purpose of a party the king had to make in that plain the Loire in two, which borders on the one Meung, on the other Amboise. These were the of the king’s and the master of the falcons, in the time of Louis XIII., but neglected by his successor. The horsemen, having the ground, were returning, their made, when they little groups of soldiers, here and there, the were at at the openings of the inclosures. These were the king’s musketeers. Behind them came, upon a horse, the captain, by his uniform. His was gray, his so. He a little bent, although and his gracefully. He was looking about him watchfully.
“M. d’Artagnan not any older,” said the of the to his the falconer; “with ten years more to than either of us, he has the seat of a man on horseback.”
“That is true,” the falconer. “I don’t see any in him for the last twenty years.”
But this officer was mistaken; D’Artagnan in the last four years had a dozen. Age had printed its at each of his eyes; his was bald; his hands, and nervous, were white, as if the blood had them.
D’Artagnan the officers with the of which superiors, and in turn for his two most bows.
“Ah! what a lucky to see you here, Monsieur d’Artagnan!” the falconer.
“It is I who should say that, messieurs,” the captain, “for nowadays, the king makes more use of his than of his falcons.”
“Ah! it is not as it was in the good old times,” the falconer. “Do you remember, Monsieur d’Artagnan, when the late king the in the Beaugence? Ah! dame! you were not the captain of the at that time, Monsieur d’Artagnan.” 7
“And you were nothing but under-corporal of the tiercelets,” D’Artagnan, laughing. “Never mind that, it was a good time, that it is always a good time when we are young. Good day, the of the harriers.”
“You do me honor, le comte,” said the latter. D’Artagnan no reply. The title of had him; D’Artagnan had been a four years.
“Are you not very much with the long you have taken, le capitaine?” the falconer. “It must be full two hundred from hence to Pignerol.”
“Two hundred and sixty to go, and as many to return,” said D’Artagnan, quietly.
“And,” said the falconer, “is he well?”
“Who?” asked D’Artagnan.
“Why, M. Fouquet,” the falconer, in a low voice. The of the had withdrawn.
“No,” D’Artagnan, “the man terribly; he cannot how can be a favor; he says that him by him, and is, or should be, liberty. He cannot that they had his death, and that to save his life from the of was to be under too much to Heaven.”
“Ah! yes; the man had a close of the scaffold,” the falconer; “it is said that M. Colbert had orders to the of the Bastile, and that the was ordered.”
“Enough!” said D’Artagnan, pensively, and with a view of the conversation.
“Yes,” said the of the harriers, them, “M. Fouquet is now at Pignerol; he has it. He had the good to be there by you; he the king sufficiently.”
D’Artagnan at the master of the dogs one of his looks, and said to him, “Monsieur, if any one told me you had your dogs’ meat, not only would I to it; but still more, if you were to the or to for it, I should you and would not allow people to speak of you. And yet, monsieur, man as you may be, I you that you are not more so than M. Fouquet was.”
After having this rebuke, the of the his head, and allowed the to two steps in of him nearer to D’Artagnan.
“He is content,” said the falconer, in a low voice, to the musketeer; “we all know that are in fashion nowadays; if he were a he would not talk in that way.”
D’Artagnan in a manner at this great political question by the of such interest. He for a moment ran over in his mind the of the surintendant, the of his fortunes, and the death that him; and to conclude, “Did M. Fouquet love falconry?” said he.
“Oh, passionately, monsieur!” the falconer, with an of and a that was the of Fouquet.
D’Artagnan allowed the ill-humor of the one and the of the other to pass, and to advance. They already catch of the at the issue of the wood, the of the like across the clearings, and the white the looking like apparitions.
“But,” D’Artagnan, “will the sport last long? Pray, give us a good bird, for I am very tired. Is it a or a swan?”
“Both, Monsieur d’Artagnan,” said the falconer; “but you need not be alarmed; the king is not much of a sportsman; he not take the on his own account, he only to the ladies.”
The “to the ladies” were so they set D’Artagnan thinking.
“Ah!” said he, looking at the falconer.
The of the smiled, no with a view of making it up with the musketeer.
“Oh! you may safely laugh,” said D’Artagnan; “I know nothing of news; I only yesterday, after a month’s absence. I left the the death of the queen-mother. The king was not to take any after the last of Anne of Austria; but comes to an end in this world. Well! then he is no longer sad? So much the better.” 8
“And as well as ends,” said the with a laugh.
“Ah!” said D’Artagnan, a second time,—he to know, but would not allow him to people him,—“there is something beginning, then, it seems?”
The gave him a wink; but D’Artagnan was to learn anything from this man.
“Shall we see the king early?” asked he of the falconer.
“At seven o’clock, monsieur, I shall the birds.”
“Who comes with the king? How is Madame? How is the queen?”
“Better, monsieur.”
“Has she been ill, then?”
“Monsieur, since the last she suffered, her has been unwell.”
“What chagrin? You need not your news is old. I have but just returned.”
“It that the queen, a little neglected since the death of her mother-in-law, to the king, who answered her,—‘Do I not sleep at home every night, madame? What more do you expect?’”
“Ah!” said D’Artagnan,—“poor woman! She must Mademoiselle de la Valliere.”
“Oh, no! not Mademoiselle de la Valliere,” the falconer.
“Who then—” The blast of a hunting-horn this conversation. It the dogs and the hawks. The and his set off immediately, D’Artagnan alone in the of the sentence. The king appeared at a distance, by ladies and horsemen. All the in order, at a foot’s pace, the of the dogs and horses. There was an in the scene, a of light, of which nothing now can give an idea, unless it be the of a spectacle. D’Artagnan, with an a little, just a little, by age, the group three carriages. The was for the queen; it was empty. D’Artagnan, who did not see Mademoiselle de la Valliere by the king’s side, on looking about for her, saw her in the second carriage. She was alone with two of her women, who as as their mistress. On the left hand of the king, upon a high-spirited horse, by a and hand, a lady of most beauty. The king upon her, and she upon the king. Loud every word she uttered.
“I must know that woman,” the musketeer; “who can she be?” And he his friend, the falconer, to he the question he had put to himself.
The was about to reply, when the king, D’Artagnan, “Ah, comte!” said he, “you are us once more then! Why have I not you?”
“Sire,” the captain, “because your was asleep when I arrived, and not when I my this morning.”
“Still the same,” said Louis, in a loud voice, satisfaction. “Take some rest, comte; I you to do so. You will with me to-day.”
A of D’Artagnan like a caress. Every one was to him. Dining with the king was an his was not so of as Henry IV. had been. The king passed a steps in advance, and D’Artagnan himself in the of a fresh group, among Colbert.
“Good-day, Monsieur d’Artagnan,” said the minister, with marked affability, “have you had a journey?”
“Yes, monsieur,” said D’Artagnan, to the of his horse.
“I the king you to his table for this evening,” the minister; “you will meet an old friend there.”
“An old friend of mine?” asked D’Artagnan, into the dark of the past, which had up for him so many and so many hatreds.
“M. le Duc d’Almeda, who is this from Spain.”
“The Duc d’Almeda?” said D’Artagnan, in vain.
“Here!” an old man, white as snow, in his carriage, which he to be open to make room for the musketeer.
“Aramis!” D’Artagnan, with amazement. And he felt, as it was, the thin arm of the old his neck.
Colbert, after having them in for a moments, his forward, and left the two old friends together.
“And so,” said the musketeer, taking Aramis’s arm, “you, the exile, the rebel, are again in France?”
“Ah! and I shall with you at the king’s table,” said Aramis, smiling. “Yes, will you not ask what is the use of in this world? Stop! let us allow La Valliere’s to pass. Look, how she is! How her eyes, with tears, the king, who is on yonder!”
“With whom?”
“With Mademoiselle de Tonnay-Charente, now Madame de Montespan,” Aramis.
“She is jealous. Is she then deserted?”
“Not yet, but it will not be long she is.” 9
They together, while the sport, and Aramis’s them so that they at the when the falcon, the bird, him down, and upon him. The king alighted; Madame de Montespan his example. They were in of an chapel, by trees, already of their by the of autumn. Behind this was an inclosure, closed by a gate. The had his in the to this little chapel, and the king was of going in to take the feather, according to custom. The a circle the and the hedges, too small to so many. D’Artagnan Aramis by the arm, as he was about, like the rest, to from his carriage, and in a hoarse, voice, “Do you know, Aramis,” said he, “whither has us?”
“No,” the duke.
“Here men that we well,” said D’Artagnan, agitated.
Aramis, without anything, and with a step, into the by a little door which D’Artagnan opened for him. “Where are they buried?” said he.
“There, in the inclosure. There is a cross, you see, little cypress. The tree of is planted over their tomb; don’t go to it; the king is going that way; the has just there.”
Aramis stopped, and himself in the shade. They then saw, without being seen, the of La Valliere, who, neglected in her carriage, at looked on, with a heart, from the door, and then, away by jealousy, into the chapel, whence, against a pillar, she the king and making to Madame de Montespan to approach, as there was nothing to be of. Madame de Montespan complied; she took the hand the king out to her, and he, out the from the heron, which the had strangled, it in his companion’s hat. She, in her turn, the hand which her this present. The king with and pleasure; he looked at Madame de Montespan with all the fire of new love.
“What will you give me in exchange?” said he.
She off a little branch of and offered it to the king, who looked with hope.
“Humph!” said Aramis to D’Artagnan; “the present is but a sad one, for that a tomb.”
“Yes, and the is that of Raoul de Bragelonne,” said D’Artagnan aloud; “of Raoul, who under that with his father.”
A resounded—they saw a woman to the ground. Mademoiselle de la Valliere had all, all.
“Poor woman!” D’Artagnan, as he helped the to to her the lady in life was suffering.
That D’Artagnan was seated at the king’s table, near M. Colbert and M. le Duc d’Almeda. The king was very gay. He paid a thousand little to the queen, a thousand to Madame, seated at his left hand, and very sad. It might have been that time of when the king was to watch his mother’s for the or of what he had just done.
Of there was no question at this dinner. The king Aramis two or three times, calling him M. l’ambassadeur, which the already by D’Artagnan at his friend the so well at court.
The king, on from table, gave his hand to the queen, and a to Colbert, was on his master’s face. Colbert took D’Artagnan and Aramis on one side. The king to with his sister, Monsieur, very uneasy, the queen with a air, without to watch his wife and from the of his eye. The Aramis, D’Artagnan, and Colbert upon subjects. They spoke of ministers; Colbert related the successful of Mazarin, and those of Richelieu to be related to him. D’Artagnan not overcome his at this man, with his and low forehead, so much knowledge and spirits. Aramis was at that of which permitted this man to with the moment for more conversation, to which nobody any allusion, although all three its imminence. It was very plain, from the embarrassed of Monsieur, how much the of the king and Madame him. Madame’s were almost red: was she going to complain? Was she going to a little in open court? The king took her on one side, and in a so that it must have the of the time when she was loved for herself:
“Sister,” said he, “why do I see in those eyes?”
“Why—sire—” said she.
“Monsieur is jealous, is he not, sister?”
She looked Monsieur, an that they were talking about him.
“Yes,” said she.
“Listen to me,” said the king; “if your friends you, it is not Monsieur’s fault.”
He spoke these with so much that Madame, encouraged, having so many so long, was nearly into tears, so full was her heart.
“Come, come, dear little sister,” said the king, “tell me your griefs; on the word of a brother, I them; on the word of a king, I will put an end to them.”
She her and, in a tone:
“It is not my friends who me,” said she; “they are either or concealed; they have been into with your majesty; they, so devoted, so good, so loyal!”
“You say this on account of De Guiche, I have exiled, at Monsieur’s desire?”
“And who, since that exile, has to himself killed once every day.”
“Unjust, say you, sister?”
“So unjust, that if I had not had the respect mixed with that I have always for your majesty—”
“Well!”
“Well! I would have asked my Charles, upon I can always—”
The king started. “What, then?”
“I would have asked him to have had it to you that Monsieur and his M. le Chevalier de Lorraine ought not with to themselves the of my and my happiness.”
“The Chevalier de Lorraine,” said the king; “that fellow?”
“Is my enemy. Whilst that man in my household, where Monsieur him and his power to him, I shall be the most woman in the kingdom.”
“So,” said the king, slowly, “you call your of England a friend than I am?”
“Actions speak for themselves, sire.”
“And you would going to ask there—”
“To my own country!” said she with pride; “yes, sire.”
“You are the of Henry IV. as well as myself, lady. Cousin and brother-in-law, not that amount well to the title of brother-germain?”
“Then,” said Henrietta, “act!”
“Let us an alliance.”
“Begin.”
“I have, you say, De Guiche.”
“Oh! yes,” said she, blushing.
“De Guiche shall return.” 10
“So far, well.”
“And now you say that I do in having in your the Chevalier de Lorraine, who Monsieur you?”
“Remember well what I tell you, sire; the Chevalier de Lorraine some day—Observe, if I come to a end, I the Chevalier de Lorraine; he has a that is of any crime!”
“The Chevalier de Lorraine shall no longer you—I promise you that.” 11
“Then that will be a true of alliance, sire,—I sign; but since you have done your part, tell me what shall be mine.”
“Instead of me with your Charles, you must make him a more friend than ever.”
“That is very easy.”
“Oh! not so easy as you may suppose, for in ordinary people or hospitality, and that only a or a return, expenses; but in political friendship—”
“Ah! it’s a political friendship, is it?”
“Yes, my sister; and then, of and feasts, it is soldiers—it is soldiers all alive and well equipped—that we must up to our friends; we must offer, all with and with provisions. It hence results that we have not always in a fit condition for such friendships.”
“Ah! you are right,” said Madame; “the of the king of England have been for some time.”
“But you, my sister, who have so much over your brother, you can secure more than an the promise of.”
“To that I must go to London, my dear brother.”
“I have so,” the king, eagerly; “and I have said to myself that such a would do your health and good.”
“Only,” Madame, “it is possible I should fail. The king of England has counselors.”
“Counselors, do you say?”
“Precisely. If, by chance, your had any intention—I am only so—of asking Charles II. his in a war—”
“A war?”
“Yes; well! then the king’s counselors, who are in number seven—Mademoiselle Stewart, Mademoiselle Wells, Mademoiselle Gwyn, Miss Orchay, Mademoiselle Zunga, Miss Davies, and the proud Countess of Castlemaine—will to the king that a great of money; that it is to give and at Hampton Court than to ships of the line at Portsmouth and Greenwich.”
“And then your will fail?”
“Oh! those ladies all to through which they don’t make themselves.”
“Do you know the idea that has me, sister?”
“No; me what it is.”
“It is that, well around you, you might a female to take with you to your brother, might the ill-will of the seven others.”
“That is an idea, sire, and I will search.”
“You will what you want.”
“I so.”
“A is necessary; an is than an one, is it not?”
“Most assuredly.”
“An animated, lively, character.”
“Certainly.”
“Nobility; that is, to her to approach the king without awkwardness—not too lofty, so as not to trouble herself about the of her race.”
“Very true.”
“And who a little English.”
“Mon Dieu! why, some one,” Madame, “like Mademoiselle de Keroualle, for instance!”
“Oh! why, yes!” said Louis XIV.; “you have the mark,—it is you who have found, my sister.”
“I will take her; she will have no to complain, I suppose.”
“Oh! no, I will name her at once, and will add a to the title.”
“That is well.”
“I you already on your road, my dear little sister, for all your griefs.”
“I will go, on two conditions. The is, that I shall know what I am about.”
“That is it. The Dutch, you know, me daily in their gazettes, and by their attitude. I do not like republics.”
“That may easily be imagined, sire.”
“I see with pain that these kings of the sea—they call themselves so—keep from France in the Indies, and that their will soon all the of Europe. Such a power is too near me, sister.”
“They are your allies, nevertheless.”
“That is why they were in having the you have of struck; a which Holland stopping the sun, as Joshua did, with this legend: The sun had stopped me. There is not much in that, is there?”
“I you had that episode?”
“I anything, sister. And if my true friends, such as your Charles, are to second me—” The silent.
“Listen to me; there is the of the to be shared,” said Louis XIV. “For this partition, which England submits to, I not the second party as well as the Dutch?”
“We have Mademoiselle de Keroualle to that question,” Madame.
“Your second condition for going, if you please, sister?”
“The of Monsieur, my husband.”
“You shall have it.”
“Then me already gone, brother.”
On these words, Louis XIV. the of the room in which D’Artagnan, Colbert, and Aramis stood, and an to his minister.
