The Man in the Iron Mask by Alexandre Dumas (web based ebook reader .TXT) 📖

constitute yourself the buckler of M. Colbert?”

“How is that?” replied the old queen, rather surprised.

“Why, in truth,” replied Philippe, “you speak that just as your old friend Madame de Chevreuse would speak.”

“Why do you mention Madame de Chevreuse to me?” said she, “and what sort of humor are you in to-day towards me?”

Philippe continued: “Is not Madame de Chevreuse always in league against somebody? Has not Madame de Chevreuse been to pay you a visit, mother?”

“Monsieur, you speak to me now in such a manner that I can almost fancy I am listening to your father.”

“My father did not like Madame de Chevreuse, and had good reason for not liking her,” said the prince. “For my part, I like her no better than he did, and if she thinks proper to come here as she formerly did, to sow divisions and hatreds under the pretext of begging money—why—”

“Well! what?” said Anne of Austria, proudly, herself provoking the storm.

“Well!” replied the young man firmly, “I will drive Madame de Chevreuse out of my kingdom—and with her all who meddle with its secrets and mysteries.”

He had not calculated the effect of this terrible speech, or perhaps he wished to judge the effect of it, like those who, suffering from a chronic pain, and seeking to break the monotony of that suffering, touch their wound to procure a sharper pang. Anne of Austria was nearly fainting; her eyes, open but meaningless, ceased to see for several seconds; she stretched out her arms towards her other son, who supported and embraced her without fear of irritating the king.

“Sire,” murmured she, “you are treating your mother very cruelly.”

“In what respect, madame?” replied he. “I am only speaking of Madame de Chevreuse; does my mother prefer Madame de Chevreuse to the security of the state and of my person? Well, then, madame, I tell you Madame de Chevreuse has returned to France to borrow money, and that she addressed herself to M. Fouquet to sell him a certain secret.”

“A certain secret!” cried Anne of Austria.

“Concerning pretended robberies that monsieur le surintendant had committed, which is false,” added Philippe. “M. Fouquet rejected her offers with indignation, preferring the esteem of the king to complicity with such intriguers. Then Madame de Chevreuse sold the secret to M. Colbert, and as she is insatiable, and was not satisfied with having extorted a hundred thousand crowns from a servant of the state, she has taken a still bolder flight, in search of surer sources of supply. Is that true, madame?”

“You know all, sire,” said the queen, more uneasy than irritated.

“Now,” continued Philippe, “I have good reason to dislike this fury, who comes to my court to plan the shame of some and the ruin of others. If Heaven has suffered certain crimes to be committed, and has concealed them in the shadow of its clemency, I will not permit Madame de Chevreuse to counteract the just designs of fate.”

The latter part of this speech had so agitated the queen-mother, that her son had pity on her. He took her hand and kissed it tenderly; she did not feel that in that kiss, given in spite of repulsion and bitterness of the heart, there was a pardon for eight years of suffering. Philippe allowed the silence of a moment to swallow the emotions that had just developed themselves. Then, with a cheerful smile:

“We will not go to-day,” said he, “I have a plan.” And, turning towards the door, he hoped to see Aramis, whose absence began to alarm him. The queen-mother wished to leave the room.

“Remain where you are, mother,” said he, “I wish you to make your peace with M. Fouquet.”

“I bear M. Fouquet no ill-will; I only dreaded his prodigalities.”

“We will put that to rights, and will take nothing of the superintendent but his good qualities.”

“What is your majesty looking for?” said Henrietta, seeing the king’s eyes constantly turned towards the door, and wishing to let fly a little poisoned arrow at his heart, supposing he was so anxiously expecting either La Valliere or a letter from her.

“My sister,” said the young man, who had divined her thought, thanks to that marvelous perspicuity of which fortune was from that time about to allow him the exercise, “my sister, I am expecting a most distinguished man, a most able counselor, whom I wish to present to you all, recommending him to your good graces. Ah! come in, then, D’Artagnan.”

“What does your majesty wish?” said D’Artagnan, appearing.

“Where is monsieur the bishop of Vannes, your friend?”

“Why, sire—”

“I am waiting for him, and he does not come. Let him be sought for.”

D’Artagnan remained for an instant stupefied; but soon, reflecting that Aramis had left Vaux privately on a mission from the king, he concluded that the king wished to preserve the secret. “Sire,” replied he, “does your majesty absolutely require M. d’Herblay to be brought to you?”

“Absolutely is not the word,” said Philippe; “I do not want him so particularly as that; but if he can be found—”

“I thought so,” said D’Artagnan to himself.

“Is this M. d’Herblay the bishop of Vannes?”

“Yes, madame.”

“A friend of M. Fouquet?”

“Yes, madame; an old musketeer.”

Anne of Austria blushed.

“One of the four braves who formerly performed such prodigies.”

The old queen repented of having wished to bite; she broke off the conversation, in order to preserve the rest of her teeth. “Whatever may be your choice, sire,” said she, “I have no doubt it will be excellent.”

All bowed in support of that sentiment.

“You will find in him,” continued Philippe, “the depth and penetration of M. de Richelieu, without the avarice of M. de Mazarin!”

“A prime minister, sire?” said Monsieur, in a fright.

“I will tell you all about that, brother; but it is strange that M. d’Herblay is not here!”

He called out:

“Let M. Fouquet be informed that I wish to speak to him—oh! before you, before you; do not retire!”

M. de Saint-Aignan returned, bringing satisfactory news of the queen, who only kept her bed from precaution, and to have strength to carry out the king’s wishes. Whilst everybody was seeking M. Fouquet and Aramis, the new king quietly continued his experiments, and everybody, family, officers, servants, had not the least suspicion of his identity, his air, his voice, and manners were so like the king’s. On his side, Philippe, applying to all countenances the accurate descriptions and key-notes of character