"We shall say no more about it, then," said the king, turning towards Athos, and leaving D'Artagnan plunged in the deepest pangs of disappointment.
"Ah! I said so!" muttered the musketeer. "Words! words! Court holy water! Kings have always a marvelous talent for offering us that which they know we will not accept, and in appearing generous without risk. So be it! - triple fool that I was to have hoped for a moment!"
During this time, Charles took the hand of Athos. "Comte," said he, "you have been to me a second father; the services you have rendered to me are above all price. I have, nevertheless, thought of a recompense. You were created by my father a Knight of the Garter - that is an order which all the kings of Europe cannot bear; by the queen regent, Knight of the Holy Ghost - which is an order not less illustrious; I join to it that of the Golden Fleece sent me by the king of France, to whom the king of Spain, his father-in-law, gave two on the occasion of his marriage; but in return, I have a service to ask of you."
"Sire," said Athos, with confusion, "the Golden Fleece for me! when the king of France is the only person in my country who enjoys that distinction?"
"I wish you to be in your country and all others the equal of all those whom sovereigns have honored with their favor," said Charles, drawing the chain from his neck; "and I am sure, comte, my father smiles on me from his grave."
"It is unaccountably strange," said D'Artagnan to himself, whilst his friend, on his knees, received the eminent order which the king conferred on him - "it is almost incredible that I have always seen showers of prosperity fall upon all who surrounded me, and that not a drop ever reached me! If I were a jealous man, it would be enough to make one tear one's hair, _parole d'honneur!_"Athos rose from his knees, and Charles embraced him tenderly. "General!" said he to Monk - then stopping, with a smile, "pardon me, duke, I mean.
No wonder if I make a mistake; the word duke is too short for me, I always seek some title to lengthen it. I should wish to see you so near my throne, that I might say to you, as to Louis XIV., my brother! Oh! I have it; and you will almost be my brother, for I make you viceroy of Ireland and Scotland, my dear duke. So, after that fashion, henceforward I shall not make a mistake."
The duke seized the hand of the king, but without enthusiasm, without joy, as he did everything. His heart, however, had been moved by this last favor. Charles, by skillfully husbanding his generosity, had given the duke time to wish, although he might not have wished for so much as was given him.
"_Mordioux!_" grumbled D'Artagnan, "there is the shower beginning again!
Oh! it is enough to turn one's brain!" and he turned away with an air so sorrowful and so comically piteous, that the king, who caught it, could not restrain a smile. Monk was preparing to leave the room, to take leave of Charles.
"What! my trusty and well-beloved!" said the king to the duke, "are you going?"
"With your majesty's permission, for in truth I am weary. The emotions of the day have worn me out; I stand in need of rest."
"But," said the king, "you are not going without M. d'Artagnan, I hope."
"Why not, sire?" said the old warrior.
"Well! you know very well why," said the king.
Monk looked at Charles with astonishment.
"Oh! it may be possible; but if you forget, you, M. d'Artagnan, do not."
Astonishment was painted on the face of the musketeer.
"Well, then, duke," said the king, "do you not lodge with M. d'Artagnan?"
"I had the honor of offering M. d'Artagnan a lodging; yes, sire."
"That idea is your own, and yours solely?"
"Mine and mine only; yes, sire."
