The Interview.
It had been D'Artagnan's practice, ever since the riots, to sleep in the same room as Porthos, and on this eventful morning he was still there, sleeping, and dreaming that a yellow cloud had overspread the sky and was raining gold pieces into his hat, which he held out till it was overflowing with pistoles. As for Porthos, he dreamed that the panels of his carriage were not capacious enough to contain the armorial bearings he had ordered to be painted on them. They were both aroused at seven o'clock by the entrance of an unliveried servant, who brought a letter for D'Artagnan.
"From whom?" asked the Gascon.
"From the queen," replied the servant.
"Ho!" said Porthos, raising himself in his bed; "what does she say?"
D'Artagnan requested the servant to wait in the next room and when the door was closed he sprang up from his bed and read rapidly, whilst Porthos looked at him with starting eyes, not daring to ask a single question.
"Friend Porthos," said D'Artagnan, handing the letter to him, "this time, at least, you are sure of your title of baron, and I of my captaincy. Read for yourself and judge."
Porthos took the letter and with a trembling voice read the following words:
"The queen wishes to speak to Monsieur d'Artagnan, who must follow the bearer."
"Well!" exclaimed Porthos; "I see nothing in that very extraordinary."
"But I see much that is very extraordinary in it," replied D'Artagnan. "It is evident, by their sending for me, that matters are becoming complicated. Just reflect a little what an agitation the queen's mind must be in for her to have remembered me after twenty years."
"It is true," said Porthos.
"Sharpen your sword, baron, load your pistols, and give some corn to the horses, for I will answer for it, something lightning-like will happen ere to-morrow."
"But, stop; do you think it can be a trap that they are laying for us?" suggested Porthos, incessantly thinking how his greatness must be irksome to inferior people.
"If it is a snare," replied D'Artagnan, "I shall scent it out, be assured. If Mazarin is an Italian, I am a Gascon."
And D'Artagnan dressed himself in an instant.
Whilst Porthos, still in bed, was hooking on his cloak for him, a second knock at the door was heard.
"Come in," exclaimed D'Artagnan; and another servant entered.
"From His Eminence, Cardinal Mazarin," presenting a letter.
D'Artagnan looked at Porthos.
"A complicated affair," said Porthos; "where will you begin?"
"It is arranged capitally; his eminence expects me in half an hour."
"Good."
"My friend," said D'Artagnan, turning to the servant, "tell his eminence that in half an hour I shall be at his command."
"It is very fortunate," resumed the Gascon, when the valet had retired, "that he did not meet the other one."
"Do you not think that they have sent for you, both for the same thing?"
"I do not think it, I am certain of it."
"Quick, quick, D'Artagnan. Remember that the queen awaits you, and after the queen, the cardinal, and after the cardinal, myself."
D'Artagnan summoned Anne of Austria's servant and signified that he was ready to follow him into the queen's presence.
The servant conducted him by the Rue des Petits Champs and turning to the left entered the little garden gate leading into the Rue Richelieu; then they gained the private staircase and D'Artagnan was ushered into the oratory. A certain emotion, for which he could not account, made the lieutenant's heart beat: he had no longer the assurance of youth; experience had taught him the importance of past events. Formerly he would have approached the queen as a young man who bends before a woman; but now it was a different thing; he answered her summons as an humble soldier obeys an illustrious general.
The silence of the oratory was at last disturbed by the slight rustling of silk, and D'Artagnan started when he perceived the tapestry raised by a white hand, which, by its form, its color and its beauty he recognized as that royal hand which had one day been presented to him to kiss. The queen entered.
"It is you, Monsieur d'Artagnan," she said, fixing a gaze full of melancholy interest on the countenance of the officer, "and I know you well. Look at me well in your turn.
I am the queen; do you recognize me?"
"No, madame," replied D'Artagnan.
"But are you no longer aware," continued Anne, giving that sweet expression to her voice which she could do at will, "that in former days the queen had once need of a young, brave and devoted cavalier -- that she found this cavalier -- and that, although he might have thought that she had forgotten him, she had kept a place for him in the depths of her heart?"
"No, madame, I was ignorant of that," said the musketeer.
"So much the worse, sir," said Anne of Austria; "so much the worse, at least for the queen, for to-day she has need of the same courage and the same devotion."
"What!" exclaimed D'Artagnan, "does the queen, surrounded as she is by such devoted servants, such wise counselors, men, in short, so great by merit or position -- does she deign to cast her eyes on an obscure soldier?"
Anne understood this covert reproach and was more moved than irritated by it. She had many a time felt humiliated by the self-sacrifice and disinterestedness shown by the Gascon gentleman. She had allowed herself to be exceeded in generosity.
"All that you tell me of those by whom I am surrounded, Monsieur d'Artagnan, is doubtless true," said the queen, "but I have confidence in you alone. I know that you belong to the cardinal, but belong to me as well, and I will take upon myself the making of your fortune. Come, will you do to-day what formerly the gentleman you do not know did for the queen?"
"I will do everything your majesty commands," replied D'Artagnan.
The queen reflected for a moment and then, seeing the cautious demeanor of the musketeer:
