<p><SPAN name="link2H_EPIL" id="link2H_EPIL"></SPAN></p>
<h2> Epilogue. </h2>
<p>Four years after the scene we have just described, two horsemen, well
mounted, traversed Blois early in the morning, for the purpose of
arranging a hawking party the king had arranged to make in that uneven
plain the Loire divides in two, which borders on the one side Meung, on
the other Amboise. These were the keeper of the king's harriers and the
master of the falcons, personages greatly respected in the time of Louis
XIII., but rather neglected by his successor. The horsemen, having
reconnoitered the ground, were returning, their observations made, when
they perceived certain little groups of soldiers, here and there, whom the
sergeants were placing at distances at the openings of the inclosures.
These were the king's musketeers. Behind them came, upon a splendid horse,
the captain, known by his richly embroidered uniform. His hair was gray,
his beard turning so. He seemed a little bent, although sitting and
handling his horse gracefully. He was looking about him watchfully.</p>
<p>"M. d'Artagnan does not get any older," said the keeper of the harriers to
his colleague the falconer; "with ten years more to carry than either of
us, he has the seat of a young man on horseback."</p>
<p>"That is true," replied the falconer. "I don't see any change in him for
the last twenty years."</p>
<p>But this officer was mistaken; D'Artagnan in the last four years had lived
a dozen. Age had printed its pitiless claws at each angle of his eyes; his
brow was bald; his hands, formerly brown and nervous, were getting white,
as if the blood had half forgotten them.</p>
<p>D'Artagnan accosted the officers with the shade of affability which
distinguishes superiors, and received in turn for his courtesy two most
respectful bows.</p>
<p>"Ah! what a lucky chance to see you here, Monsieur d'Artagnan!" cried the
falconer.</p>
<p>"It is rather I who should say that, messieurs," replied the captain, "for
nowadays, the king makes more frequent use of his musketeers than of his
falcons."</p>
<p>"Ah! it is not as it was in the good old times," sighed the falconer. "Do
you remember, Monsieur d'Artagnan, when the late king flew the pie in the
vineyards beyond Beaugence? Ah! <i>dame!</i> you were not the captain of
the musketeers at that time, Monsieur d'Artagnan." <SPAN href="#linknote-7"
name="linknoteref-7" id="linknoteref-7"><small>7</small></SPAN></p>
<p>"And you were nothing but under-corporal of the tiercelets," replied
D'Artagnan, laughing. "Never mind that, it was a good time, seeing that it
is always a good time when we are young. Good day, monsieur the keeper of
the harriers."</p>
<p>"You do me honor, monsieur le comte," said the latter. D'Artagnan made no
reply. The title of comte had hardly struck him; D'Artagnan had been a
comte four years.</p>
<p>"Are you not very much fatigued with the long journey you have taken,
monsieur le capitaine?" continued the falconer. "It must be full two
hundred leagues from hence to Pignerol."</p>
<p>"Two hundred and sixty to go, and as many to return," said D'Artagnan,
quietly.</p>
<p>"And," said the falconer, "is <i>he</i> well?"</p>
<p>"Who?" asked D'Artagnan.</p>
<p>"Why, poor M. Fouquet," continued the falconer, in a low voice. The keeper
of the harriers had prudently withdrawn.</p>
<p>"No," replied D'Artagnan, "the poor man frets terribly; he cannot
comprehend how imprisonment can be a favor; he says that parliament
absolved him by banishing him, and banishment is, or should be, liberty.
He cannot imagine that they had sworn his death, and that to save his life
from the claws of parliament was to be under too much obligation to
Heaven."</p>
<p>"Ah! yes; the poor man had a close chance of the scaffold," replied the
falconer; "it is said that M. Colbert had given orders to the governor of
the Bastile, and that the execution was ordered."</p>
<p>"Enough!" said D'Artagnan, pensively, and with a view of cutting short the
conversation.</p>
<p>"Yes," said the keeper of the harriers, drawing towards them, "M. Fouquet
is now at Pignerol; he has richly deserved it. He had the good fortune to
be conducted there by you; he robbed the king sufficiently."</p>
<p>D'Artagnan launched at the master of the dogs one of his crossest looks,
and said to him, "Monsieur, if any one told me you had eaten your dogs'
meat, not only would I refuse to believe it; but still more, if you were
condemned to the lash or to jail for it, I should pity you and would not
allow people to speak ill of you. And yet, monsieur, honest man as you may
be, I assure you that you are not more so than poor M. Fouquet was."</p>
<p>After having undergone this sharp rebuke, the keeper of the harriers hung
his head, and allowed the falconer to get two steps in advance of him
nearer to D'Artagnan.</p>
<p>"He is content," said the falconer, in a low voice, to the musketeer; "we
all know that harriers are in fashion nowadays; if he were a falconer he
would not talk in that way."</p>
<p>D'Artagnan smiled in a melancholy manner at seeing this great political
question resolved by the discontent of such humble interest. He for a
moment ran over in his mind the glorious existence of the surintendant,
the crumbling of his fortunes, and the melancholy death that awaited him;
and to conclude, "Did M. Fouquet love falconry?" said he.</p>
<p>"Oh, passionately, monsieur!" repeated the falconer, with an accent of
bitter regret and a sigh that was the funeral oration of Fouquet.</p>
<p>D'Artagnan allowed the ill-humor of the one and the regret of the other to
pass, and continued to advance. They could already catch glimpses of the
huntsmen at the issue of the wood, the feathers of the outriders passing
like shooting stars across the clearings, and the white horses skirting
the bosky thickets looking like illuminated apparitions.</p>
<p>"But," resumed D'Artagnan, "will the sport last long? Pray, give us a good
swift bird, for I am very tired. Is it a heron or a swan?"</p>
<p>"Both, Monsieur d'Artagnan," said the falconer; "but you need not be
alarmed; the king is not much of a sportsman; he does not take the field
on his own account, he only wishes to amuse the ladies."</p>
<p>The words "to amuse the ladies" were so strongly accented they set
D'Artagnan thinking.</p>
<p>"Ah!" said he, looking keenly at the falconer.</p>
<p>The keeper of the harriers smiled, no doubt with a view of making it up
with the musketeer.</p>
<p>"Oh! you may safely laugh," said D'Artagnan; "I know nothing of current
news; I only arrived yesterday, after a month's absence. I left the court
mourning the death of the queen-mother. The king was not willing to take
any amusement after receiving the last sigh of Anne of Austria; but
everything comes to an end in this world. Well! then he is no longer sad?
So much the better." <SPAN href="#linknote-8" name="linknoteref-8" id="linknoteref-8"><small>8</small></SPAN></p>
<p>"And everything begins as well as ends," said the keeper with a coarse
laugh.</p>
<p>"Ah!" said D'Artagnan, a second time,—he burned to know, but dignity
would not allow him to interrogate people below him,—"there is
something beginning, then, it seems?"</p>
<p>The keeper gave him a significant wink; but D'Artagnan was unwilling to
learn anything from this man.</p>
<p>"Shall we see the king early?" asked he of the falconer.</p>
<p>"At seven o'clock, monsieur, I shall fly the birds."</p>
<p>"Who comes with the king? How is Madame? How is the queen?"</p>
<p>"Better, monsieur."</p>
<p>"Has she been ill, then?"</p>
<p>"Monsieur, since the last chagrin she suffered, her majesty has been
unwell."</p>
<p>"What chagrin? You need not fancy your news is old. I have but just
returned."</p>
<p>"It appears that the queen, a little neglected since the death of her
mother-in-law, complained to the king, who answered her,—'Do I not
sleep at home every night, madame? What more do you expect?'"</p>
<p>"Ah!" said D'Artagnan,—"poor woman! She must heartily hate
Mademoiselle de la Valliere."</p>
<p>"Oh, no! not Mademoiselle de la Valliere," replied the falconer.</p>
<p>"Who then—" The blast of a hunting-horn interrupted this
conversation. It summoned the dogs and the hawks. The falconer and his
companions set off immediately, leaving D'Artagnan alone in the midst of
the suspended sentence. The king appeared at a distance, surrounded by
ladies and horsemen. All the troop advanced in beautiful order, at a
foot's pace, the horns of various sorts animating the dogs and horses.
There was an animation in the scene, a mirage of light, of which nothing
now can give an idea, unless it be the fictitious splendor of a theatric
spectacle. D'Artagnan, with an eye a little, just a little, dimmed by age,
distinguished behind the group three carriages. The first was intended 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 seemed as dull
as their mistress. On the left hand of the king, upon a high-spirited
horse, restrained by a bold and skillful hand, shone a lady of most
dazzling beauty. The king smiled upon her, and she smiled upon the king.
Loud laughter followed every word she uttered.</p>
<p>"I must know that woman," thought the musketeer; "who can she be?" And he
stooped towards his friend, the falconer, to whom he addressed the
question he had put to himself.</p>
<p>The falconer was about to reply, when the king, perceiving D'Artagnan,
"Ah, comte!" said he, "you are amongst us once more then! Why have I not
seen you?"</p>
<p>"Sire," replied the captain, "because your majesty was asleep when I
arrived, and not awake when I resumed my duties this morning."</p>
<p>"Still the same," said Louis, in a loud voice, denoting satisfaction.
"Take some rest, comte; I command you to do so. You will dine with me
to-day."</p>
<p>A murmur of admiration surrounded D'Artagnan like a caress. Every one was
eager to salute him. Dining with the king was an honor his majesty was not
so prodigal of as Henry IV. had been. The king passed a few steps in
advance, and D'Artagnan found himself in the midst of a fresh group, among
whom shone Colbert.</p>
<p>"Good-day, Monsieur d'Artagnan," said the minister, with marked
affability, "have you had a pleasant journey?"</p>
<p>"Yes, monsieur," said D'Artagnan, bowing to the neck of his horse.</p>
<p>"I heard the king invite you to his table for this evening," continued the
minister; "you will meet an old friend there."</p>
<p>"An old friend of mine?" asked D'Artagnan, plunging painfully into the
dark waves of the past, which had swallowed up for him so many friendships
and so many hatreds.</p>
<p>"M. le Duc d'Almeda, who is arrived this morning from Spain."</p>
<p>"The Duc d'Almeda?" said D'Artagnan, reflecting in vain.</p>
<p>"Here!" cried an old man, white as snow, sitting bent in his carriage,
which he caused to be thrown open to make room for the musketeer.</p>
<p>"<i>Aramis!</i>" cried D'Artagnan, struck with profound amazement. And he
felt, inert as it was, the thin arm of the old nobleman hanging round his
neck.</p>
<p>Colbert, after having observed them in silence for a few moments, urged
his horse forward, and left the two old friends together.</p>
<p>"And so," said the musketeer, taking Aramis's arm, "you, the exile, the
rebel, are again in France?"</p>
<p>"Ah! and I shall dine with you at the king's table," said Aramis, smiling.
"Yes, will you not ask yourself what is the use of fidelity in this world?
Stop! let us allow poor La Valliere's carriage to pass. Look, how uneasy
she is! How her eyes, dim with tears, follow the king, who is riding on
horseback yonder!"</p>
<p>"With whom?"</p>
<p>"With Mademoiselle de Tonnay-Charente, now Madame de Montespan," replied
Aramis.</p>
<p>"She is jealous. Is she then deserted?"</p>
<p>"Not quite yet, but it will not be long before she <i>is</i>." <SPAN href="#linknote-9" name="linknoteref-9" id="linknoteref-9"><small>9</small></SPAN></p>
<p>They chatted together, while following the sport, and Aramis's coachman
drove them so cleverly that they arrived at the instant when the falcon,
attacking the bird, beat him down, and fell upon him. The king alighted;
Madame de Montespan followed his example. They were in front of an
isolated chapel, concealed by huge trees, already despoiled of their
leaves by the first cutting winds of autumn. Behind this chapel was an
inclosure, closed by a latticed gate. The falcon had beaten down his prey
in the inclosure belonging to this little chapel, and the king was
desirous of going in to take the first feather, according to custom. The
<i>cortege</i> formed a circle round the building and the hedges, too
small to receive so many. D'Artagnan held back Aramis by the arm, as he
was about, like the rest, to alight from his carriage, and in a hoarse,
broken voice, "Do you know, Aramis," said he, "whither chance has
conducted us?"</p>
<p>"No," replied the duke.</p>
<p>"Here repose men that we knew well," said D'Artagnan, greatly agitated.</p>
<p>Aramis, without divining anything, and with a trembling step, penetrated
into the chapel by a little door which D'Artagnan opened for him. "Where
are they buried?" said he.</p>
<p>"There, in the inclosure. There is a cross, you see, beneath yon little
cypress. The tree of grief is planted over their tomb; don't go to it; the
king is going that way; the heron has fallen just there."</p>
<p>Aramis stopped, and concealed himself in the shade. They then saw, without
being seen, the pale face of La Valliere, who, neglected in her carriage,
at first looked on, with a melancholy heart, from the door, and then,
carried away by jealousy, advanced into the chapel, whence, leaning
against a pillar, she contemplated the king smiling and making signs to
Madame de Montespan to approach, as there was nothing to be afraid of.
Madame de Montespan complied; she took the hand the king held out to her,
and he, plucking out the first feather from the heron, which the falconer
had strangled, placed it in his beautiful companion's hat. She, smiling in
her turn, kissed the hand tenderly which made her this present. The king
grew scarlet with vanity and pleasure; he looked at Madame de Montespan
with all the fire of new love.</p>
<p>"What will you give me in exchange?" said he.</p>
<p>She broke off a little branch of cypress and offered it to the king, who
looked intoxicated with hope.</p>
<p>"Humph!" said Aramis to D'Artagnan; "the present is but a sad one, for
that cypress shades a tomb."</p>
<p>"Yes, and the tomb is that of Raoul de Bragelonne," said D'Artagnan aloud;
"of Raoul, who sleeps under that cross with his father."</p>
<p>A groan resounded—they saw a woman fall fainting to the ground.
Mademoiselle de la Valliere had seen all, heard all.</p>
<p>"Poor woman!" muttered D'Artagnan, as he helped the attendants to carry
back to her carriage the lonely lady whose lot henceforth in life was
suffering.</p>
<p>That evening 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
attentions to the queen, a thousand kindnesses to Madame, seated at his
left hand, and very sad. It might have been supposed that time of calm
when the king was wont to watch his mother's eyes for the approval or
disapproval of what he had just done.</p>
<p>Of mistresses there was no question at this dinner. The king addressed
Aramis two or three times, calling him M. l'ambassadeur, which increased
the surprise already felt by D'Artagnan at seeing his friend the rebel so
marvelously well received at court.</p>
<p>The king, on rising from table, gave his hand to the queen, and made a
sign to Colbert, whose eye was on his master's face. Colbert took
D'Artagnan and Aramis on one side. The king began to chat with his sister,
whilst Monsieur, very uneasy, entertained the queen with a preoccupied
air, without ceasing to watch his wife and brother from the corner of his
eye. The conversation between Aramis, D'Artagnan, and Colbert turned upon
indifferent subjects. They spoke of preceding ministers; Colbert related
the successful tricks of Mazarin, and desired those of Richelieu to be
related to him. D'Artagnan could not overcome his surprise at finding this
man, with his heavy eyebrows and low forehead, display so much sound
knowledge and cheerful spirits. Aramis was astonished at that lightness of
character which permitted this serious man to retard with advantage the
moment for more important conversation, to which nobody made any allusion,
although all three interlocutors felt its imminence. It was very plain,
from the embarrassed appearance of Monsieur, how much the conversation of
the king and Madame annoyed him. Madame's eyes were almost red: was she
going to complain? Was she going to expose a little scandal in open court?
The king took her on one side, and in a tone so tender that it must have
reminded the princess of the time when she was loved for herself:</p>
<p>"Sister," said he, "why do I see tears in those lovely eyes?"</p>
<p>"Why—sire—" said she.</p>
<p>"Monsieur is jealous, is he not, sister?"</p>
<p>She looked towards Monsieur, an infallible sign that they were talking
about him.</p>
<p>"Yes," said she.</p>
<p>"Listen to me," said the king; "if your friends compromise you, it is not
Monsieur's fault."</p>
<p>He spoke these words with so much kindness that Madame, encouraged, having
borne so many solitary griefs so long, was nearly bursting into tears, so
full was her heart.</p>
<p>"Come, come, dear little sister," said the king, "tell me your griefs; on
the word of a brother, I pity them; on the word of a king, I will put an
end to them."</p>
<p>She raised her glorious eyes and, in a melancholy tone:</p>
<p>"It is not my friends who compromise me," said she; "they are either
absent or concealed; they have been brought into disgrace with your
majesty; they, so devoted, so good, so loyal!"</p>
<p>"You say this on account of De Guiche, whom I have exiled, at Monsieur's
desire?"</p>
<p>"And who, since that unjust exile, has endeavored to get himself killed
once every day."</p>
<p>"Unjust, say you, sister?"</p>
<p>"So unjust, that if I had not had the respect mixed with friendship that I
have always entertained for your majesty—"</p>
<p>"Well!"</p>
<p>"Well! I would have asked my brother Charles, upon whom I can always—"</p>
<p>The king started. "What, then?"</p>
<p>"I would have asked him to have had it represented to you that Monsieur
and his favorite M. le Chevalier de Lorraine ought not with impunity to
constitute themselves the executioners of my honor and my happiness."</p>
<p>"The Chevalier de Lorraine," said the king; "that dismal fellow?"</p>
<p>"Is my mortal enemy. Whilst that man lives in my household, where Monsieur
retains him and delegates his power to him, I shall be the most miserable
woman in the kingdom."</p>
<p>"So," said the king, slowly, "you call your brother of England a better
friend than I am?"</p>
<p>"Actions speak for themselves, sire."</p>
<p>"And you would prefer going to ask assistance there—"</p>
<p>"To my own country!" said she with pride; "yes, sire."</p>
<p>"You are the grandchild of Henry IV. as well as myself, lady. Cousin and
brother-in-law, does not that amount pretty well to the title of
brother-germain?"</p>
<p>"Then," said Henrietta, "act!"</p>
<p>"Let us form an alliance."</p>
<p>"Begin."</p>
<p>"I have, you say, unjustly exiled De Guiche."</p>
<p>"Oh! yes," said she, blushing.</p>
<p>"De Guiche shall return." <SPAN href="#linknote-10" name="linknoteref-10" id="linknoteref-10"><small>10</small></SPAN></p>
<p>"So far, well."</p>
<p>"And now you say that I do wrong in having in your household the Chevalier
de Lorraine, who gives Monsieur ill advice respecting you?"</p>
<p>"Remember well what I tell you, sire; the Chevalier de Lorraine some day—Observe,
if ever I come to a dreadful end, I beforehand accuse the Chevalier de
Lorraine; he has a spirit that is capable of any crime!"</p>
<p>"The Chevalier de Lorraine shall no longer annoy you—I promise you
that." <SPAN href="#linknote-11" name="linknoteref-11" id="linknoteref-11"><small>11</small></SPAN></p>
<p>"Then that will be a true preliminary of alliance, sire,—I sign; but
since you have done your part, tell me what shall be mine."</p>
<p>"Instead of embroiling me with your brother Charles, you must make him a
more intimate friend than ever."</p>
<p>"That is very easy."</p>
<p>"Oh! not quite so easy as you may suppose, for in ordinary friendship
people embrace or exercise hospitality, and that only costs a kiss or a
return, profitable expenses; but in political friendship—"</p>
<p>"Ah! it's a political friendship, is it?"</p>
<p>"Yes, my sister; and then, instead of embraces and feasts, it is soldiers—it
is soldiers all alive and well equipped—that we must serve up to our
friends; vessels we must offer, all armed with cannons and stored with
provisions. It hence results that we have not always coffers in a fit
condition for such friendships."</p>
<p>"Ah! you are quite right," said Madame; "the coffers of the king of
England have been sonorous for some time."</p>
<p>"But you, my sister, who have so much influence over your brother, you can
secure more than an ambassador could ever get the promise of."</p>
<p>"To effect that I must go to London, my dear brother."</p>
<p>"I have thought so," replied the king, eagerly; "and I have said to myself
that such a voyage would do your health and spirits good."</p>
<p>"Only," interrupted Madame, "it is possible I should fail. The king of
England has dangerous counselors."</p>
<p>"Counselors, do you say?"</p>
<p>"Precisely. If, by chance, your majesty had any intention—I am only
supposing so—of asking Charles II. his alliance in a war—"</p>
<p>"A war?"</p>
<p>"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
represent to the king that war costs a great deal of money; that it is
better to give balls and suppers at Hampton Court than to equip ships of
the line at Portsmouth and Greenwich."</p>
<p>"And then your negotiations will fail?"</p>
<p>"Oh! those ladies cause all negotiations to fall through which they don't
make themselves."</p>
<p>"Do you know the idea that has struck me, sister?"</p>
<p>"No; inform me what it is."</p>
<p>"It is that, searching well around you, you might perhaps find a female
counselor to take with you to your brother, whose eloquence might paralyze
the ill-will of the seven others."</p>
<p>"That is really an idea, sire, and I will search."</p>
<p>"You will find what you want."</p>
<p>"I hope so."</p>
<p>"A pretty ambassadress is necessary; an agreeable face is better than an
ugly one, is it not?"</p>
<p>"Most assuredly."</p>
<p>"An animated, lively, audacious character."</p>
<p>"Certainly."</p>
<p>"Nobility; that is, enough to enable her to approach the king without
awkwardness—not too lofty, so as not to trouble herself about the
dignity of her race."</p>
<p>"Very true."</p>
<p>"And who knows a little English."</p>
<p>"<i>Mon Dieu!</i> why, some one," cried Madame, "like Mademoiselle de
Keroualle, for instance!"</p>
<p>"Oh! why, yes!" said Louis XIV.; "you have hit the mark,—it is you
who have found, my sister."</p>
<p>"I will take her; she will have no cause to complain, I suppose."</p>
<p>"Oh! no, I will name her <i>seductrice plenipotentiaire</i> at once, and
will add a dowry to the title."</p>
<p>"That is well."</p>
<p>"I fancy you already on your road, my dear little sister, consoled for all
your griefs."</p>
<p>"I will go, on two conditions. The first is, that I shall know what I am
negotiating about."</p>
<p>"That is it. The Dutch, you know, insult me daily in their gazettes, and
by their republican attitude. I do not like republics."</p>
<p>"That may easily be imagined, sire."</p>
<p>"I see with pain that these kings of the sea—they call themselves so—keep
trade from France in the Indies, and that their vessels will soon occupy
all the ports of Europe. Such a power is too near me, sister."</p>
<p>"They are your allies, nevertheless."</p>
<p>"That is why they were wrong in having the medal you have heard of struck;
a medal which represents Holland stopping the sun, as Joshua did, with
this legend: <i>The sun had stopped before me</i>. There is not much
fraternity in that, <i>is</i> there?"</p>
<p>"I thought you had forgotten that miserable episode?"</p>
<p>"I never forget anything, sister. And if my true friends, such as your
brother Charles, are willing to second me—" The princess remained
pensively silent.</p>
<p>"Listen to me; there is the empire of the seas to be shared," said Louis
XIV. "For this partition, which England submits to, could I not represent
the second party as well as the Dutch?"</p>
<p>"We have Mademoiselle de Keroualle to treat that question," replied
Madame.</p>
<p>"Your second condition for going, if you please, sister?"</p>
<p>"The consent of Monsieur, my husband."</p>
<p>"You shall have it."</p>
<p>"Then consider me already gone, brother."</p>
<p>On hearing these words, Louis XIV. turned round towards the corner of the
room in which D'Artagnan, Colbert, and Aramis stood, and made an
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