Twenty Years After | Page 9

people, that is all he wants."
The street of Saint Honore, when the cardinal and his party passed
through it, was crowded by an assemblage who, standing in groups,
discussed the edicts of that memorable day. They pitied the young king,
who was unconsciously ruining his country, and threw all the odium of
his proceedings on Mazarin. Addresses to the Duke of Orleans and to

Conde were suggested. Blancmesnil and Broussel seemed in the
highest favor.
D'Artagnan passed through the very midst of this discontented mob just
as if his horse and he had been made of iron. Mazarin and Guitant
conversed together in whispers. The musketeers, who had already
discovered who Mazarin was, followed in profound silence. In the
street of Saint Thomas-du-Louvre they stopped at the barrier
distinguished by the name of Quinze-Vingts. Here Guitant spoke to one
of the subalterns, asking how matters were progressing.
"Ah, captain!" said the officer, "everything is quiet hereabout -- if I did
not know that something is going on in yonder house!"
And he pointed to a magnificent hotel situated on the very spot
whereon the Vaudeville now stands.
"In that hotel? it is the Hotel Rambouillet," cried Guitant.
"I really don't know what hotel it is; all I do know is that I observed
some suspicious looking people go in there ---- "
"Nonsense!" exclaimed Guitant, with a burst of laughter; "those men
must be poets."
"Come, Guitant, speak, if you please, respectfully of these gentlemen,"
said Mazarin; "don't you know that I was in my youth a poet? I wrote
verses in the style of Benserade ---- "
"You, my lord?"
"Yes, I; shall I repeat to you some of my verses?"
"Just as you please, my lord. I do not understand Italian."
"Yes, but you understand French," and Mazarin laid his hand upon
Guitant's shoulder. "My good, my brave Guitant, whatsoever command
I may give you in that language -- in French -- whatever I may order
you to do, will you not perform it?"
"Certainly. I have already answered that question in the affirmative; but
that command must come from the queen herself."
"Yes! ah yes!" Mazarin bit his lips as he spoke; "I know your devotion
to her majesty."
"I have been a captain in the queen's guards for twenty years," was the
reply.
"En route, Monsieur d'Artagnan," said the cardinal; "all goes well in
this direction."
D'Artagnan, in the meantime, had taken the head of his detachment

without a word and with that ready and profound obedience which
marks the character of an old soldier.
He led the way toward the hill of Saint Roche. The Rue Richelieu and
the Rue Villedot were then, owing to their vicinity to the ramparts, less
frequented than any others in that direction, for the town was thinly
inhabited thereabout.
"Who is in command here?" asked the cardinal.
"Villequier," said Guitant.
"Diavolo! Speak to him yourself, for ever since you were deputed by
me to arrest the Duc de Beaufort, this officer and I have been on bad
terms. He laid claim to that honor as captain of the royal guards."
"I am aware of that, and I have told him a hundred times that he was
wrong. The king could not give that order, since at that time he was
hardly four years old."
"Yes, but I could give him the order -- I, Guitant -- and I preferred to
give it to you."
Guitant, without reply, rode forward and desired the sentinel to call
Monsieur de Villequier.
"Ah! so you are here!" cried the officer, in the tone of ill-humor
habitual to him; "what the devil are you doing here?"
"I wish to know -- can you tell me, pray -- is anything fresh occurring
in this part of the town?"
"What do you mean? People cry out, `Long live the king! down with
Mazarin!' That's nothing new; no, we've been used to those
acclamations for some time."
"And you sing chorus," replied Guitant, laughing.
"Faith, I've half a mind to do it. In my opinion the people are right; and
cheerfully would I give up five years of my pay -- which I am never
paid, by the way -- to make the king five years older."
"Really! And pray what would come to pass, supposing the king were
five years older than he is?"
"As soon as ever the king comes of age he will issue his commands
himself, and 'tis far pleasanter to obey the grandson of Henry IV. than
the son of Peter Mazarin. 'Sdeath! I would die willingly for the king,
but supposing I happened to be killed on account of Mazarin, as your
nephew came near being to-day, there could be nothing in Paradise,
however well placed I might be there, that could