sapprobation; scarcely even, during this vehement appeal, had his eyes
been animated with that fire which bespeaks intelligence. The Comte
de la Fere looked at him sorrowfully, and on seeing that melancholy
countenance, felt discouragement penetrate to his very heart. At length
Monk appeared to recover, and broke the silence.

"Monsieur," said he, in a mild, calm tone, "in reply to you, I will
make use of your own words. To any other but yourself I would reply by
expulsion, imprisonment, or still worse, for, in fact, you tempt me and
you force me at the same time. But you are one of those men, monsieur,
to whom it is impossible to refuse the attention and respect they merit;
you are a brave gentleman, monsieur--I say so, and I am a judge. You
just now spoke of a deposit which the late king transmitted through you
to his son--are you, then, one of those Frenchmen who, as I have heard,
endeavored to carry off Charles I. from Whitehall?"

"Yes, my lord, it was I who was beneath the scaffold during the
execution; I, who had not been able to redeem it, received upon my brow
the blood of the martyred king. I received, at the same time, the last
word of Charles I., it was to me he said, 'Remember!' and in saying,
'Remember!' he alluded to the money at your feet, my lord."

"I have heard much of you, monsieur," said Monk, "but I am happy to
have, in the first place, appreciated you by my own observations, and
not by my remembrances. I will give you, then, explanations that I have
given to no other, and you will appreciate what a distinction I make
between you and the persons who have hitherto been sent to me."

Athos bowed, and prepared to absorb greedily the words which fell, one
by one, from the mouth of Monk,--those words rare and precious as the
dew in the desert.

"You spoke to me," said Monk, "of Charles II.; but pray, monsieur, of
what consequence to me is that phantom of a king? I have grown old in a
war and in a policy which are nowadays so closely linked together,
that every man of the sword must fight in virtue of his rights or his
ambition with a personal interest, and not blindly behind an officer, as
in ordinary wars. For myself, I perhaps desire nothing, but I fear much.
In the war of to-day rests the liberty of England, and, perhaps, that of
every Englishman. How can you expect that I, free in the position I
have made for myself, should go willingly and hold out my hands to the
shackles of a stranger? That i