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 be almost my brother, for I make you viceroy
of Ireland and of 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?"