ous?--my career
is almost at an end. Because I love the court? No. I will remain here
because I have been accustomed for thirty years to go and take the
orderly word of the king, and to have said to me 'Good evening,
D'Artagnan,' with a smile I did not beg for. That smile I will beg for!
Are you content, sire?" And D'Artagnan bowed his silver head, upon which
the smiling king placed his white hand with pride.

"Thanks, my old servant, my faithful friend," said he. "As, reckoning
from this day, I have no longer any enemies in France, it remains with
me to send you to a foreign field to gather your marshal's baton. Depend
upon me for finding you an opportunity. In the meanwhile, eat of my very
best bread, and sleep in absolute tranquillity."

"That is all kind and well!" said D'Artagnan, much agitated. "But those
poor men at Belle-Isle? One of them, in particular--so good! so brave!
so true!"

"Do you ask their pardon of me?"

"Upon my knees, sire!"

"Well! then, go and take it to them, if it be still in time. But do you
answer for them?"

"With my life, sire."

"Go, then. To-morrow I set out for Paris. Return by that time, for I do
not wish you to leave me in the future."

"Be assured of that, sire," said D'Artagnan, kissing the royal hand.

And with a heart swelling with joy, he rushed out of the castle on his
way to Belle-Isle.

Chapter LIV. M. Fouquet's Friends.

The king had returned to Paris, and with him D'Artagnan, who, in
twenty-four hours, having made with greatest care all possible inquiries
at Belle-Isle, succeeded in learning nothing of the secret so well kept
by the heavy rock of Locmaria, which had fallen on the heroic Porthos.
The captain of the musketeers only knew what those two valiant
men--these two friends, whose defense he had so nobly taken up, whose
lives he had so earnestly endeavored to save--aided by three faithful
Bretons, had accomplished against a whole army. He had seen, spread on
the neighboring heath, the human remains which had stained with clouted
blood the scattered stones among the flowering broom. He learned also
that a bark had been seen far out at sea, and that, like a bird of prey,
a royal vessel had pursued, overtaken, and devoured the poor little
bird that was flying with such palpitating wings. But there D'Artagnan's
certainties ended. The field of supposition was thrown open. Now, what
could he conjecture? The vessel had not returned. It is true that a
bris