ful riddle. He felt
instinctively, though he could not have told why, that in the meeting
of the two Louis XIV's lay the explanation of all that had seemed
suspicious in the conduct of Aramis during the last few days.

Suddenly Louis XIV., by nature the most impatient of the two young
men, and with the habit of command that was the result of training,
strode across the room and flung open one of the shutters. The flood
of light that streamed through the window caused Philippe
involuntarily to recoil, and to step back into the shelter of an
alcove.

The movement struck Louis, and turning to the Queen he said:

"Mother, do you not know your own son, although every one else has
denied his King?"

Anne trembled at his voice and raised her arms to heaven, but could
not utter a single word.

"Mother," retorted Philippe in his quietest tones, "do you not know
your own son?"

And this time it was Louis who stepped back.

As for Anne, pierced to the heart with grief and remorse, she could
bear it no longer. She staggered where she stood, and unaided by her
attendants, who seemed turned into stone, she sank down on a sofa with
a sigh.

This spectacle was too much for Louis. He rushed to D'Artagnan, whose
brain was going round with bewilderment, and who clung to the door as
his last hope.

"To me, musketeer! Look us both in the face, and see which is the
paler, he or I."

The cry awoke D'Artagnan from his stupor, and struck the chord of
obedience strong in the bosom of every soldier. He lifted his head,
and striding straight up to Philippe laid his hand on his shoulder,
saying quietly:--

"Monsieur, you are my prisoner."

Philippe remained absolutely still, as if nailed to the floor, his
eyes fixed despairingly on the King who was his brother. His silence
reproached him as no words could have done, with the bitterness of the
past and the tortures of the future.

And the King understood, and his soul sank within him. His eyes fell,
and drawing his brother and sister-in-law with him, he hastily quitted
the room; forgetting in his agitation even his mother, lying
motionless on the couch beside him, not three paces from the son whom
for the second time she was allowing to be condemned to a death in
life.

Philippe drew near to her, and said softly:--

"If you had not been my mother, madame, I must have cursed you for the
misery you have caused me."

D'Artagnan overheard, and a shiver of pity passed through him.