LITMIR.BIZ

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obscurity; this is why that second son has disappeared, and so completely, that not a soul in France, save his mother, is aware of his existence.”

      “Yes! his mother, who has cast him off,” cried the prisoner in a tone of despair.

      “Except, also,” Aramis went on, “the lady in the black dress; and, finally, excepting – ”

      “Excepting yourself – is it not? You who come and relate all this; you, who rouse in my soul curiosity, hatred, ambition, and, perhaps, even the thirst of vengeance; except you, monsieur, who, if you are the man to whom I expect, whom the note I have received applies to, whom, in short, Heaven ought to send me, must possess about you – ”

      “What?” asked Aramis.

      “A portrait of the king, Louis XIV., who at this moment reigns upon the throne of France.”

      “Here is the portrait,” replied the bishop, handing the prisoner a miniature in enamel, on which Louis was depicted life-like, with a handsome, lofty mien. The prisoner eagerly seized the portrait, and gazed at it with devouring eyes.

      “And now, monseigneur,” said Aramis, “here is a mirror.” Aramis left the prisoner time to recover his ideas.

      “So high! – so high!” murmured the young man, eagerly comparing the likeness of Louis with his own countenance reflected in the glass.

      “What do you think of it?” at length said Aramis.

      “I think that I am lost,” replied the captive; “the king will never set me free.”

      “And I – I demand to know,” added the bishop, fixing his piercing eyes significantly upon the prisoner, “I demand to know which of these two is king; the one this miniature portrays, or whom the glass reflects?”

      “The king, monsieur,” sadly replied the young man, “is he who is on the throne, who is not in prison; and who, on the other hand, can cause others to be entombed there. Royalty means power; and you behold how powerless I am.”

      “Monseigneur,” answered Aramis, with a respect he had not yet manifested, “the king, mark me, will, if you desire it, be the one that, quitting his dungeon, shall maintain himself upon the throne, on which his friends will place him.”

      “Tempt me not, monsieur,” broke in the prisoner bitterly.

      “Be not weak, monseigneur,” persisted Aramis; “I have brought you all the proofs of your birth; consult them; satisfy yourself that you are a king’s son; it is for us to act.”

      “No, no; it is impossible.”

      “Unless, indeed,” resumed the bishop ironically, “it be the destiny of your race, that the brothers excluded from the throne should be always princes void of courage and honesty, as was your uncle, M. Gaston d’Orleans, who ten times conspired against his brother Louis XIII.”

      “What!” cried the prince, astonished; “my uncle Gaston ‘conspired against his brother’; conspired to dethrone him?”

      “Exactly, monseigneur; for no other reason. I tell you the truth.”

      “And he had friends – devoted friends?”

      “As much so as I am to you.”

      “And, after all, what did he do? – Failed!”

      “He failed, I admit; but always through his own fault; and, for the sake of purchasing – not his life – for the life of the king’s brother is sacred and inviolable – but his liberty, he sacrificed the lives of all his friends, one after another. And so, at this day, he is a very blot on history, the detestation of a hundred noble families in this kingdom.”

      “I understand, monsieur; either by weakness or treachery, my uncle slew his friends.”

      “By weakness; which, in princes, is always treachery.”

      “And cannot a man fail, then, from incapacity and ignorance? Do you really believe it possible that a poor captive such as I, brought up, not only at a distance from the court, but even from the world – do you believe it possible that such a one could assist those of his friends who should attempt to serve him?” And as Aramis was about to reply, the young man suddenly cried out, with a violence which betrayed the temper of his blood, “We are speaking of friends; but how can I have any friends – I, whom no one knows; and have neither liberty, money, nor influence, to gain any?”

      “I fancy I had the honor to offer myself to your royal highness.”

      “Oh, do not style me so, monsieur; ‘tis either treachery or cruelty. Bid me not think of aught beyond these prison-walls, which so grimly confine me; let me again love, or, at least, submit to my slavery and my obscurity.”

      “Monseigneur, monseigneur; if you again utter these desperate words – if, after having received proof of your high birth, you still remain poor-spirited in body and soul, I will comply with your desire, I will depart, and renounce forever the service of a master, to whom so eagerly I came to devote my assistance and my life!”

      “Monsieur,” cried the prince, “would it not have been better for you to have reflected, before telling me all that you have done, that you have broken my heart forever?”

      “And so I desire to do, monseigneur.”

      “To talk to me about power, grandeur, eye, and to prate of thrones! Is a prison the fit place? You wish to make me believe in splendor, and we are lying lost in night; you boast of glory, and we are smothering our words in the curtains of this miserable bed; you give me glimpses of power absolute whilst I hear the footsteps of the every-watchful jailer in the corridor – that step which, after all, makes you tremble more than it does me. To render me somewhat less incredulous, free me from the Bastile; let me breathe the fresh air; give me my spurs and trusty sword, then we shall begin to understand each other.”

      “It is precisely my intention to give you all this, monseigneur, and more; only, do you desire it?”

      “A word more,” said the prince. “I know there are guards in every gallery, bolts to every door, cannon and soldiery at every barrier. How will you overcome the sentries – spike the guns? How will you break through the bolts and bars?”

      “Monseigneur, – how did you get the note which announced my arrival to you?”

      “You can bribe a jailer for such a thing as a note.”

      “If we can corrupt one turnkey, we can corrupt ten.”

      “Well; I admit that it may be possible to release a poor captive from the Bastile; possible so to conceal him that the king’s people shall not again ensnare him; possible, in some unknown retreat, to sustain the unhappy wretch in some suitable manner.”

      “Monseigneur!” said Aramis, smiling.

      “I admit that, whoever would do this much for me, would seem more than mortal in my eyes; but as you tell me I am a prince, brother of the king, how can you restore me the rank and power which my mother and my brother have deprived me of? And as, to effect this, I must pass a life of war and hatred, how can you cause me to prevail in those combats – render me invulnerable by my enemies? Ah! monsieur, reflect on all this; place me, to-morrow, in some dark cavern at a mountain’s base; yield me the delight of hearing in freedom sounds of the river, plain and valley, of beholding in freedom the sun of the blue heavens, or the stormy sky, and it is enough. Promise me no more than this, for, indeed, more you cannot give, and it would be a crime to deceive me, since you call yourself my friend.”

      Aramis waited in silence. “Monseigneur,” he resumed, after a moment’s reflection, “I admire the firm, sound sense which dictates your words; I am happy to have discovered my monarch’s mind.”

      “Again, again! oh, God! for mercy’s sake,” cried the prince, pressing his icy hands upon his clammy brow, “do not play with me! I have no need to be a king to be the happiest of men.”

      “But I, monseigneur, wish you to be a king for the good of humanity.”

      “Ah!” said the

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