Читать книгу The Three Musketeers - Александр Дюма - Страница 19

It is impossible to form an idea of the impression which these few words produced on the king. He grew red and pale by turns, and the cardinal saw immediately that he had regained, by a single stroke, all the ground that he had previously lost.

“The Duke of Buckingham at Paris!” said the king; “and what has he been doing there?”

“No doubt plotting with your enemies, the Huguenots and the Spaniards.”

“No, by God, no! Plotting, rather against my honour, with Madame de Chevreuse, Madame de Longueville, and the Conde.”

“Oh! sire, what an idea! The queen is too good, and, above all, loves your majesty too well.”

“Woman is feeble,” said the king: “and as for her loving me too well, I have my own opinion about that!”

“Nevertheless, I maintain that the Duke of Buckingham came to Paris for an entirely political object.”

“And I am just as sure that he came for other purposes; but, if the queen is guilty, let her tremble!”

“After all,” said the cardinal, “however unwilling I am to dwell upon a treason of this kind, your majesty, by your words, reminds me that Madame de Lannoy, whom, by your majesty’s order, I have several times questioned, told me this morning that, the night before last, the queen was up very late, that this morning she was weeping very much, and that she had been writing throughout the whole day.”

“That confirms it!” said the king: “writing to him, no doubt. Cardinal, I must have the queen’s papers!”

“But how are we to get them, sire? It appears to me that neither I nor your majesty ought to undertake such an office.”

“How did they proceed towards the Marechale d’Ancre,” said the king, in the most violent rage; “they first ransacked her chests, and at last searched her person.”

“The Marechale d’Ancre was only the Marechale d’Ancre, a Florentine adventuress: but the august spouse of your majesty is Anne of Austria, Queen of France; that is, one of the greatest princesses in the world.”

“That only makes her the more criminal! The more she has forgotten the high position in which she is placed, the lower she has fallen. For a long time, now, I have been determined to put an end to all these petty intrigues of politics and love. There is, also, one La Porte in her service.”

“Whom I believe to be the master-spirit in all this.”

“Then you think as I do—that she is deceiving me,” said the king.

“I believe, and I repeat it to your majesty, that the queen plots against the king’s power, but I have not said against his honour.”

“And I tell you, against both. I tell you that the queen does not love me; I tell you that she loves another; I tell you that she loves this infamous Duke of Buckingham! Why did not you arrest him, whilst he was in Paris?”

“Arrest the duke! arrest the prime minister of Charles I. Think, sire, what a commotion! And then, if the suspicions of your majesty had any foundation, which I much doubt, what a dreadful exposure—what horrible scandal.”

“But if he exposed himself to it, like a vagabond and a pilferer, he ought—”

Louis stopped, catching himself on the verge of a dreadful expression, whilst Richelieu, stretching out his neck, in vain expected the word which hung upon the king’s lips.

“He ought—”

“Nothing,” said the king, “nothing. But,” added he, “during all the time that he was in Paris, you did not ever lose sight of him?”

“Never, sire!”

“Where did he reside?”

“In the Rue de la Harpe, at No. 75.”

“Where is that?”

“Near the Luxembourg.”

“And you are certain that the queen and he did not see each other?”

“I believe that the queen is too much attached to her duty, sire!”