d brother. I present him to you that you may
acknowledge him and obey him as myself. I warn you that if you, or any
one in this province, over which I am governor, does aught to displease
the young duke, or thwart him in any way whatsoever, it would be better,
should it come to my knowledge, that that man had never been born. You
hear me. Return now to your duties, and God guide you. The obsequies
of my son Maximilien will take place here when his body arrives. The
household will go into mourning eight days hence. Later, we shall
celebrate the accession of my son Etienne here present."

"Vive monseigneur! Long live the race of Herouville!" cried the people
in a roar that shook the castle.

The valets brought in torches to illuminate the hall. That hurrah, the
sudden lights, the sensations caused by his father's speech, joined
to those he was already feeling, overcame the young man, who fainted
completely and fell into a chair, leaving his slender womanly hand
in the broad palm of his father. As the duke, who had signed to
the lieutenant of his company to come nearer, saying to him, "I am
fortunate, Baron d'Artagnon, in being able to repair my loss; behold my
son!" he felt an icy hand in his. Turning round, he looked at the new
Duc de Nivron, and, thinking him dead, he uttered a cry of horror which
appalled the assemblage.

Beauvouloir rushed to the platform, took the young man in his arms,
and carried him away, saying to his master, "You have killed him by not
preparing him for this ceremony."

"He can never have a child if he is like that!" cried the duke,
following Beauvouloir into the seignorial chamber, where the doctor laid
the young heir upon the bed.

"Well, what think you?" asked the duke presently.

"It is not serious," replied the old physician, showing Etienne, who was
now revived by a cordial, a few drops of which he had given him on a
bit of sugar, a new and precious substance which the apothecaries were
selling for its weight in gold.

"Take this, old rascal!" said the duke, offering his purse to
Beauvouloir, "and treat him like the son of a king! If he dies by your
fault, I'll burn you myself on a gridiron."

"If you continue to be so violent, the Duc de Nivron will die by your
own act," said the doctor, roughly. "Leave him now; he will go to
sleep."

"Good-night, my love," said the old man, kissing his son upon the
forehead.

"Good-night, father," replied the youth, whose voice made the
fat