uld have had so many things to talk about if they had
spoken. Athos thought that by speaking he should evince satisfaction,
and that might wound D'Artagnan. The latter feared that in speaking he
should allow some little bitterness to steal into his words which would
render his company unpleasant to his friend. It was a singular emulation
of silence between contentment and ill-humor. D'Artagnan gave way
first to that itching at the tip of his tongue which he so habitually
experienced.

"Do you remember, Athos," said he, "the passage of the 'Memoires de
D'Aubigny,' in which that devoted servant, a Gascon like myself, poor as
myself, and, I was going to add, brave as myself, relates instances of
the meanness of Henry IV.? My father always told me, I remember, that
D'Aubigny was a liar. But, nevertheless, examine how all the princes,
the issue of the great Henry, keep up the character of the race."

"Nonsense!" said Athos, "the kings of France misers? You are mad, my
friend."

"Oh! you are so perfect yourself, you never agree to the faults of
others. But, in reality, Henry IV. was covetous, Louis XIII., his son,
was so likewise; we know something of that, don't we? Gaston carried
this vice to exaggeration, and has made himself, in this respect,
hated by all who surround him. Henriette, poor woman, might well be
avaricious, she who did not eat every day, and could not warm herself
every winter; and that is an example she has given to her son Charles
II., grandson of the great Henry IV., who is as covetous as his mother
and his grandfather. See if I have well traced the genealogy of the
misers?"

"D'Artagnan, my friend," cried Athos, "you are very rude towards that
eagle race called the Bourbons."

"Eh! and I have forgotten the best instance of all--the other grandson
of the Bearnais, Louis XIV., my ex-master. Well, I hope he is miserly
enough, he who would not lend a million to his brother Charles! Good! I
see you are beginning to be angry. Here we are, by good luck, close to
my house, or rather to that of my friend, M. Monk."

"My dear D'Artagnan, you do not make me angry, you make me sad; it is
cruel, in fact, to see a man of your deserts out of the position his
services ought to have acquired; it appears to me, my dear friend, that
your name is as radiant as the greatest names in war and diplomacy. Tell
me if the Luynes, the Ballegardes, and the Bassompierres have merited,
as we have, fortunes and honors? You are r