oubt that the order came from
his master, and drove off at full speed to the palace. The gates of
the court were just closing as he drove in. On pulling up at the
steps, the coachman perceived that the footmen were not behind the
carriage, and, supposing that M. de Gondy had sent them somewhere, he
got off his box and opened the door. D'Artagnan jumped out, and just
as the coachman, alarmed at seeing a stranger instead of his master,
made a step backwards, he seized him by the collar with his left hand,
and with his right put a pistol to his breast.

"Not a word," said D'Artagnan, "or you are a dead man."

The coachman saw that he had fallen into a snare. He remained silent,
with open mouth and staring eyes. Two mousquetaires were walking up
and down the court; D'Artagnan called them, handed over the coachman
to one of them, with orders to keep him in safe custody, and desired
the other to get on the box of the carriage, drive it round to the
door of the private staircase leading out of the palace, and there to
wait till he came. The coachman's livery coat and hat went with the
carriage. These arrangements completed, D'Artagnan entered the palace,
and knocked at the door of the queen's apartments. He was instantly
admitted; Anne of Austria was waiting for him in her oratory.

"Is every thing prepared?" said she.

"Every thing, madam."

"And the cardinal?"

"He has left Paris without accident, and waits for your majesty at
Cours la Reine."

"Come with me to the king."

D'Artagnan bowed and followed the queen. The young king was already
dressed, with the exception of his shoes and doublet. He seemed
greatly astonished at being thus roused in the middle of the night,
and overwhelmed his valet-de-chambre, Laporte, with questions, to all
of which the latter replied--"Sire, it is by order of her majesty."
The bed-clothes were thrown back, and the sheets were seen worn
threadbare and even into holes. This was one of the results of
Mazarine's excessive parsimony. The queen entered, and D'Artagnan
remained at the door of the apartment. As soon as the child saw his
mother, he escaped from Laporte's hand and ran up to her. She signed
to D'Artagnan to approach.

"My son," said Anne of Austria, showing him the mousquetaire, who
stood with his plumed hat in his hand, calm, grave, and collected,
"this is M. D'Artagnan, who is brave as one of those knights of old
whose histories you love to hear repeated. Look at him well,