gin to compare them together, I myself should hesitate which lot I
should accept."

"Monsieur," replied the young prince, "before I determine, let me alight
from this carriage, walk on the ground, and consult that still voice
within me, which Heaven bids us all to hearken to. Ten minutes is all I
ask, and then you shall have your answer."

"As you please, monseigneur," said Aramis, bending before him with
respect, so solemn and august in tone and address had sounded these
strange words.

Chapter X. Crown and Tiara.

Aramis was the first to descend from the carriage; he held the door open
for the young man. He saw him place his foot on the mossy ground with
a trembling of the whole body, and walk round the carriage with an
unsteady and almost tottering step. It seemed as if the poor prisoner
was unaccustomed to walk on God's earth. It was the 15th of August,
about eleven o'clock at night; thick clouds, portending a tempest,
overspread the heavens, and shrouded every light and prospect underneath
their heavy folds. The extremities of the avenues were imperceptibly
detached from the copse, by a lighter shadow of opaque gray, which, upon
closer examination, became visible in the midst of the obscurity.
But the fragrance which ascended from the grass, fresher and more
penetrating than that which exhaled from the trees around him; the warm
and balmy air which enveloped him for the first time for many years
past; the ineffable enjoyment of liberty in an open country, spoke
to the prince in so seductive a language, that notwithstanding the
preternatural caution, we would almost say dissimulation of his
character, of which we have tried to give an idea, he could not restrain
his emotion, and breathed a sigh of ecstasy. Then, by degrees, he raised
his aching head and inhaled the softly scented air, as it was wafted in
gentle gusts to his uplifted face. Crossing his arms on his chest, as if
to control this new sensation of delight, he drank in delicious draughts
of that mysterious air which interpenetrates at night the loftiest
forests. The sky he was contemplating, the murmuring waters, the
universal freshness--was not all this reality? Was not Aramis a madman
to suppose that he had aught else to dream of in this world? Those
exciting pictures of country life, so free from fears and troubles,
the ocean of happy days that glitters incessantly before all young
imaginations, are real allurements wherewith to fascinate a poor