He had been long anxious about having an heir; a care which weighs
heavily on princes, who desire to leave behind them more than one pledge
that their thoughts and their works will be continued."

"Did the king, then, die childless?" asked the prisoner, smiling.

"No, but he was long without one, and for a long while thought he should
be the last of his race. This idea had reduced him to the depths of
despair, when suddenly, his wife, Anne of Austria--"

The prisoner trembled.

"Did you know," said Aramis, "that Louis XIII.'s wife was called Anne of
Austria?"

"Continue," said the young man, without replying to the question.

"When suddenly," resumed Aramis, "the queen announced an interesting
event. There was great joy at the intelligence, and all prayed for her
happy delivery. On the 5th of September, 1638, she gave birth to a son."

Here Aramis looked at his companion, and thought he observed him turning
pale. "You are about to hear," said Aramis, "an account which few could
now give; for it refers to a secret which they think buried with the
dead or entombed in the abyss of the confessional."

"And you will tell me this secret?" broke in the youth.

"Oh!" said Aramis, with unmistakable emphasis, "I do not know that I
ought to risk this secret by intrusting it to one who has no desire to
quit the Bastille."

"I hear you, monsieur."

"The queen, then, gave birth to a son. But while the court was rejoicing
over the event, when the king had shown the new-born child to the
nobility and people, and was sitting gayly down to table to celebrate
the event, the queen, who was alone in her room, was again taken ill,
and gave birth to a second son."

"Oh!" said the prisoner, betraying a better acquaintance with affairs
than he had owned to, "I thought that Monsieur was only born a--"

Aramis raised his finger. "Let me continue," he said.

The prisoner sighed impatiently and paused.

"Yes," said Aramis, "the queen had a second son, whom Dame Perronnette,
the midwife, received in her arms."

"Dame Perronnette!" murmured the young man.

"They ran at once to the banqueting-room, and whispered to the king what
had happened: he rose and quitted the table. But this time it was no
longer happiness that his face expressed, but something akin to terror.
The birth of twins changed into bitterness the joy to which that of an
only son had given rise, seeing that in France (a fact you are assuredly
ignorant of) it is the