he
sacrificed the right of having. The whole extent of his fault was
revealed to him by the simple sight of the pretender. All which passed
in the mind of Fouquet was lost upon the persons present. He had five
minutes to concentrate his meditations upon this point of the case of
conscience; five minutes, that is to say, five ages, during which the
two kings and their family scarcely found time to breathe after so
terrible a shock. D'Artagnan, leaning against the wall, in front of
Fouquet, with his hand to his brow, asked himself the cause of such a
wonderful prodigy. He could not have said at once why he doubted, but he
knew assuredly that he had reason to doubt, and that in this meeting of
the two Louis XIV.'s lay all the difficulty which during late days had
rendered the conduct of Aramis so suspicious to the musketeer. These
ideas were, however, enveloped in thick veils. The actors in this
assembly seemed to swim in the vapors of a confused waking. Suddenly
Louis XIV., more impatient and more accustomed to command, ran to one of
the shutters, which he opened, tearing the curtains in his eagerness. A
flood of living light entered the chamber, and made Philippe draw back
to the alcove. Louis seized upon this movement with eagerness, and
addressing himself to the queen--

"My mother," said he, "do you not acknowledge your son, since every one
here has forgotten his king!" Anne of Austria started, and raised her
arms toward Heaven, without being able to articulate a single word.

"My mother," said Philippe, with a calm voice, "do you not acknowledge
your son?" And this time, in his turn, Louis drew back.

As to Anne of Austria, struck in both head and heart with remorse, she
lost her equilibrium. No one aiding her, for all were petrified, she
sank back in her fauteuil, breathing a weak, trembling sigh. Louis could
not endure this spectacle and this affront. He bounded toward
D'Artagnan, upon whom the vertigo was beginning to gain, and who
staggered as he caught at the door for support.

"A moi! mousquetaire!" said he. "Look us in the face and say which is
the paler, he or I!"

This cry roused D'Artagnan, and stirred in his heart the fiber of
obedience. He shook his head, and, without more hesitation, he walked
straight up to Philippe, upon whose shoulder he laid his hand, saying,
"Monsieur, you are my prisoner!"

Philippe did not raise his eyes toward Heaven, nor stir from the spot,
where he seemed nailed to the