nd he said nothing as he died?"

"Yes; he exclaimed, 'Oh!'"

"I suppose," answered D'Artagnan, laughing, "if he only said that, it
did not enlighten you much."

"Well, sir!" cried the queen.

"Madame, the passage is quite clear and your majesty can continue your
road."

In fact, the procession arrived, in safety at Notre Dame, at the front
gate of which all the clergy, with the coadjutor at their head, awaited
the king, the queen and the minister, for whose happy return they
chanted a Te Deum.

As the service was drawing to a close a boy entered the church in great
excitement, ran to the sacristy, dressed himself quickly in the choir
robes, and cleaving, thanks to that uniform, the crowd that filled
the temple, approached Bazin, who, clad in his blue robe, was standing
gravely in his place at the entrance to the choir.

Bazin felt some one pulling his sleeve. He lowered to earth his eyes,
beatifically raised to Heaven, and recognized Friquet.

"Well, you rascal, what is it? How do you dare to disturb me in the
exercise of my functions?" asked the beadle.

"Monsieur Bazin," said Friquet, "Monsieur Maillard--you know who he is,
he gives holy water at Saint Eustache----"

"Well, go on."

"Well, he received in the scrimmage a sword stroke on the head. That
great giant who was there gave it to him."

"In that case," said Bazin, "he must be pretty sick."

"So sick that he is dying, and he wants to confess to the coadjutor,
who, they say, has power to remit great sins."

"And does he imagine that the coadjutor will put himself out for him?"

"To be sure; the coadjutor has promised."

"Who told you that?"

"Monsieur Maillard himself."

"You have seen him, then?"

"Certainly; I was there when he fell."

"What were you doing there?"

"I was shouting, 'Down with Mazarin!' 'Death to the cardinal!' 'The
Italian to the gallows!' Isn't that what you would have me shout?"

"Be quiet, you rascal!" said Bazin, looking uneasily around.

"So that he told me, that poor Monsieur Maillard, 'Go find the
coadjutor, Friquet, and if you bring him to me you shall be my heir.'
Say, then, Father Bazin--the heir of Monsieur Maillard, the giver of
holy water at Saint Eustache! Hey! I shall have nothing to do but to
fold my arms! All the same, I should like to do him that service--what
do you say to it?"

"I will tell the coadjutor," said Bazin.

In fact, he slowly and respectfully approached the prelate and spoke
to h