Monk, then, resolved positively to die rather than speak, which
was not to be wondered at in so considerable a man, the wound in whose
mind must at the moment have been cruel. Charles II. formed, on the
instant, one of those resolutions upon which an ordinary man risks his
life, a general his fortune, and a king his kingdom. "Monsieur," said
he to Monk, "you are perfectly right upon certain points; I do not,
therefore, ask you to answer me, but to listen to me."

There was a moment's silence, during which the king looked at Monk, who
remained impassible.

"You have made me just now a painful reproach, monsieur," continued the
king; "you said that one of my emissaries had been to Newcastle to lay
a snare for you, and that, parenthetically, cannot be understood by M.
d'Artagnan here, and to whom, before everything, I owe sincere thanks
for his generous, his heroic devotion."

D'Artagnan bowed with respect; Monk took no notice.

"For M. d'Artagnan--and observe, M. Monk, I do not say this to excuse
myself--for M. d'Artagnan," continued the king, "went to England of his
free will, without interest, without orders, without hope, like a true
gentleman as he is, to render a service to an unfortunate king, and to
add to the illustrious actions of an existence, already so well filled,
one glorious deed more."

D'Artagnan colored a little, and coughed to keep his countenance. Monk
did not stir.

"You do not believe what I tell you, M. Monk," continued the king. "I
can understand that,--such proofs of devotion are so rare, that their
reality may well be put in doubt."

"Monsieur would do wrong not to believe you, sire," cried D'Artagnan:
"for that which your majesty has said is the exact truth, and the truth
so exact that it seems, in going to fetch the general, I have done
something which sets everything wrong. In truth, if it be so, I am in
despair."

"Monsieur d'Artagnan," said the king, pressing the hand of the
musketeer, "you have obliged me as much as if you had promoted the
success of my cause, for you have revealed to me an unknown friend, to
whom I shall ever be grateful, and whom I shall always love." And the
king pressed his hand cordially. "And," continued he, bowing to Monk,
"an enemy whom I shall henceforth esteem at his proper value."

The eyes of the Puritan flashed, but only once, and his countenance, for
an instant, illuminated by that flash, resumed its somber impassibility.

"Then, Monsieur d'Artagn