legitimate king. He who loves me will follow me." A burst of
acclamations welcomed these words, which D'Artagnan did not hear without
the greatest delight.

"_Mordioux!_" said he to Monk, "that is bold, monsieur."

"You will accompany me, will you not?" said Monk.

"_Pardieu!_ general. But tell me, I beg, what you wrote by Athos, that
is to say, the Comte de la Fere--you know--the day of our arrival?"

"I have no secrets from you now," replied Monk. "I wrote these words:
'Sire, I expect your majesty in six weeks at Dover.'"

"Ah!" said D'Artagnan, "I no longer say it is bold; I say it is well
played; it is a fine stroke!"

"You are something of a judge in such matters," replied Monk.

And this was the only time the general had ever made an allusion to his
voyage to Holland.

Chapter XXXII. Athos and D'Artagnan meet once more at the Hostelry of
the Corne du Cerf.

The king of England made his _entree_ into Dover with great pomp, as he
afterwards did in London. He had sent for his brothers; he had brought
over his mother and sister. England had been for so long a time given
up to herself--that is to say, to tyranny, mediocrity and nonsense--that
this return of Charles II., whom the English only knew as the son of
the man whose head they had cut off, was a festival for three
kingdoms. Consequently, all the good wishes, all the acclamations
which accompanied his return, struck the young king so forcibly that he
stooped and whispered in the ear of James of York, his younger brother,
"In truth, James, it seems to have been our own fault that we were so
long absent from a country where we are so much beloved!" The pageant
was magnificent. Beautiful weather favored the solemnity. Charles
had regained all his youth, all his good humor; he appeared to be
transfigured; hearts seemed to smile on him like the sun. Amongst this
noisy crowd of courtiers and worshipers, who did not appear to remember
they had conducted to the scaffold at Whitehall the father of the new
king, a man, in the garb of a lieutenant of musketeers, looked, with
a smile upon his thin, intellectual lips, sometimes at the people
vociferating their blessings, and sometimes at the prince, who pretended
emotion, and who bowed most particularly to the women, whose _bouquets_
fell beneath his horse's feet.

"What a fine trade is that of king!" said this man, so completely
absorbed in contemplation that he stopped in the middle of the road,
leaving the