“Nor does it fight.  How is it, Planchet, that an intelligent man like yourself should take any heed of a set of brawlers who call themselves Rumps and Barebones?  The parliament does not trouble me at all, Planchet.”

“As soon as it ceases to trouble you, monsieur, let us pass on.”

“Yes, and arrive at the result.  You remember Cromwell, Planchet?”

“I have heard a great deal of talk about him.

“He was a rough soldier.”

“And a terrible eater, moreover.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“Why, at one gulp he swallowed all England.”

“Well, Planchet, the evening before the day on which he swallowed England, if any one had swallowed M. Cromwell?”

“Oh, monsieur, it is one of the axioms of mathematics that the container must be greater than the contained.”

“Very well!  That is our affair, Planchet.”

“But M. Cromwell is dead, and his container is now the tomb.”

“My dear Planchet, I see with pleasure that you have not only become a mathematician, but a philosopher.”

“Monsieur, in my grocery business I use much printed paper, and that instructs me.”

“Bravo!  You know then, in that case — for you have not learnt mathematics and philosophy without a little history — that after this Cromwell so great, there came one who was very little.”

“Yes; he was named Richard, and he as done as you have, M. d’Artagnan — he has tendered his resignation.”

“Very well said — very well!  After the great man who is dead, after the little one who tendered his resignation, there came a third.  This one is named Monk; he is an able general, considering he has never fought a battle; he is a skillful diplomatist, considering that he never speaks in public, and that having to say ‘good-day’ to a man, he meditates twelve hours, and ends by saying ‘good night;’ which makes people exclaim ‘miracle!’ seeing that it falls out correctly.”

“That is rather strong,” said Planchet; “but I know another political man who resembles him very much.”

“M.  Mazarin you mean?”

“Himself.”

“You are right, Planchet; only M. Mazarin does not aspire to the throne of France; and that changes everything.  Do you see?  Well, this M. Monk, who has England ready-roasted in his plate, and who is already opening his mouth to swallow it — this M. Monk, who says to the people of Charles II., and to Charles II. himself, ‘Nescio vos’ — "

“I don’t understand English,” said Planchet.

“Yes, but I understand it,” said D’Artagnan. “‘Nescio vos’ means ’I do not know you.’  This M. Monk, the most important man in England, when he shall have swallowed it — "

“Well?” asked Planchet.

“Well, my friend, I shall go over yonder, and with my forty men I shall carry him off, pack him up, and bring him into France, where two modes of proceeding present themselves to my dazzled eyes.”