“What, Athos!” exclaimed D’Artagnan.

“Yes, that was his nom de guerre, I believe.  The Comte de la Fere had then set out for Newcastle, and was going, perhaps, to bring the general to hold a conference with me or with those of my party, when you violently, as it appears, interfered with the negotiation.”

“Mordioux!” replied D’Artagnan, “he entered the camp the very evening in which I succeeded in getting into it with my fishermen — "

An almost imperceptible frown on the brow of Monk told D’Artagnan that he had surmised rightly.

“Yes, yes,” muttered he; “I thought I knew his person; I even fancied I knew his voice.  Unlucky wretch that I am!  Oh! sire, pardon me!  I thought I had so successfully steered my bark.”

“There is nothing ill in it, sir,” said the king, “except that the general accuses me of having laid a snare for him, which is not the case.  No, general, those are not the arms which I contemplated employing with you, as you will soon see.  In the meanwhile, when I give you my word upon the honor of a gentleman, believe me, sir, believe me!  Now, Monsieur d’Artagnan, a word with you, if you please.”

“I listen on my knees, sire.”

“You are truly at my service, are you not?”

“Your majesty has seen that I am, too much so.”

“That is well; from a man like you one word suffices.  In addition to that word you bring actions.  General, have the goodness to follow me.  Come with us, M. d’Artagnan”

D’Artagnan, considerably surprised, prepared to obey.  Charles II. went out, Monk followed him, D’Artagnan followed Monk.  Charles took the path by which D’Artagnan had come to his abode; the fresh sea breezes soon caressed the faces of the three nocturnal travelers, and, at fifty paces from the little gate which Charles opened, they found themselves upon the down in the face of the ocean, which, having ceased to rise, reposed upon the shore like a wearied monster.  Charles II. walked pensively along, his head hanging down and his hand beneath his cloak.  Monk followed him, with crossed arms and an uneasy look.  D’Artagnan came last, with his hand on the hilt of his sword.

“Where is the boat in which you came, gentlemen?” said Charles to the musketeer.

“Yonder, sire; I have seven men and an officer waiting me in that little bark which is lighted by a fire.”

“Yes, I see; the boat is drawn upon the sand; but you certainly did not come from Newcastle in that frail bark?”

No, sire; I freighted a felucca, at my own expense, which is at anchor within cannon-shot of the downs.  It was in that felucca we made the voyage.”

“Sir,” said the king to Monk, “you are free.”

However firm his will, Monk could not suppress an exclamation.  The king added an affirmative motion of his head, and continued:  “We shall waken a fisherman of the village, who will put his boat to sea immediately, and will take you back to any place you may command him.  M. d’Artagnan here will escort your honor.  I place M. d’Artagnan under the safeguard of your loyalty, M. Monk.”