"Monseigneur," answered Aramis, with a respect he had not yet manifested, "the king, mark me, will, if you desire it, be he who, quitting his dungeon, shall maintain himself upon the throne, on which his friends will place him."
"Tempt me not, monsieur," broke in the prisoner, bitterly.
"Be not weak, monseigneur," persisted Aramis; "I have brought all the proofs of your birth; consult them; satisfy yourself that you are a king's son; and then let us act."
"No, no; it is impossible."
"Unless, indeed," resumed the bishop, ironically, "it be the destiny of your race that the brothers excluded from the throne should be always princes void of courage and honesty, as was your uncle, M. Gaston d'Orleans, who ten times conspired against his brother, Louis XIII."
"What!" cried the prince, astonished, "my uncle Gaston 'conspired against his brother;' conspired to dethrone him?"
"Exactly, monseigneur; for no other reason. I tell you the truth."
"And he had friends—devoted ones?"
"As much so as I am to you."
"And, after all, what did he do?—Failed!"