“My lord,” said he, “with this million, which others would perhaps employ in negotiating, I would advise the king to rise two regiments, to enter Scotland, which you have just pacified: to give to the people the franchises which the revolution promised them, and in which it has not, in all cases, kept its word. I should advise him to command in person this little army, which would, believe me, increase, and to die, standard in hand, and sword in sheath, saying, ‘Englishmen! I am the third king of my race you have killed; beware of the justice of God!’”
Monk hung down his head, and mused for an instant. “If he succeeded,” said he, “which is very improbable, but not impossible—for everything is possible in this world—what would you advise him to do?”
“To think that by the will of God he lost his crown, by the good will of men he recovered it.”
An ironical smile passed over the lips of Monk.
“Unfortunately, monsieur,” said he, “kings do not know how to follow good advice.”
“Ah, my lord, Charles II. is not a king,” replied Athos, smiling in his turn, but with a very different expression from Monk.
“Let us terminate this, monsieur le comte,—that is your desire, is it not?”
Athos bowed.
“I shall give orders to have these two casks transported whither you please. Where are you lodging, monsieur?”
“In a little hamlet at the mouth of the river, your honor.”