“Yes; he was named Richard, and he has 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.”