“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 of 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.”
Monk allowed a murmur of surprise to escape him, and D’Artagnan a profound sigh. The king, without appearing to notice either, knocked against the deal trellis which inclosed the cabin of the principal fisherman inhabiting the down.
“Hey! Keyser!” cried he, “awake!”
“Who calls me?” asked the fisherman.
“I, Charles the king.”
“Ah, my lord!” cried Keyser, rising ready dressed from the sail in which he slept, as people sleep in a hammock. “What can I do to serve you?”