“Thank you, M. d’Artagnan.... What has become of M. d’Herblay?”
“M. d’Herblay is in safety, monseigneur,” said a voice behind them; “and no one, while I live and am free, shall cause a hair to fall from his head.”
“Monsieur Fouquet!” said the prince, smiling sadly.
“Pardon me, monseigneur,” said Fouquet, kneeling, “but he who is just gone out from hence was my guest.”
“Here are,” murmured Philippe, with a sigh, “brave friends and good hearts. They make me regret the world. On, M. d’Artagnan, I follow you.”
At the moment the captain of the musketeers was about to leave the room with his prisoner, Colbert appeared, and, after remitting an order from the king to D’Artagnan, retired. D’Artagnan read the paper, and then crushed it in his hand with rage.
“What is it?” asked the prince.
“Read, monseigneur,” replied the musketeer.
Philippe read the following words, hastily traced by the hand of the king:
“M. d’Artagnan will conduct the prisoner to the Ile Sainte-Marguerite. He will cover his face with an iron vizor, which the prisoner shall never raise except at peril of his life.”