"M. D'Herblay is safe, monseigneur," answered a voice behind them; "and while I am alive and free, not a hair of his head shall be hurt."
"M. Fouquet!" said the prince, smiling sadly.
"Forgive me, monseigneur," cried Fouquet, falling on his knees; "but he who has left the room was my guest."
"Ah!" murmured Philippe to himself with a sigh, "you are loyal friends and true hearts. You make me regret the world I am leaving. M. D'Artagnan, I will follow you."
As he spoke, Colbert entered and handed to the captain of the musketeers an order from the King; then bowed, and went out.
D'Artagnan glanced at the paper, and in a sudden burst of wrath crumpled it in his hand.
"What is the matter?" asked the prince.
"Read it, monseigneur," answered the musketeer.
And Philippe read these words, written hastily by the King himself:—
"M. D'Artagnan will conduct the prisoner to the Îles Sainte-Marguerite. He will see that his face is covered with an iron mask, which must never be lifted on pain of death."