"I beseech your majesty to pardon me," said Planchet "but is this really the king?"
The queen trembled with suppressed anger.
"Is there one amongst you who knows the king?" said she. "If so, let him approach, and say if this be his majesty or not."
A man, muffled in a cloak, which he wore in such a manner as to conceal his face, drew near, and stooping over the bed, gazed at the features of Louis. For a moment D'Artagnan thought that this person had some evil design, and he placed his hand upon his sword; but as he did so, the cloak slipped partially from before the man's face, and the guardsman recognised the Coadjutor, De Gondy.
"It is the king himself," said the man. "God bless his majesty!"
"God bless his majesty!" murmured the crowd.
"And now, my friends," said Planchet; "let us thank her majesty, and retire."
The insurgents bowed their thanks, and left the room with the same caution and silence with which they had entered it. When the last had disappeared, followed by Laporte, the remaining actors in this strange scene remained for a moment looking at each other without uttering a word: the queen standing near the door; D'Artagnan half out of his hiding-place; the king leaning on his elbow, but ready to fall back upon his pillow at the least noise that should indicate the return of the mob. The noise of footsteps, however, grew rapidly more
remote, and at last entirely ceased. The queen drew a deep breath of relief; D'Artagnan wiped the perspiration of anxiety from his brow; the king slid out of his bed.
"Let us go," said Louis.