Suddenly Louis XIV., by nature the most impatient of the two young men, and with the habit of command that was the result of training, strode across the room and flung open one of the shutters. The flood of light that streamed through the window caused Philippe involuntarily to recoil, and to step back into the shelter of an alcove. The movement struck Louis, and turning to the Queen he said: "Mother, do you not know your own son, although every one else has denied his King?" Anne trembled at his voice and raised her arms to heaven, but could not utter a single word. "Mother," retorted Philippe in his quietest tones, "do you not know your own son?" And this time it was Louis who stepped back. As for Anne, pierced to the heart with grief and remorse, she could bear it no longer. She staggered where she stood, and unaided by her attendants, who seemed turned into stone, she sank down on a sofa with a sigh. This spectacle was too much for Louis. He rushed to D'Artagnan, whose brain was going round with bewilderment, and who clung to the door as his last hope. "To me, musketeer! Look us both in the face, and see which is the paler, he or I." The cry awoke D'Artagnan from his stupor, and struck the chord of obedience strong in the bosom of every soldier. He lifted his head, and striding straight up to Philippe laid his hand on his shoulder, saying quietly:-- "Monsieur, you are my prisoner." Philippe remained absolutely still, as if nailed to the floor, his eyes fixed despairingly on the King who was his brother. His silence reproached him as no words could have done, with the bitterness of the past and the tortures of the future. And the King understood, and his soul sank within him. His eyes fell, and drawing his brother and sister-in-law with him, he hastily quitted the room; forgetting in his agitation even his mother, lying motionless on the couch beside him, not three paces from the son whom for the second time she was allowing to be condemned to a death in life. Philippe drew near to her, and said softly:-- "If you had not been my mother, madame, I must have cursed you for the misery you have caused me." D'Artagnan overheard, and a shiver of pity passed through him. He bowed respectfully to the young prince, and said:-- "Forgive me, monseigneur; I am only a soldier, and my faith is due to him who has left us." "Thank you, M. D'Artagnan. But what has become of M. D'Herblay?" "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."