“You have taken Monk?” “Yes, sire.” “Where?” “In the midst of his camp.” The king trembled with impatience. “And having taken him on the causeway of Newcastle, I bring him to your majesty,” said D’Artagnan, simply. “You bring him to me!” cried the king, almost indignant at what he considered a mystification. “Yes, sire,” replied D’Artagnan, the same tone, “I bring him to you; he is down below yonder, in a large chest pierced with holes, so as to allow him to breathe.” “Good God!” “Oh! don’t be uneasy, sire, we have taken the greatest possible care of him. He comes in good state, and in perfect condition. Would your majesty please to see him, to talk with him, or to have him thrown into the sea?” “Oh, heavens!” repeated Charles, “oh, heavens! do you speak the truth, monsieur? Are you not insulting me with some unworthy joke? You have accomplished this unheard-of act of audacity and genius—impossible!” “Will your majesty permit me to open the window?” said D’Artagnan, opening it. The king had not time to reply, yes on no. D’Artagnan gave a shrill and prolonged whistle, which he repeated three times through the silence of the night. “There!” said he, “he will be brought to your majesty.” CHAPTER 29. In which D’Artagnan begins to fear he has placed his Money and that of Planchet in the Sinking Fund The king could not overcome his surprise, and looked sometimes at the smiling face of the musketeer, and sometimes at the dark window which opened into the night. But before he had fixed his ideas, eight of D’Artagnan’s men, for two had remained to take care of the bark, brought to the house, where Parry received him, that object of an oblong form, which, for the moment inclosed the destinies of England. Before he left Calais, D’Artagnan had had made in that city a sort of coffin, large and deep enough for a man to turn in it at his ease. The bottom and sides, properly upholstered, formed a bed sufficiently soft to prevent the rolling of the ship turning this kind of cage into a rat-trap. The little grating, of which D’Artagnan had spoken to the king, like the visor of a helmet, was placed opposite to the man’s face. It was so constructed that, at the least cry, a sudden pressure would stifle that cry, and, if necessary, him who had uttered that cry. D’Artagnan was so well acquainted with his crew and his prisoner, that during the whole voyage he had been in dread of two things: either that the general would prefer death to this sort of imprisonment, and would smother himself by endeavoring to speak, or that his guards would allow themselves to be tempted by the offers of the prisoner, and put him, D’Artagnan, into the box instead of Monk.