Charles II. withdrew his hand from that of the king, and drawing back, to salute him with more ceremony, “With all my heart, thanks!” replied he, “sire; but I have prayed without success to the greatest king on earth; now I will go and ask a miracle of God.” And he went out without being willing to hear any more, his head carried loftily, his hand trembling, with a painful contraction of his noble countenance, and that profound gloom which, finding no more hope in the world of men, appeared to go beyond it, and ask it in worlds unknown. The officer of musketeers, on seeing him pass by thus pale, bowed almost to his knees as he saluted him. He then took a flambeau, called two musketeers, and descended the deserted staircase with the unfortunate king, holding in his left hand his hat, the plume of which swept the steps. Arrived at the door, the musketeer asked the king which way he was going, that he might direct the musketeers. “Monsieur,” replied Charles II., in a subdued voice, “you who have known my father, say, did you ever pray for him? If you have done so, do not forget me in your prayers. Now, I am going alone, and beg of you not to accompany me, or have me accompanied any further.” The officer bowed and sent away the musketeers into the interior of the palace. But he himself remained an instant under the porch watching the departing Charles II., till he was lost in the turn of the next street. “To him as to his father formerly,” murmured he, “Athos, if he were here, would say with reason,—‘Salute fallen majesty!’” Then, reascending the staircase: “Oh! the vile service that I follow!” said he at every step. “Oh! my pitiful master! Life thus carried on is no longer tolerable, and it is at length time that I should do something! No more generosity, no more energy! The master has succeeded, the pupil is starved forever. Mordioux! I will not resist. Come, you men,” continued he, entering the ante-chamber, “why are you all looking at me so? Extinguish these torches and return to your posts. Ah! you were guarding me? Yes, you watch over me, do you not, worthy fellows? Brave fools! I am not the Duc de Guise. Begone! They will not assassinate me in the little passage. Besides,” added he, in a low voice, “that would be a resolution, and no resolutions have been formed since Monsieur le Cardinal Richelieu died. Now, with all his faults, that was a man! It is settled: to-morrow I will throw my cassock to the nettles.” Then, reflecting: “No,” said he, “not yet! I have one great trial to make and I will make it; but that, and I swear it, shall be the last, Mordioux!” He had not finished speaking when a voice issued from the king’s chamber. “Monsieur le lieutenant!” said this voice. “Here I am,” replied he. “The king desires to speak to you.” “Humph!” said the lieutenant; “perhaps of what I was thinking about.” And he went into the king’s apartment. Chapter XII. The King and the Lieutenant.