“Your guardian! is he, too, a Bragelonne?” asked Lord de Winter.  “I once knew a Bragelonne —­ is he still alive?”

“No, sir, he is dead; and I believe it is from him my guardian, whose near relation he was, inherited the estate from which I take my name.”

“And your guardian, sir,” asked the queen, who could not help feeling some interest in the handsome young man before her, “what is his name?”

“The Comte de la Fere, madame,” replied the young man, bowing.

De Winter made a gesture of surprise and the queen turned to him with a start of joy.

“The Comte de la Fere!” she cried.  “Have you not mentioned that name to me?”

As for De Winter he could scarcely believe that he had heard aright.  “The Comte de la Fere!” he cried in his turn.  “Oh, sir, reply, I entreat you —­ is not the Comte de la Fere a noble whom I remember, handsome and brave, a musketeer under Louis XIII., who must be now about forty-seven or forty-eight years of age?”

“Yes, sir, you are right in every particular!”

“And who served under an assumed name?”

“Under the name of Athos.  Latterly I heard his friend, Monsieur d’Artagnan, give him that name.”

“That is it, madame, that is the same.  God be praised!  And he is in Paris?” continued he, addressing Raoul; then turning to the queen:  “We may still hope.  Providence has declared for us, since I have found this brave man again in so miraculous a manner.  And, sir, where does he reside, pray?”

“The Comte de la Fere lodges in the Rue Guenegaud, Hotel du Grand Roi Charlemagne.”

“Thanks, sir.  Inform this dear friend that he may remain within, that I shall go and see him immediately.”

“Sir, I obey with pleasure, if her majesty will permit me to depart.”

“Go, Monsieur de Bragelonne,” said the queen, “and rest assured of our affection.”

Raoul bent respectfully before the two princesses, and bowing to De Winter, departed.

The queen and De Winter continued to converse for some time in low voices, in order that the young princess should not overhear them; but the precaution was needless:  she was in deep converse with her own thoughts.

Then, when De Winter rose to take leave: 

“Listen, my lord,” said the queen; “I have preserved this diamond cross which came from my mother, and this order of St. Michael which came from my husband.  They are worth about fifty thousand pounds.  I had sworn to die of hunger rather than part with these precious pledges; but now that this ornament may be useful to him or his defenders, everything must be sacrificed.  Take them, and if you need money for your expedition, sell them fearlessly, my lord.  But should you find the means of retaining them, remember, my lord, that I shall esteem you as having rendered the greatest service that a gentleman can render to a queen; and in the day of my prosperity he who brings me this order and this cross shall be blessed by me and my children.”