Thus did Athos and Aramis make their appearance in the ante-chamber, where about a dozen noblemen were collected in waiting.

“Good heavens!” said Aramis to Athos, “does the coadjutor intend to indulge himself in the pleasure of making us cool our hearts off in his ante-chamber?”

“My dear friend, we must take people as we find them.  The coadjutor is at this moment one of the seven kings of Paris, and has a court.  Let us send in our names, and if he does not send us a suitable message we will leave him to his own affairs or those of France.  Let us call one of these lackeys, with a demi-pistole in the left hand.”

“Exactly so,” cried Aramis.  “Ah! if I’m not mistaken here’s Bazin.  Come here, fellow.”

Bazin, who was crossing the ante-chamber majestically in his clerical dress, turned around to see who the impertinent gentleman was who thus addressed him; but seeing his friends he went up to them quickly and expressed delight at seeing them.

“A truce to compliments,” said Aramis; “we want to see the coadjutor, and instantly, as we are in haste.”

“Certainly, sir —­ it is not such lords as you are who are allowed to wait in the ante-chamber, only just now he has a secret conference with Monsieur de Bruy.”

“De Bruy!” cried the friends, “’tis then useless our seeing monsieur the coadjutor this evening,” said Aramis, “so we give it up.”

And they hastened to quit the palace, followed by Bazin, who was lavish of bows and compliments.

“Well,” said Athos, when Aramis and he were in the boat again, “are you beginning to be convinced that we should have done a bad turn to all these people in arresting Mazarin?”

“You are wisdom incarnate, Athos,” Aramis replied.

What had especially been observed by the two friends was the little interest taken by the court of France in the terrible events which had occurred in England, which they thought should have arrested the attention of all Europe.

In fact, aside from a poor widow and a royal orphan who wept in the corner of the Louvre, no one appeared to be aware that Charles I. had ever lived and that he had perished on the scaffold.

The two friends made an appointment for ten o’clock on the following day; for though the night was well advanced when they reached the door of the hotel, Aramis said that he had certain important visits to make and left Athos to enter alone.

At ten o’clock the next day they met again.  Athos had been out since six o’clock.

“Well, have you any news?” Athos asked.

“Nothing.  No one has seen D’Artagnan and Porthos has not appeared.  Have you anything?”

“Nothing.”

“The devil!” said Aramis.

“In fact,” said Athos, “this delay is not natural; they took the shortest route and should have arrived before we did.”

“Add to that D’Artagnan’s rapidity in action and that he is not the man to lose an hour, knowing that we were expecting him.”