Eva Stern - "The Little Immigrant"

Ellsworth Huntington - "The Red Man's Continent, A Chronicle of Aboriginal America"

Lyman Abbott - "Laicus"

Jane Austen - "Pride and Prejudice"

New Philadelphia Book Publisher Highlights Local Talent
Book and Publishing News from Publishers Newswire(tm)

Looking for Child to be on Cover of a New Book, 'The Model Child'
PHILADELPHIA, Pa. -- The Philadelphia literary world will celebrate the launch of two new players today, April 10th: Kay Square Press, a new publishing company focused on Philadelphia-area artists, their stories, and their art; and Kay Square's first release, 'With the Rich and Mighty: Emlen Etting of Philadelphia' (ISBN: 978-0-9815129-0-7), a critical biography by Kenneth C. Kaleta.

FlatSigned Press Alleges Don Imus Remarks Damage Legacy of President Gerald R. Ford
NEW YORK, N.Y. -- Nathan Yungerberg, an accomplished model scout and professional child photographer is launching a nation-wide casting call to find the cover model for his highly anticipated book release, 'The Model Child: A Parents Guide to the Child Modeling Industry' (ISBN: 978-0-9817018-0-6).

Books: The Man in the Iron Mask

A >> Alexandre Dumas, Pere >> The Man in the Iron Mask




"Monsieur," said he, "the king awaits you."

Fouquet walked with a deliberate step along the little corridor, where
MM. de Brienne and Rose were at work, whilst the Duc de Saint-Aignan,
seated on a chair, likewise in the corridor, appeared to be waiting for
orders, with feverish impatience, his sword between his legs. It
appeared strange to Fouquet that MM. Brienne, Rose, and de Saint-Aignan,
in general so attentive and obsequious, should scarcely take the least
notice, as he, the surintendant, passed. But how could he expect to find
it otherwise among courtiers, he whom the king no longer called anything
but _Fouquet?_ He raised his head, determined to look every one and
everything bravely in the face, and entered the king's apartment, where a
little bell, which we already know, had already announced him to his
majesty.

The king, without rising, nodded to him, and with interest: "Well! how
are you, Monsieur Fouquet?" said he.

"I am in a high fever," replied the surintendant; "but I am at the king's
service."

"That is well; the States assemble to-morrow; have you a speech ready?"

Fouquet looked at the king with astonishment. "I have not, sire,"
replied he; "but I will improvise one. I am too well acquainted with
affairs to feel any embarrassment. I have only one question to ask; will
your majesty permit me?"

"Certainly. Ask it."

"Why did not your majesty do his first minister the honor of giving him
notice of this in Paris?"

"You were ill; I was not willing to fatigue you."

"Never did a labor - never did an explanation fatigue me, sire; and since
the moment is come for me to demand an explanation of my king - "

"Oh, Monsieur Fouquet! an explanation? An explanation, pray, of what?"

"Of your majesty's intentions with respect to myself."

The king blushed. "I have been calumniated," continued Fouquet, warmly,
"and I feel called upon to adjure the justice of the king to make
inquiries."

"You say all this to me very uselessly, Monsieur Fouquet; I know what I
know."

"Your majesty can only know the things that have been told to you; and I,
on my part, have said nothing to you, whilst others have spoken many,
many times - "

"What do you wish to say?" said the king, impatient to put an end to this
embarrassing conversation.

"I will go straight to the facts, sire; and I accuse a certain man of
having injured me in your majesty's opinion."

"Nobody has injured you, Monsieur Fouquet."

"That reply proves to me, sire, that I am right."

"Monsieur Fouquet, I do not like people to be accused."

"Not when one is accused?"

"We have already spoken too much about this affair."

"Your majesty will not allow me to justify myself?"

"I repeat that I do not accuse you."

Fouquet, with a half-bow, made a step backward. "It is certain," thought
he, "that he has made up his mind. He alone who cannot go back can show
such obstinacy. Not to see the danger now would be to be blind indeed;
not to shun it would be stupid." He resumed aloud, "Did your majesty
send for me on business?"

"No, Monsieur Fouquet, but for some advice I wish to give you."

"I respectfully await it, sire."

"Rest yourself, Monsieur Fouquet, do not throw away your strength; the
session of the States will be short, and when my secretaries shall have
closed it, I do not wish business to be talked of in France for a
fortnight."

"Has the king nothing to say to me on the subject of this assembly of the
States?"

"No, Monsieur Fouquet."

"Not to me, the surintendant of the finances?"

"Rest yourself, I beg you; that is all I have to say to you."

Fouquet bit his lips and hung his head. He was evidently busy with some
uneasy thought. This uneasiness struck the king. "Are you angry at
having to rest yourself, M. Fouquet?" said he.

"Yes, sire, I am not accustomed to take rest."

"But you are ill; you must take care of yourself."

"Your majesty spoke just now of a speech to be pronounced to-morrow."

His majesty made no reply; this unexpected stroke embarrassed him.
Fouquet felt the weight of this hesitation. He thought he could read
danger in the eyes of the young prince, which fear would but
precipitate. "If I appear frightened, I am lost," thought he.

The king, on his part, was only uneasy at the alarm of Fouquet. "Has he
a suspicion of anything?" murmured he.

"If his first word is severe," again thought Fouquet; "if he becomes
angry, or feigns to be angry for the sake of a pretext, how shall I
extricate myself? Let us smooth the declivity a little. Gourville was
right."

"Sire," said he, suddenly, "since the goodness of the king watches over
my health to the point of dispensing with my labor, may I not be allowed
to be absent from the council of to-morrow? I could pass the day in bed,
and will entreat the king to grant me his physician, that we may endeavor
to find a remedy against this fearful fever."

"So be it, Monsieur Fouquet, it shall be as you desire; you shall have a
holiday to-morrow, you shall have the physician, and shall be restored to
health."

"Thanks!" said Fouquet, bowing. Then, opening his game: "Shall I not
have the happiness of conducting your majesty to my residence of Belle-
Isle?"

And he looked Louis full in the face, to judge of the effect of such a
proposal. The king blushed again.

"Do you know," replied he, endeavoring to smile, "that you have just
said, 'My residence of Belle-Isle'?"

"Yes, sire."

"Well! do you not remember," continued the king in the same cheerful
tone, "that you gave me Belle-Isle?"

"That is true again, sire. Only, as you have not taken it, you will
doubtless come with me and take possession of it."

"I mean to do so."

"That was, besides, your majesty's intention as well as mine; and I
cannot express to your majesty how happy and proud I have been to see all
the king's regiments from Paris to help take possession."

The king stammered out that he did not bring the musketeers for that
alone.

"Oh, I am convinced of that," said Fouquet, warmly; "your majesty knows
very well that you have nothing to do but to come alone with a cane in
your hand, to bring to the ground all the fortifications of Belle-Isle."

"_Peste!_" cried the king; "I do not wish those fine fortifications,
which cost so much to build, to fall at all. No, let them stand against
the Dutch and English. You would not guess what I want to see at Belle-
Isle, Monsieur Fouquet; it is the pretty peasants and women of the lands
on the sea-shore, who dance so well, and are so seducing with their
scarlet petticoats! I have heard great boast of your pretty tenants,
monsieur le surintendant; well, let me have a sight of them."

"Whenever your majesty pleases."

"Have you any means of transport? It shall be to-morrow, if you like."

The surintendant felt this stroke, which was not adroit, and replied,
"No, sire; I was ignorant of your majesty's wish; above all, I was
ignorant of your haste to see Belle-Isle, and I am prepared with nothing."

"You have a boat of your own, nevertheless?"

"I have five; but they are all in port, or at Paimboeuf; and to join
them, or bring them hither, would require at least twenty-four hours.
Have I any occasion to send a courier? Must I do so?"

"Wait a little, put an end to the fever, - wait till to-morrow."

"That is true. Who knows but that by to-morrow we may not have a hundred
other ideas?" replied Fouquet, now perfectly convinced and very pale.

The king started, and stretched his hand out towards his little bell, but
Fouquet prevented his ringing.

"Sire," said he, "I have an ague - I am trembling with cold. If I remain
a moment longer, I shall most likely faint. I request your majesty's
permission to go and fling myself beneath the bedclothes."

"Indeed, you are in a shiver; it is painful to behold! Come, Monsieur
Fouquet, begone! I will send to inquire after you."

"Your majesty overwhelms me with kindness. In an hour I shall be better."

"I will call some one to reconduct you," said the king.

"As you please, sire; I would gladly take the arm of any one."

"Monsieur d'Artagnan!" cried the king, ringing his little bell.

"Oh, sire," interrupted Fouquet, laughing in such a manner as made the
prince feel cold, "would you give me the captain of your musketeers to
take me to my lodgings? An equivocal honor that, sire! A simple
footman, I beg."

"And why, M. Fouquet? M. d'Artagnan conducts me often, and extremely
well!"

"Yes, but when he conducts you, sire, it is to obey you; whilst me - "

"Go on!"

"If I am obliged to return home supported by the leader of the
musketeers, it would be everywhere said you had had me arrested."

"Arrested!" replied the king, who became paler than Fouquet himself, -
"arrested! oh!"

"And why should they not say so?" continued Fouquet, still laughing; "and
I would lay a wager there would be people found wicked enough to laugh at
it." This sally disconcerted the monarch. Fouquet was skillful enough,
or fortunate enough, to make Louis XIV. recoil before the appearance of
the deed he meditated. M. d'Artagnan, when he appeared, received an
order to desire a musketeer to accompany the surintendant.

"Quite unnecessary," said the latter; "sword for sword; I prefer
Gourville, who is waiting for me below. But that will not prevent me
enjoying the society of M. d'Artagnan. I am glad he will see Belle-Isle,
he is so good a judge of fortifications."

D'Artagnan bowed, without at all comprehending what was going on.
Fouquet bowed again and left the apartment, affecting all the slowness of
a man who walks with difficulty. When once out of the castle, "I am
saved!" said he. "Oh! yes, disloyal king, you shall see Belle-Isle, but
it shall be when I am no longer there."

He disappeared, leaving D'Artagnan with the king.

"Captain," said the king, "you will follow M. Fouquet at the distance of
a hundred paces."

"Yes, sire."

"He is going to his lodgings again. You will go with him."

"Yes, sire."

"You will arrest him in my name, and will shut him up in a carriage."

"In a carriage. Well, sire?"

"In such a fashion that he may not, on the road, either converse with any
one or throw notes to people he may meet."

"That will be rather difficult, sire."

"Not at all."

"Pardon me, sire, I cannot stifle M. Fouquet, and if he asks for liberty
to breathe, I cannot prevent him by closing both the windows and the
blinds. He will throw out at the doors all the cries and notes possible."

"The case is provided for, Monsieur d'Artagnan; a carriage with a trellis
will obviate both the difficulties you point out."

"A carriage with an iron trellis!" cried D'Artagnan; "but a carriage with
an iron trellis is not made in half an hour, and your majesty commands me
to go immediately to M. Fouquet's lodgings."

"The carriage in question is already made."

"Ah! that is quite a different thing," said the captain; "if the carriage
is ready made, very well, then, we have only to set it in motion."

"It is ready - and the horses harnessed."

"Ah!"

"And the coachman, with the outriders, is waiting in the lower court of
the castle."

D'Artagnan bowed. "There only remains for me to ask your majesty whither
I shall conduct M. Fouquet."

"To the castle of Angers, at first."

"Very well, sire."

"Afterwards we will see."

"Yes, sire."

"Monsieur d'Artagnan, one last word: you have remarked that, for making
this capture of M. Fouquet, I have not employed my guards, on which
account M. de Gesvres will be furious."

"Your majesty does not employ your guards," said the captain, a little
humiliated, "because you mistrust M. de Gesvres, that is all."

"That is to say, monsieur, that I have more confidence in you."

"I know that very well, sire! and it is of no use to make so much of it."

"It is only for the sake of arriving at this, monsieur, that if, from
this moment, it should happen that by any chance whatever M. Fouquet
should escape - such chances have been, monsieur - "

"Oh! very often, sire; but for others, not for me."

"And why not with you?"

"Because I, sire, have, for an instant, wished to save M. Fouquet."

The king started. "Because," continued the captain, "I had then a right
to do so, having guessed your majesty's plan, without you having spoken
to me of it, and that I took an interest in M. Fouquet. Now, was I not
at liberty to show my interest in this man?"

"In truth, monsieur, you do not reassure me with regard to your services."

"If I had saved him then, I should have been perfectly innocent; I will
say more, I should have done well, for M. Fouquet is not a bad man. But
he was not willing; his destiny prevailed; he let the hour of liberty
slip by. So much the worse! Now I have orders, I will obey those
orders, and M. Fouquet you may consider as a man arrested. He is at the
castle of Angers, this very M. Fouquet."

"Oh! you have not got him yet, captain."

"That concerns me; every one to his trade, sire; only, once more,
reflect! Do you seriously give me orders to arrest M. Fouquet, sire?"

"Yes, a thousand times, yes!"

"In writing, sire, then."

"Here is the order."

D'Artagnan read it, bowed to the king, and left the room. From the
height of the terrace he perceived Gourville, who went by with a joyous
air towards the lodgings of M. Fouquet.


Chapter XL:
The White Horse and the Black.

"That is rather surprising," said D'Artagnan; "Gourville running about
the streets so gayly, when he is almost certain that M. Fouquet is in
danger; when it is almost equally certain that it was Gourville who
warned M. Fouquet just now by the note which was torn into a thousand
pieces upon the terrace, and given to the winds by monsieur le
surintendant. Gourville is rubbing his hands; that is because he has
done something clever. Whence comes M. Gourville? Gourville is coming
from the Rue aux Herbes. Whither does the Rue aux Herbes lead?" And
D'Artagnan followed, along the tops of the houses of Nantes, dominated by
the castle, the line traced by the streets, as he would have done upon a
topographical plan; only, instead of the dead, flat paper, the living
chart rose in relief with the cries, the movements, and the shadows of
men and things. Beyond the inclosure of the city, the great verdant
plains stretched out, bordering the Loire, and appeared to run towards
the pink horizon, which was cut by the azure of the waters and the dark
green of the marshes. Immediately outside the gates of Nantes two white
roads were seen diverging like separate fingers of a gigantic hand.
D'Artagnan, who had taken in all the panorama at a glance by crossing the
terrace, was led by the line of the Rue aux Herbes to the mouth of one of
those roads which took its rise under the gates of Nantes. One step
more, and he was about to descend the stairs, take his trellised
carriage, and go towards the lodgings of M. Fouquet. But chance decreed,
at the moment of plunging into the staircase, that he was attracted by a
moving point then gaining ground upon that road.

"What is that?" said the musketeer to himself; "a horse galloping, - a
runaway horse, no doubt. What a rate he is going at!" The moving point
became detached from the road, and entered into the fields. "A white
horse," continued the captain, who had just observed the color thrown
luminously against the dark ground, "and he is mounted; it must be some
boy whose horse is thirsty and has run away with him."

These reflections, rapid as lightning, simultaneous with visual
perception, D'Artagnan had already forgotten when he descended the first
steps of the staircase. Some morsels of paper were spread over the
stairs, and shone out white against the dirty stones. "Eh! eh!" said
the captain to himself, "here are some of the fragments of the note torn
by M. Fouquet. Poor man! he has given his secret to the wind; the wind
will have no more to do with it, and brings it back to the king.
Decidedly, Fouquet, you play with misfortune! the game is not a fair one,
- fortune is against you. The star of Louis XIV. obscures yours; the
adder is stronger and more cunning than the squirrel." D'Artagnan picked
up one of these morsels of paper as he descended. "Gourville's pretty
little hand!" cried he, whilst examining one of the fragments of the
note; "I was not mistaken." And he read the word "horse." "Stop!" said
he; and he examined another, upon which there was not a letter traced.
Upon a third he read the word "white;" "white horse," repeated he, like a
child that is spelling. "Ah, _mordioux!_" cried the suspicious spirit,
"a white horse!" And, like that grain of powder which, burning, dilates
into ten thousand times its volume, D'Artagnan, enlightened by ideas and
suspicions, rapidly reascended the stairs towards the terrace. The white
horse was still galloping in the direction of the Loire, at the extremity
of which, melting into the vapors of the water, a little sail appeared,
wave-balanced like a water-butterfly. "Oh!" cried the musketeer, "only a
man who wants to fly would go at that pace across plowed lands; there is
but one Fouquet, a financier, to ride thus in open day upon a white
horse; there is no one but the lord of Belle-Isle who would make his
escape towards the sea, while there are such thick forests on land, and
there is but one D'Artagnan in the world to catch M. Fouquet, who has
half an hour's start, and who will have gained his boat within an hour."
This being said, the musketeer gave orders that the carriage with the
iron trellis should be taken immediately to a thicket situated just
outside the city. He selected his best horse, jumped upon his back,
galloped along the Rue aux Herbes, taking, not the road Fouquet had
taken, but the bank itself of the Loire, certain that he should gain ten
minutes upon the total distance, and, at the intersection of the two
lines, come up with the fugitive, who could have no suspicion of being
pursued in that direction. In the rapidity of the pursuit, and with the
impatience of the avenger, animating himself as in war, D'Artagnan, so
mild, so kind towards Fouquet, was surprised to find himself become
ferocious - almost sanguinary. For a long time he galloped without
catching sight of the white horse. His rage assumed fury, he doubted
himself, - he suspected that Fouquet had buried himself in some
subterranean road, or that he had changed the white horse for one of
those famous black ones, as swift as the wind, which D'Artagnan, at Saint-
Mande, had so frequently admired and envied for their vigor and their
fleetness.

At such moments, when the wind cut his eyes so as to make the tears
spring from them, when the saddle had become burning hot, when the galled
and spurred horse reared with pain, and threw behind him a shower of dust
and stones, D'Artagnan, raising himself in his stirrups, and seeing
nothing on the waters, nothing beneath the trees, looked up into the air
like a madman. He was losing his senses. In the paroxysms of eagerness
he dreamt of aerial ways, - the discovery of following century; he called
to his mind Daedalus and the vast wings that had saved him from the
prisons of Crete. A hoarse sigh broke from his lips, as he repeated,
devoured by the fear of ridicule, "I! I! duped by a Gourville! I! They
will say that I am growing old, - they will say I have received a million
to allow Fouquet to escape!" And he again dug his spurs into the sides
of his horse: he had ridden astonishingly fast. Suddenly, at the
extremity of some open pasture-ground, behind the hedges, he saw a white
form which showed itself, disappeared, and at last remained distinctly
visible against the rising ground. D'Artagnan's heart leaped with joy.
He wiped the streaming sweat from his brow, relaxed the tension of his
knees, - by which the horse breathed more freely, - and, gathering up his
reins, moderated the speed of the vigorous animal, his active accomplice
on this man-hunt. He had then time to study the direction of the road,
and his position with regard to Fouquet. The superintendent had
completely winded his horse by crossing the soft ground. He felt the
necessity of gaining a firmer footing, and turned towards the road by the
shortest secant line. D'Artagnan, on his part, had nothing to do but to
ride straight on, concealed by the sloping shore; so that he would cut
his quarry off the road when he came up with him. Then the real race
would begin, - then the struggle would be in earnest.

D'Artagnan gave his horse good breathing-time. He observed that the
superintendent had relaxed into a trot, which was to say, he, too, was
favoring his horse. But both of them were too much pressed for time to
allow them to continue long at that pace. The white horse sprang off
like an arrow the moment his feet touched firm ground. D'Artagnan
dropped his head, and his black horse broke into a gallop. Both followed
the same route; the quadruple echoes of this new race-course were
confounded. Fouquet had not yet perceived D'Artagnan. But on issuing
from the slope, a single echo struck the air; it was that of the steps
of D'Artagnan's horse, which rolled along like thunder. Fouquet turned
round, and saw behind him, within a hundred paces, his enemy bent over
the neck of his horse. There could be no doubt - the shining baldrick,
the red cassock - it was a musketeer. Fouquet slackened his hand
likewise, and the white horse placed twenty feet more between his
adversary and himself.

"Oh, but," thought D'Artagnan, becoming very anxious, "that is not a
common horse M. Fouquet is upon - let us see!" And he attentively
examined with his infallible eye the shape and capabilities of the
courser. Round full quarters - a thin long tail - large hocks - thin
legs, as dry as bars of steel - hoofs hard as marble. He spurred his
own, but the distance between the two remained the same. D'Artagnan
listened attentively; not a breath of the horse reached him, and yet he
seemed to cut the air. The black horse, on the contrary, began to puff
like any blacksmith's bellows.

"I must overtake him, if I kill my horse," thought the musketeer; and he
began to saw the mouth of the poor animal, whilst he buried the rowels of
his merciless spurs into his sides. The maddened horse gained twenty
toises, and came up within pistol-shot of Fouquet.

"Courage!" said the musketeer to himself, "courage! the white horse will
perhaps grow weaker, and if the horse does not fall, the master must pull
up at last." But horse and rider remained upright together, gaining
ground by difficult degrees. D'Artagnan uttered a wild cry, which made
Fouquet turn round, and added speed to the white horse.

"A famous horse! a mad rider!" growled the captain. "Hola! _mordioux!_
Monsieur Fouquet! stop! in the king's name!" Fouquet made no reply.

"Do you hear me?" shouted D'Artagnan, whose horse had just stumbled.

"_Pardieu!_" replied Fouquet, laconically; and rode on faster.

D'Artagnan was nearly mad; the blood rushed boiling to his temples and
his eyes. "In the king's name!" cried he again, "stop, or I will bring
you down with a pistol-shot!"

"Do!" replied Fouquet, without relaxing his speed.

D'Artagnan seized a pistol and cocked it, hoping that the double click of
the spring would stop his enemy. "You have pistols likewise," said he,
"turn and defend yourself."

Fouquet did turn round at the noise, and looking D'Artagnan full in the
face, opened, with his right hand, the part of his dress which concealed
his body, but he did not even touch his holsters. There were not more
than twenty paces between the two.

"_Mordioux!_" said D'Artagnan, "I will not assassinate you; if you will
not fire upon me, surrender! what is a prison?"

"I would rather die!" replied Fouquet; "I shall suffer less."

D'Artagnan, drunk with despair, hurled his pistol to the ground. "I will
take you alive!" said he; and by a prodigy of skill which this
incomparable horseman alone was capable, he threw his horse forward to
within ten paces of the white horse; already his hand was stretched out
to seize his prey.

"Kill me! kill me!" cried Fouquet, "'twould be more humane!"

"No! alive - alive!" murmured the captain.

At this moment his horse made a false step for the second time, and
Fouquet's again took the lead. It was an unheard-of spectacle, this race
between two horses which now only kept alive by the will of their
riders. It might be said that D'Artagnan rode, carrying his horse along
between his knees. To the furious gallop had succeeded the fast trot,
and that had sunk to what might be scarcely called a trot at all. But
the chase appeared equally warm in the two fatigued _athletoe_.
D'Artagnan, quite in despair, seized his second pistol, and cocked it.

"At your horse! not at you!" cried he to Fouquet. And he fired. The
animal was hit in the quarters - he made a furious bound, and plunged
forward. At that moment D'Artagnan's horse fell dead.

"I am dishonored!" thought the musketeer; "I am a miserable wretch! for
pity's sake, M. Fouquet, throw me one of your pistols, that I may blow
out my brains!" But Fouquet rode away.