The cardinal saw what the king was about to say and interrupted him:
“Pardon me,” said he; “but the instant Your Majesty considers me a prejudiced judge, I withdraw.”
“Come,” said the king, “will you swear, by my father, that Athos was at your residence during the event and that he took no part in it?”
“By your glorious father, and by yourself, whom I love and venerate above all the world, I swear it.”
“Be so kind as to reflect, sire,” said the cardinal. “If we release the prisoner thus, we shall never know the truth.”
“Athos may always be found,” replied Tréville, “ready to answer, when it shall please the gownsmen to interrogate him. He will not desert, Monsieur the Cardinal, be assured of that; I will answer for him.”
“No, he will not desert,” said the king; “he can always be found, as Tréville says. Besides,” added he, lowering his voice and looking with a suppliant air at the cardinal, “let us give them apparent security; that is policy.”
This policy of Louis XIII made Richelieu smile.
“Order it as you please, sire; you possess the right of pardon.”
“The right of pardoning only applies to the guilty,” said Tréville, who was determined to have the last word, “and my musketeer is innocent. It is not mercy, then, that you are about to accord, sire, it is justice.”
“And he is in the Fort L’Évêque?” said the king.
“Yes, sire, in solitary confinement, in a dungeon, like the lowest criminal.”
“The devil!” murmured the king; “what must be done?”