Monk hung down his head, and mused for an instant. "If he succeeded," said he, "which is very improbable, but not impossible--for everything is possible in this world--what would you advise him to do?"
"To think that by the will of God he lost his crown, by the good will of men he recovered it."
An ironical smile passed over the lips of Monk.
"Unfortunately, monsieur," said he, "kings do not know how to follow good advice."
"Ah, my lord, Charles II. is not a king," replied Athos, smiling in his turn, but with a very different expression from Monk.
"Let us terminate this, monsieur le comte,--that is your desire, is it not?"
Athos bowed.
"I shall give orders to have these two casks transported whither you please. Where are you lodging, monsieur?"
"In a little hamlet at the mouth of the river, your honor."
"Oh, I know the hamlet; it consists of five or six houses, does it not?"
"Exactly. Well, I inhabit the first,--two net-makers occupy it with me; it is their bark which brought me ashore."
"But your own vessel, monsieur?"
"My vessel is at anchor, a quarter of a mile at sea, and waits for me."
"You do not think, however, of setting out immediately?"
"My lord, I shall try once more to convince your honor."
"You will not succeed," replied Monk; "but it is of consequence that you should depart from Newcastle without leaving of your passage the least suspicion that might prove injurious to me or you. To-morrow my officers think Lambert will attack me. I, on the contrary, am convinced he will not stir; it is in my opinion impossible. Lambert leads an army devoid of homogeneous principles, and there is no possible army with such elements. I have taught my soldiers to consider my authority subordinate to another, therefore, after me, round me, and beneath me, they still look for something. It would result that if I were dead, whatever might happen, my army would not be demoralized all at once; it results, that if I choose to absent myself, for instance, as it does please me to do sometimes, there would not be in the camp the shadow of uneasiness or disorder. I am the magnet--the sympathetic and natural strength of the English. All those scattered irons that will be sent against me I shall attract to myself. Lambert, at this moment, commands eighteen thousand deserters; but I have never mentioned that to my officers, you may easily suppose. Nothing is more useful to an army than the expectation of a coming battle; everybody is awake--everybody is on guard. I tell you this that you may live in perfect security. Do not be in a hurry, then, to cross the seas; within a week there will be something fresh, either a battle or an accommodation. Then, as you have judged me to be an honorable man, and confided your secret to me, I have to thank you for this confidence, and I shall come and pay you a visit or send for you. Do not go before I send word. I repeat the request."