After a moment's silence, in which D'Artagnan appeared to be
collecting, not one idea, but all his ideas -- "It cannot
be, my dear Planchet," said he, "that you have not heard of
his majesty Charles I. of England?"

"Alas! yes, monsieur, since you left France in order to
assist him, and that, in spite of that assistance, he fell,
and was near dragging you down in his fall."

"Exactly so; I see you have a good memory, Planchet."

"Peste! the astonishing thing would be, if I could have lost
that memory, however bad it might have been. When one has
heard Grimaud, who, you know, is not given to talking,
relate how the head of King Charles fell, how you sailed the
half of a night in a scuttled vessel, and saw floating on
the water that good M. Mordaunt with a certain gold-hafted
dagger buried in his breast, one is not very likely to
forget such things."

"And yet there are people who forget them, Planchet."

"Yes, such as have not seen them, or have not heard Grimaud
relate them."

"Well, it is all the better that you recollect all that; I
shall only have to remind you of one thing, and that is that
Charles I. had a son."

"Without contradicting you, monsieur, he had two," said