“We are returning to his Eminence， chevalier，” said Athos， advancing； “and you will be good enough to accept M. d’Artagnan’s word that he will go straight to Rochelle.”
“I must place him in the hands of guards who will take him to camp.”
“We will serve as his guards， sir， on our word as gentlemen； but， on our word as gentlemen， likewise，” added Athos， “M. d’Artagnan shall not leave us.”
The Chevalier de Rochefort cast a glance backward， and saw that Porthos and Aramis had taken their places between him and the door. He perceived that he was completely at the mercy of these four men.
“Gentlemen，” said he， “if M. d’Artagnan will surrender his sword to me and join his word to yours， I shall be satisfied with your promise to convey M. d’Artagnan to the cardinal’s quarters.”
“You have my word， sir， and here is my sword.”
“This suits me all the better，” said Rochefort， “as I must continue my journey.”
“If it is to rejoin milady，” said Athos coolly， “it is useless. You will not find her.”
“What has become of her？” asked Rochefort eagerly.
“Come back with us to the camp and you shall know.”
Rochefort remained thoughtful for a moment； then， as they were only a day’s journey from Surgères， where the cardinal was coming to meet the king， he resolved to follow Athos’s advice and go back with them.
Besides， this return gave him the advantage of watching over his prisoner.
They resumed their route.
At three o’clock the next afternoon they reached Surgères. The cardinal， on returning in the evening to his headquarters at the bridge of La Pierre， found D’Artagnan， without his sword， and the three musketeers armed， standing before the door of the house which he was occupying.
This time， as he was well attended， he looked at them sternly， and made a sign with his eye and hand for D’Artagnan to follow him.
D’Artagnan obeyed.
“We shall wait for you， D’Artagnan，” said Athos， loud enough for the cardinal to hear him.
His Eminence kept on his way without uttering a single word.
D’Artagnan entered after the cardinal， and behind D’Artagnan the door was guarded.
His Eminence went to the room which served him as a study， and made a sign to Rochefort to bring in the young musketeer.
Rochefort obeyed and retired.
D’Artagnan remained alone before the cardinal. This was his second interview with Richelieu， and he afterwards confessed that he felt sure it would be his last.
Richelieu remained standing， leaning against the mantelpiece. A table was between him and D’Artagnan.
“Sir，” said the cardinal， “you have been arrested by my orders.”
“So I have been told， monseigneur.”
“Do you know why？”
“No， monseigneur， for the only thing for which I could be arrested is still unknown to your Eminence.”
Richelieu looked steadfastly at the young man.
“You are charged with having corresponded with the enemies of the kingdom. You are charged with having surprised state secrets. You are charged with having tried to thwart your general’s plans.”
“And who charges me with this， monseigneur？” said D’Artagnan， who suspected the accusation came from milady—“a woman branded by the law of the country； a woman who was married to one man in France and to another in England； a woman who poisoned her second husband， and who attempted to poison me！”
“What is all this， sir？” cried the cardinal， astonished； “and what woman are you speaking of thus？”
“Of Milady de Winter，” replied D’Artagnan—“yes， of Milady de Winter， of whose many crimes your Eminence was doubtless ignorant when you honoured her with your confidence.”
“Sir，” said the cardinal， “if Milady de Winter has committed the crimes which you say， she shall be punished.”
“She is punished， monseigneur.”
“And who has punished her？”
“We.”
“Is she in prison？”
“She is dead.”
“Dead！” repeated the cardinal， who could not believe what he heard. “Dead！ Did you say she was dead？”
D’Artagnan then related the poisoning of Madame Bonacieux in the Carmelite convent of Béthune， the trial in the lonely house， and the execution on the banks of the Lys.
“So，” said the cardinal， in a tone the mildness of which contrasted with the severity of his words， “you have constituted yourselves judges， forgetting that they who punish without licence to punish are assassins？”
“Another might reply to your Eminence that he had his pardon in his pocket. I shall content myself with saying， Command， monseigneur； I am ready.”
“Your pardon？” said Richelieu， surprised.
“Yes， monseigneur，” said D’Artagnan.
“And signed by whom？ By the king？”
And the cardinal pronounced these words with a singular expression of contempt.
“No； by your Eminence.”
“By me？ You are mad， sir！”
“Monseigneur will doubtless recognize his own writing.”
And D’Artagnan presented to the cardinal the precious paper which Athos had forced from milady， and which he had given to D’Artagnan to serve him as a safeguard.
His Eminence took the paper and read in a slow voice， dwelling on every syllable：
“August 5， 1628.
“By my order， and for the good of the State， the bearer hereof has done what he has done.
“Richelieu.”
The cardinal， after reading these two lines， fell into deep thought， but he did not return the paper to D’Artagnan. At last he raised his head， fixed his eagle look upon D’Artagnan’s frank， loyal， intelligent face， and reflected for the third or fourth time what a future this young man had before him， and what resources his activity， his courage， and his understanding could devote to a good master.
On the other hand， milady’s crimes， her strength of mind， and her infernal genius had more than once terrified him. He felt something like a secret joy at being for ever rid of such a dangerous accomplice.
The cardinal went to the table， and without sitting down， wrote a few lines on a parchment， two-thirds of which was already filled up， and affixed his seal to it.
“Here， sir，” said the cardinal to the young man； “I have taken from you one signed blank， and I give you another. The name is wanting in this commission， and you yourself will write it in.”
