i can tell you there was a pretty bustle around paris that night when the news came of the downfall of the old fox—the fox being none other than cardinal alberoni, who had just been turned out of spain for his intrigues, king philip v. having had enough of him. not that the man, who had been a gardener's son, and a sort of buffoon once to the duke of parma, was so wondrous old, since in this year of grace 1719 he was but fifty-five. only, when a man is a scheming knave, who has passed his full prime, and is also a fox—why, one generally calls him an old one.

now, the news of alberoni's disgrace at madrid came first to us at versailles, just about four of the afternoon, what time we of the grey musketeers were going off duty, our place till midnight being taken by those of the cavalry regiment of vermandois, which had arrived a week ago from blois—came at the hands of the comte st. denis de pile, who had been sent off post-haste to paris with the information, and also with another piece of intelligence, at which, i protest, not one of us could help laughing, serious enough though the thing was. this news being none other than that the crafty old italian, who was on his way to marseilles, there to embark with all his wealth for his native land, had absolutely carried off in his possession the will of the late king of spain, charles ii., in which he bequeathed his throne to the very man who now sat upon it.

"and," exclaimed st. denis de pile, as he drank down a flask of florence wine which we produced for him in the guard-room, "i'll be sworn that he means to send that will to the emperor of austria, who, if he is not a fool, will at once destroy it. and then, poof! poof! poof!" and the count blew out his moustache in front of his lip, "what becomes of all that we fought for in the war of the succession? tête de mon chien! it will have to begin all over again. your countrymen, my boy," and he slapped me affectionately on the shoulder, for we had met often enough before, "your countrymen, the english, will want another war, king george may be willing enough to oblige them, and the treaty of utrecht may as well be used to light a fire."

now here was what some of my countrymen call a pretty kettle of fish. peace was expected to be proclaimed in europe at this moment, since the war of the pyrenees was over. france and england were sworn allies and bosom friends, otherwise be sure that i, an englishman, young and enthusiastic, would not have been holding the commission of a cornet in the musketeers, and serving the regent, or, rather, the boy king for whom he ruled. and all in a moment it was just as likely as not that that war might break out again through the craftiness of the cardinal, who, since he had fallen, evidently did not mean to do so without pulling others down with him. for austria had never willingly resigned her claims on the throne of spain, remembering that the old french king had once formally waived all the claims of his own family to it, will or no will, and had then instantly asserted them on the death of charles; while for my country—well! we english are not over fond of retreating from anything we have undertaken, though, for widely-known considerations not necessary to set down here, we had at last agreed to that peace of utrecht, our having thoroughly beaten the french by sea and land before we did so, being, perhaps, the reason why we at last came in.

"what's to be done?" said old d'hautefeuille now, who was in command of the grey musketeers at this time.

"what? what? le debonnaire is at the palais royal—he must know the news at once. de pile, you must ride on to paris."

"fichtre for paris!" exclaimed the count. "i am battered enough already with my long ride. think on't—from madrid! through storms and burning suns, over mountains and through plains, over two hundred leagues and across half a score of horses' backs. also, observe—the letter is inscribed to the regent's grace at versailles. i have done my duty——"

"but——"

"no 'buts,' d'hautefeuille. my work is done. let the king's lieutenant of versailles, who commands in his and the regent's absence, take charge of the paper. for me a bottle and a meal, also a bed."

"then take it to the lieutenant," said fiery d'hautefeuille; "hand it to him yourself, and bid him find a courier to paris. peste! you, a royal messenger who can ride from madrid here, and yet cannot finish the journey to paris! bah! go and get your bottle and your bed—and much good may they do you."

whereon the old fellow turned grumpily away, bidding some of the younger ones amongst us not to be loitering about the galleries endeavouring to catch the eyes of the maids of honour, but, instead, to get off to our quarters and be ready to relieve the officers of the vermandois regiment at midnight.

yet, one amongst us, at least, was not to hear the chimes of midnight summoning us to the night guard, that one being myself, as you shall see. nay, not one hour later was to ring out from the palace clock ere, as luck would have it, i was called forth from my own quarters—or rather from the little salon of alison de prie (who was a maid of honour, and who had invited me in to partake of a paté de bécasse which her father had sent her from his property near tours) by an order to attend on d'hautefeuille in his quarters.

whereon i proceeded thither and found him in a very bad temper—a thing he suffered much from lately, since he also suffered from a gout that teased him terribly. then, immediately, he burst out on my putting in an appearance.

"now, adrian trent, it is your month of special service, is it not?"

"it is, monsieur," i answered, wondering what was coming next.

"so! very well. here then is something for you to do—that is, if the turning of my officers into couriers and post-boys and lackeys constitutes 'special service.' however, three creatures have to obey orders in this world, soldiers, wives, and dogs, therefore i—and you—must do so. here, take this," and he tossed to me across his table a mighty great letter on which was a formidable red seal—"have your horse saddled and be off with you to paris. give it into the regent's hand. it is the account of alberoni's disgrace which that fainéant de pile could bring all this way, but no farther. away with you! the king's lieutenant seems to think that de pile is discharged of his duty here. away with you! what are you stopping for? you know the road to paris, i suppose? you ought to. it's hard enough to keep you boys out of it if i give you an afternoon's leave. be off!"

so off i went, and five minutes afterwards my best grey, la rose, was saddled, and i was riding swiftly towards where the regent was at the present moment.

now, who'd have thought when i went clattering through sèvres and issy, on that fine winter afternoon, in all the bravery of my full costume—which was the handsomest of any regiment in france, not even excepting our comrades of the black musketeers—who'd have thought, i say, that i was really taking the first steps of a long, toilsome journey, which, ere it was ended, was to bring me pretty near to danger and death? however, no need to anticipate, since those who read will see.

an hour later i was in paris, and then, even as i went swiftly along amidst the crowds that were in the streets, especially in those streets round about the palais royal, i found that one thing was very certain, namely, that though i might be now carrying on de pile's message from the court of spain to the court of france, the purport of it was already known. near the palais royal were numerous groups gathered, who cheered occasionally for france and england, which did me good to hear; then for spain and france, which did not move me so much; while, at the same time, i distinctly heard alberoni's name mentioned, with, attached to it, expressions and epithets that were anything but flattering. also, as i made for the entrance opposite the louvre, people called attention to me, saying, "voila le beau mousquetaire—chut! doubtless he rides from versailles. brings confirmation of the old trickster's downfall. ho! le beau mousquetaire." while a strident-voiced buffoon cried out to me, asking if all my gold galloon and feathers and lace did not sometimes get spoilt by the damp of the wintry weather, and another desired to know if my sweetheart did not adore me in my regimental fallals?

however, la rose made her way through them all, shaking her bridle-chain angrily if any got before her, breathing out great gusts from her fiery nostrils, and casting now and again the wicked white of her eye around; she was a beauty who loved not to be pestered or interfered with. and at last i was off her back, at the door near the regent's apartments on the south side, and asking for the officer of the guard; and half-an-hour later i was in the presence of the regent himself, who sat writing in a little room about big enough to make a cage for a bird. yet, in spite of the way in which his highness spent his evenings and nights, and also of his supper parties and other dissipations, he did as much work in that little cabinet as any other twelve men in france.

because he was a very perfect gentleman—no matter what his faults were (he answered for them to his maker but a little while after i met him)—he treated me exactly as though i were his equal, and bade me be seated while he read the letter calmly; then, looking up at me, he said—

"i knew something of this before. even my beloved parisians know of it—how they have learnt it heaven alone can say. still it is known. alberoni was to leave madrid in forty-eight hours from the time of receiving notice. but——"

here he paused, and seemed to be reflecting deeply. then he said aloud, though more to himself than to me, "i wonder if he has got the will?"

it not being my place to speak, i said nothing, waiting to receive orders from him. and a moment later he again addressed me.

"you mousquetaires have always the best of horses and are proud of them. i know; i know. i have seen you riding races against each other at versailles and marly. and, for endurance, they will carry you far, both well and swiftly, in spite of your weight and trappings. is it not so?"

"it is so, monseigneur," i answered, somewhat wonderingly, and not quite understanding what way this talk tended.

"how fast can you go? say—a picked number of you—ten—twenty—go for two days?"

"a long way, monseigneur. perhaps, allowing for rest for the animals, nearer forty than thirty leagues."

"so! nearer forty than thirty leagues. 'tis well."

here he rose from his chair (i, of course, rising also), turned himself round, and gazed at a map of france hanging on the wall; ran, too, his finger along it from the pyrenees in the direction of marseilles, while, as he did so, he muttered continually, yet loud enough to be quite audible to me—

"ran his finger along a map of france."

"he would cross there—there, surely. fifteen days to quit spain, two to quit madrid—seventeen altogether. from the fifth. the fifth! this is the twelfth. ten days still."

then he continued to run his finger along the coast line of the mediterranean until it rested on marseilles, at which he stood gazing for some time. but now he said nothing aloud for me to listen to, though it was evident enough that he was considering deeply; but at last he spoke again.

"his eminence must be met and escorted—yes, escorted—that is it—escorted in safety through the land. ay, in safety and safely. he must not be molested nor—" while, though he turned his face away to gaze at the map again, i would have been sworn that i heard him mutter—"allowed to depart quite yet." then he suddenly said, "do you know the house of the chevalier de marcieu? it is in the rue des mauvais gar?ons."

"i know the street, monseigneur. i can find the house."

"good! therefore proceed there at once—the number is three—you are mounted, of course? give my orders to him that he is to come here instantly; then return and i will give you some instructions for your commander."

whereon i bowed respectfully as i went to the door, the regent smiling pleasantly upon me. yet, ere i left him, he said another word, asked a question.

"you mousquetaires gris have not had much exercise lately at versailles, i think. have you?"

"no, monseigneur, not our troop at least. the men have been but recently remounted."

"so. very well. you shall have some exercise now. 'twill do you good. you shall have a change of billet for a little while. in any case, versailles is too luxurious a place for soldiers. now, away with you to marcieu's house and bid him come here. return also yourself. forget not that."