"At least, I know who his successor was."
"How?"
"By means of a coin dated 1610, which bears the effigy of Henry IV.; and another of 1612, bearing that of Louis XIII. So I presumed that, there being only two years between the two dates, Louis was Henry's successor."
"Then," said Aramis, "you know that the last reigning monarch was Louis XIII.?"
"I do," answered the youth, slightly reddening.
"Well, he was a prince full of noble ideas and great projects, always, alas! deferred by trouble of the times and the struggle that his minister, Richelieu, had to maintain against the great nobles of France. The king himself was of a feeble character, and died young and unhappy."
"I know it."
"He had been long anxious about having an heir; a care which weighs heavily on princes, who desire to leave behind them more than one pledge that their thoughts and their works will be continued."
"Did the king, then, die childless?" asked the prisoner, smiling.
"No, but he was long without one, and for a long while thought he should be the last of his race. This idea had reduced him to the depths of despair, when suddenly, his wife, Anne of Austria———"
The prisoner trembled.
"Did you know," said Aramis, "that Louis XIII.'s wife was called Anne of Austria?"
"Continue," said the young man, without replying to the question.
"When suddenly," resumed Aramis, "the queen announced an interesting event. There was great joy at the intelligence, and all prayed for her happy delivery. On the 6th of September, 1638, she gave birth to a son."
Here Aramis looked at his companion, and thought he observed him turning pale.
"You are about to hear," said Aramis, "an account which few could now give; for it refers to a secret which they think buried with the dead, or entombed in the abyss of the confessional."
"And you will tell me this secret," broke in the youth.
"Oh!" said Aramis, with unmistakable emphasis, "I do not know that I ought to risk this secret by intrusting it to one who has no desire to quit the Bastile."
"I hear you, monsieur."
