was covetous, Louis XIII., his son, was so likewise; we know something of that, don't we?
Gaston carried this vice to exaggeration, and has made himself, in this respect, hated by all who surround him.

Henriette, poor woman, might well be avaricious, she who did not eat every day, and could not warm herself every winter; and that is an example she has given to her son Charles II., grandson of the great Henry IV., who is as covetous as his mother and his grandfather.

See if I have well traced the genealogy of the misers ?" "D'Artagnan, my friend," cried Athos, "you are very rude towards that eagle race called the Bourbons." "Eh! and I have forgotten the best instance of all--the other grandson of the Bernais, Louis XIV., my ex-master.

Well, I hope he is miserly enough, he who would not lend a million to his brother Charles! Good! I see you are beginning to be angry.

Here we are, by good luck, close to my house, or rather that of my friend, M.Monk." "My dear D'Artagnan, you do not make me angry, you make me sad; it is cruel, in fact, to see a man of your deserts out of the position his services ought to have acquired; it appears to me, my dear friend, that your name is as radiant as the greatest names in war and diplomacy.