The King sighed.
"It is about nineteen feet to that window," said the King. "If I
had a ladder about nineteen feet long, it would reach to that
window. This is logic."
Suddenly the King stumbled over something. "St. Denis!" he
exclaimed, looking down. It was a ladder, just nineteen feet long.
The King placed it against the wall. In so doing, he fixed the
lower end upon the abdomen of a man who lay concealed by the wall
The man did not utter a cry or wince. The King suspected nothing.
He ascended the ladder.
The ladder was too short. Louis the Grand was not a tall man. He
was still two feet below the window.
"Dear me!" said the King.
Suddenly the ladder was lifted two feet from below. This enabled
the King to leap in the window. At the farther end of the
apartment stood a young girl, with red hair and a lame leg. She
was trembling with emotion.
"Louise!"
"The King!"
"Ah, my God, mademoiselle."
"Ah, my God, sire."
But a low knock at the door interrupted the lovers. The King
uttered a cry of rage; Louise one of despair.
The door opened and D'Artagnan entered.
"Good evening, sire," said the musketeer.
The King touched a bell.
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