D'Artagnan, the King Maker — page 320: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

The True King. 301 ‘My prisoner,” said Porthos, implying that there was no fear of his actually harming this new rule. ‘Pray, sire!” urged Jacinta, clasping her hands. “My lord count,” returned Braganza, full of joy, which tempered his usually stern voice, at this exchange of a ducal for a regal crown, “you are making a mistake—but this is a day of mistakes. Have I not had my similitude” —here he glanced roguishly at D’Artagnan—‘‘as my an- cestor, the regretted Sebastian, had his appear on our dear town walls? I see in you, not an officer of the king re- moved, but the brother of my queen’s most near and faithful servitor. To Donna Jacinta I owe, under the King of kings, much of the power to occupy this long-de- sired throne. But while she sustains her dear mistress, it is meet that you, with your good sword, should stand beside me as a supporter.” “I thank your majesty, but I can only say God save you!” and Jorge de Marianda turned coldly away. “What, do you reject my favor—my amity—my hand ?”’ cried the king, not easily rebuffed on this day of pride. “My dread lord, I want no man’s favor—only this gen- tleman’s, whose prisoner I am! I want no man’s amity but his, since I am his slave! and I want no man’s hand but this!’—he grasped that of D’Artagnan—'‘by means of which I trust to lend my sword to his king. Never more shall it be drawn in Spain or Portugal. The hand which, as head of my line I can bestow, I give back to its owner—my sister can give it, in her own sweet will!” There was a grumbling murmur. Where all had been honey, the drop of gall was unpalatable. “God keep your majesty !” “Nay, gentlemen,” said Don Juan, “make way there, and salute that nobleman! We shall be right happy if he leaves many of his stamp behind!” The two musketeers set the example by saluting Don Jorge, so that the left the improvised court, after all, with a tribute to his constancy and respect for his oath of al- legiance, signal where recreants abounded. “He gave me my own hand,” muttered Jacinta, “but he did not throw mea look! But,” added she, sorrowfully, “these men of the wars, they are wedded to their swords! Oh, fie!” Gomichboo <S