“I, Sire!” replied the latter, who watched the first blow of his adversary to make a good retort; “I have nothing to say to your Majesty, unless it be that you have caused me to be arrested, and here I am.”
The King was going to reply that he had not had d’Artagnan arrested, but the sentence appeared too much like an excuse, and he was silent. D’Artagnan likewise preserved an obstinate silence.
“Monsieur,” at length resumed the King, “what did I charge you to go and do at Belle-Isle? Tell me, if you please.”
The King, while speaking these words, looked fixedly at his captain. Here d’Artagnan was too fortunate,- the King gave him so fine an opening.
“I believe,” replied he, “that your Majesty does me the honor to ask what I went to Belle-Isle to do?”
“Yes, Monsieur.”
“Well, Sire, I know nothing about it; it is not of me that that question should be asked, but of that infinite number of officers of all kinds to whom have been given an infinite number of orders of all kinds, while to me, head of the expedition, nothing precise was ordered.”
The King was wounded; he showed it by his reply. “Monsieur,” said he, “Orders have only been given to such as were judged faithful.”
“And therefore I have been astonished, Sire,” retorted the musketeer, “that a captain like myself, who rank with a marshal of France, should have found himself under the orders of five or six lieutenants or majors, good to make spies of, possibly, but not at all fit to conduct warlike expeditions. It was upon this subject I came to demand an explanation of your Majesty, when I found the door closed against me, which, the last insult offered to a brave man, has led me to quit your Majesty’s service.”
“Monsieur,” replied the King, “you still believe you are living in an age when kings were, as you complain of having been, under the orders and subject to the judgment of their inferiors. You appear too much to forget that a King owes an account of his actions to none but God.”
“I forget nothing at all, Sire,” said the musketeer, wounded by this lesson. “Besides, I do not see in what an honest man, when he asks of his King how he has ill served him, offends him.”
“You have ill served me, Monsieur, by taking part with my enemies against me.”
“Who are your enemies, Sire?”
“The men I sent you to fight against.”
“Two men the enemies of your Majesty’s army? That is incredible.”
“You are not to judge of my wishes.”
“But I am to judge of my own friendships, Sire.”
“He who serves his friends does not serve his master.”
“I have so well understood that, Sire, that I have respectfully offered your Majesty my resignation.”
“And I have accepted it, Monsieur,” said the King. “Before being separated from you I was willing to prove to you that I know how to keep my word.”
“Your Majesty has kept more than your word, for your Majesty has had me arrested,” said d’Artagnan, with his cold bantering air; “you did not promise me that, Sire.”
The King would not condescend to perceive the pleasantry, and continued seriously, “You see, Monsieur, to what your disobedience has forced me.”
“My disobedience!” cried d’Artagnan, red with anger.
“That is the mildest name I can find,” pursued the King. “My idea was to take and punish rebels; was I bound to inquire whether these rebels were your friends or not?”
“But I was,” replied d’Artagnan. “It was a cruelty on your Majesty’s part to send me to take my friends and lead them to your gibbets.”
“It was a trial I had to make, Monsieur, of pretended servants, who eat my bread, and ought to defend my person. The trial has succeeded ill, M. d’Artagnan.”
“For one bad servant your Majesty loses,” said the musketeer, with bitterness, “there are ten who have, on that same day, gone through their ordeal. Listen to me, Sire; I am not accustomed to that service. Mine is a rebel sword when I am required to do wrong. It was wrong to send me in pursuit of two men whose lives M. Fouquet, your Majesty’s preserver, had implored you to save. Still further, these men were my friends. They did not attack your Majesty; they succumbed to a blind anger. Besides, why were they not allowed to escape? What crime had they committed? I admit that you may contest with me the right of judging of their conduct. But why suspect me before the action? Why surround me with spies? Why disgrace me before the army? Why me, in whom you have to this time showed the most entire confidence,- me, who for thirty years have been attached to your person, and have given you a thousand proofs of devotedness,- for it must be said, now that I am accused; why compel me to see three thousand of the King’s soldiers march in battle against two men?”