D’Artagnan cast at the master of the dogs one of his evil looks, and said to him, “Monsieur, if any one told me that you had eaten your dogs’ meat, not only would I refuse to believe it, but, still more, if you were condemned to the whip or the jail for it, I should pity you, and would not allow people to speak ill of you. And yet, Monsieur, honest man as you may be, I assure you that you are not more so than poor M. Fouquet was.”
After having undergone this sharp rebuke, the captain of the harriers hung his head, and allowed the falconer to get two steps in advance of him nearer to d’Artagnan.
“He is content,” said the falconer, in a low voice, to the musketeer; “we all know that harriers are in fashion nowadays. If he were a falconer he would not talk in that way.”
D’Artagnan smiled in a melancholy manner at seeing this great political question resolved by the discontent of such humble interests. He for a moment ran over in his mind the glorious existence of the superintendent, the crumbling away of his fortunes, and the melancholy death that awaited him; and to conclude, “Did M. Fouquet love falconry?” said he.
“Oh, passionately, Monsieur!” replied the falconer, with an accent of bitter regret and a sigh that was the funeral oration of Fouquet.
D’Artagnan allowed the ill-humor of the one and the regrets of the other to pass, and continued to advance into the plain. They could already catch glimpses of the huntsmen at the issues of the wood, the feathers of the outriders passing like shooting stars across the clearing, and the white horses cutting with their luminous apparitions the dark thickets of the copses.
“But,” resumed d’Artagnan, “will the sport be long? Pray, give us a good swift bird, for I am very tired. Is it a heron or a swan?”
“Both, M. d’Artagnan,” said the falconer; “but you need not be alarmed, the King is not much of a sportsman. He does not sport on his own account; he only wishes to give amusement to the ladies.”
The words “to the ladies” were so strongly accented that it set d’Artagnan listening. “Ah!” said he, looking at the falconer with surprise.
The captain of the harriers smiled, no doubt with a view of making it up with the musketeer.
“Oh, you may safely laugh,” said d’Artagnan; “I know nothing of current news. I arrived only yesterday, after a month’s absence. I left the court mourning the death of the Queen-Mother. The King was not willing to take any amusement after receiving the last sigh of Anne of Austria; but everything has an end in this world. Well! he is no longer sad, so much the better.”
“And everything begins as well as ends,” said the captain of the dogs, with a coarse laugh.
“Ah!” said d’Artagnan a second time,- he burned to know; but dignity would not allow him to interrogate persons below him,- “there is something new, then, it appears?”
The captain gave him a significant wink; but d’Artagnan was unwilling to learn anything from this man. “Shall we see the King early?” asked he of the falconer.
“At seven o’clock, Monsieur, I shall fly the birds.”
“Who comes with the King? How is Madame? How is the Queen?”
“Better, Monsieur.”
“Has she been ill, then?”
“Monsieur, since the last chagrin she had, her Majesty has been unwell.”
“What chagrin? You need not fancy your news is old. I am but just returned.”
“It appears that the Queen, a little neglected since the death of her mother-in-law, complained to the King, who replied to her, ‘Do I not sleep with you every night, Madame? What more do you want?'”
“Ah!” said d’Artagnan,- “poor woman! She must heartily hate Mademoiselle de la Valliere.”
“Oh, no! not Mademoiselle de la Valliere,” replied the falconer.
“Who then-” The horn interrupted this conversation. It summoned the dogs and the hawks. The falconer and his companion set off immediately, leaving d’Artagnan alone in the midst of the suspended sentence. The King appeared at a distance, surrounded by ladies and horsemen. All the troop advanced in beautiful order, at a foot’s pace, the horns of various sorts animating the dogs and the horses. It was a movement, a noise, a mirage of light, of which nothing now can give an idea, unless it be the fictitious splendor or false majesty of a theatrical spectacle. D’Artagnan, with an eye a little weakened, distinguished behind the group three carriages. The first was intended for the Queen; it was empty. D’Artagnan, who did not see Mademoiselle de la Valliere by the King’s side, on looking about for her, saw her in the second carriage. She was alone with two of her women, who seemed as dull as their mistress. On the left hand of the King, upon a high-spirited horse, restrained by a bold and skillful hand, shone a lady of the most dazzling beauty. The King smiled upon her, and she smiled upon the King. Loud laughter followed every word she spoke.