CHAPTER 12
The King and the Lieutenant
As soon as the king saw the officer enter, he dismissed his
valet de chambre and his gentleman. “Who is on duty
to-morrow, monsieur?” asked he.
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The lieutenant bowed his head with military politeness and
replied, “I am, sire.”
“What! still you?”
“Always I, sire.”
“How can that be, monsieur?”
“Sire, when traveling, the musketeers supply all the posts
of your majesty’s household; that is to say, yours, her
majesty the queen’s, and monsieur le cardinal’s, the latter
of whom borrows of the king the best part, or rather the
most numerous part, of the royal guard.”
“But in the interims?”
“There are no interims, sire, but for twenty or thirty men
who rest out of a hundred and twenty. At the Louvre it is
very different, and if I were at the Louvre I should rely
upon my brigadier; but, when traveling, sire, no one knows
what may happen, and I prefer doing my duty myself.”
“Then you are on guard every day?”
“And every night. Yes, sire.”
“Monsieur, I cannot allow that — I will have you rest.”
“That is very kind, sire, but I will not.”
“What do you say?” said the king who did not at first
comprehend the full meaning of this reply.
“I say, sire, that I will not expose myself to the chance of
a fault. If the devil had a trick to play on me, you
understand, sire, as he knows the man with whom he has to
deal, he would choose the moment when I should not be there.
My duty and the peace of my conscience before everything,
sire.”
“But such duty will kill you, monsieur.”
“Eh! sire, I have performed it for thirty years, and in all
France and Navarre there is not a man in better health than
I am. Moreover, I entreat you, sire, not to trouble yourself
about me. That would appear very strange to me, seeing that
I am not accustomed to it.”
The king cut short the conversation by a fresh question.
“Shall you be here, then, to-morrow morning?”
“As at present? yes, sire.”
The king walked several times up and down his chamber; it
was very plain that he burned with a desire to speak, but
that he was restrained by some fear or other. The
lieutenant, standing motionless, hat in hand, watched him
making these evolutions, and, whilst looking at him,
grumbled to himself, biting his mustache:
“He has not half a crown worth of resolution! Parole
d’honneur! I would lay a wager he does not speak at all!”
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The king continued to walk about, casting from time to time
a side glance at the lieutenant. “He is the very image of
his father,” continued the latter, in his secret soliloquy,
“he is at once proud, avaricious, and timid. The devil take
his master, say I.”
The king stopped. “Lieutenant,” said he.
“I am here, sire.”
“Why did you cry out this evening, down below in the salons
— `The king’s service! His majesty’s musketeers!'”
“Because you gave me the order, sire.”
“I?”
“Yourself.”
“Indeed, I did not say a word, monsieur.”
“Sire, an order is given by a sign, by a gesture, by a
glance, as intelligibly, as freely, and as clearly as by
word of mouth. A servant who has nothing but ears is not
half a good servant.”
“Your eyes are very penetrating, then, monsieur.”
“How is that, sire?”
“Because they see what is not.”
“My eyes are good, though, sire, although they have served
their master long and much: when they have anything to see,
they seldom miss the opportunity. Now, this evening, they
saw that your majesty colored with endeavoring to conceal
the inclination to yawn, that your majesty looked with
eloquent supplications, first at his eminence, and then at
her majesty, the queen-mother, and at length to the entrance
door, and they so thoroughly remarked all I have said, that
they saw your majesty’s lips articulate these words: `Who
will get me out of this?'”
“Monsieur!”
“Or something to this effect, sire — `My musketeers!’ I