him, inwardly enjoying his first triumph.
“Monsieur,” said he, at the expiration of a minute, “not
only is Belle-Isle known to me, but, still further,
Belle-Isle is mine.”
“That is well! that is well, sire, I ask but one thing
more,” replied D’Artagnan. — “My discharge.”
“What! your discharge?”
“Without doubt I am too proud to eat the bread of the king
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without earning it, or rather by gaining it badly. — My
discharge, sire!”
“Oh, oh!”
“I ask for my discharge, or I will take it.”
“You are angry, monsieur?”
“I have reason, mordioux! Thirty-two hours in the saddle, I
ride night and day, I perform prodigies of speed, I arrive
stiff as the corpse of a man who has been hung — and
another arrives before me! Come, sire, I am a fool! — My
discharge, sire!”
“Monsieur d’Artagnan,” said Louis, leaning his white hand
upon the dusty arm of the musketeer, “what I tell you will
not at all affect that which I promised you. A king’s word
given must be kept.” And the king going straight to his
table, opened a drawer, and took out a folded paper. “Here
is your commission of captain of musketeers; you have won
it, Monsieur d’Artagnan.”
D’Artagnan opened the paper eagerly, and scanned it twice.
He could scarcely believe his eyes.
“And this commission is given you,” continued the king, “not
only on account of your journey to Belle-Isle, but,
moreover, for your brave intervention at the Place de Greve.
There, likewise, you served me valiantly.”
“Ah, ah!” said D’Artagnan, without his self-command being
able to prevent a blush from mounting to his eyes — “you
know that also, sire?”
“Yes, I know it.”
The king possessed a piercing glance and an infallible
judgment, when it was his object to read men’s minds. “You
have something to say,” said he to the musketeer, “something
to say which you do not say. Come, speak freely, monsieur;
you know that I told you, once for all, that you are to be
always quite frank with me.”
“Well, sire! what I have to say is this, that I would prefer
being made captain of musketeers for having charged a
battery at the head of my company, or taken a city, than for
causing two wretches to be hung.”
“Is this quite true you tell me?”
“And why should your majesty suspect me of dissimulation, I
ask?”
“Because I know you well, monsieur; you cannot repent of
having drawn your sword for me.”
“Well, in that your majesty is deceived, and greatly; yes, I
do repent of having drawn my sword on account of the results
that action produced; the poor men who were hung, sire, were
neither your enemies nor mine; and they could not defend
themselves.”
The king preserved silence for a moment. “And your
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companion, M. d’Artagnan, does he partake of your
repentance?”
“My companion?”
“Yes, you were not alone, I have been told.”
“Alone, where?”
“At the Place de Greve.”
“No, sire, no,” said D’Artagnan, blushing at the idea that
the king might have a suspicion that he, D’Artagnan, had
wished to engross to himself all the glory that belonged to
Raoul; “no, mordioux! and as your majesty says, I had a
companion, and a good companion, too.”
“A young man?”
“Yes, sire; a young man. Oh! your majesty must accept my
compliments, you are as well informed of things out of doors
as things within. It is M. Colbert who makes all these fine
reports to the king.”
“M. Colbert has said nothing but good of you, M. d’Artagnan,
and he would have met with a bad reception if he had come to
tell me anything else.”
“That is fortunate!”
“But he also said much good of that young man.”
“And with justice,” said the musketeer.
“In short, it appears that this young man is a fire-eater,”
said Louis, in order to sharpen the sentiment which he
mistook for envy.
“A fire-eater! Yes, sire,” repeated D’Artagnan, delighted on
his part to direct the king’s attention to Raoul.
“Do you not know his name?”
“Well, I think —- “