all not be made
Chevaliers of the Order this time."

"Wait here ten minutes," said M. de Treville; "and if at the expiration
of ten minutes you do not see me come out, return to my hotel, for it
will be useless for you to wait for me longer."

The four young men waited ten minutes, a quarter of an hour, twenty
minutes; and seeing that M. de Treville did not return, went away very
uneasy as to what was going to happen.

M. de Treville entered the king's cabinet boldly, and found his Majesty
in a very ill humor, seated on an armchair, beating his boot with the
handle of his whip. This, however, did not prevent his asking, with the
greatest coolness, after his Majesty's health.

"Bad, monsieur, bad!" replied the king; "I am bored."

This was, in fact, the worst complaint of Louis XIII, who would
sometimes take one of his courtiers to a window and say, "Monsieur
So-and-so, let us weary ourselves together."

"How! Your Majesty is bored? Have you not enjoyed the pleasures of the
chase today?"

"A fine pleasure, indeed, monsieur! Upon my soul, everything
degenerates; and I don't know whether it is the game which leaves
no scent, or the dogs that have no noses. We started a stag of ten
branches. We chased him for six hours, and when he was near being
taken--when St.-Simon was already putting his horn to his mouth to sound
the mort--crack, all the pack takes the wrong scent and sets off after
a two-year-older. I shall be obliged to give up hunting, as I have given
up hawking. Ah, I am an unfortunate king, Monsieur de Treville! I had
but one gerfalcon, and he died day before yesterday."

"Indeed, sire, I wholly comprehend your disappointment. The misfortune
is great; but I think you have still a good number of falcons, sparrow
hawks, and tiercets."

"And not a man to instruct them. Falconers are declining. I know no one
but myself who is acquainted with the noble art of venery. After me it
will all be over, and people will hunt with gins, snares, and traps. If
I had but the time to train pupils! But there is the cardinal always
at hand, who does not leave me a moment's repose; who talks to me about
Spain, who talks to me about Austria, who talks to me about England! Ah!
A PROPOS of the cardinal, Monsieur de Treville, I am vexed with you!"

This was the chance at which M. de Treville waited for the king. He
knew the king of old, and he knew that all these complaints were but a
preface--a sort of excitation to encourage