ties arose.

"Is not the king going to sleep at Melun?" said Colbert, in a low tone
of voice, to D'Artagnan.

M. Colbert must have been badly inspired that day, to address himself in
that manner to the chief of the musketeers; for the latter guessed that
the king's intention was very far from that of remaining where he was.
D'Artagnan would not allow him to enter Vaux except he were well and
strongly accompanied; and desired that his majesty would not enter
except with all the escort. On the other hand, he felt that these delays
would irritate that impatient monarch beyond measure. In what way could
he possibly reconcile these difficulties? D'Artagnan took up Colbert's
remark, and determined to repeated it to the king.

"Sire," he said, "M. Colbert has been asking me if your majesty does not
intend to sleep at Melun."

"Sleep at Melun! What for?" exclaimed Louis XIV. "Sleep at Melun! Who,
in Heaven's name, can have thought of such a thing, when M. Fouquet is
expecting us this evening?"

"It was simply," replied Colbert, quickly, "the fear of causing your
majesty the least delay; for, according to established etiquette, you
cannot enter any place, with the exception of your own royal residences,
until the soldiers' quarters have been marked out by the quartermaster,
and the garrison properly distributed."

D'Artagnan listened with the greatest attention, biting his mustache to
conceal his vexation; and the queens were not less interested. They were
fatigued, and would have preferred to go to rest without proceeding any
farther; more especially, in order to prevent the king walking about in
the evening with M. de Saint-Aignan and the ladies of the court, for, if
etiquette required the princesses to remain within their own rooms, the
ladies of honor, as soon as they had performed the services required of
them, had no restrictions placed upon them, but were at liberty to walk
about as they pleased. It will easily be conjectured that all these
rival interests, gathering together in vapors, necessarily produced
clouds, and that the clouds were likely to be followed by a tempest. The
king had no mustache to gnaw, and therefore kept biting the handle of
his whip instead, with ill-concealed impatience. How could he get out of
it? D'Artagnan looked as agreeable as possible, and Colbert as sulky as
he could. Who was there he could get in a passion with?

"We will consult the queen," said Louis XIV., bowing to the royal
lad