ould put off for half an hour at least the details he was burning to be
acquainted with--Louis, we say, forgot Colbert, who had nothing new to
tell him, and recalled his captain of the musketeers.

"In the first place," said he, "let me see the result of your
commission, monsieur; you may repose afterward."

D'Artagnan, who was just passing through the door, stopped at the voice
of the king, retraced his steps, and Colbert was forced to leave the
closet. His countenance assumed almost a purple hue, his black and
threatening eyes shone with a dark fire beneath their thick brows; he
stepped out, bowed before the king, half drew himself up in passing
D'Artagnan, and went away with death in his heart. D'Artagnan, on being
left alone with the king, softened immediately, and composing his
countenance: "Sire," said he, "you are a young king. It is by the dawn
that people judge whether the day will be fine or dull. How, sire, will
the people whom the hand of God has placed under your law, argue of your
reign, if, between them and you, you allow angry and violent ministers
to act? But let us speak of me, sire, let us leave a discussion that may
appear idle, and perhaps inconvenient to you. Let us speak of me. I have
arrested M. Fouquet."

"You took plenty of time about it," said the king sharply.

D'Artagnan looked at the king. "I perceive that I have expressed myself
badly. I announced to your majesty that I had arrested Monsieur
Fouquet."

"You did; and what then?"

"Well! I ought to have told your majesty that M. Fouquet had arrested
me; that would have been more just. I re-establish the truth, then; I
have been arrested by M. Fouquet."

It was now the turn of Louis XIV. to be surprised. His majesty was
astonished in his turn. D'Artagnan, with his quick glance, appreciated
what was passing in the heart of his master. He did not allow him time
to put any questions. He related, with that poetry, that
picturesqueness, which perhaps he alone possessed at that period, the
evasion of Fouquet, the pursuit, the furious race, and, lastly, the
inimitable generosity of the surintendant, who might have fled ten times
over, who might have killed the adversary attached to the pursuit of
him, and who had preferred imprisonment, and perhaps worse, to the
humiliation of him who wished to ravish his liberty from him. In
proportion as the tale advanced, the king became agitated, devouring the
narrator's words, and knocking his finger-na