incessantly thinking how his greatness must be
irksome to inferior people.

"If it is a snare," replied D'Artagnan, "I shall scent it out, be
assured. If Mazarin is an Italian, I am a Gascon."

And D'Artagnan dressed himself in an instant.

Whilst Porthos, still in bed, was hooking on his cloak for him, a second
knock at the door was heard.

"Come in," exclaimed D'Artagnan; and another servant entered.

"From His Eminence, Cardinal Mazarin," presenting a letter.

D'Artagnan looked at Porthos.

"A complicated affair," said Porthos; "where will you begin?"

"It is arranged capitally; his eminence expects me in half an hour."

"Good."

"My friend," said D'Artagnan, turning to the servant, "tell his eminence
that in half an hour I shall be at his command."

"It is very fortunate," resumed the Gascon, when the valet had retired,
"that he did not meet the other one."

"Do you not think that they have sent for you, both for the same thing?"

"I do not think it, I am certain of it."

"Quick, quick, D'Artagnan. Remember that the queen awaits you, and after
the queen, the cardinal, and after the cardinal, myself."

D'Artagnan summoned Anne of Austria's servant and signified that he was
ready to follow him into the queen's presence.

The servant conducted him by the Rue des Petits Champs and turning to
the left entered the little garden gate leading into the Rue Richelieu;
then they gained the private staircase and D'Artagnan was ushered into
the oratory. A certain emotion, for which he could not account, made
the lieutenant's heart beat: he had no longer the assurance of youth;
experience had taught him the importance of past events. Formerly he
would have approached the queen as a young man who bends before a woman;
but now it was a different thing; he answered her summons as an humble
soldier obeys an illustrious general.

The silence of the oratory was at last disturbed by the slight rustling
of silk, and D'Artagnan started when he perceived the tapestry raised by
a white hand, which, by its form, its color and its beauty he recognized
as that royal hand which had one day been presented to him to kiss. The
queen entered.

"It is you, Monsieur d'Artagnan," she said, fixing a gaze full of
melancholy interest on the countenance of the officer, "and I know you
well. Look at me well in your turn. I am the queen; do you recognize
me?"

"No, madame," replied D'Artagnan.

"But are you no longer aware," continu