e door, allowing his spurs to jingle in true military style.
But when he was on the threshold, feeling the king's desire drew him
back, he returned.

"Has your majesty told me all?" asked he, in a tone we cannot describe,
but which, without appearing to solicit the royal confidence, contained
so much persuasive frankness, that the king immediately replied:

"Yes; but draw near, monsieur."

"Now then," murmured the officer, "he is coming to it at last."

"Listen to me."

"I shall not lose a word, sire."

"You will mount on horseback to-morrow, at about half-past four in the
morning, and you will have a horse saddled for me."

"From your majesty's stables?"

"No; one of your musketeers' horses."

"Very well, sire. Is that all?"

"And you will accompany me."

"Alone?"

"Alone."

"Shall I come to seek your majesty, or shall I wait?"

"You will wait for me."

"Where, sire?"

"At the little park-gate."

The lieutenant bowed, understanding that the king had told him all he
had to say. In fact, the king dismissed him with a gracious wave of the
hand. The officer left the chamber of the king, and returned to place
himself philosophically in his _fauteuil_, where, far from sleeping,
as might have been expected, considering how late it was, he began to
reflect more deeply than he had ever reflected before. The result of
these reflections was not so melancholy as the preceding ones had been.

"Come, he has begun," said he. "Love urges him on, and he goes
forward--he goes forward! The king is nobody in his own palace; but
the man perhaps may prove to be worth something. Well, we shall see
to-morrow morning. Oh! oh!" cried he, all at once starting up, "that is
a gigantic idea, _mordioux!_ and perhaps my fortune depends, at least,
upon that idea!" After this exclamation, the officer arose and marched,
with his hands in the pockets of his _justaucorps_, about the immense
ante-chamber that served him as an apartment. The wax-light flamed
furiously under the effects of a fresh breeze, which stole in through
the chinks of the door and the window, and cut the _salle_ diagonally.
It threw out a reddish, unequal light, sometimes brilliant, sometimes
dull, and the tall shadow of the lieutenant was seen marching on the
wall, in profile, like a figure by Callot, with his long sword and
feathered hat.

"Certainly!" said he, "I am mistaken if Mazarin is not laying a snare
for this amorous boy. Mazarin, this evening, gave