egun to tell it, it must
come out, even if you command me to hold my tongue."

There was so much resolution expressed in the deep-sunk muscles of the
officer's countenance, that Louis XIV. had no occasion to tell him to
continue; he continued, therefore, whilst the king looked at him with a
curiosity mingled with admiration.

"Sire, I have, as I have said, now served the house of France
thirty-five years; few people have worn out so many swords in that
service as I have, and the swords I speak of were good swords, too,
sire. I was a boy, ignorant of everything except courage, when the king
your father guessed that there was a man in me. I was a man, sire, when
the Cardinal de Richelieu, who was a judge of manhood, discovered an
enemy in me. Sire, the history of that enmity between the ant and the
lion may be read from the first to the last line, in the secret archives
of your family. If ever you feel an inclination to know it, do so, sire;
the history is worth the trouble--it is I who tell you so. You will
there read that the lion, fatigued, harassed, out of breath, at length
cried for quarter, and the justice must be rendered him to say, that
he gave as much as he required. Oh! those were glorious times, sire,
strewed over with battles like one of Tasso's or Ariosto's epics. The
wonders of those times, to which the people of ours would refuse belief,
were every-day occurrences. For five years together, I was a hero every
day; at least, so I was told by persons of judgment; and that is a
long period for heroism, trust me, sire, a period of five years.
Nevertheless, I have faith in what these people told me, for the were
good judges. They were named M. de Richelieu, M. de Buckingham, M. de
Beaufort, M. de Retz, a mighty genius himself in street warfare,--in
short, the king, Louis XIII., and even the queen, your noble mother, who
one day condescended to say, '_Thank you_.' I don't know what service I
had had the good fortune to render her. Pardon me, sire, for speaking
so boldly; but what I relate to you, as I have already had the honor to
tell your majesty, is history." The king bit his lips, and threw himself
violently on a chair.

"I appear importunate to your majesty," said the lieutenant. "Eh! sire,
that is the fate of truth; she is a stern companion; she bristles all
over with steel; she wounds those whom she attacks, and sometimes him
who speaks her."

"No, monsieur," replied the king: "I bade you speak--speak