t the better of me. Eh? and
besides I have an idea!"

We know that, in general, D'Artagnan was not wanting in ideas; and
during this soliloquy, D'Artagnan buttoned his vest up to the chin, and
nothing excited his imagination like this preparation for a combat of
any kind, called _accinction_ by the Romans. He was quite heated when he
reached the mansion of the Duke of Albemarle. He was introduced to the
viceroy with a promptitude which proved that he was considered as one of
the household. Monk was in his business-closet.

"My lord," said D'Artagnan, with that expression of frankness which the
Gascon knew so well how to assume, "my lord, I have come to ask your
grace's advice!"

Monk, as closely buttoned up morally as his antagonist was physically,
replied: "Ask, my friend;" and his countenance presented an expression
not less open than that of D'Artagnan.

"My lord, in the first place, promise me secrecy and indulgence."

"I promise you all you wish. What is the matter? Speak!"

"It is, my lord, that I am not quite pleased with the king."

"Indeed! And on what account, my dear lieutenant?"

"Because his majesty gives way sometimes to jests very compromising for
his servants; and jesting, my lord, is a weapon that seriously wounds
men of the sword, as we are."

Monk did all in his power not to betray his thought, but D'Artagnan
watched him with too close attention not to detect an almost
imperceptible flush upon his face. "Well, now, for my part," said he,
with the most natural air possible, "I am not an enemy of jesting, my
dear Monsieur d'Artagnan; my soldiers will tell you that even many times
in camp, I listened very indifferently, and with a certain pleasure,
to the satirical songs which the army of Lambert passed into mine,
and which, certainly, would have caused the ears of a general more
susceptible than I am to tingle."

"Oh, my lord," said D'Artagnan, "I know you are a complete man; I know
you have been, for a long time, placed above human miseries; but
there are jests and jests of a certain kind, which have the power of
irritating me beyond expression."

"May I inquire what kind, my friend?"

"Such as are directed against my friends or against people I respect, my
lord!"

Monk made a slight movement, which D'Artagnan perceived. "Eh! and in
what," asked Monk, "in what can the stroke of a pin which scratches
another tickle your skin? Answer me that."

"My lord, I can explain it to you in a sin