s a dark night. M. de Friedisch
wanted to enter by the wicket. "No," said D'Artagnan, "you would lose
time by that; take the little staircase."

The Swiss did as D'Artagnan advised, and conducted him to the vestibule
of the king's cabinet. When arrived there, he bowed to his prisoner,
and, without saying anything, returned to his post. D'Artagnan had not
had time to ask why his sword was not taken from him, when the door of
the cabinet opened, and a _valet de chambre_ called, "M. d'Artagnan!"
The musketeer assumed his parade carriage, and entered, with his large
eyes wide open, his brow calm, his moustache stiff. The king was seated
at a table writing. He did not disturb himself when the step of the
musketeer resounded on the floor; he did not even turn his head.
D'Artagnan advanced as far as the middle of the room, and seeing that
the king paid no attention to him, and suspecting, besides, that this
was nothing but affectation, a sort of tormenting preamble to the
explanation that was preparing, he turned his back on the prince, and
began to examine the frescoes on the cornices, and the cracks in the
ceiling. This maneuver was accompanied by a little tacit monologue. "Ah!
you want to humble me, do you?--you, whom I have seen so young--you,
whom I have saved as I would my own child,--you, whom I have served as I
would a God--that is to say, for nothing. Wait awhile! wait awhile! you
shall see what a man can do who has suffered the air of the fire of the
Huguenots, under the beard of monsieur le cardinal--the true cardinal."
At this moment Louis turned round.

"Ah! are you there, Monsieur d'Artagnan?" said he.

D'Artagnan saw the movement and imitated it. "Yes, sire," said he.

"Very well; have the goodness to wait till I have cast this up."

D'Artagnan made no reply; he only bowed. "That is polite enough,"
thought he; "I have nothing to say."

Louis made a violent dash with his pen, and threw it angrily away.

"Ah! go on, work yourself up!" thought the musketeer; "you will put me
at my ease. You shall find I did not empty the bag, the other day, at
Blois."

Louis rose from his seat, passed his hand over his brow, then, stopping
opposite to D'Artagnan, he looked at him with an air at once imperious
and kind, "What the devil does he want with me? I wish he would begin!"
thought the musketeer.

"Monsieur," said the king, "you know, without doubt, that monsieur le
cardinal is dead?"

"I suspected so, sire."

"