“Well, then forward!” cried the king, “mordieu! am I not the first gentleman in my kingdom? Were they not great battles that I fought in my youth? Forward, then, gentlemen, and I will take the lead; it is my custom in the mêlée.”
“Oh! yes, sire,” cried the young men, with one voice.
“And,” said Quelus, “against these ramparts which are closing round your majesty, four men will march, sure to be applauded by you, and glorified by posterity.”
“What do you mean, Quelus?” cried the king, with eyes in which joy was tempered by solicitude; “who are these four men?”
“I, and these other gentlemen,” replied Quelus, with pride; “we devote ourselves, sire.”
“To what?”
“To your safety.”
“Against whom?”
“Against your enemies.”
“Private enmities of young men?”