“I know nothing more, sire.”
“You added that Mademoiselle de la Valliere had been driven away from the court.”
“Yes, sire.”
“Is that true, also?”
“Ascertain for yourself, sire.”
“And from whom?”
“Ah!” sighed D’Artagnan, like a man who is declining to say anything further.
The king almost bounded from his seat, regardless of ambassadors, ministers, courtiers, queens, and politics. The queen-mother rose; she had heard everything, or, if she had not heard everything, she had guessed it. Madame, almost fainting from anger and fear, endeavored to rise as the queen-mother had done; but she sank down again upon her chair, which by an instinctive movement she made roll back a few paces.
“Gentlemen,” said the king, “the audience is over; I will communicate my answer, or rather my will, to Spain and to Holland;” and with a proud, imperious gesture, he dismissed the ambassadors.
“Take care, my son,” said the queen-mother, indignantly, “you are hardly master of yourself, I think.”