“Very true, sire; but if men do not question, they conjecture.”
“Conjecture! What may that mean, monsieur?”
“Very frequently, sire, conjecture with regard to a particular subject implies a want of frankness on the part of the king—”
“Monsieur!”
“And a want of confidence on the part of the subject,” pursued Athos, intrepidly.
“You forget yourself,” said the king, hurried away by anger in spite of all his self-control.
“Sire, I am obliged to seek elsewhere for what I thought I should find in your majesty. Instead of obtaining a reply from you, I am compelled to make one for myself.”
The king rose. “Monsieur le comte,” he said, “I have now given you all the time I had at my disposal.” This was a dismissal.
“Sire,” replied the comte, “I have not yet had time to tell your majesty what I came with the express object of saying, and I so rarely see your majesty that I ought to avail myself of the opportunity.”
“Just now you spoke rudely of conjectures; you are now becoming offensive, monsieur.”