"It results from this, then, sire, in my eyes at least, that the man who conducts himself thus is a gallant man, and cannot be an enemy to the king. That is my opinion, and I repeat it to your majesty. I know what the king will say to me, and I bow to it; reasons of state—so be it! That in my eyes is very respectable. But I am a soldier, I have received my orders, my orders are executed—very unwillingly on my part, it is true, but they are executed. I say no more."
"Where is M. Fouquet at this moment?" asked Louis, after a short silence.
"M. Fouquet, sire," replied D'Artagnan, "is in the iron cage that M. Colbert had prepared for him, and is going, as fast as four vigorous horses can drag him, toward Angers."
"Why did you leave him on the road?"
"Because your majesty did not tell me to go to Angers. The proof, the best proof of what I advance, is that the king desired me to be sought for but this minute. And then I have another reason."
"What is that?"
"While I was with him, poor M. Fouquet would never attempt to escape."
"Well!" cried the king, with stupefaction.
"Your majesty ought to understand, and does understand, certainly, that my warmest wish is to know that M. Fouquet is at liberty. I have given him one of my brigadiers, the most stupid I could find among my musketeers, in order that the prisoner might have a chance of escaping."
"Are you mad, Monsieur d'Artagnan!" cried the king, crossing his arms on his breast. "Do people speak such enormities, even when they have the misfortune to think them?"