"I was good enough to remark that it was you who stopped the king's progress, so that he might taste the vin de Brie. Was I right?"
"Quite so, monsieur."
"In that case, then, it was you whom the king called some name or other."
"What name?"
"I hardly know; but wait a moment—idiot, I think it was—no, no, it was fool or stupid. Yes; his majesty said that the man who had thought of the vin de Melun was something of the sort."
D'Artagnan, after this broadside, quietly caressed his mustache; M. Colbert's large head seemed to become larger and larger than ever. D'Artagnan, seeing how ugly anger made him, did not stop half-way. The orator still went on with his speech, while the king's color was visibly increasing.
"Mordioux!" said the musketeer, coolly, "the king is going to have an attack of determination of blood to the head. Where the deuce did you get hold of that idea, Monsieur Colbert? You have no luck."
"Monsieur," said the financier, drawing himself up, "my zeal for the king's service inspired me with the idea."
"Bah!"
"Monsieur, Melun is a city, an excellent city, which pays well, and which it would be imprudent to displease."