"To arrest M. Fouquet."
D'Artagnan fell back a step. "To arrest M. Fouquet!" he burst forth.
"Are you going to tell me that it is impossible!" exclaimed the king, with cold and vindictive passion.
"I never said that anything is impossible," replied D'Artagnan, wounded to the quick.
"Very well; do it, then."
D'Artagnan turned on his heel, and made his way toward the door; it was but a short distance, and he cleared it in half a dozen paces; when he reached it he suddenly paused and said, "Your majesty will forgive me, but, in order to effect this arrest, I should like written directions."
"For what purpose—and since when has the king's word been insufficient for you?"
"Because the word of a king, when it springs from a feeling of anger, may possibly change when the feeling changes."
"A truce to set phrases, monsieur; you have another thought besides that?"
"Oh, I, at least, have certain thoughts and ideas, which, unfortunately, others have not," D'Artagnan replied, impertinently.