“You are discreet—so much the better. I speak of that adventure in behalf of the queen, of the ornaments, of the journey you made with three of your friends.”
“Aha!” thought the Gascon; “is this a snare or not? Let me be on my guard.”
And he assumed a look of stupidity which Mendori or Bellerose, two of the first actors of the day, might have envied.
“Bravo!” cried Mazarin; “they told me that you were the man I wanted. Come, let us see what you will do for me.”
“Everything that your eminence may please to command me,” was the reply.
“You will do for me what you have done for the queen?”
“Certainly,” D’Artagnan said to himself, “he wishes to make me speak out. He’s not more cunning than De Richelieu was! Devil take him!” Then he said aloud:
“The queen, my lord? I don’t comprehend.”
“You don’t comprehend that I want you and your three friends to be of use to me?”
“Which of my friends, my lord?”