“Phew!” said he, disdainfully, “monseigneur lodged his grandeur very meanly here.”
“We have the Chateau de Vaux,” said Bazin.
“Which is perhaps equal to the Louvre?” said D’Artagnan, jeeringly.
“Which is better,” replied Bazin, with the greatest coolness imaginable.
“Ah, ah!” said D’Artagnan.
He would perhaps have prolonged the discussion, and maintained the superiority of the Louvre, but the lieutenant perceived that his horse remained fastened to the bars of a gate.
“The devil!” said he. “Get my horse looked after; your master the bishop has none like him in his stables.”
Bazin cast a sidelong glance at the horse, and replied, “Monsieur le surintendant gave him four from his own stables; and each of the four is worth four of yours.”
The blood mounted to the face of D’Artagnan. His hand itched and his eye glanced over the head of Bazin, to select the place upon which he should discharge his anger. But it passed away; reflection came, and D’Artagnan contented himself with saying,—
“The devil! the devil! I have done well to quit the service of the king. Tell me, worthy Master Bazin,” added he, “how many musketeers does monsieur le surintendant retain in his service?”