“Kings are not so thickly sown upon the earth, that people can find them whenever they want them. Now, this king without a kingdom is, in my opinion, a grain of seed which will blossom in some season or other, provided a skillful, discreet, and vigorous hand sow it duly and truly, selecting soil, sky, and time.”
Planchet still approved by a nod of his head, which showed that he did not perfectly comprehend all that was said.
“‘Poor little seed of a king,’ said I to myself, and really I was affected, Planchet, which leads me to think I am entering upon a foolish business. And that is why I wished to consult you, my friend.”
Planchet colored with pleasure and pride.
“‘Poor little seed of a king! I will pick you up and cast you into good ground.’”
“Good God!” said Planchet, looking earnestly at his old master, as if in doubt as to the state of his reason.
“Well, what is it?” said D’Artagnan; “who hurts you?”
“Me! nothing, monsieur.”
“You said, ‘Good God!’”
“Did I?”