“Yes, sire.”
“From the king of France?”
“Ma foi! no, sire,” replied D’Artagnan. “Your majesty must have seen yonder that the king of France is only occupied with his own majesty.”
Charles raised his eyes towards heaven.
“No, sire, no,” continued D’Artagnan. “I bring news entirely composed of personal facts. Nevertheless, I hope your majesty will listen to the facts and news with some favor.”
“Speak, monsieur.”
“If I am not mistaken, sire, your majesty spoke a great deal, at Blois, of the embarrassed state in which the affairs of England are.”
Charles colored. “Monsieur,” said he, “it was to the king of France I related——”
“Oh! your majesty is mistaken,” said the musketeer, coolly; “I know how to speak to kings in misfortune. It is only when they are in misfortune that they speak to me; once fortunate, they look upon me no more. I have, then, for your majesty, not only the greatest respect, but, still more, the most absolute devotion; and that, believe me, with me, sire, means something. Now, hearing your majesty complain of fate, I found that you were noble and generous, and bore misfortune well.”
“In truth,” said Charles, much astonished, “I do not know which I ought to prefer, your freedoms or your respects.”