“At ten o’clock,” said D’Artagnan.
“Let us go into this closet at once,” replied Monk, making a sign to his two companions to precede him; but to that neither would consent.
The king, during this discussion so characteristic of the French, had returned to the center of the gallery.
“Oh! my Frenchmen!” said he, in that tone of careless gayety which, in spite of so much grief and so many crosses, he had never lost. “My Frenchmen! my consolation!” Athos and D’Artagnan bowed.
“Duke, conduct these gentlemen into my study. I am at your service, messieurs,” added he in French. And he promptly expedited his court, to return to his Frenchmen, as he called them. “Monsieur d’Artagnan,” said he, as he entered his closet, “I am glad to see you again.”
“Sire, my joy is at its height, at having the honor to salute your majesty in your own palace of St. James’s.”
“Monsieur, you have been willing to render me a great service, and I owe you my gratitude for it. If I did not fear to intrude upon the rights of our commanding general, I would offer you some post worthy of you near our person.”
“Sire,” replied D’Artagnan, “I have quitted the service of the king of France, making a promise to my prince not to serve any other king.”
“Humph!” said Charles, “I am sorry to hear that; I should like to do much for you; I like you very much.”
“Sire——”