“I,” said Athos, “am going to call upon some friends in the city, and shall then be at your service.”
“Will you lend me Grimaud?”
“With all my heart. What do you want to do with him?”
“Something very simple, and which will not fatigue him; I shall only beg him to take charge of my pistols, which lie there on the table near that coffer.”
“Very well!” replied Athos, imperturbably.
“And he will not stir, will he?”
“Not more than the pistols themselves.”
“Then I shall go and take leave of his majesty. Au revoir!”
D’Artagnan arrived at St. James’s, where Charles II. who was busy writing, kept him in the ante-chamber a full hour. Whilst walking about in the gallery, from the door to the window, from the window to the door, he thought he saw a cloak like Athos’s cross the vestibule; but at the moment he was going to ascertain if it were he, the usher summoned him to his majesty’s presence. Charles II. rubbed his hands while receiving the thanks of our friend.
“Chevalier,” said he, “you are wrong to express gratitude to me; I have not paid you a quarter of the value of the history of the box into which you put the brave general—the excellent Duke of Albemarle, I mean.” And the king laughed heartily.