Raoul hastened to give notice to the cornet, who took his post; he then dismounted, gave his horse to one of the dragoons, and with great delight seized the arm of M. d’Artagnan, who had watched him during all these little evolutions with the satisfaction of a connoisseur.
“What, do you come from Vincennes?” said he.
“Yes, monsieur le chevalier.”
“And the cardinal?”
“Is very ill, it is even reported he is dead.’
“Are you on good terms with M. Fouquet?” asked D’Artagnan, with a disdainful movement of the shoulders, proving that the death of Mazarin did not affect him beyond measure.
“With M. Fouquet?” said Raoul, “I do not know him.”
“So much the worse! so much the worse! for a new king always seeks to get good men in his employment.”
“Oh! the king means no harm,” replied the young man.
“I say nothing about the crown,” cried D’Artagnan; “I am speaking of the king—the king, that is M. Fouquet, if the cardinal is dead. You must contrive to stand well with M. Fouquet, if you do not wish to molder away all your life as I have moldered. It is true you have, fortunately, other protectors.”