“I am all attention, Monsieur d’Artagnan.”
“You will go and inform your father of my departure.”
“Your departure?”
“Pardieu! You will tell him that I am gone into England; and that I am living in my little country-house.”
“In England, you!—And the king’s orders?”
“You get more and more silly: do you imagine that I am going to the Louvre, to place myself at the disposal of that little crowned wolf-cub?”
“The king a wolf-cub? Why, monsieur le chevalier, you are mad!”
“On the contrary, I never was so sane. You do not know what he wants to do with me, this worthy son of Louis le Juste!—But, Mordioux! that is policy. He wishes to ensconce me snugly in the Bastile—purely and simply, look you!”
“What for?” cried Raoul, terrified at what he heard.
“On account of what I told him one day at Blois. I was warm; he remembers it.”