D’Artagnan turned upon his heel, insolently enough, and finding himself face to face with Colbert, after his first turn, he bowed to him as a harlequin would have done; then, after a second evolution, he directed his steps towards the door in quick time. Colbert was struck with this pointed rudeness, to which he was not accustomed. In general, men of the sword, when they came to his office, had such a want of money, that though their feet seemed to take root in the marble, they hardly lost their patience. Was D’Artagnan going straight to the king? Would he go and describe his rough reception, or recount his exploit? This was a matter for grave consideration. At all events, the moment was badly chosen to send D’Artagnan away, whether he came from the king, or on his own account. The musketeer had rendered too great a service, and that too recently, for it to be already forgotten. Therefore Colbert thought it would be better to shake off his arrogance and call D’Artagnan back. “Ho! Monsieur d’Artagnan,” cried Colbert, “what! are you leaving me thus?”
D’Artagnan turned round: “Why not?” said he, quietly, “we have no more to say to each other, have we?”
“You have, at least, money to receive, as you have an order?”
“Who, I? Oh! not at all, my dear Monsieur Colbert.”
“But, monsieur, you have an order. And, in the same manner as you give a sword-thrust, when you are required, I, on my part, pay when an order is presented to me. Present yours.”
“It is useless, my dear Monsieur Colbert,” said D’Artagnan, who inwardly enjoyed this confusion in the ideas of Colbert; “my order is paid.”
“Paid, by whom?”
“By monsieur le surintendant.”
Colbert grew pale.
“Explain yourself,” said he, in a stifled voice—“if you are paid why do you show me that paper?”