“Where do they come from, then?” asked the musketeer.
“Monsieur, they come from Nantes and Painboeuf.”
“Where are they going, then?”
“Monsieur, to Belle-Isle.”
“Ah! ah!” said D’Artagnan, in the same tone he had assumed to tell the printer that his character interested him; “are they building at Belle-Isle, then?”
“Why, yes, monsieur, M. Fouquet has the walls of the castle repaired every year.”
“Is it in ruins, then?”
“It is old.”
“Thank you.”
“The fact is,” said D’Artagnan to himself, “nothing is more natural; every proprietor has a right to repair his own property. It would be like telling me I was fortifying the Image-de-Notre-Dame, when I was simply obliged to make repairs. In good truth, I believe false reports have been made to his majesty, and he is very likely to be in the wrong.”