It was Louis XIV. who now bit his lip.
“That is well, M. d’Artagnan, very well! And M. le Comte de la Fere is your friend, say you?”
“For about forty years; yes, sire. Your majesty may see that I do not speak to you of yesterday.”
“Should you be glad to see this young man, M. d’Artagnan?”
“Delighted, sire.”
The king touched his bell, and an usher appeared. “Call M. de Bragelonne,” said the king.
“Ah! ah! he is here?” said D’Artagnan.
“He is on guard to-day, at the Louvre, with the company of the gentlemen of monsieur le prince.”
The king had scarcely ceased speaking, when Raoul presented himself, and, on seeing D’Artagnan, smiled on him with that charming smile which is only found upon the lips of youth.
“Come, come,” said D’Artagnan, familiarly, to Raoul, “the king will allow you to embrace me; only tell his majesty you thank him.”