“By the king himself. He surrounds himself with people who cannot show four quarterings.”
“Nonsense,” said De Guiche, “where could you possibly have seen that, De Wardes?”
“One example will suffice,” he returned, directing his look fully upon Raoul.
“State it then.”
“Do you know who has just been nominated captain-general of the musketeers?—an appointment more valuable than a peerage; for it gives precedence over all the marechals of France.”
Raoul’s color mounted in his face; for he saw the object De Wardes had in view. “No; who has been appointed? In any case it must have been very recently, for the appointment was vacant eight days ago; a proof of which is, that the king refused Monsieur, who solicited the post for one of his proteges.”
“Well, the king refused it to Monsieur’s protege, in order to bestow it upon the Chevalier d’Artagnan, a younger brother of some Gascon family, who has been trailing his sword in the ante-chambers during the last thirty years.”
“Forgive me if I interrupt you,” said Raoul, darting a glance full of severity at De Wardes; “but you give me the impression of being unacquainted with the gentleman of whom you are speaking.”
“I not acquainted with M. d’Artagnan? Can you tell me, monsieur, who does not know him?”
“Those who do know him, monsieur,” replied Raoul with still greater calmness and sternness of manner, “are in the habit of saying, that if he is not as good a gentleman as the king—which is not his fault—he is the equal of all the kings of the earth in courage and loyalty. Such is my opinion, monsieur, and I thank heaven I have known M. d’Artagnan from my birth.”