“Ah, monsieur,” grumbled the soldier Francois, in spite of himself, “monsieur.”
“Take care,” said Aramis, “take care!”
“Of what? dear M. d’Herblay,” said Baisemeaux, half intoxicated.
“The letter which the courier brings to the governor of a fortress is sometimes an order.”
“Nearly always.”
“Do not orders issue from the ministers?”
“Yes, undoubtedly; but—”
“And what to these ministers do but countersign the signature of the king?”
“Perhaps you are right. Nevertheless, ‘tis very tiresome when you are sitting before a good table, tete-a-tete with a friend—Ah! I beg your pardon, monsieur; I forgot it is I who engage you at supper, and that I speak to a future cardinal.”
“Let us pass over that, dear Baisemeaux, and return to our soldier, to Francois.”