“To M. de Gesvres, yes, monseigneur,” continued the musketeer, whose eye s did not cease to speak a language different from the language of his lips. “The king, moreover, commanded me to take a brigade of musketeers, which is apparently superfluous, as the country is quite quiet.”
“A brigade!” said Fouquet, raising himself upon his elbow.
“Ninety-six horsemen, yes, monseigneur. The same number as were employed in arresting MM. de Chalais, de Cinq-Mars, and Montmorency.”
Fouquet pricked up his ears at these words, pronounced without apparent value. “And what else?” said he.
“Oh! nothing but insignificant orders; such as guarding the castle, guarding every lodging, allowing none of M. de Gesvres’s guards to occupy a single post.”
“And as to myself,” cried Fouquet, “what orders had you?”
“As to you, monseigneur?—not the smallest word.”
“Monsieur d’Artagnan, my safety, my honor, perhaps my life are at stake. You would not deceive me?”
“I?—to what end? Are you threatened? Only there really is an order with respect to carriages and boats—”
“An order?”