“There is a gentleman outside,” said he, when the lackey appeared. “Ask his pardon for keeping him waiting, and beg him to step in.”
The well-drilled lackey, all politeness, threw the door open for the visitor, who entered with a diffident bow and a timid, hesitating step. Bras-de-Fer could not help remarking how much less assured was his manner now than when he crossed swords last night with the best fencer in the company.
The Musketeers both rose at his entrance, and all three continued standing during the interview.
Captain George scanned the new-comer from head to foot, and from foot to head, as a sergeant inspects a recruit. Its subject blushed painfully during the examination. Then the officer inquired, abruptly—
“You wish to join the Musketeers? As a cadet, of course?”
Something stern in the tone recalled the youth’s firmness, and he answered, boldly enough—
“Under certain circumstances—yes.”
“Your name?”
“Eugène Beaudésir.”
“Your age?”