Ten years after

of the musketeer, "what I tell you will not at all affect that which 
I promised you. A king's word given must be kept." And the king going 
straight to his table, opened a drawer, and took out a folded paper. 
"Here is your commission of captain of musketeers; you have won it, 
Monsieur d'Artagnan." 
D'Artagnan opened the paper eagerly, and scanned it twice. He could 
scarcely believe his eyes. 
"And this commission is given you," continued the king, "not only on 
account of your journey to Belle-Isle but, moreover, for your brave 
intervention at the Place de Greve. There, likewise, you served me 
valiantly." 
"Ah, ah!" said D'Artagnan, without his self-command being able to prevent 
a blush from mounting to his eyes - "you know that also, sire?" 
"Yes, I know it." 
The king possessed a piercing glance and an infallible judgment when it 
was his object to read men's minds. "You have something to say," said he 
to the musketeer, "something to say which you do not say. Come, speak 
freely, monsieur; you know that I told you, once and for all, that you 
are to be always quite frank with me." 
"Well, sire! what I have to say is this, that I would prefer being made 
captain of the musketeers for having charged a battery at the head of my 
company, or taken a city, than for causing two wretches to be hung." 
"Is this quite true you tell me?" 
"And why should your majesty suspect me of dissimulation, I ask?" 
"Because I have known you well, monsieur; you cannot repent of having 
drawn your sword for me." 
"Well, in that your majesty is deceived, and greatly; yes, I do repent of 
having drawn my sword on account of the results that action produced; the 
poor men who were hung, sire, were neither your enemies nor mine; and 
they could not defend themselves." 
The king preserved silence for a moment. "And your companion, M. 
d'Artagnan, does he partake of your repentance?" 
"My companion?" 
"Yes, you were not alone, I have been told." 
"Alone, where?" 
"At the Place de Greve." 
"No, sire, no," said D'Artagnan, blushing at the idea that the king might 
have a suspicion that he, D'Artagnan, had wished to engross to himself 
all the glory that belonged to Raoul; "no, _mordioux!_ and as your 
majesty says, I had a companion, and a good companion, too." 
"A young man?" 
"Yes, sire; a young man. Oh! your majesty must accept my compliments, 
you are as well informed of things out of doors as things within. It is 
M. Colbert who makes all these fine reports to the king." 
"M. Colbert has said nothing but good of you, M. d'Artagnan, and he would 
have met with a bad reception if he had come to tell me anything else." 
"That is fortunate!" 
"But he also said much good of that young man." 
"And with justice," said the musketeer. 
"In short, it appears that this young man is a fire-eater," said Louis, 
in order to sharpen the sentiment which he mistook for envy. 
"A fire-eater! Yes, sire," repeated D'Artagnan, delighted on his part to 
direct the king's attention to Raoul. 
"Do you not know his name?" 
"Well, I think - " 
"You know him then?" 
"I have known him nearly five-and-twenty years, sire." 
"Why, he is scarcely twenty-five years old!" cried the king. 
"Well, sire! I have known him ever since he was born, that is all." 
"Do you affirm that?" 
"Sire," said D'Artagnan, "your majesty questions me with a mistrust in 
which I recognize another character than your own. M. Colbert, who has 
so well informed you, has he not forgotten to tell you that this young 
man is the son of my most intimate friend?" 
"The Vicomte de Bragelonne?" 
"Certainly, sire. The father of the Vicomte de Bragelonne is M. le Comte 
de la Fere, who so powerfully assisted in the restoration of King Charles 
II. Bragelonne comes of a valiant race, sire." 
"Then he is the son of that nobleman who came to me, or rather to M. 
Mazarin, on the part of King Charles II., to offer me his alliance?" 
"Exactly, sire." 
"And the Comte de la Fere is a great soldier, say you?" 
"Sire, he is a man who has drawn his sword more times for the king, your 
father, than there are, at present, months in the happy life of your 
majesty." 
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." 
Raoul bowed so gracefully, that Louis, to whom all superior qualities 
were pleasing when they did not overshadow his own, admired his beauty, 
strength, and modesty. 
"Monsieur," said the king, addressing Raoul, "I have asked monsieur le 
prince to be kind enough to give you up to me; I have received his reply, 
and you belong to me from this morning. Monsieur le prince was a good 
master, but I hope you will not lose by the exchange." 
"Yes, yes, Raoul, be satisfied; the king has some good in him," said 
D'Artagnan, who had fathomed the character of Louis, and who played with 
his self-love, within certain limits; always observing, be it understood, 
the proprieties and flattering, even when he appeared to be bantering. 
"Sire," said Bragelonne, with voice soft and musical, and with the 
natural and easy elocution he inherited from his father; "Sire, it is not 
from to-day that I belong to your majesty." 
"Oh! no, I know," said the king, "you mean your enterprise of the Greve. 
That day, you were truly mine, monsieur." 
"Sire, it is not of that day I would speak; it would not become me to 
refer to so paltry a service in the presence of such a man as M. 
d'Artagnan. I would speak of a circumstance which created an epoch in my 
life, and which consecrated me, from the age of sixteen, to the devoted 
service of your majesty." 
"Ah! ah!" said the king, "what was that circumstance? Tell me, monsieur." 
"This is it, sire. - When I was setting out on my first campaign, that is 
to say, to join the army of monsieur le prince, M. le Comte de la Fere 
came to conduct me as far as Saint-Denis, where the remains of King Louis 
XIII. wait, upon the lowest steps of the funeral _basilique_, a 
successor, whom God will not send him, I hope, for many years. Then he 
made me swear upon the ashes of our masters, to serve royalty, 
represented by you - incarnate in you, sire - to serve it in word, in 
thought, and in action. I swore, and God and the dead were witnesses to 
my oath. During ten years, sire, I have not so often as I desired had 
occasion to keep it. I am a soldier of your majesty, and nothing else; 
and, on calling me nearer to you, I do not change my master, I only 
change my garrison." 
Raoul was silent and bowed. Louis still listened after he had done 
speaking. 
"_Mordioux!_" cried D'Artagnan, "that was well spoken! was it not, your 
majesty? A good race! a noble race!" 
"Yes," murmured the king, without, however daring to manifest his 
emotion, for it had no other cause than contact with a nature 
intrinsically noble. "Yes, monsieur, you say truly: - wherever you were, 
you were the king's. But in changing your garrison, believe me you will 
find an advancement of which you are worthy." 
Raoul saw that this ended what the king had to say to him. And with the 
perfect tact which characterized his refined nature, he bowed and retired. 
"Is there anything else, monsieur, of which you have to inform me?" said 
the king, when he found himself again alone with D'Artagnan. 
"Yes, sire, and I kept that news for the last, for it is sad, and will 
clothe European royalty in mourning." 
"What do you tell me?" 
"Sire, in passing through Blois, a word, a sad word, echoed from the 
palace, struck my ear." 
"In truth, you terrify me, M. d'Artagnan." 
"Sire, this word was pronounced to me by a _piqueur_, who wore crape on 
his arm." 
 "My uncle, Gaston of Orleans, perhaps." 
"Sire, he has rendered his last sigh." 
"And I was not warned of it!" cried the king, whose royal susceptibility 
saw an insult in the absence of this intelligence. 
"Oh! do not be angry, sire," said D'Artagnan; "neither the couriers of 
Paris, nor the couriers of the whole world, can travel with your servant; 
the courier from Blois will not be here these two hours, and he rides 
well, I assure you, seeing that I only passed him on the thither side of 
Orleans." 
"My uncle Gaston," murmured Louis, pressing his hand to his brow, and 
comprising in those three words all that his memory recalled of that 
symbol of opposing sentiments. 
"Eh! yes, sire, it is thus," said D'Artagnan, philosophically replying to 
the royal thought, "it is thus the past flies away." 
"That is true, monsieur, that is true; but there remains for us, thank 
God! the future; and we will try to make it not too dark." 
"I feel confidence in your majesty on that head," said D'Artagnan, 
bowing, "and now - " 
"You are right, monsieur; I had forgotten the hundred leagues you have 
just ridden. Go, monsieur, take care of one of the best of soldiers, and 
when you have reposed a little, come and place yourself at my disposal." 
"Sire, absent or present, I am always yours." 
D'Artagnan bowed and retired. Then, as if he had only come from 
Fontainebleau, he quickly traversed the Louvre to rejoin Bragelonne.