“A surgeon!” cried M. de Treville, “mine!  The king’s!  The best!  A surgeon!  Or, s’blood, my brave Athos will die!”

At the cries of M. de Treville, the whole assemblage rushed into the cabinet, he not thinking to shut the door against anyone, and all crowded round the wounded man.  But all this eager attention might have been useless if the doctor so loudly called for had not chanced to be in the hotel.  He pushed through the crowd, approached Athos, still insensible, and as all this noise and commotion inconvenienced him greatly, he required, as the first and most urgent thing, that the Musketeer should be carried into an adjoining chamber.  Immediately M. de Treville opened and pointed the way to Porthos and Aramis, who bore their comrade in their arms.  Behind this group walked the surgeon; and behind the surgeon the door closed.

The cabinet of M. de Treville, generally held so sacred, became in an instant the annex of the antechamber.  Everyone spoke, harangued, and vociferated, swearing, cursing, and consigning the cardinal and his Guards to all the devils.

An instant after, Porthos and Aramis re-entered, the surgeon and M. de Treville alone remaining with the wounded.

At length, M. de Treville himself returned.  The injured man had recovered his senses.  The surgeon declared that the situation of the Musketeer had nothing in it to render his friends uneasy, his weakness having been purely and simply caused by loss of blood.

Then M. de Treville made a sign with his hand, and all retired except d’Artagnan, who did not forget that he had an audience, and with the tenacity of a Gascon remained in his place.

When all had gone out and the door was closed, M. de Treville, on turning round, found himself alone with the young man.  The event which had occurred had in some degree broken the thread of his ideas.  He inquired what was the will of his persevering visitor. d’Artagnan then repeated his name, and in an instant recovering all his remembrances of the present and the past, M. de Treville grasped the situation.

“Pardon me,” said he, smiling, “pardon me my dear compatriot, but I had wholly forgotten you.  But what help is there for it!  A captain is nothing but a father of a family, charged with even a greater responsibility than the father of an ordinary family.  Soldiers are big children; but as I maintain that the orders of the king, and more particularly the orders of the cardinal, should be executed—­”

D’Artagnan could not restrain a smile.  By this smile M. de Treville judged that he had not to deal with a fool, and changing the conversation, came straight to the point.

“I respected your father very much,” said he.  “What can I do for the son?  Tell me quickly; my time is not my own.”

“Monsieur,” said d’Artagnan, “on quitting Tarbes and coming hither, it was my intention to request of you, in remembrance of the friendship which you have not forgotten, the uniform of a Musketeer; but after all that I have seen during the last two hours, I comprehend that such a favor is enormous, and tremble lest I should not merit it.”