D’Artagnan at first believed that he had to do with some judge examining his papers; but he perceived that the man at the desk wrote, or rather corrected, lines of unequal length, scanning the words on his fingers.  He saw then that he was with a poet.  At the end of an instant the poet closed his manuscript, upon the cover of which was written “Mirame, a Tragedy in Five Acts,” and raised his head.

D’Artagnan recognized the cardinal.

40 A terrible vision

The cardinal leaned his elbow on his manuscript, his cheek upon his hand, and looked intently at the young man for a moment.  No one had a more searching eye than the Cardinal de Richelieu, and d’Artagnan felt this glance run through his veins like a fever.

He however kept a good countenance, holding his hat in his hand and awaiting the good pleasure of his Eminence, without too much assurance, but also without too much humility.

“Monsieur,” said the cardinal, “are you a d’Artagnan from Bearn?”

“Yes, monseigneur,” replied the young man.

“There are several branches of the d’Artagnans at Tarbes and in its environs,” said the cardinal; “to which do you belong?”

“I am the son of him who served in the Religious Wars under the great King Henry, the father of his gracious Majesty.”

“That is well.  It is you who set out seven or eight months ago from your country to seek your fortune in the capital?”

“Yes, monseigneur.”

“You came through Meung, where something befell you.  I don’t very well know what, but still something.”

“Monseigneur,” said d’Artagnan, “this was what happened to me—­”

“Never mind, never mind!” resumed the cardinal, with a smile which indicated that he knew the story as well as he who wished to relate it.  “You were recommended to Monsieur de Treville, were you not?”

“Yes, monseigneur; but in that unfortunate affair at Meung—­”

“The letter was lost,” replied his Eminence; “yes, I know that.  But Monsieur de Treville is a skilled physiognomist, who knows men at first sight; and he placed you in the company of his brother-in-law, Monsieur Dessessart, leaving you to hope that one day or other you should enter the Musketeers.”

“Monseigneur is correctly informed,” said d’Artagnan.

“Since that time many things have happened to you.  You were walking one day behind the Chartreux, when it would have been better if you had been elsewhere.  Then you took with your friends a journey to the waters of Forges; they stopped on the road, but you continued yours.  That is all very simple:  you had business in England.”

“Monseigneur,” said d’Artagnan, quite confused, “I went—­”

“Hunting at Windsor, or elsewhere—­that concerns nobody.  I know, because it is my office to know everything.  On your return you were received by an august personage, and I perceive with pleasure that you preserve the souvenir she gave you.”