“You are right, Treville; but they were not alone, your Musketeers.  They had a youth with them?”

“Yes, sire, and one wounded man; so that three of the king’s Musketeers—­one of whom was wounded—­and a youth not only maintained their ground against five of the most terrible of the cardinal’s Guardsmen, but absolutely brought four of them to earth.”

“Why, this is a victory!” cried the king, all radiant, “a complete victory!”

“Yes, sire; as complete as that of the Bridge of Ce.”

“Four men, one of them wounded, and a youth, say you?”

“One hardly a young man; but who, however, behaved himself so admirably on this occasion that I will take the liberty of recommending him to your Majesty.”

“How does he call himself?”

“d’Artagnan, sire; he is the son of one of my oldest friends—­the son of a man who served under the king your father, of glorious memory, in the civil war.”

“And you say this young man behaved himself well?  Tell me how, Treville—­you know how I delight in accounts of war and fighting.”

And Louis XIII twisted his mustache proudly, placing his hand upon his hip.

“Sire,” resumed Treville, “as I told you, Monsieur d’Artagnan is little more than a boy; and as he has not the honor of being a Musketeer, he was dressed as a citizen.  The Guards of the cardinal, perceiving his youth and that he did not belong to the corps, invited him to retire before they attacked.”

“So you may plainly see, Treville,” interrupted the king, “it was they who attacked?”

“That is true, sire; there can be no more doubt on that head.  They called upon him then to retire; but he answered that he was a Musketeer at heart, entirely devoted to your Majesty, and that therefore he would remain with Messieurs the Musketeers.”

“Brave young man!” murmured the king.

“Well, he did remain with them; and your Majesty has in him so firm a champion that it was he who gave Jussac the terrible sword thrust which has made the cardinal so angry.”

“He who wounded Jussac!” cried the king, “he, a boy!  Treville, that’s impossible!”

“It is as I have the honor to relate it to your Majesty.”

“Jussac, one of the first swordsmen in the kingdom?”

“Well, sire, for once he found his master.”

“I will see this young man, Treville—­I will see him; and if anything can be done—­well, we will make it our business.”

“When will your Majesty deign to receive him?”

“Tomorrow, at midday, Treville.”

“Shall I bring him alone?”

“No, bring me all four together.  I wish to thank them all at once.  Devoted men are so rare, Treville, by the back staircase.  It is useless to let the cardinal know.”

“Yes, sire.”

“You understand, Treville—­an edict is still an edict, it is forbidden to fight, after all.”

“But this encounter, sire, is quite out of the ordinary conditions of a duel.  It is a brawl; and the proof is that there were five of the cardinal’s Guardsmen against my three Musketeers and Monsieur d’Artagnan.”