“It is so long ago.”

“If you do not remember, I do.  You said to me, — listen with attention.”

“Ah!  I shall listen with all my ears, sire; for it is very likely the conversation will turn in a fashion very interesting to me.”

Louis once more looked at the musketeer.  The latter smoothed the feather of his hat, then his mustache, and waited bravely.  Louis XIV. continued:  “You quitted my service, monsieur, after having told me the whole truth?”

“Yes, sire.”

“That is, after having declared to me all you thought to be true, with regard to my mode of thinking and acting.  That is always a merit.  You began by telling me that you had served my family thirty years, and were fatigued.”

“I said so; yes, sire.”

“And you afterwards admitted that that fatigue was a pretext, and that discontent was the real cause.”

“I was discontented, in fact; but that discontent has never betrayed itself, that I know of, and if, like a man of heart, I have spoken out before your majesty, I have not even thought of the matter before anybody else.”

“Do not excuse yourself, D’Artagnan, but continue to listen to me.  When making me the reproach that you were discontented, you received in reply a promise:  — ‘Wait.’ — Is that not true?”

“Yes, sire, as true as what I told you.”

“You answered me, ‘Hereafter!  No, now, immediately.’  Do not excuse yourself, I tell you.  It was natural, but you had no charity for your poor prince, Monsieur d’Artagnan.”

“Sire! — charity for a king, on the part of a poor soldier!”

“You understand me very well; you knew that I stood in need of it; you knew very well that I was not master; you knew very well that my hope was in the future.  Now, you answered me when I spoke of the future, ’My discharge, — and that directly.’”

“That is true,” murmured D’Artagnan, biting his mustache.

“You did not flatter me when I was in distress,” added Louis.

“But,” said D’Artagnan, raising his head nobly, “if I did not flatter your majesty when poor, neither did I betray you.  I have shed my blood for nothing; I have watched like a dog at a door, knowing full well that neither bread nor bone would be thrown to me.  I, although poor likewise, asked nothing of your majesty but the discharge you speak of.”

“I know you are a brave man, but I was a young man, and you ought to have had some indulgence for me.  What had you to reproach the king with? — that he left King Charles II. without assistance? — let us say further — that he did not marry Mademoiselle de Mancini?” When saying these words, the king fixed upon the musketeer a searching look.

“Ah! ah!” thought the latter, “he is doing far more than remembering, he divines.  The devil!”