Chapter 12 - Page 2

What will he tell me? Yes, he will tell me something; for, mordioux! there is something underneath.”

Somewhat calmer, d’Artagnan made every preparation for the journey, and took the greatest care that the military household of the King, as yet very inconsiderable in numbers, should be well officered and well disciplined in its limited proportions. The result was that through the captain’s arrangements, the King, on arriving at Melun, saw himself at the head of the Musketeers, his Swiss Guards, and a picket of the French Guards. It might almost have been called a small army. M. Colbert looked at the troops with great delight; he even wished there had been a third more in number.

“But why?” said the King.

“To show greater honor to M. Fouquet,” replied Colbert.

“To ruin him the sooner,” thought d’Artagnan.

When this little army appeared before Melun, the chief magistrates came out to meet the King and to present him with the keys of the city, and invited him to enter the Hotel de Ville to partake of the wine of honor. The King, who expected to pass through the city and to proceed to Vaux without delay, became quite red in the face from vexation.

“Who was fool enough to occasion this delay?” muttered the King, between his teeth, as the chief magistrate was in the middle of a long address.

“Not I, certainly,” replied d’Artagnan; “but I believe it was M. Colbert.”

Colbert, having heard his name pronounced, said, “What was M. d’Artagnan good enough to say?”

“I was good enough to remark that it was you who stopped the King’s progress, so that he might taste the vin de Brie. Was I right?”

“Quite so, Monsieur.”

“In that case, then, it was you whom the King called some name or other.”

“What name?”

“I hardly know; but wait a moment, ‘idiot,’ I think it was,- no, no, it was ‘fool,’ ‘fool,’ ‘stupid.’ That is what his Majesty said of the man who procured for him the wine of Melun.”

D’Artagnan, after this broadside, quietly caressed his horse. M. Colbert’s large head seemed to become larger than ever. D’Artagnan, seeing how ugly anger made him, did not stop half-way. The orator still went on with his speech, while the King’s color was visibly increasing. “Mordioux!” said the musketeer, coolly, “the King is going to have an attack of determination of blood to the head. Where the deuce did you get hold of that idea, M. Colbert? You have no luck!”

“Monsieur,” said the financier, drawing himself up, “my zeal for the King’s service inspired me with the