As soon as the king saw the officer enter, he dismissed his valet de chambre and his gentleman. “Who is on duty to-morrow, monsieur?” asked he. The lieutenant bowed his head with military politeness and replied, “I am, sire.” “What! still you?” “Always I, sire.” “How can that be, monsieur?” “Sire, when traveling, the musketeers supply all the posts of your majesty’s household; that is to say, yours, her majesty the queen’s, and monsieur le cardinal’s, the latter of whom borrows of the king the best part, or rather the most numerous part, of the royal guard.” “But in the interims?” “There are no interims, sire, but for twenty or thirty men who rest out of a hundred and twenty. At the Louvre it is very different, and if I were at the Louvre I should rely upon my brigadier; but, when traveling, sire, no one knows what may happen, and I prefer doing my duty myself.” “Then you are on guard every day?” “And every night. Yes, sire.” “Monsieur, I cannot allow that—I will have you rest.” “That is very kind, sire, but I will not.” “What do you say?” said the king who did not at first comprehend the full meaning of this reply. “I say, sire, that I will not expose myself to the chance of a fault. If the devil had a trick to play on me, you understand, sire, as he knows the man with whom he has to deal, he would choose the moment when I should not be there. My duty and the peace of my conscience before everything, sire.” “But such duty will kill you, monsieur.” “Eh! sire, I have performed it for thirty years, and in all France and Navarre there is not a man in better health than I am. Moreover, I entreat you, sire, not to trouble yourself about me. That would appear very strange to me, seeing that I am not accustomed to it.” The king cut short the conversation by a fresh question. “Shall you be here, then, to-morrow morning?” “As at present? yes, sire.” The king walked several times up and down his chamber; it was very plain that he burned with a desire to speak, but that he was restrained by some fear or other. The lieutenant, standing motionless, hat in hand, watched him making these evolutions, and, whilst looking at him, grumbled to himself, biting his mustache: “He has not half a crown worth of resolution! Parole d’honneur! I would lay a wager he does not speak at all!” The king continued to walk about, casting from time to time a side glance at the lieutenant. “He is the very image of his father,” continued the latter, in his secret soliloquy, “he is at once proud, avaricious, and timid. The devil take his master, say I.” The king stopped. “Lieutenant,” said he. “I am here, sire.” “Why did you cry out this evening, down below in the salons—‘The king’s service! His majesty’s musketeers!’” “Because you gave me the order, sire.” “I?” “Yourself.” “Indeed, I did not say a word, monsieur.”