“Ah! I understand all. Your majesty did not trust to me alone, but sent some other person,” said he in a reproachful tone. “Of what importance is the manner, monsieur, in which I have learnt what I know, so that I know it?” “Sire, sire,” said the musketeer, without seeking even to conceal his dissatisfaction; “but I must be permitted to say to your majesty, that it is not worth while to make me use such speed, to risk twenty times the breaking of my neck, to salute me on my arrival with such intelligence. Sire, when people are not trusted, or are deemed insufficient, they should scarcely be employed.” And D’Artagnan, with a movement perfectly military, stamped with his foot, and left upon the floor dust stained with blood. The king looked at him, inwardly enjoying his first triumph. “Monsieur,” said he, at the expiration of a minute, “not only is Belle-Isle known to me, but, still further, Belle-Isle is mine.” “That is well! that is well, sire, I ask but one thing more,” replied D’Artagnan.--“My discharge.” “What! your discharge?” “Without doubt I am too proud to eat the bread of the king without earning it, or rather by gaining it badly.--My discharge, sire!” “Oh, oh!” “I ask for my discharge, or I will take it.” “You are angry, monsieur?” “I have reason, _mordioux!_ Thirty-two hours in the saddle, I ride day and night, I perform prodigies of speed, I arrive stiff as the corpse of a man who has been hung--and another arrives before me! Come, sire, I am a fool!--My discharge, sire!” “Monsieur d’Artagnan,” said Louis, leaning his white hand upon the dusty arm of the musketeer, “what I tell you will not at all affect that which I promised you. A king’s word given must be kept.” And the king going straight to his table, opened a drawer, and took out a folded paper. “Here is your commission of captain of musketeers; you have won it, Monsieur d’Artagnan.” D’Artagnan opened the paper eagerly, and scanned it twice. He could scarcely believe his eyes. “And this commission is given you,” continued the king, “not only on account of your journey to Belle-Isle but, moreover, for your brave intervention at the Place de Greve. There, likewise, you served me valiantly.” “Ah, ah!” said D’Artagnan, without his self-command being able to prevent a blush from mounting to his eyes--“you know that also, sire?” “Yes, I know it.” The king possessed a piercing glance and an infallible judgment when it was his object to read men’s minds. “You have something to say,” said he to the musketeer, “something to say which you do not say. Come, speak freely, monsieur; you know that I told you, once and for all, that you are to be always quite frank with me.” “Well, sire! what I have to say is this, that I would prefer being made captain of the musketeers for having charged a battery at the head of my company, or taken a city, than for causing two wretches to be hung.” “Is this quite true you tell me?”