“Good Lord! In the most simple and natural manner possible. Three of my best soldiers, whom your Majesty knows by name, and whose devotedness you have more than once appreciated, and who have, I dare affirm to the king, his service much at heart—three of my best soldiers, I say, Athos, Porthos, and Aramis, had made a party of pleasure with a young fellow from Gascony, whom I had introduced to them the same morning. The party was to take place at St. Germain, I believe, and they had appointed to meet at the Carmes-Deschaux, when they were disturbed by de Jussac, Cahusac, Bicarat, and two other Guardsmen, who certainly did not go there in such a numerous company without some ill intention against the edicts.” “Ah, ah! You incline me to think so,” said the king. “There is no doubt they went thither to fight themselves.” “I do not accuse them, sire; but I leave your Majesty to judge what five armed men could possibly be going to do in such a deserted place as the neighborhood of the Convent des Carmes.” “Yes, you are right, Tréville, you are right!” “Then, upon seeing my Musketeers they changed their minds, and forgot their private hatred for partisan hatred; for your Majesty cannot be ignorant that the Musketeers, who belong to the king and nobody but the king, are the natural enemies of the Guardsmen, who belong to the cardinal.” “Yes, Tréville, yes,” said the king, in a melancholy tone; “and it is very sad, believe me, to see thus two parties in France, two heads to royalty. But all this will come to an end, Tréville, will come to an end. You say, then, that the Guardsmen sought a quarrel with the Musketeers?” “I say that it is probable that things have fallen out so, but I will not swear to it, sire. You know how difficult it is to discover the truth; and unless a man be endowed with that admirable instinct which causes Louis XIII. to be named the Just—” “You are right, Tréville; 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, Tréville—you know how I delight in accounts of war and fighting.” And Louis XIII. twisted his mustache proudly, placing his hand upon his hip.