This disposition, visible as it was in his Majesty, did not prevent the courtiers from ranging themselves along his pathway. In royal antechambers it is worth more to be viewed with an angry eye than not to be seen at all. The three Musketeers therefore did not hesitate to make a step forward. D’Artagnan on the contrary remained concealed behind them; but although the king knew Athos, Porthos, and Aramis personally, he passed before them without speaking or looking—indeed, as if he had never seen them before. As for M. de Tréville, when the eyes of the king fell upon him, he sustained the look with so much firmness that it was the king who dropped his eyes; after which his Majesty, grumbling, entered his apartment. “Matters go but badly,” said Athos, smiling; “and we shall not be made Chevaliers of the Order this time.” “Wait here ten minutes,” said M. de Tréville; “and if at the expiration of ten minutes you do not see me come out, return to my hôtel, for it will be useless for you to wait for me longer.” The four young men waited ten minutes, a quarter of an hour, twenty minutes; and seeing that M. de Tréville did not return, went away very uneasy as to what was going to happen. M. de Tréville entered the king’s cabinet boldly, and found his Majesty in a very ill humor, seated on an armchair, beating his boot with the handle of his whip. This, however, did not prevent his asking, with the greatest coolness, after his Majesty’s health. “Bad, monsieur, bad!” replied the king; “I am bored.” This was, in fact, the worst complaint of Louis XIII., who would sometimes take one of his courtiers to a window and say, “Monsieur So-and-so, let us weary ourselves together.” “How! Your Majesty is bored? Have you not enjoyed the pleasures of the chase today?” “A fine pleasure, indeed, monsieur! Upon my soul, everything degenerates; and I don’t know whether it is the game which leaves no scent, or the dogs that have no noses. We started a stag of ten branches. We chased him for six hours, and when he was near being taken—when St. Simon was already putting his horn to his mouth to sound the _halali_—crack, all the pack takes the wrong scent and sets off after a two-year-older. I shall be obliged to give up hunting, as I have given up hawking. Ah, I am an unfortunate king, Monsieur de Tréville! I had but one gerfalcon, and he died day before yesterday.” “Indeed, sire, I wholly comprehend your disappointment. The misfortune is great; but I think you have still a good number of falcons, sparrow hawks, and tiercels.”