“No, sire, but I say that he deceives himself. I say that he is ill-informed. I say that he has hastily accused your Majesty’s Musketeers, toward whom he is unjust, and that he has not obtained his information from good sources.” “The accusation comes from Monsieur de la Trémouille, from the duke himself. What do you say to that?” “I might answer, sire, that he is too deeply interested in the question to be a very impartial witness; but so far from that, sire, I know the duke to be a royal gentleman, and I refer the matter to him—but upon one condition, sire.” “What?” “It is that your Majesty will make him come here, will interrogate him yourself, _tête-à-tête_, without witnesses, and that I shall see your Majesty as soon as you have seen the duke.” “What, then! You will bind yourself,” cried the king, “by what Monsieur de la Trémouille shall say?” “Yes, sire.” “You will accept his judgment?” “Undoubtedly.” “And you will submit to the reparation he may require?” “Certainly.” “La Chesnaye,” said the king. “La Chesnaye!” Louis XIII.’s confidential valet, who never left the door, entered in reply to the call. “La Chesnaye,” said the king, “let someone go instantly and find Monsieur de la Trémouille; I wish to speak with him this evening.” “Your Majesty gives me your word that you will not see anyone between Monsieur de la Trémouille and myself?” “Nobody, by the faith of a gentleman.” “Tomorrow, then, sire?” “Tomorrow, monsieur.” “At what o’clock, please your Majesty?” “At any hour you will.” “But in coming too early I should be afraid of awakening your Majesty.” “Awaken me! Do you think I ever sleep, then? I sleep no longer, monsieur. I sometimes dream, that’s all. Come, then, as early as you like—at seven o’clock; but beware, if you and your Musketeers are guilty.” “If my Musketeers are guilty, sire, the guilty shall be placed in your Majesty’s hands, who will dispose of them at your good pleasure. Does your Majesty require anything further? Speak, I am ready to obey.” “No, monsieur, no; I am not called Louis the Just without reason. Tomorrow, then, monsieur—tomorrow.” “Till then, God preserve your Majesty!” However ill the king might sleep, M. de Tréville slept still worse. He had ordered his three Musketeers and their companion to be with him at half past six in the morning. He took them with him, without encouraging them or promising them anything, and without concealing from them that their luck, and even his own, depended upon the cast of the dice. Arrived at the foot of the back stairs, he desired them to wait. If the king was still irritated against them, they would depart without being seen; if the king consented to see them, they would only have to be called.