Manicamp returned his sword to his belt.
“The fellow decidedly has his wits about him,” murmured the musketeer, taking Saint-Aignan by the arm, and withdrawing with him.
“He will get out of it,” said the latter in d’Artagnan’s ear.
“And with honor, too, comte.”
Manicamp cast a glance of recognition at Saint-Aignan and the captain, which luckily passed unnoticed by the king.
“Come, come,” said d’Artagnan, as he left the room, “I had an indifferent opinion of the new generation. Well, I was mistaken after all. There is some good in them, I perceive.”
Valot preceded the favorite and the captain, leaving the king and Manicamp alone in the cabinet.
159
Wherein d’Artagnan Perceives That It Was He Who Was Mistaken, and Manicamp Who Was Right
The king, determined to be satisfied that no one was listening, went himself to the door, and then returned precipitately and placed himself opposite Manicamp.
“And now we are alone, Monsieur de Manicamp, explain yourself.”
“With the greatest frankness, sire,” replied the young man.
“And in the first place, pray understand,” added the king, “that there is nothing to which I personally attach a greater importance than the honor of any lady.”
“That is the very reason, sire, why I endeavored to study your delicacy of sentiment and feeling.”
“Yes, I understand it all now. You say that it was one of the maids of honor of my sister-in-law who was the subject of dispute, and that the person in question, de Guiche’s adversary, the man, in point of fact, whom you will not name—”
“But whom M. de Saint-Aignan will name, Monsieur.”
“Yes, you say, however, that this man insulted someone belonging to the household of Madame.”
“Yes, sire. Mademoiselle de La Vallière.”
“Ah!” said the king, as if he had expected the name, and yet as if its announcement had caused him a sudden pang; “ah! it was Mademoiselle de La Vallière who was insulted.”
“I do not say precisely that she was insulted, sire.”
“But at all events—”
“I merely say that she was spoken of in terms far enough from respectful.”
“A man dares to speak in disrespectful terms of Mademoiselle de La Vallière, and yet you refuse to tell me the name of the insulter?”
“Sire, I thought it was quite understood that Your Majesty had abandoned the idea of making me denounce him.”
“Perfectly true, Monsieur,” returned the king, controlling his anger; “besides, I shall know in good time the name of this man whom I shall feel it my duty to punish.”
Manicamp perceived that they had returned to the question again. As for the king, he saw he had allowed himself to be hurried away a little too far, and therefore continued:—“And I will punish him—not because there is any question of Mademoiselle de La Vallière, although I esteem her very highly—but because a lady was the object of the quarrel. And I intend that ladies shall be respected at my court, and that quarrels shall be put a stop to altogether.”
Manicamp bowed.
“And now, Monsieur de Manicamp,” continued the king, “what was said about Mademoiselle de La Vallière?”
“Cannot Your Majesty guess?”
“I?”
“Your Majesty can imagine the character of the jest in which young men permit themselves to indulge.”
“They very probably said that she was in love with someone?” the king ventured to remark.
“Probably so.”
“But Mademoiselle de La Vallière has a perfect right to love anyone she pleases,” said the king.
“That is the very point de Guiche maintained.”
“And on account of which he fought, do you mean?”
“Yes, sire, the sole and only cause.”
The king colored. “And you do not know anything more, then?”
“In what respect, sire?”
“In the very interesting respect which you are now referring to.”
“What does Your Majesty wish to know?”
“Why, the name of the man with whom La Vallière is in love, and whom de Guiche’s adversary disputed her right to love.”
“Sire, I know nothing—I have heard nothing—and have learnt nothing, even accidentally; but de Guiche is a noble-hearted fellow, and if, momentarily, he substituted himself in the place or stead of La Vallière’s protector, it was because that protector was himself of too exalted a position to undertake her defense.”
These words were more than transparent; they made the king blush, but this time with pleasure. He struck Manicamp gently on the shoulder. “Well, well, Monsieur de Manicamp, you are not only a ready, witty fellow, but a brave gentleman besides, and your friend de Guiche is a paladin quite after my own heart; you will express that to him from me.”
“Your Majesty forgives me, then?”
“Completely.”
“And I am free?”
The king smiled and held out his hand to Manicamp, which he took and kissed respectfully. “And then,” added the king, “you relate stories so charmingly.”
“I, sire!”
“You told me in the most admirable manner the particulars of the accident which happened to Guiche. I can see the wild boar rushing out of the wood—I can see the horse fall down fighting with his head, and the boar rush from the horse to the rider. You do not simply relate a story well: you positively paint its incidents.”
“Sire, I think Your Majesty condescends to laugh at my expense,” said Manicamp.
“On the contrary,” said Louis, seriously, “I have so little intention of laughing, Monsieur de Manicamp, that I wish you to relate this adventure to everyone.”
“The adventure of the hunt?”
“Yes; in the same manner you told it to me, without changing a single word—you understand?”
“Perfectly, sire.”
“And you will relate it, then?”
“Without losing a minute.”
“Very well! and now summon M. d’Artagnan; I hope you are no longer afraid of him.”
“Oh, sire, from the very moment I am sure of Your Majesty’s kind disposition, I no longer fear anything!”
“Call him, then,” said the king.
Manicamp opened the door, and said, “Gentlemen, the king wishes you to return.”
D’Artagnan, Saint-Aignan, and Valot entered.
“Gentlemen,” said the king, “I summoned you for the purposes of saying that Monsieur de Manicamp’s explanation has entirely
