"Ah!" said D'Artagnan, a second time,--he burned to know, but dignity
would not allow him to interrogate people below him,--"there is
something beginning, then, it seems?"

The keeper gave him a significant wink; but D'Artagnan was unwilling to
learn anything from this man.

"Shall we see the king early?" asked he of the falconer.

"At seven o'clock, monsieur, I shall fly the birds."

"Who comes with the king? How is Madame? How is the queen?"

"Better, monsieur."

"Has she been ill, then?"

"Monsieur, since the last chagrin she suffered, her majesty has been
unwell."

"What chagrin? You need not fancy your news is old. I have but just
returned."

"It appears that the queen, a little neglected since the death of her
mother-in-law, complained to the king, who answered her,--'Do I not
sleep at home every night, madame? What more do you expect?'"

"Ah!" said D'Artagnan,--"poor woman! She must heartily hate Mademoiselle
de la Valliere."

"Oh, no! not Mademoiselle de la Valliere," replied the falconer.

"Who then--" The blast of a hunting-horn interrupted this conversation.
It summoned the dogs and the hawks. The falconer and his companions set
off immediately, leaving D'Artagnan alone in the midst of the suspended
sentence. The king appeared at a distance, surrounded by ladies and
horsemen. All the troop advanced in beautiful order, at a foot's pace,
the horns of various sorts animating the dogs and horses. There was an
animation in the scene, a mirage of light, of which nothing now can give
an idea, unless it be the fictitious splendor of a theatric spectacle.
D'Artagnan, with an eye a little, just a little, dimmed by age,
distinguished behind the group three carriages. The first was intended
for the queen; it was empty. D'Artagnan, who did not see Mademoiselle de
la Valliere by the king's side, on looking about for her, saw her in the
second carriage. She was alone with two of her women, who seemed as dull
as their mistress. On the left hand of the king, upon a high-spirited
horse, restrained by a bold and skillful hand, shone a lady of most
dazzling beauty. The king smiled upon her, and she smiled upon the king.
Loud laughter followed every word she uttered.

"I must know that woman," thought the musketeer; "who can she be?" And
he stooped towards his friend, the falconer, to whom he addressed the
question he had put to himself.

The falconer was about to reply, when the king, perceiving D'Artagnan,