e a hundred times a king,
he has no right to insult him by casting a dishonor upon his sword!
Sire, a king of France has never repulsed with contempt the sword of
a man such as I am! Stained with disgrace as this sword now is, it has
henceforth no other sheath than either your heart or my own! I choose
my own, sire; and you have to thank Heaven and my own patience that I
do so." Then snatching up his sword, he cried, "My blood be upon your
head!" and, with a rapid gesture, he placed the hilt upon the floor and
directed the point of the blade towards his breast. The king, however,
with a movement far more rapid than that of D'Artagnan, threw his right
arm around the musketeer's neck, and with his left hand seized hold
of the blade by the middle, and returned it silently to the scabbard.
D'Artagnan, upright, pale, and still trembling, let the king do all to
the very end. Louis, overcome and softened by gentler feelings, returned
to the table, took a pen in his hand, wrote a few lines, signed them,
and then held it out to D'Artagnan.

"What is this paper, sire?" inquired the captain.

"An order for M. d'Artagnan to set the Comte de la Fere at liberty
immediately."

D'Artagnan seized the king's hand, and imprinted a kiss upon it; he then
folded the order, placed it in his belt, and quitted the room. Neither
the king nor the captain had uttered a syllable.

"Oh, human heart! thou guide and director of kings," murmured Louis,
when alone, "when shall I learn to read in your inmost recesses, as in
the leaves of a book! Oh, I am not a bad king--nor am I poor king; I am
but still a child, when all is said and done."

Chapter LXV. Political Rivals.

D'Artagnan had promised M. de Baisemeaux to return in time for dessert,
and he kept his word. They had just reached the finer and more delicate
class of wines and liqueurs with which the governor's cellar had the
reputation of being most admirably stocked, when the silver spurs of
the captain resounded in the corridor, and he himself appeared at the
threshold. Athos and Aramis had played a close game; neither of the two
had been able to gain the slightest advantage over the other. They had
supped, talked a good deal about the Bastile, of the last journey to
Fontainebleau, of the intended _fete_ that M. Fouquet was about to give
at Vaux; they had generalized on every possible subject; and no one,
excepting Baisemeaux, had in the slightest degree alluded to private
matters. D'