his good qualities.”
“What is your majesty looking for?” said Henrietta, seeing the king’s eyes
constantly turned towards the door, and wishing to let fly a little poisoned arrow
at his heart, supposing he was so anxiously expecting either La Valliere or a letter from her.
“My sister,” said the young man, who had divined her thought, thanks to
that marvelous perspicuity of which fortune was from that time about to allow him the exercise, “my sister, I am expecting a most distinguished man, a most able counselor, whom I wish to present to you all, recommending him to your good graces. Ah! come in, then, D’Artagnan.”
“What does your majesty wish?” said D’Artagnan, appearing.
“Where is monsieur the bishop of Vannes, your friend?”
“Why, sire—”
“I am waiting for him, and he does not co
