“While now I have all the wax-lights of your cabinet, and more than that, your majesty’s own eyes, which illuminate everything, like the blazing sun at noonday.”

The king began to laugh; and Saint-Aignan broke out into convulsions of merriment.

“It is precisely like M. Valot,” said D’Artagnan, resuming the conversation where the king had left off; “he has been imagining all along, that not only was M. de Guiche wounded by a bullet, but still more, that he extracted it, even, from his chest.”

“Upon my word,” said Valot, “I assure you — ”

“Now, did you not believe that?” continued D’Artagnan.

“Yes,”