bowed his silver head, upon which the smiling king placed his white hand with pride.

“Thanks, my old servant, my faithful friend,” said he. “As, reckoning from this day, I have no longer any enemies in France, it remains with me to send you to a foreign field to gather your marshal’s baton. Depend upon me for finding you an opportunity.

In the meanwhile, eat of my very best bread, and sleep in absolute tranquillity.”

“That is all kind and well!” said D’Artagnan, much agitated. “But those poor men at Belle-Isle? One of them, in particular — so good! so brave! so true!”

“Do you ask their pardon of me?”

“Upon my knees, sire!”