This was the chance at which M. de Treville waited for the king. He knew the king of old, and he knew that all these complaints were but a preface — a sort of excitation to encourage himself — and that he had now come to his point at last.

“And in what have I been so unfortunate as to displease your Majesty?” asked M. de Treville, feigning the most profound astonishment.

“Is it thus you perform your charge, monsieur?” continued the king, without directly replying to de Treville’s question. “Is it for this I name you captain of my Musketeers, that they should assassinate a man, disturb a whole quarter, and endeavor to set fire to Paris, without your saying a word? But yet,” continued the king, “undoubtedly my haste accuses you