manner which neither the chances of war, the aspirations of ambition, nor the fear of death had been able to do.

“Good,” thought the Gascon, “he is frightened: I am safe.”

“Oh! as to the king,” said Monk, “fear nothing, my dear Monsieur d’Artagnan; the king will not jest with Monk, I assure you!”

The momentary flash of his eye was noticed by D’Artagnan. Monk lowered his tone immediately: “The king,” continued he, “is of too noble a nature, the king’s heart is too high to allow him to wish ill to those who do him good.”

“Oh! certainly,” cried D’Artagnan. “I am entirely of your grace’s opinion with regard to his heart, but not as to his head —