our cardinal did — of the miser, who weighs his gold pieces and keeps the clipped ones for fear, though he is rich, of losing them at play next morning — of the impudent fellow who insults the queen, as they say — so much the worse for her — and who is going in three months to make war upon us, in order that he may retain his pensions; is that the master whom you propose to me?
I thank you, D’Artagnan.”
“You are more impetuous than you were,” returned D’Artagnan. “Age has warmed, not chilled your blood. Who informed you this was the master I propose to you? Devil take it,” he muttered to himself, “don’t let me betray my secrets to a man not inclined to entertain them.”
“Well, then,”