“you are hardly master of yourself, I think.”

“Ah!

madame,” returned the young lion, with a terrible gesture, “if I am not mater of myself, I will be, I promise you, of those who do me a deadly injury; come with me, M. d’Artagnan, come.” And he quitted the room in the midst of general stupefaction and dismay. The king hastily descended the staircase, and was about to cross the courtyard.

“Sire,” said D’Artagnan, “your majesty mistakes the way.”

“No; I am going to the stables.”

“That is useless, sire, for I have horses ready for your majesty.”

The king’s only answer was a look, but this look promised more than the ambition of three D’Artagnans could have dared to hope.