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Updated: May 15, 2025
"Yes, monseigneur," replied the young man. "There are several branches of the d'Artagnans at Tarbes and in its environs," said the cardinal; "to which do you belong?" "I am the son of him who served in the Religious Wars under the great King Henry, the father of his gracious Majesty." "That is well.
Go home; don't bother about romance outside of books. There it is safe. The English are right. They may be snobs when they travel abroad, but they travel securely. Romance, adventure! Bah! So much twaddle has been written about the East that cads and scoundrels are mistaken for Galahads and D'Artagnans. Few men remain in this country who can with honor leave it. Who knows what manner of man I am?"
Besides this, he had drawn upon himself two good duels with two men, each capable of killing three d'Artagnans with two Musketeers, in short, with two of those beings whom he esteemed so greatly that he placed them in his mind and heart above all other men. The outlook was sad. Sure of being killed by Athos, it may easily be understood that the young man was not very uneasy about Porthos.
We stalked bravely into a café, and drank loud and hearty toasts with some friendly but rather drunk French soldiers. Gascons they were, and d'Artagnans all, from their proper boasting the heart of a lion and the cunning of a fox, they said. One of us was called into a more sober chamber to drink ceremonious toasts in champagne with their officers.
"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. Although they had not been summoned, Manicamp and Malicorne had followed the king and D'Artagnan.
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