This affair made a great noise. M. de Tréville scolded his musketeers in public and congratulated them in private； but as no time was to be lost in gaining the king， M. de Tréville made all haste to the Louvre. But he was too late； the king was closeted with the cardinal， and M. de Tréville was informed that the king was busy and could not receive him. In the evening M. de Tréville went to the king’s card-table. The king was winning， and as his Majesty was very avaricious， he was in an excellent humour； therefore， perceiving M. de Tréville at a distance，
“Come here， captain，” said he—“come here， that I may scold you. Do you know that his Eminence has just made fresh complaints against your musketeers， and with so much emotion that his Eminence is indisposed this evening？ Why， these musketeers of yours are very devils—fellows to be hanged！”
“No， sire，” replied Tréville， who saw at the first glance which way things would turn—“no， sire； on the contrary， they are good creatures， as meek as lambs， and have but one desire， I’ll be their warranty； and this is， that their swords may never leave their scabbards but in your Majesty’s service. But what are they to do？ The guards of the cardinal are for ever seeking quarrels with them， and for the honour of the corps even the poor young men are obliged to defend themselves.”
“Listen to M. de Tréville，” said the king， “listen to him！ Would not one say he was speaking of a religious community？
“La Vieuville，” said he， “take my place； I must speak to M. de Tréville on an affair of importance. Ah， I had eighty louis before me； put down the same sum， so that they who have lost may have nothing to complain of—justice before everything.” Then turning towards M. de Tréville， and walking with him towards the embrasure of a window，
“Well， monsieur，” continued he， “you say it is his Eminence’s guards who sought a quarrel with your musketeers？”
“Yes， sir， as they always do.”
“And how did the thing happen？ Let us see， for you know， my dear captain， a judge must hear both sides.”
“Good Lord！ in the most simple and natural manner possible. Three of my best soldiers， whom your Majesty knows by name， and whose devotion you have more than once appreciated， and who have， I can assure the king， his service much at heart—three of my best soldiers， I say—Athos， Porthos， and Aramis—had made a party of pleasure with a young cadet from Gascony， whom I had introduced to them the same morning. The party was to take place at St. Germain， I believe， and they had appointed to meet at the Carmes-Deschaux， when they were disturbed by De Jussac， Cahusac， Bicarat， and two other guards， who certainly did not go there in a body without some ill intention against the edicts.”
“Ah， ah！ you incline me to think so，” said the king. “There is no doubt they went thither with the intention of fighting.”
“I do not accuse them， sire； but I leave your Majesty to judge what five armed men could possibly be going to do in such a retired spot as the environs of the Convent des Carmes.”
“You are right， Tréville， you are right！”
“Then， upon seeing my musketeers， they changed their minds， and forgot their private hatred for their corps feuds； for your Majesty cannot be ignorant that the musketeers， who belong to the king， and to nobody but the king， are the natural enemies of the guards， who belong to the cardinal.”
“Yes， Tréville， yes，” said the king in a melancholy tone； “and it is very sad， believe me， to see thus two parties in France， two heads to royalty. But all this will come to an end， Tréville， will come to an end. You say， then， that the guards sought a quarrel with the musketeers？”
“I say that it is probable that things did happen thus， but I will not swear to it， sire. You know how difficult it is to discover the truth； and unless a man be endowed with that admirable instinct which causes Louis XIII to be termed the Just—”
“You are right， Tréville. But they were not alone， your musketeers； they had a youth with them？”
“Yes， sire， and one wounded man； so that three of the king’s musketeers—one of whom was wounded—and a youth not only maintained their ground against five of the most terrible of his Eminence’s guards， but absolutely brought four of them to the earth.”
“Why， this is a victory！” cried the king， glowing with delight， “a complete victory！”
“Yes， sire； as complete as that of the Bridge of Cé.”
“Four men， one of them wounded， and a youth， say you？”
“One scarcely a grown man， but who， however， behaved himself so admirably on this occasion that I will take the liberty of recommending him to your Majesty.”
“What is his name？”
“D’Artagnan， sire； he is the son of one of my oldest friends—the son of a man who served under your father of glorious memory in the civil war.”
“And you say that this young man behaved himself well？ Tell me how， De Tréville， you know how I delight in accounts of war and fights.”
And Louis XIII twirled his moustache proudly and placed his hand upon his hip.
“Sire，” resumed Tréville， “as I told you， M. d’Artagnan is little more than a boy， and as he has not the honour of being a musketeer， he was dressed as a private citizen. The guards of the cardinal， perceiving his youth， and still more that he did not belong to the corps， urged him to retire before they made the attack.”
“So you may plainly see， Tréville，” interrupted the king， “it was they who attacked？”
“That is true， sire； there can be no more doubt on that head. They called upon him， then， to retire， but he answered that he was a musketeer at heart， entirely devoted to your Majesty， and that he would therefore remain with the musketeers.”
“Brave young man！” murmured the king.“Well， he did remain with them； and your Majesty has in him so firm a champion that it was he who gave Jussac the terrible sword-thrust which has made the cardinal so angry.”
“He who wounded Jussac！” cried the king—“he， a boy！ Tréville， that’s impossible！”
“It is as I have the honour to relate it to your Majesty.”
“Jussac， one of the first swordsmen in the kingdom？”
