Monk did all in his power not to betray his thought, but D'Artagnan watched him with too close attention not to detect an almost imperceptible flush upon his face. "Well, now, for my part," said he, with the most natural air possible, "I am not an enemy of jesting, my dear Monsieur d'Artagnan; my soldiers will tell you that even many times in camp, I listened very indifferently, and with a certain pleasure, to the satirical songs which the army of Lambert passed into mine, and which, certainly, would have caused the ears of a general more susceptible than I am to tingle."
"Oh, my lord," said D'Artagnan, "I know you are a complete man; I know you have been, for a long time, placed above human miseries; but there are jests and jests of a certain kind, which have the power of irritating me beyond expression."
"May I inquire what kind, my friend?"
"Such as are directed against my friends or against people I respect, my lord!"
Monk made a slight movement, which D'Artagnan perceived. "Eh! and in what," asked Monk, "in what can the stroke of a pin which scratches another tickle your skin? Answer me that."
"My lord, I can explain it to you in a single sentence; it concerns you."
Monk advanced a single step towards D'Artagnan. "Concerns me?" said he.
"Yes, and this is what I cannot explain; but that arises, perhaps, from my want of knowledge of his character. How can the king have the heart to jest about a man who has rendered him so many and such great services? How can one understand that he should amuse himself in setting by the ears a lion like you with a gnat like me?"
"I cannot conceive that in any way," said Monk.
"But so it is. The king, who owed me a reward, might have rewarded me as a soldier, without contriving that history of the ransom, which affects you, my lord."
"No," said Monk, laughing: "it does not affect me in any way, I can assure you."
"Not as regards me, I can understand; you know me, my lord, I am so discreet that the grave would appear a babbler compared to me; but - do you understand, my lord?"
"No," replied Monk, with persistent obstinacy.
"If another knew the secret which I know - "
"What secret?"
"Eh! my lord, why, that unfortunate secret of Newcastle."
"Oh! the million of the Comte de la Fere?"
"No, my lord, no; the enterprise made upon your grace's person."
"It was well played, chevalier, that is all, and no more is to be said about it: you are a soldier, both brave and cunning, which proves that you unite the qualities of Fabius and Hannibal. You employed your means, force and cunning: there is nothing to be said against that: I ought to have been on guard."
"Ah! yes; I know, my lord, and I expected nothing less from your partiality; so that if it were only the abduction in itself, _Mordioux!_ that would be nothing; but there are - "
"What?"
"The circumstances of that abduction."
"What circumstances?"
"Oh! you know very well what I mean, my lord."
"No, curse me if I do."
"There is - in truth, it is difficult to speak it."
"There is?"
"Well, there is that devil of a box!"
Monk colored visibly. "Well, I have forgotten it."
"Deal box," continued D'Artagnan, "with holes for the nose and mouth. In truth, my lord, all the rest was well; but the box, the box! that was really a coarse joke." Monk fidgeted about in his chair. "And, notwithstanding my having done that," resumed D'Artagnan, "I, a soldier of fortune, it was quite simple, because by the side of that action, a little inconsiderate I admit, which I committed, but which the gravity of the case may excuse, I am circumspect and reserved."
"Oh!" said Monk, "believe me, I know you well, Monsieur d'Artagnan, and I appreciate you."
D'Artagnan never took his eyes off Monk; studying all which passed in the mind of the general, as he prosecuted _his idea_. "But it does not concern me," resumed he.
"Well, then, who does it concern?" said Monk, who began to grow a little impatient.
"It relates to the king, who will never restrain his tongue."
"Well! and suppose he should say all he knows?" said Monk, with a degree of hesitation.
"My lord," replied D'Artagnan, "do not dissemble, I implore you, with a man who speaks so frankly as I do. You have a right to feel your susceptibility excited, however benignant it may be. What, the devil! it is not the place for a man like you, a man who plays with crowns and scepters as a Bohemian plays with his balls; it is not the place of a serious man, I said, to be shut up in a box like some freak of natural history; for you must understand it would make all your enemies ready to burst with laughter, and you are so great, so noble, so generous, that you must have many enemies. This secret is enough to set half the human race laughing, if you were represented in that box. It is not decent to have the second personage in the kingdom laughed at."
Monk was quite out of countenance at the idea of seeing himself represented in this box. Ridicule, as D'Artagnan had judiciously foreseen, acted upon him in a 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!"
