"As at present? yes, sire."

The king walked several times up and down his chamber; it was very plain
that he burned with a desire to speak, but that he was restrained by some
fear or other. The lieutenant, standing motionless, hat in hand, watched
him making these evolutions, and, whilst looking at him, grumbled to
himself, biting his mustache:

"He has not half a crown worth of resolution! _Parole d'honneur!_ I
would lay a wager he does not speak at all!"

The king continued to walk about, casting from time to time a side glance
at the lieutenant. "He is the very image of his father," continued the
latter, in is secret soliloquy, "he is at once proud, avaricious, and
timid. The devil take his master, say I."

The king stopped. "Lieutenant," said he.

"I am here, sire."

"Why did you cry out this evening, down below in the _salons_ - 'The
king's service! His majesty's musketeers!'"

"Because you gave me the order, sire."

"I?"

"Yourself."

"Indeed, I did not say a word, monsieur."