When the king, like all the people in the world who are in love, had long
and attentively watched disappear in the distance the carriage which bore
away his mistress; when he had turned and turned again a hundred times to
the same side and had at length succeeded in somewhat calming the
agitation of his heart and thoughts, he recollected that he was not
alone. The officer still held the horse by the bridle, and had not lost
all hope of seeing the king recover his resolution. He had still the
resource of mounting and riding after the carriage; they would have lost
nothing by waiting a little. But the imagination of the lieutenant of
the musketeers was too rich and too brilliant; it left far behind it that
of the king, who took care not to allow himself to be carried away to
such excess. He contented himself with approaching the officer, and in
a doleful voice, "Come," said he, "let us be gone; all is ended. To
horse!"

The officer imitated this carriage, this slowness, this sadness, and
leisurely mounted his horse. The king pushed on sharply, the
lieutenant followed him. At the bridge Louis turned around for the last
time. The lieutenant, patient as a god who has eternity behind and
before him, still hoped for a return of energy. But it was groundless,
nothing appeared. Louis gained the street which led to the castle, and
entered as seven was striking. When the king had returned, and the
musketeer, who saw everything, had seen a corner of the tapestry over
the cardinal's window lifted up, he breathed a profound sigh, like a man
unloosed from the tightest bonds, and said in a low voice:

"Now then, my officer, I hope that it is over."

The king summoned his gentleman. "Please to understand I shall receive
nobody before two o'clock," said he.