"Sire, I have, as I have said, now served the house of France thirty-five
years; few people have worn out so many swords in that service as I have,
and the swords I speak of were good swords, too, sire. I was a boy,
ignorant of everything except courage, when the king your father guessed
that there was a man in me. I was a man, sire, when the Cardinal de
Richelieu, who was a judge of manhood, discovered an enemy in me. Sire,
the history of that enmity between the ant and the lion may be read from
the first to the last line, in the secret archives of your family. If
ever you feel an inclination to know it, do so, sire; the history is
worth the trouble - it is I who tell you so. You will there read that
the lion, fatigued, harassed, out of breath, at length cried for quarter,
and the justice must be rendered him to say, that he gave as much as he
required. Oh! those were glorious times, sire, strewed over with battles
like one of Tasso's or Ariosto's epics. The wonders of those times, to
which the people of ours would refuse belief, were every-day
occurrences. For five years together, I was a hero every day; at least,
so I was told by persons of judgment; and that is a long period for
heroism, trust me, sire, a period of five years. Nevertheless, I have
faith in what these people told me, for the were good judges. They were
named M. de Richelieu, M. de Buckingham, M. de Beaufort, M. de Retz, a
mighty genius himself in street warfare, - in short, the king, Louis
XIII., and even the queen, your noble mother, who one day condescended to
say, '_Thank you_.' I don't know what service I had had the good fortune
to render her. Pardon me, sire, for speaking so boldly; but what I
relate to you, as I have already had the honor to tell your majesty, is
history."
The king bit his lips, and threw himself violently on a chair.

"I appear importunate to your majesty," said the lieutenant. "Eh! sire,