he took his part, knowing very well how to do without the other.

Now, he was leaning, as we have said, against the carved door-frame when
the melancholy, weary eyes of the king, by chance, met his.

It was not the first time, as it appeared, that the eyes of the officer
had met those eyes, and he was perfectly acquainted with the expression
of them; for, as soon as he had cast his own look upon the countenance of
Louis XIV., and had read by it what was passing in his heart - that is to
say, all the _ennui_ that oppressed him - all the timid desire to go out
which agitated him, - he perceived he must render the king a service
without his commanding it, - almost in spite of himself. Boldly,
therefore, as if he had given the word of command to cavalry in battle,
"On the king's service!" cried he, in a clear, sonorous voice.

At these words, which produced the effect of a peal of thunder,
prevailing over the orchestra, the singing and the buzz of the
promenaders, the cardinal and the queen-mother looked at each other
with surprise.

Louis XIV., pale, but resolved, supported as he was by that intuition of
his own thought which he had found in the mind of the officer of
musketeers, and which he had just manifested by the order given, arose
from his chair, and took a step towards the door.

"Are you going, my son?" said the queen, whilst Mazarin satisfied himself
with interrogating by a look which might have appeared mild if it had not
been so piercing.

"Yes, madame," replied the king; "I am fatigued, and, besides, wish to