Milady had more than once terrified him. He felt something like a secret joy at being forever relieved of this dangerous accomplice.
Richelieu slowly tore the paper which d’Artagnan had generously relinquished.
I am lost! said d’Artagnan to himself. And he bowed profoundly before the cardinal, like a man who says, “Lord, Thy will be done!”
The cardinal approached the table, and without sitting down, wrote a few lines upon a parchment of which two-thirds were already filled, and affixed his seal.
That is my condemnation , thought d’Artagnan; he will spare me the ennui of the Bastille, or the tediousness of a trial. That’s very kind of him.
“Here, Monsieur,” said the cardinal to the young man. “I have taken from you one carte blanche to give you another. The name is wanting in this commission; you can write it yourself.”
D’Artagnan took the paper hesitatingly and cast his eyes over it; it was a lieutenant’s commission in the Musketeers.
D’Artagnan fell at the feet of the cardinal.
“Monseigneur,” said he, “my life is yours; henceforth dispose of it. But this favor which you bestow upon me I do not merit. I have three friends who are more meritorious and more worthy—”
“You are a brave youth, d’Artagnan,” interrupted the cardinal, tapping him familiarly on the shoulder, charmed at having vanquished this rebellious nature. “Do with this commission what you will; only remember, though the name be blank, it is to you I give it.”