de Roncherolles, who was sent with your majesty's musketeers, has remitted me some papers," replied Colbert.
"I will look at them.

Give me your hand." "My hand, sire!" "Yes, that I may place it in that of M.d'Artagnan.

In fact, M.
d'Artagnan," added he, with a smile, turning towards the soldier, who, at sight of the clerk, had resumed his haughty attitude, "you do not know this man; make his acquaintance." And he pointed to Colbert.

"He has been made but a moderately valuable servant in subaltern positions, but he will be a great man if I raise him to the foremost rank." "Sire!" stammered Colbert, confused with pleasure and fear.
"I always understood why," murmured D'Artagnan in the king's ear; "he was jealous." "Precisely, and his jealousy confined his wings." "He will henceforward be a winged-serpent," grumbled the musketeer, with a remnant of hatred against his recent adversary.
But Colbert, approaching him, offered to his eyes a physiognomy so different from that which he had been accustomed to see him wear; he appeared so good, so mild, so easy; his eyes took the expression of an intelligence so noble, that D'Artagnan, a connoisseur in physiognomies, was moved, and almost changed in his convictions.

Colbert pressed his hand.
"That which the king has just told you, monsieur, proves how well his majesty is acquainted with men.