“I?” said D’Artagnan; “nothing.” And he read,
“You have not answered my first note. Are you indisposed, or have you forgot the glances you gave me at Madame de

Guise’s ball? You have an opportunity now, Count; do not allow it to escape.”
D’Artagnan became very pale.
“Poor dear Monsieur D’Artagnan!” said Kitty, in a voice full of compassion, and pressing the young man’s hand

again.
“You pity me, my kind little creature?” said D’Artagnan.
“That I do, and with all my heart, for I know what it is to be in love.”
“You know what it is to be in love?” said D’Artagnan, looking at her for the first time with some attention.
“Alas, yes.”
“Well, then, instead of pitying me you would do much better to assist me in wreaking my revenge on your mistress.

”
“And what sort of revenge would you take?”
“I would triumph over her, and supplant my rival.”
“I will never help you in that, Chevalier,” said Kitty warmly.
“Why not?”
“For two reasons.”
“What are they?”
“The first is, that my mistress will never love you. The second reason, Chevalier is, that in love, every one for

herself!”
Then only D’Artagnan remembered Kitty’s languishing glances and stifled sigh; how she constantly met him in the

antechamber, in the corridor, or on the stairs; how she touched him with her hand every time she met him. But

absorbed by his desire to please the great lady, he had disdained the maid. He who hunts the eagle heeds not the

sparrow.
But this time our Gascon saw at a glance all the advantage that he might derive from the love which Kitty had just

confessed so na?vely, or so boldly—the interception of letters addressed to the Comte de Wardes, bits of secret

information, entrance at all hours into Kitty’s chamber, which was near her mistress’s. The perfidious fellow,

as may be seen, was already sacrificing in idea the poor girl to obtain milady willingly or by force.
“Well, my dear Kitty,” said he to the young girl, “do you want me to give you a proof of that love of which you

doubt?”
“What love?” asked the girl.
“Of that which I am ready to feel for you.”
“And what proof is that?”
“Do you want me to spend with you this evening the time I generally spend with your mistress?”
“Oh yes!” said Kitty, clapping her hands, “indeed I do.”
“Well, then, my dear girl,” said D’Artagnan, establishing himself in an armchair, “come here and let me tell

you that you are the prettiest maid I ever saw.”
And he told her so much, and so well, that the poor girl, who asked nothing better than to believe him, believed

him. Nevertheless, to D’Artagnan’s great astonishment, the pretty Kitty defended herself with considerable

resolution.
Time passes very rapidly in attacks and repulses.
Twelve o’clock struck, and almost at the same time the bell was rung in milady’s chamber.
“Great Heavens!” cried Kitty, “there is my mistress calling me! Go, go quick!”
D’Artagnan rose, took his hat as if it had been his intention to obey; then quickly opening the door of a large

wardrobe, instead of the door of the staircase, he crouched down in the midst of milady’s robes and dressing-

gowns.
“What are you doing?” cried Kitty.
D’Artagnan, who had secured the key, locked himself into the wardrobe without replying.
“Well,” cried milady, in a sharp voice, “are you asleep, that you don’t answer when I ring?”
And D’Artagnan heard the communicating door open violently.
“Here I am, milady, here I am!” cried Kitty, springing forward to meet her mistress.
Both went into the bedroom, and as the door remained open, D’Artagnan could hear milady for some time scolding

her maid. Then at last she grew cooler, and the conversation turned upon him while Kitty was assisting her

mistress to undress.
“Well,” said milady, “I have not seen our Gascon this evening.”
“What, milady! has he not been here?” said Kitty. “Could he be inconstant before having been made happy?”
“Oh no; he must have been prevented by M. de Tréville or M. des Essarts. I understand my game, Kitty. I have him

safe.”
“What are you going to do with him, madame?”
“Do with him? O Kitty, there is something between that man and me that he is quite ignorant of. He very nearly

made me lose my credit with his Eminence. Oh, I will be revenged for that!”
“I thought you loved him.”
“Love him? I detest him—a fool, who held Lord Winter’s life in his hands and did not kill him, so that I missed

three hundred thousand livres a year!”
“That’s true,” said Kitty; “your son was his uncle’s only heir, and until his coming of age you would have

had the enjoyment of his fortune.”
D’Artagnan shuddered to his very marrow at hearing this gentle creature reproach him in that sharp voice, which

she took such pains to conceal in conversation, for not having killed a man whom he had seen load her with

kindnesses.
“Therefore,” continued milady, “I should long ago have had my revenge on him, if the cardinal—I don’t know

why—had not requested me to treat him kindly.”
“Oh yes; but you have not treated very kindly the little woman he was so fond of.”
“What! the mercer’s wife of the Rue des Fossoyeurs? Has he not already forgotten she ever existed? Fine

vengeance that, ’pon my word!”
A cold sweat broke from D’Artagnan’s brow. This woman was a monster!
He resumed his listening, but unfortunately the toilet was completed.
“That will do,” said milady. “Go into your own room, and to-morrow try again to get for me an answer to the

letter I gave you.”
“For M. de Wardes?” said Kitty.

“To be sure; for M. de Wardes.”
“He is a man,” said Kitty, “who appears to be quite different from that poor M. d’Artagnan.”
“Go to bed, miss,” said milady; “I don’t like comments.”
D’Artagnan heard the door close, then the noise of two bolts by which milady fastened herself in. Kitty on her

side, as softly as possible, turned the key of the lock, and then D’Artagnan opened the closet door.
“O Heavens!” said Kitty, in a low voice, “what is the matter with you? How pale you are!”
“The abominable creature!” murmured D’Artagnan.
“Silence, silence! do go!” said Kitty. “There is nothing but a thin partition between my chamber and milady’s;

every word spoken in one can be heard in the other.”
“That’s just the reason I won’t go,” said D’Artagnan.
“What!” said Kitty, blushing.
“Or, at least, I will go—later.”
And he drew Kitty to him. There was no way to resist—resistance makes so much noise. Therefore Kitty yielded.

This was an impulse of vengeance on milady. D’Artagnan realized the truth of the saying that vengeance is the

delight of the gods. Therefore, with a little natural affection, he might have been satisfied with this new

conquest; but D’Artagnan knew only ambition and pride.
However, it must be said to his praise that the first use he made of his influence over Kitty was to try to learn

from her what had become of Madame Bonacieux; but the poor girl swore on the crucifix to D’Artagnan that she was

entirely ignorant in regard to that, her mistress never letting her know half her secrets. Only she believed she

could say she was not dead.
D’Artagnan came the next day to milady’s. As she was in a very ill humour, he suspected that the lack of an

answer from M. de Wardes provoked her to be so. Kitty came in, but milady was very cross with her. She glanced at

D’Artagnan, as much as to say, “See how I suffer on your account!”
Toward the end of the evening, however, the beautiful lioness became milder. She smilingly listened to D’Artagnan

’s soft speeches; she even gave him her hand to kiss.
When D’Artagnan took his departure he scarcely knew what to think; but as he was a youth not easily carried away

by his emotions, even while he was continuing to pay court to milady he framed a little plan.
He found Kitty at the gate, and, as on the evening before, went up to her chamber. Kitty had been severely

scolded; she was charged with negligence. Milady coud not at all understand the Comte de Wardes’s silence, and

she ordered Kitty to come at nine o’clock in the morning to take a third letter to him.
D’Artagnan made Kitty promise to bring him that letter on the following morning. The poor girl promised all her

lover desired; she was madly in love.
Everything occurred as it had the night before. D’Artagnan concealed himself in his wardrobe, milady called,

undressed, sent Kitty away, and shut the door. As before, D’Artagnan returned home at five o’clock in the

morning.
At eleven o’clock he saw Kitty coming; she held in her hand a fresh note from milady. This time the poor girl did

not even hesitate at giving up the note to D’Artagnan. She let him do as he pleased. She belonged, body and soul,

to her handsome soldier.
D’Artagnan opened the letter, and read as follows:
“This is the third time I have written to you to tell you that I love you. Beware lest I write to you a fourth

time to tell you that I detest you.
“If you repent of the manner in which you have treated me, the young girl who brings you this note will tell you

how a gentleman may obtain his pardon.”
D’Artagnan coloured and grew pale several times as he read this note.
“Oh, you love her still,” said Kitty, who had not for an instant taken her eyes off the young man’s face.
“No, Kitty, you are mistaken; I do not love her, but I wish to revenge myself for her contempt of me.”
“Oh yes, I knew your vengeance! You told me!”
“What difference does it make to you, Kitty? You know I love only you.”
“How can I be sure of that?”
“By the contempt I will cast on her.”
D’Artagnan took a pen and wrote,
“Madame,—Until the present moment I could not believe that you two first letters were addressed to me, so

unworthy did I feel myself of such an honour; besides, I was so seriously indisposed that I should, in any case,

have hesitated to reply to them.
“But now I must believe in the excess of your kindness, since not only your letter but your servant assures me

that I have the good fortune to be loved by you.
“She has no occasion to teach me the way in which a gentleman may obtain his pardon. I will come and ask mine at

eleven o’clock this evening.
“To delay it a single day would be, in my eyes, now to commit a fresh offence.
“He whom you have rendered the happiest of men,
“Comte de Wardes.
”D’Artagnan’s plan was very simple. By Kitty’s chamber he could gain her mistress’s. He would take advantage

of the first moment of surprise, shame, and terror to triumph over her.
The campaign was to open in a week, and he would be compelled to leave Paris. D’Artagnan had no time for a

prolonged love-making.
“There!” said the young man, handing Kitty the letter sealed and addressed; “give this note to milady. It is

the Comte de Wardes’s reply.”
Poor Kitty turned deathly pale: she suspected what the letter contained.
“But what does your note say?”
“Milady will tell you.”
“Ah, you do not love me,” cried Kitty, “and I am very wretched.”
To such a reproach there is one answer that always deceives women. D’Artagnan replied in a way that left Kitty

entirely convinced. Yet she wept a great deal before she could make up her mind to give the letter to milady. But

at last she decided to do so, and that was all that D’Artagnan wanted.
Besides, he promised her that he would leave her mistress early that evening, and on coming out of the parlour

would go up to Kitty’s room. This promise completely consoled poor Kitty.

Chapter 29 - Which Treats of the Outfit of Aramis and Porthos
Since the four friends had each been outfit-hunting they had had no regular meeting. They dined separately

wherever they happened to be, or rather wherever they might find a dinner. Military duty likewise claimed its

share of the precious time that was gliding away so swiftly.
They had agreed, however, to meet once a week about one o’clock at Athos’s.
The day that Kitty went to see D’Artagnan was the day for their reunion.
Kitty had barely left him before D’Artagnan directed his steps towards the Rue Férou.
Porthos arrived a minute after D’Artagnan. Thus the four friends were all assembled.
Their four faces expressed four different feelings—Porthos’s, tranquillity; D’Artagnan’s, hope; Aramis’s,

anxiety; and Athos’s, carelessness.
Bazin made his appearance at the door.
“What do you want of me, my friend?” said Aramis, with that mildness of language which was observable in him

every time that this ideas led toward the church.
“A man is waiting for you at home,” replied Bazin.
“Has he sent no special message for me?”
“Yes. ‘If M. Aramis hesitates to come,’ he said, ‘tell him I am from Tours.’ ”
“From Tours!” cried Aramis. “A thousand pardons, gentlemen, but no doubt this man brings me the news I

expected.”
And instantly arising, he went off at a quick pace.
We will therefore leave the friends, who had nothing very important to say to each other, and follow Aramis.
On the news that the person wanted to speak to him came from Tours, we saw with what rapidity the young man

followed or rather hastened ahead of Bazin: he ran without stopping from the Rue Férou to the Rue de Vaugirard.
On entering, he found a man of short stature and intelligent eyes, but covered with rags.
“Did you ask for me?” said the musketeer.
“I wish to speak with Monsieur Aramis. Is that your name, sir?”
“Yes. You have brought me something?”
“Yes, if you can show me a certain embroidered handkerchief.”
“Here it is,” said Aramis, taking a key from his breast, and opening a litte ebony box inlaid with mother-of-

pearl—“here it is—look!”
The mendicant cast a rapid glance around him, in order to be sure that nobody could either see or hear him, and

opening his ragged jacket, badly held together by a leather strap, he began to rip the upper part of his doublet,

and drew a letter from it.
Aramis uttered a cry of joy at the sight of the seal, kissed the superscription, and with almost religious respect

opened the letter, which contained the following:
“Love—Fate wills that we should be still for some time separated; but the delightful days of youth are not lost

beyond return. Perform your duty in camp; I will do mine elsewhere. Accept what the bearer brings you; take part

in the campaign like a true gentleman, and think of me, who tenderly kiss your black eyes!
“Adieu! or, rather, au revoir!”
The mendicant kept ripping. He drew one by one from out his rags a hundred and fifty Spanish double pistoles, and

laid them down on the table. The he opened the door, bowed, and went out before the young man, stupefied, had a

chance to address a word to him.
Aramis then re-read the letter, and perceived there was a postscript.
“P.S.—You may welcome the bearer, who is a count and a grandee of Spain.”
And he passionately kissed the letter, without even looking at the gold sparkling on the table.
Bazin was dazed at the sight of the gold, and forgot that he was coming to announce D’Artagnan, who, curious to

know who the mendicant was, came to Aramis’s residence on leaving Athos’s.
Now, as D’Artagnan used no ceremony with Aramis, when he saw that Bazin forgot to announce him, he announced

himself.
“The devil! my dear Aramis,” said D’Artagnan, “if these are the prunes that are sent to you from Tours, you

will make my compliments to the gardener who gathers them.”
“You are mistaken, my dear,” said Aramis, who was always discreet; “my bookseller has just sent me the price of

that poem in one-syllable verse which I began yonder.”
And having put two or three double pistoles into his pocket to answer the needs of the moment, he locked the

others in the ebony box inlaid with mother-of-pearl, where he kept the famous handkerchief which served him as a

talisman.

Chapter 30 - At Night all Cats are Grey
The evening so impatiently awaited by D’Artagnan at length arrived. D’Artagnan, as usual, presented himself

about nine o’clock at milady’s house. He found her in a charming humour. Never had she received him so kindly.

Our Gascon saw at the first glance that his note had been delivered and was doing its work.
Kitty entered, bringing some sherbet. Her mistress was very pleasant to her, and greeted her with her most

gracious smile.
At ten o’clock milady began to appear uneasy. D’Artagnan understood what it meant. She looked at the clock, got

up, sat down again, and smiled at D’Artagnan as much as to say, “You are doubtless very likeable, but you would

be charming if you would go away.”
D’Artagnan rose and took his hat; milady gave him her hand to kiss. The young man felt that she pressed his hand,

and he understood that she did so, not out of coquetry, but from a feeling of gratitude at his departure.
This time Kitty was not waiting for him, either in the anteroom, or in the corridor, or under the gateway. D’

Artagnan was obliged alone to find the staircase and the little chamber. Kitty was sitting down, her head hidden

in her hands, and was weeping.
She heard D’Artagnan enter, but did not raise her head at all. The young man went up to her, took her hands; then

she burst out into sobs.
As D’Artagnan had supposed, milady, on receiving the letter, had, in the delirium of her joy, told her maid

everything. Then, as a reward for the manner in which she had this time done her errand, she had given Kitty a

purse.
On returning to her room Kitty had flung the purse into a corner, where it was lying wide open, disgorging three

or four gold coins on the carpet.
The poor girl lifted her head at D’Artagnan’s caresses. He was terrified at the change in her countenance. She

clasped her hands supplicatingly, but without venturing to speak a word.
At last, as the time for the interview with the count drew near, milady had all the lights extinguished, and

dismissed Kitty with an injunction to introduce De Wardes the moment he arrived.
Kitty was not kept waiting long. Scarcely had D’Artagnan seen that the whole apartment was in darkness, when he

sprang from his hiding-place just as Kitty was closing the door.
“What is that noise?” asked milady.
“It is I, the Comte de Wardes,” replied D’Artagnan in a whisper.
“Well,” said milady in a trembling voice, “why do you not come in? Count, count!” added she, “you well know I

am waiting for you.”
At this appeal D’Artagnan pushed Kitty gently aside and darted into the chamber.
“Yes, count,” said milady, in her sweetest voice, and pressing his hand tenderly in hers—“yes, I am happy in

the love which your looks and words have expressed to me each time we have met. I love you also. To-morrow, to-

morrow, I wish some pledge from you to prove to me that you think of me. And lest you forget me, take this!”
She took a ring from her finger and put on D’Artagnan’s.
D’Artagnan remembered seeing that ring on milady’s hand. It was a magnificent sapphire encircled by brilliants.
At that moment he felt ready to reveal everything. He opened his mouth to tell milady who he was, and with what

revengeful purpose he had come, when she added,
“Poor dear angel, whom that monster of a Gascon came so near killing!”
The monster was himself!
“Do you suffer still from your wounds?” continued she.
“Yes, a great deal,” said D’Artagnan, hardly knowing what to answer.
“Be assured,” murmured she, “I will avenge you, and cruelly.”
D’Artagnan needed some time to recover from this short dialogue. But all the ideas of vengeance he had brought

had vanished completely. This woman exercised over him an unaccountable fascination: he hated her and adored her

at the same moment.
But one o’clock had just struck, and they had to separate. D’Artagnan at the moment of leaving milady felt only

a keen regret at departing, and in the passionate farewell they mutually bade each other a new interview was

agreed upon for the following week. Poor Kitty hoped she might say some words to D’Artagnan when he came into her

room; but milady herself guided him through the darkness, and left him only on the staircase.

The next morning D’Artagnan hastened to Athos’s room. He had started on such a strange adventure that he wished

to ask his advice. He told him everything. Athos frowned more than once. “Your milady,” said he, “appears to me

an infamous creature, but none the less you did wrong in deceiving her. Now you have, in one way or another, a

terrible enemy on your hands.”
While talking to him Athos was gazing earnestly at the sapphire surrounded with diamonds which had replaced on D’

Artagnan’s finger the queen’s ring, now carefully kept in a jewel-case.
“You are looking at my ring?” said the Gascon, proud of showing off such a rich gift before his friend.
“Yes,” said Athos; “it reminds me of a family jewel.”
“It is beautiful, isn’t it?” said D’Artagnan.
“Magnificent!” replied Athos. “I did not think there existed two sapphires of such fine water. Did you exchange

it for your diamond?”
“No,” said D’Artagnan; “it is a gift from my beautiful Englishwoman, or rather from my beautiful Frenchwoman,

for though I never have asked her, I am convinced she was born in France.”
“This ring comes from milady!” cried Athos in a tone which revealed great emotion.
“From herself. She gave it to me last night.”
“Show me your ring, I beg of you,” said Athos.
“Here it is,” replied D’Artagnan, drawing it from his finger.
Athos examined it and grew very pale. Then he tried it on the ring-finger of his left hand. It fitted his finger

as if it had been made for it. A shadow of anger and vengeance passed over the nobleman’s brow, usually so calm.
“It is impossible it can be she,” said he. “How could that ring be in Milady Clarick’s possession? And yet it

is very difficult to find such an exact resemblance between two jewels.”
“Do you know that ring?” asked D’Artagnan.
“I thought I did,” said Athos; “but no doubt I was mistaken.”
And he gave it back to D’Artagnan, without ceasing, however, to eye it.
“Come, D’Artagnan,” said he after a moment, “take that ring off your finger, or turn the stone inside. It

brings up to me such cruel memories that I could not keep cool enough to talk with you. Didn’t you come to ask

advice of me? Didn’t you tell me you were in doubt what to do? But stop! let me take that sapphire again. The one

I mentioned had one of its facets scratched in consequence of an accident.”
D’Artagnan took the ring again from his finger and gave it to Athos.
Athos shuddered. “Ha!” said he; “look, isn’t it strange?” And he showed D’Artagnan the scratches he

remembered should be there.
“But from whom did you get this sapphire, Athos?”
“From my mother. As I tell you, it is an old family jewel, which never was to leave the family.”
“And you—sold it?” asked D’Artagnan hesitatingly.
“No,” replied Athos, with a singular smile; “I gave it away in a night of love, as it was given to you.”
D’Artagnan became thoughtful in his turn. He seemed to see in milady’s soul abysses the depths of which were

full of darkness and mystery. He took back the ring, but put it in his pocket and not on his finger.
On reaching home D’Artagnan found Kitty waiting for him. A month of fever would not have changed the poor girl

more than that night of sleeplessness and grief.
She was sent by her mistress to the false De Wardes. Her mistress was mad with love, intoxicated with joy. She

wished to know when her lover would meet her again. And poor Kitty, pale and trembling, awaited D’Artagnan’s

reply.
As his reply he took a pen and wrote the following letter:
“Do not depend upon me, madame, for the next meeting. Since my convalescence I have so many affairs of this kind

on my hands that I am compelled to take them in a certain order. When your turn comes, I shall have the honour to

inform you of it. I kiss your hands.
“Comte de Wardes.”
D’Artagnan handed the open letter to Kitty, who at first was unable to comprehend it, but who became almost wild

with joy on reading it a second time. She could scarcely believe her happiness. She ran back to the Place Royale

as fast as her feet could carry her.
Milady opened the letter with eagerness equal to Kitty’s in bringing it. But at the first words she read she

became livid. She crushed the paper in her hand, and turning with flashing eyes on Kitty,
‘What is this letter?” cried she.
“The answer to yours, madame,” replied Kitty, all in a tremble.
“Impossible!” cried milady. “It is impossible that a gentleman could have written such a letter to a woman.”
She ground her teeth; she became ashen pale. She tried to take a step toward the window for air, but she could

only stretch out her arms; her legs failed her, and she sank into an armchair.

Chapter 31 - Dream of Vengeance
That evening milady gave orders that when M. d’Artagnan came as usual, he should be immediately admitted. But he

did not come.
The next day Kitty went to see the young man again, and related to him all that had passed the evening before. D’

Artagnan smiled. Milady’s jealous anger was his revenge.
That evening milady was still more impatient than on the preceding one. She renewed the order relative to the

Gascon; but, as before, she expected him in vain.
The next morning, when Kitty presented herself at D’Artagnan’s, she was no longer joyous and alert, as she had

been on the two preceding days, but, on the contrary, melancholy as death.
D’Artagnan asked the poor girl what was the matter; but her only reply was to draw a letter from her pocket and

give it to him.
This letter was in milady’s handwriting, only this time it was addressed to D’Artagnan, and not to M. de Wardes.
He opened it and read as follows:
“Dear Monsieur D’Artagnan,—It is wrong thus to neglect your friends, particularly when you are about to leave

them for such a long time. My brother-in-law and myself expected you yesterday and the day before, but in vain.

Will it be the same this evening?
“Your very grateful
“Lady Clarick.”
“It’s very simple,” said D’Artagnan; “I was expecting this letter. My credit rises by the Comte de Wardes’s

fall.”
Instinct caused poor Kitty to guess a part of what was going to happen. D’Artagnan reassured her as well as he

could, and promised to remain insensible to milady’s seductions. He desired Kitty to tell her mistress that he

was most grateful for her kindnesses, and that he would be obedient to her orders. But he dare not write, for fear

of not being able sufficiently to disguise his writing to deceive such experienced eyes as milady’s.
As nine o’clock was striking, D’Artagnan was at the Place Royale.
Milady assumed the most friendly air possible, and conversed with more than her usual brilliancy. At the same time

the fever, which for an instant had left her, returned to give lustre to her eyes, colour to her cheeks, and

vermilion to her lips. D’Artagnan was again in the presence of the Circe who had before surrounded him with her

enchantment. His love, which he believed to be extinct, but which was only asleep, awoke again in his heart.

Milady smiled, and D’Artagnan felt that he could go to perdition for that smile.
There was a moment when he felt something like remorse.
By degrees milady became more communicative. She asked D’Artagnan if he had a mistress.
“Alas!” said D’Artagnan, with the most sentimental air he could assume, “can you be cruel enough to put such a

question to me— to me who, from the moment I saw you, have only breathed and sighed by reason of you and for you!

”
Milady smiled with a strange smile.
“Then you do love me?” said she.
“Have I any need to tell you so? Have you not perceived it?”
“Yes; but you know the prouder hearts are, the more difficult they are to be won.”
“Oh, difficulties do not frighten me,” said D’Artagnan. “I shrink before nothing but impossibilities.”
“Nothing is impossible,” replied milady, “to true love.”
“Nothing, madame?”
“Nothing,” repeated milady.
D’Artagnan impetuously drew his seat nearer to milady’s.
“Well, now,” she said, “let us see what you should do to prove this love of which you speak.”
“All that could be required of me. Order; I am ready.”
Milady remained thoughtful and apparently undecided for a moment; then, as if appearing to have formed a

resolution,
“I have an enemy,” said she.
“You, madame!” said D’Artagnan, affecting surprise; “is it possible? Heavens! good and beautiful as you are!”
“A mortal enemy.”
“Really?”

“An enemy who has insulted me so cruelly that between him and me it is war to the death. May I count on you as my

ally?”
D’Artagnan at once perceived what the vindictive creature was aiming at.
“You may, madame,” said he, with emphasis. “My arm and my life are yours, as my love is.”
“But,” said milady, “how shall I repay such a service? I know what lovers are: they are men who will not do

anything for nothing.”
“You know the only reply that I desire,” said D’Artagnan—“the only one worthy of you and of me!”
And he drew her gently to him.
She scarcely resisted.
“Selfish man!” cried she, smiling.
“Ah!” cried D’Artagnan, really carried away by the passion this woman had the power to kindle in his heart—

“ah! because my happiness appears so incredible to me, and because I am always afraid of seeing it fly away from

me like a dream, I am anxious to make a reality of it.”
“Well, deserve this pretended happiness, then!”
“I am at your disposal,” said D’Artagnan.
“I love your devotion,” said milady.
“Alas! is that all you love in me?” asked D’Artagnan.
“I love you also—you!” said she, taking his hand.
And the warm pressure made D’Artagnan tremble, as if the fever consuming milady communicated itself to him by the

touch.
“You love me—you!” cried he. “Oh, if that were so, I should lose my reason!”
And he folded her in his arms. She made no effort to avoid the kiss which he pressed upon her lips, only she did

not return it.
Her lips were cold; it appeared to D’Artagnan that he had kissed a statue.
He was not the less intoxicated with joy, electrified by love. He almost believed in milady’s tenderness; he

almost believed in De Wardes’s crime. If De Wardes had at that moment been at hand, he would have killed him.
Milady seized her opportunity.
“His name is—” said she, in her turn.
“De Wardes; I know,” cried D’Artagnan.
“And how do you know?” asked milady, seizing both his hands, and trying to read with her eyes to the bottom of

his heart.
D’Artagnan felt that he had gone too far, and that he had made a mistake.
“Tell me! tell me! tell me, I say!” repeated milady; “how do you know?”
“How do I know?” said D’Artagnan.
“Yes.”
“I know, because yesterday M. de Wardes, in a parlour where I was, displayed a ring which he said you gave him.”
“Scoundrel!” cried milady.
The epithet, as may be easily understood, resounded to the very bottom of D’Artagnan’s heart.
“Well?” continued she.
“Well, I will avenge you of this ‘scoundrel,’ ” replied D’Artagnan, giving himself the airs of Don Japhet of

Armenia.
“Thanks, my brave friend!” cried milady. “And when shall I be avenged?”
“To-morrow—immediately—when you please!”
Milady was about to cry out “immediately,” but she reflected that such precipitation would not be very gracious

toward D’Artagnan.
Besides, she had a thousand precautions to take, a thousand counsels to give to her defender, in order that he

might avoid explanations with the count before witnesses. All this was answered by an expression of D’Artagnan’

s.
“To-morrow,” said he, “you will be avenged.”
She rang the bell. Kitty appeared.
“Go out this way,” said she, opening a small private door, “and come back at eleven o’clock; we will then

finish our conversation. Kitty will conduct you to my chamber.”
The poor girl thought she should faint at hearing these words.
“Well, miss, what are you doing, standing there like a statue? Come, show the chevalier the way; and this evening

at eleven o’clock—you understand!”
“It seems her appointments are all made for eleven o’clock,” thought D’Artagnan. “That’s a fixed habit.”
Milady held out her hand to him, and he kissed it tenderly.
“There, now,” said he, as he withdrew, scarcely heeding Kitty’s reproaches—“there, I must not play the fool.

This woman is certainly very bad. I must be on my guard.”

Chapter 32 - Milady’s Secret
D’Artagnan left the h?tel instead of going up at once to Kitty’s chamber, as she tried to persuade him to do,

and for this he had two reasons: the first, because in this way he avoided reproaches, recriminations, and

entreaties; the second, because he was not sorry to have an opportunity to read his own thoughts, and, if

possible, to fathom this woman’s.
He walked six or seven times round the Place Royale, turning every ten steps to look at the light in milady’s

apartment, which was to be seen through the blinds. It was evident that this time the young woman was not in such

haste to retire to her bedroom as she had been the first.
At length the light disappeared.
With this light was extinguished the last irresolution in D’Artagnan’s heart. He recalled to his mind the

details of the first night, and with beating heart and brain on fire he re-entered the h?tel and rushed up to

Kitty’s chamber.
The young girl, pale as death, and trembling in all her limbs, wished to delay her lover; but milady, listening

intently, had heard the noise made by D’Artagnan, and opening the door,
“Come,” said she.
The door closed after them.
She immediately came close to him again.
We cannot say how long the night seemed to milady, but D’Artagnan imagined he had been with her scarcely two

hours when day began to appear at the window-blinds, and soon invaded the chamber with its pallid light.
Then milady, seeing that D’Artagnan was about to quit her, recalled to his mind for the last time the promise he

had made to avenge her on the Comte de Wardes.
“I am quite ready,” said D’Artagnan; “but in the first place, I should like to be certain of one thing.”
“What?”
“Whether you love me.”
“I have proved to you that I do.”
“Yes, and so I am yours body and soul. But if you love me as you say,” continued he, “do you not feel a little

fear on my account?”
“What have I to fear?”
“Why, that I may be dangerously wounded—even killed.”
“Impossible!” cried milady; “you are such a valiant man, and such an expert swordsman.”
“You would not, then, prefer a means,” resumed D’Artagnan, “which would avenge you all the same, while

rendering the combat useless?”
Milady looked at her lover in silence. The wan light of the first rays of day gave to her clear eyes a strangely

baneful expression.
“Really,” said she, “I believe you are now beginning to hesitate.”
“No, I do not hesitate; but I really pity poor Comte de Wardes, since you have ceased to love him. And it seems

to me that a man must be so severely punished merely by the loss of your love that he needs no other chastisement.

”
“Indeed!” said milady, with a look of some anxiety. “Explain yourself, for I really cannot tell what you mean.

”
And she looked at D’Artagnan, who held her in his arms, while his eyes seemed gradually to turn into flames.
“Yes, I am a man of honour,” said D’Artagnan, determined to end the matter. “and since your love is mine, and

I am sure I possess it— for I do possess it, do I not?”
“Absolutely and entirely. Go on.”
“Well, I feel as if transformed—a confession weighs on my mind.”
“Your confession,” said she, growing paler—“what is this confession of yours?”
“You invited De Wardes on Thursday last to meet you here, in this very room, did you not?”
“I? No, certainly not!” said milady, in a tone so firm and with a face so unconcerned that if D’Artagnan had

not been so absolutely certain he would have doubted.
“Do not tell a lie, my angel!” exclaimed D’Artagnan, smiling; “it would do no good.”
“What do you mean? Speak! You frighten me to death!”
“Oh, reassure yourself; you are not guilty toward me, and I have already pardoned you.”
“What more? what more?”
“De Wardes cannot boast of anything.”
“How so? You yourself told me that my ring—”
“My love, I have your ring. The Duc de Wardes of last Thursday and the D’Artagnan of to-night are one and the

same person.”
The imprudent young man expected to see surprise mixed with shame—a slight storm resolving itself into tears. But

he was strangely mistaken, and his error was of brief duration.
Pale and terrible, milady started up, repulsed D’Artagnan with a violent blow on the chest, and leaped from the

bed. It was then almost broad daylight.

D’Artagnan held her back by her nightdress, of fine India muslin, in order to implore her pardon, but by a

powerful and determined effort she struggled to escape. Then the cambric gave way, leaving her neck bare, and on

one of her beautiful, white, round shoulders D’Artagnan, with an indescribable shock, recognized the fleur-de-

lis, that indelible stamp imprinted by the executioner’s debasing hand.
“Great God!” cried D’Artagnan, loosing his hold of her nightrobe; and he remained on the bed, mute, motionless,

and frozen.
But milady felt herself denounced by his very terror. Doubtless he had seen all. The young man now knew her

secret, her terrible secret, of which every one, except him, was ignorant.
She turned on him, no longer a furious woman, but like a wounded panther.
“Ah, wretch,” she cried, “you have basely betrayed me! And what is worse, you know my secret. You shall die!”
And she flew to a little marquetry casket standing on the toilet-table, opened it with a feverish, trembling hand,

took out of it a small gold-handled poniard with a sharp, slender blade, and then half-naked flung herself on D’

Artagnan with one bound.
Though the young man was brave, as we have seen, he was terrified at her wild face, her horribly staring eyes, her

pale cheeks, her bleeding lips. He crept over to the farther side of the bed as he would have done if a viper had

been crawling toward him, and as his hand, covered with sweat, touched his sword, he drew it from the scabbard.
But without heeding the sword, milady tried to climb on the bed again so that she might stab him, nor did she

desist till she felt the keen point at her throat.
She then tried to seize the blade with her hands; but D’Artagnan kept it free from her grasp, and while

presenting the point, sometimes at her eyes, sometimes at her breast, he slid off the bed, designing to make his

escape by the door leading to Kitty’s apartment.
Milady meantime kept rushing at him with horrible fury, screaming in a blood-curdling manner.
As all this, however, was like a duel, D’Artagnan soon began to recover himself.
“Very well, pretty lady, very well,” said he; “but, by the gods, if you don’t calm yourself, I will mark you

with a second fleur-de-lis on one of those pretty cheeks!”
“Scoundrel! scoundrel!” howled milady.
But D’Artagnan, while approaching the door, kept all the time on the defensive.
At the noise they made, she in overturning the furniture in her efforts to get at him, he in screening himself

behind the furniture to keep out of her reach, Kitty opened the door. D’Artagnan, who had constantly man?uvred to

gain this door, was not more than three paces from it. With one spring he flew from milady’s chamber into the

maid’s, and, quick as lightning, shut the door, against which he leaned with all his weight, while Kitty bolted

it.
“Quick, quick, Kitty!” said D’Artagnan, in a low voice, as soon as the bolts were fast, “let me get out of the

h?tel; for if we leave her time to turn round, she will have me killed by the servants!”
“But you can’t go out so,” said Kitty; “you have hardly any clothes on.”
“That’s true,” said D’Artagnan, then, for the first time, taking note of the costume in which he appeared—

“that’s true. But dress me as well as you are able, only make haste. Think, my dear girl, it’s life and death!

”
Kitty was but too well aware of that. In a moment she muffled him up in a flowered dress, a capacious hood, and a

cloak. She gave him some slippers, which he put on his naked feet, then she conducted him downstairs. It was time.

Milady had already rung her bell, and roused the whole h?tel. The porter had just opened the street door as

milady, only half-dressed, was shouting down from the window,
“Don’t open the door!”

Chapter 33 - How, without Incommoding himself, Athos got his Outfit
The young man made his escape while she was still threatening him with an impotent gesture. At the moment she lost

sight of him milady sank back fainting into her bedroom.
D’Artagnan was so completely upset that, without considering what would become of Kitty, he ran at full speed

across half Paris, and did not stop till he reached Athos’s door.
Grimaud, his eyes swollen with sleep, came to open for him. D’Artagnan darted so violently into the room that he

nearly knocked him over.
In spite of his habitual silence, the poor fellow this time found his tongue.
“Helloa, there!” cried he; “what do you want, you strumpet? What’s your business here, you hussy?”
“Grimaud,” said Athos, coming out of his apartment in a dressing-gown—“Grimaud, I believe you are permitting

yourself to speak?”
“Ah, monsieur, but—”
“Silence!”
Grimaud contented himself with pointing at D’Artagnan.
Athos recognizing his comrade, and phlegmatic as he was, he burst into a laugh made quite excusable by the strange

masquerade before his eyes—hood askew, petticoats falling over shoes, sleeves tucked up, and moustaches stiff

with agitation.
“Don’t laugh, my friend!” cried D’Artagnan; “for Heaven’s sake, don’t laugh, for, on my soul, I tell you it

’s no laughing matter!”
“Well?” said Athos.
“Well,” replied D’Artagnan, bending down to Athos’s ear, and lowering his voice, “milady is marked with a

fleur-de-lis on her shoulder!”
“Ah!” cried the musketeer, as if he had received a ball in his heart.
“Come, now,” said D’Artagnan, “are you sure that the other is dead?”
“The other?” said Athos, in such a stifled voice that D’Artagnan scarcely heard him.
“Yes; she of whom you told me one day at Amiens.”
Athos uttered a groan and let his head sink into his hands.
“This one is a woman of from twenty-six to twenty-eight years of age.”
“Fair,” said Athos, “is she not?”
“Very.”
“Clear, blue eyes, of a strange brilliancy, with black eyelashes and eyebrows?”
“Yes.”
“Tall, well-made? She has lost a tooth, next to the eye-tooth on the left?”
“Yes.”
“The fleur-de-lis is small, rose-coloured, and somewhat faint from the coat of paste applied to it?”
“Yes.”
“But you say she is an Englishwoman?”
“She is called milady, but she may be French. Lord Winter is only her brother-in-law.”
“I will see her, D’Artagnan!” and he rang the bell.
Grimaud entered.
Athos made him a sign to go to D’Artagnan’s residence and bring back some clothes.
Grimaud replied by another sign that he understood perfectly, and set off.
“Come, now, my dear friend, but this does not help toward your equipment,” said Athos, “for if I am not

mistaken, you have left all your clothes at milady’s, and she certainly will not have the politeness to return

them to you. Fortunately, you have the sapphire.”
“The sapphire is yours, my dear Athos! Did you not tell me it was a family ring?”
“Yes; my father gave two thousand crowns for it, as he once told me. It formed part of the wedding present he

made my mother, and it is magnificent. My mother gave it to me; and I, madman that I was, instead of keeping the

ring as a holy relic, gave it to that wretched woman.”
“Then, my dear, take back your ring, to which, it is plain, you attach much value.”
“I take back the ring after it has passed through that infamous creature’s hands! Never! D’Artagnan, this ring

is defiled.”
“Sell it, then.”
“Sell a jewel that came from my mother! I confess I should regard it as a sacrilege.”
“Pawn it, then. You can raise at least a thousand crowns on it. With such a sum you will be master of the

situation. Then, when you get more money, you can redeem it, and have it back cleansed from its stains, for it

will have passed through the usurer’s hands.”
Athos smiled.
“You are a capital comrade, my dear D’Artagnan,” said he. “Your never-failing cheerfulness lifts up poor souls

in affliction. Well, let us pawn the ring, but on one condition.”
“What?”
“That five hundred crowns of it shall be yours and five hundred mine.”
“Well, then, I will take it,” said D’Artagnan.
At this moment Grimaud came in accompanied by Planchet, who was anxious about his master and curious to know what

had happened to him, and so had taken advantage of the opportunity and brought the clothes himself. D’Artagnan

dressed; Athos did the same. Then when both were ready to go out, Athos imitated the action of a person taking

aim, and Grimaud immediately took down his musketoon and got ready to follow his master.
They arrived without mishap at the Rue des Fossoyeurs. Bonacieux was at the door; he looked banteringly at D’

Artagnan.
“Ah, my dear tenant!” said he. “Hurry up; you have a very pretty girl waiting at your room, and you know women

don’t like to be kept waiting.”
“It’s Kitty,” said D’Artagnan to himself, and darted into the passage.
In fact, there on the landing that led to his chamber he found the poor girl all of a tremble and crouching

against the door.
As soon as she saw him.

“You promised me your protection; you promised to save me from her anger,” said she. “Remember, you are the one

who ruined me!”
“Yes, certainly I did,” said D’Artagnan. “Be at ease, Kitty. But what happened after I left?”
“How can I tell?” said Kitty. “The lackeys came when they heard her cries. She was mad with anger. Every

imaginable curse she poured forth against you. Then I thought she would remember that you went through my chamber

into hers, and that then she would suppose I was your accomplice. So I took what little money I had, and the best

of my things, and I ran away.”
“Poor girl! But what can I do with you? I am going away the day after to-morrow.”
“Do what you please, chevalier. Help me out of Paris; help me out of France!”
“I cannot take you, however, to the siege of Rochelle,” said D’Artagnan.
“No; but you can get me a place in the provinces with some lady of your acquaintance—in your own country, for

instance.”
“Ah, my dear love, in my country the ladies do without chambermaids. But stop! I can manage it for you—Planchet,

go and find M. Aramis. Have him come here immediately. We have something very important to say to him.”
When Aramis arrived the matter was explained to him, and he was told that he must find a place for Kitty with some

of his high connections.
Aramis reflected for a minute, and then said, colouring,
“Will it be rendering you a service, D’Artagnan?”
“I shall be grateful to you all my life.”
“Very well. Madame de Bois-Tracy asked me, in behalf of a friend of hers who resides in the provinces, I believe,

for a trustworthy chambermaid; and, my dear D’Artagnan, if you can answer for this young girl—”
“O sir, be assured that I shall be entirely devoted to the person who will afford me the means of leaving Paris.

”
“Then,” said Aramis, “this turns out all for the best.”
He sat down at the table and wrote a little note, which he sealed with a ring and gave to Kitty.
“And now, my dear girl,” said D’Artagnan, “you know that it is not well for any of us to be here. Therefore

let us separate. We shall meet again in better days.”
“And whenever and wherever we meet again,” said Kitty, “you will find that I love you as devotedly as I love

you to-day.”
“A gambler’s vow!” said Athos, while D’Artagnan went to conduct Kitty downstairs.
An instant afterwards the three young men separated, agreeing to meet again at four o’clock at Athos’s

residence, and leaving Planchet to guard the house.
Aramis returned home, and Athos and D’Artagnan went to see about pawning the sapphire.
As our Gascon had foreseen, they found no difficulty in obtaining three hundred pistoles on the ring. Still

further, the Jew told them that he would give five hundred pistoles for it if they would sell it to him, as it

would make a magnificent pendant for an earring.
Athos and D’Artagnan, with the activity of two soldiers, and the knowledge of two connoisseurs, spent scarcely

three hours in purchasing the musketeer’s entire outfit. Besides, Athos was very easy to please, and a great

noble to his fingers’ ends. Whenever anything suited him, he paid the price asked, without any thought of

dickering. D’Artagnan would have remonstrated at this, but Athos put his hand on his shoulder with a smile, and D

’Artagnan understood that it was all very well for such a little Gascon gentleman as himself to drive a bargain,

but not for a man who had the bearing of a prince.
The musketeer found a superb Andalusian horse, black as jet, nostrils of fire, legs clean and elegant, rising six

years. He examined him, and found him sound and without blemish. A thousand livres was asked for him.
He might, perhaps, have been bought for less; but while D’Artagnan was discussing the price with the dealer,

Athos was counting the hundred pistoles on the table.
Grimaud had a stout, short Picard cob, which cost three hundred livres.
But when the saddle and arms for Grimaud were purchased, Athos had not a sou left of his hundred and fifty

pistoles. D’Artagnan offered his friend a part of his share, which he should return when convenient.
But Athos only replied to this proposal by shrugging his shoulders.
“How much did the Jew say he would give for the sapphire if he purchased it?” said Athos.
“Five hundred pistoles.”
“That is to say, two hundred more—a hundred pistoles for you, and a hundred pistoles for me. Well, now, that

would be a real fortune to us, my friend; let us go back to the Jew’s again.”
“What! will you—”
“This ring would certainly only recall very bitter remembrances. Then we shall never be masters of three hundred

pistoles to redeem it, so that we really should lose two hundred pistoles by the bargain. Go, tell him the ring is

his, D’Artagnan, and come back with the two hundred pistoles.”

“Reflect, Athos!”
“We need ready money just now, and we must learn how to make sacrifices. Go, D’Artagnan, go; Grimaud will

accompany you with his musketoon.”
Half an hour afterwards D’Artagnan returned with the two thousand livres, and without having met with any

accident.
Thus it was that Athos found at home resources which he did not expect.

Chapter 34 - A Vision
At four o’clock the four friends were all assembled in Athos’s apartments. Their anxiety about their outfits had

all disappeared, and each face preserved now only the expression of its own secret anxieties, for behind all

present happiness is concealed a fear for the future.
Suddenly Planchet entered, bringing two letters for D’Artagnan.
The one was a little note neatly folded, with a pretty seal in green wax, on which was impressed a dove bearing a

green branch.
The other was a large square epistle, resplendent with the terrible arms of his Eminence the cardinal-duke.
At the sight of the little letter D’Artagnan’s heart bounded, for he thought he recognized the writing; and

though he had seen it but once, the memory of it remained at the bottom of his heart.
He therefore seized the little letter and opened it eagerly.
“On Thursday next, at seven o’clock in the evening,” said the letter, “be on the road to Chaillot. Look

carefully into the carriages that pass; but if you value your own life, or the life of those who love you, do not

speak a word, do not make a motion which may lead any one to believe that you recognize her who exposes herself to

everything for the sake of seeing you for an instant only.”
No signature.
“That’s a snare,” said Athos; “don’t go, D’Artagnan.”
“And yet,” replied D’Artagnan, “I think I recognize the writing.”
“But your second letter,” said Athos—“you forget that. It appears to me, however, the seal shows it well

deserves to be opened. For my part, I declare, D’Artagnan, I think it of much more consequence than the little

piece of waste paper you have so slyly slipped into your bosom.”
D’Artagnan grew red.
“Well,” said the young man, “let us see, gentlemen, what his Eminence wants of me.” And D’Artagnan unsealed

the letter and read,
“M. D’Artagnan, of the king’s guards, company Des Essarts, is expected at the Palais-Cardinal this evening at

eight o’clock.

“La Houdenière, Captain of the Guards.”
“The devil!” said Athos; “here’s a rendezvous much more serious than the other.”
“I will go to the second after attending the first,” said D’Artagnan. “One is for seven o’clock, and the

other for eight; there will be time for both.”
At this moment the clock of La Samaritaine struck six, and a short gallop brought D’Artagnan to the Chaillot

road. The day was beginning to decline, carriages were passing and repassing. D’Artagnan darted a scrutinizing

glance into every carriage that appeared, but saw no face with which he was acquainted.
At length, after waiting a quarter of an hour, and just as it was quite twilight, a carriage appeared, coming at

full speed, on the road to Sèvres. A presentiment instantly told D’Artagnan that this carriage contained the

person who had appointed the rendezvous. The young man was himself astonished to feel his heart beating so

violently. Almost instantly a woman put her head out at the window, with two fingers placed on her mouth, either

to enjoin silence or to send him a kiss. D’Artagnan uttered a slight cry of joy. This woman, or rather this

apparition—for the carriage passed with the rapidity of a vision— was Madame Bonacieux.
By an involuntary movement, and in spite of the injunction given, D’Artagnan started his horse to a gallop, and

in a few strides overtook the carriage. But the window was hermetically shut; the vision had disappeared.
D’Artagnan then remembered the injunction contained in the anonymous note: “If you value your own life, or the

life of those who love you, do not speak a word, do not make a motion which may lead any one to believe that you

recognize her who exposes herself to everything for the sake of seeing you for an instant only.”
He stopped, therefore, trembling, not for himself, but for the poor woman who had evidently exposed herself to

great danger by appointing this rendezvous.
The carriage pursued its way, still going at a full pace, till it dashed into Paris and disappeared.
D’Artagnan remained fixed to the spot, astounded, and not knowing what to think. If it was Madame Bonacieux, and

if she was returning to Paris, why this fugitive interview? why this simple exchange of a glance? why this last

kiss? If, on the other side, it was not she, which was still quite possible—for the little light that remained

rendered a mistake easy—if it was not she, might it not be the beginning of some machination against him with the

bait of this woman with whom it was known he was in love?
Half-past seven struck. The carriage was twenty minutes behind the time appointed. D’Artagnan remembered that he

had a visit to pay.
He reached the Rue St. Honoré, and in the Place du Palais-Cardinal, he entered boldly at the front gate.
He entered the antechamber and placed his letter in the hands of the user on duty, who showed him into the

waiting-room and passed on into the interior of the palace.
The usher returned and made a sign to D’Artagnan to follow him. He passed along a corridor, crossed a large

drawing-room, entered a library, and found himself in the presence of a man seated at a desk and writing.
The usher introduced him and retired without speaking a word. D’Artagnan remained standing and examined this man.
D’Artagnan at first believed that he had to do with some judge examining his papers, but he perceived that the

man at the desk was writing, or rather correcting, lines of unequal length by scanning the words on his fingers.

He saw that he was in presence of a poet. In an instant the poet closed his manuscript, on the cover of which was

written Mirame, a Tragedy in Five Acts, and raised his head.
D’Artagnan recognized the cardinal.

Chapter 35 - A Terrible Vision
The cardinal leaned his elbow on his manuscript, his cheek on his hand, and looked at the young man for a moment.

No one had a more searching eye than Cardinal Richelieu, and D’Artagnan felt this look run through his veins like

a fever.
“Sit down there before me, Monsieur d’Artagnan; you are enough of a nobleman not to listen standing.”
And the cardinal pointed with his finger to a chair for the young man, who was so amazed at what was going on that

he waited for a second sign from the cardinal before he obeyed.
“You are brave, Monsieur d’Artagnan,” continued his Eminence; “you are prudent, which is still better. I like

men of head and heart. Don’t be afraid,” said he, smiling; “by men of heart I mean men of courage. But though

you are young and have hardly entered on life, you have powerful enemies; if you do not take heed, they will

destroy you!”
“Alas, monseigneur!” replied the young man, “very easily, no doubt; for they are strong and well supported,

while I am alone.”
“Yes, that’s true. But alone as you are, you have already done much, and will do still more, I doubt not. And

yet you need, I believe, to be guided in the adventurous career you have chosen, for, if I mistake not, you came

to Paris with the ambitious idea of making your fortune.”
“I am at the age of extravagant hopes, monseigneur,” said D’Artagnan.
“There are no extravagant hopes save for fools, sir, and you are a man of brains. Now, what would you say to an

ensign’s commission in my guards, and a company after the campaign?”
“Ah, monseigneur!”
“You accept, do you not?”
“Monseigneur,” replied D’Artagnan, with an embarrassed air.
“What! do you decline?” cried the cardinal, in astonishment.
“I am in his Majesty’s guards, monseigneur, and I have no reason to be dissatisfied.”
“But it seems to me that my guards are also his Majesty’s guards, and whoever serves in a French corps serves

the king.”
“Monseigneur, your Eminence has misunderstood my words.”
“That is to say, you refuse to serve me, sir,” said the cardinal in a tone of vexation, through which, however,

a sort of esteem manifested itself. “Remain free, then, and preserve your hatreds and your sympathies.”
“Monseigneur—”
“Well, well!” said the cardinal, “I am not angry with you, but you are aware it is enough to defend and reward

our friends; we owe nothing to our enemies. And yet I will give you a piece of advice: take good care of yourself,

Monsieur d’Artagnan, for from the moment I withdraw my hand from you I would not give an obole for your life.”
“I will try to do so, monseigneur,” replied the Gascon, with a noble confidence.
“Remember by-and-by, at some moment when mischance may happen to you,” said Richelieu pointedly, “that I came

to seek you, and that I did all in my power to prevent this misfortune befalling you.”
“Whatever may happen,” said D’Artagnan, placing his hand on his heart and bowing, “I shall entertain an

eternal gratitude toward your Eminence for what you are now doing for me.”
“Well, let it be, then, as you have said, Monsieur d’Artagnan; we shall meet again after the campaign. I will

have my eye on you, for I shall be there,” replied the cardinal, pointing with his finger to a magnificent suit

of armour he was to wear; “and on our return—well, we will settle our account!”
“Ah, monseigneur!” cried D’Artagnan, “spare me the weight of your disfavour; remain neutral, monseigneur, if

you find that I act as a gentleman ought to act.”
“Young man,” said Richelieu, “if I am able once again to say to you what I have said to you to-day, I promise

you to do so.”
This last expression of Richelieu’s conveyed a terrible doubt; it alarmed D’Artagnan more than a threat would

have done, for it was a warning. The cardinal, then, was trying to preserve him from some threatened misfortune.

He opened his mouth to reply, but with a gesture the cardinal dismissed him.