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upon us at that famous supper. My lord has forgotten the supper.”

      “No, but I have forgotten Monsieur Grimaud.”

      “My lord understands that there can be no supper unless he is allowed to be present.”

      “Go on, then; have it your own way.”

      “Come here, my lad,” said La Ramee, “and hear what I have to say.”

      Grimaud approached, with a very sullen expression on his face.

      La Ramee continued: “My lord has done me the honor to invite me to a supper to-morrow en tete-a-tete.”

      Grimaud made a sign which meant that he didn’t see what that had to do with him.

      “Yes, yes,” said La Ramee, “the matter concerns you, for you will have the honor to serve us; and besides, however good an appetite we may have and however great our thirst, there will be something left on the plates and in the bottles, and that something will be yours.”

      Grimaud bowed in thanks.

      “And now,” said La Ramee, “I must ask your highness’s pardon, but it seems that Monsieur de Chavigny is to be away for a few days and he has sent me word that he has certain directions to give me before his departure.”

      The duke tried to exchange a glance with Grimaud, but there was no glance in Grimaud’s eyes.

      “Go, then,” said the duke, “and return as soon as possible.”

      “Does your highness wish to take revenge for the game of tennis yesterday?”

      Grimaud intimated by a scarcely perceptible nod that he should consent.

      “Yes,” said the duke, “but take care, my dear La Ramee, for I propose to beat you badly.”

      La Ramee went out. Grimaud looked after him, and when the door was closed he drew out of his pocket a pencil and a sheet of paper.

      “Write, my lord,” he said.

      “And what?”

      Grimaud dictated.

      “All is ready for to-morrow evening. Keep watch from seven to nine. Have two riding horses ready. We shall descend by the first window in the gallery.”

      “What next?”

      “Sign your name, my lord.”

      The duke signed.

      “Now, my lord, give me, if you have not lost it, the ball-that which contained the letter.”

      The duke took it from under his pillow and gave it to Grimaud. Grimaud gave a grim smile.

      “Well?” asked the duke.

      “Well, my lord, I sew up the paper in the ball and you, in your game of tennis, will send the ball into the ditch.”

      “But will it not be lost?”

      “Oh no; there will be some one at hand to pick it up.”

      “A gardener?”

      Grimaud nodded.

      “The same as yesterday?”

      Another nod on the part of Grimaud.

      “The Count de Rochefort?”

      Grimaud nodded the third time.

      “Come, now,” said the duke, “give some particulars of the plan for our escape.”

      “That is forbidden me,” said Grimaud, “until the last moment.”

      “Who will be waiting for me beyond the ditch?”

      “I know nothing about it, my lord.”

      “But at least, if you don’t want to see me turn crazy, tell what that famous pate will contain.”

      “Two poniards, a knotted rope and a poire d’angoisse.”5

      “Yes, I understand.”

      “My lord observes that there will be enough to go around.”

      “We shall take to ourselves the poniards and the rope,” replied the duke.

      “And make La Ramee eat the pear,” answered Grimaud.

      “My dear Grimaud, thou speakest seldom, but when thou dost, one must do thee justice-thy words are words of gold.”

      20. One of Marie Michon’s Adventures

      Whilst these projects were being formed by the Duc de Beaufort and Grimaud, the Comte de la Fere and the Vicomte de Bragelonne were entering Paris by the Rue du Faubourg Saint Marcel.

      They stopped at the sign of the Fox, in the Rue du Vieux Colombier, a tavern known for many years by Athos, and asked for two bedrooms.

      “You must dress yourself, Raoul,” said Athos, “I am going to present you to some one.”

      “To-day, monsieur?” asked the young man.

      “In half an hour.”

      The young man bowed. Perhaps, not being endowed with the endurance of Athos, who seemed to be made of iron, he would have preferred a bath in the river Seine of which he had heard so much, and afterward his bed; but the Comte de la Fere had spoken and he had no thought but to obey.

      “By the way,” said Athos, “take some pains with your toilet, Raoul; I want you to be approved.”

      “I hope, sir,” replied the youth, smiling, “that there’s no idea of a marriage for me; you know of my engagement to Louise?”

      Athos, in his turn, smiled also.

      “No, don’t be alarmed, although it is to a lady that I am going to present you, and I am anxious that you should love her-”

      The young man looked at the count with a certain uneasiness, but at a smile from Athos he was quickly reassured.

      “How old is she?” inquired the Vicomte de Bragelonne.

      “My dear Raoul, learn, once for all, that that is a question which is never asked. When you can find out a woman’s age by her face, it is useless to ask it; when you cannot do so, it is indiscreet.”

      “Is she beautiful?”

      “Sixteen years ago she was deemed not only the prettiest, but the most graceful woman in France.”

      This reply reassured the vicomte. A woman who had been a reigning beauty a year before he was born could not be the subject of any scheme for him. He retired to his toilet. When he reappeared, Athos received him with the same paternal smile as that which he had often bestowed on D’Artagnan, but a more profound tenderness for Raoul was now visibly impressed upon his face.

      Athos cast a glance at his feet, hands and hair-those three marks of race. The youth’s dark hair was neatly parted and hung in curls, forming a sort of dark frame around his face; such was the fashion of the day. Gloves of gray kid, matching the hat, well displayed the form of a slender and elegant hand; whilst his boots, similar in color to the hat and gloves, confined feet small as those of a boy twelve years old.

      “Come,” murmured Athos, “if she is not proud of him, she must be hard to please.”

      It was three o’clock in the afternoon. The two travelers proceeded to the Rue Saint Dominique and stopped at the door of a magnificent hotel, surmounted with the arms of De Luynes.

      “‘Tis here,” said Athos.

      He entered the hotel and ascended the front steps, and addressing a footman who waited there in a grand livery, asked if the Duchess de Chevreuse was visible and if she could receive the Comte de la Fere?

      The servant returned with a message to say, that, though the duchess had not the honor of knowing Monsieur de la Fere, she would receive him.

      Athos followed the footman, who led him through a long succession of apartments and paused at length before a closed door. Athos made a sign to the Vicomte de Bragelonne to remain where he was.

      The

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