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      “One who has for a long time pursued her.”

      “The deuce he has!”

      “But, allow me to tell you, sir, that there is less of love than of policy in all this.”

      “Less of love than of policy!” exclaimed d’Artagnan, with an air of profound reflection; “and whom do you suspect?”

      “I scarcely know whether I ought to mention names.”

      “Sir,” said d’Artagnan, “permit me to observe, that I have absolutely demanded nothing from you; it is you who have come to me; it is you who told me that you had a secret to confide to me; do then as you please; there is yet time to draw back.”

      “No, sir, you have the air of an honourable man, and I can trust you. I believe it is in consequence of no love affair of her own that my wife has been entrapped, but because of an amour of a lady of far more exalted station than her own!”

      “Ah, ah! can it be on account of some amour of Madame de Bois Tracy?” asked d’Artagnan; who wished to appear familiar with Court circles.

      “Higher, sir, higher!”

      “Of Madame d’Aiguillon?”

      “Higher yet!” said the citizen.

      “Of Madame de Chevreuse?”

      “Higher still!—much higher!”

      “Of the———”

      And here d’Artagnan paused.

      “Yes!” answered the frightened citizen, in such a low voice as scarcely to be audible.

      “And who is the other party?” said d’Artagnan.

      “Who can it be, if not the Duke of———?” replied the mercer.

      “With the Duke of———?”

      “Yes, sir,” replied the citizen, in a still lower tone.

      “But how do you know all this?”

      “How do I know it?” said the mercer.

      “Yes! How do you know it? You must tell me all or nothing, you understand,” said d’Artagnan.

      “I know it from my wife, sir—from my wife herself.”

      “And from whom does she know it?”

      “From M. de la Porte. Did I not tell you that she is his god-daughter? Well! M. de la Porte, who is the confidential agent of the queen, had placed her near her majesty, that the poor thing—abandoned as she is by the king, watched as she is by the cardinal, and betrayed as she is by all—might at any rate have some one in whom she could confide.”

      “Ah, ah! I begin to understand,” said d’Artagnan.

      “Now, sir, my wife came home four days ago. One of the conditions of our marriage was, that she should come and see me twice a week; for, as I have the honour to inform you, she is my love as well as my wife. Well, sir, she came to inform me, in confidence, that the queen is at the present time in great alarm.”

      “Really?” said d’Artagnan.

      “Yes! the cardinal, as it appears, spies upon her and prosecutes her more than ever; he cannot pardon her the episode of the Sarabande—you know the story of the Sarabande, sir?”

      “Egad! I should think I do!” replied d’Artagnan; who knew nothing at all about it, but would not for the world appear ignorant.

      “So that it is no longer hatred now, but revenge!” said the citizen.

      “Really!” replied d’Artagnan.

      “And the queen believes———”

      “Well! what does the queen believe?”

      “She believes that they have forged a letter in her name to the Duke of Buckingham.”

      “In her majesty’s name?”

      “Yes, to entice him to Paris; and when they have got him here, to lead him into some snare.”

      “The deuce! But your wife, my dear sir—what is her part in all this?”

      “They know her devotion to the queen, and want to separate her from her mistress; and either to intimidate her into betraying her majesty’s secrets, or seduce her into serving as a spy upon her.”

      “It seems probable!” said d’Artagnan; “but, do you know her abductor?”

      “I have told you that I believe I know him!”

      “His name?”

      “I have not an idea what it is; all I know is that he is a creature of the cardinal—the minister’s tool.”

      “But you know him by sight?”

      “Yes; my wife pointed him out one day.”

      “Has he any mark by which he may be recognised?”

      “Yes, certainly; he is a man of aristocratic appearance, and has a dark skin, a tawny complexion, piercing eyes, white teeth, and a scar on his forehead.”

      “A scar on his forehead!” cried d’Artagnan; “and with white teeth, piercing eyes, dark complexion, and proud air—it is my man of Meung!”

      “Your man, do you say?”

      “Yes, yes!” said d’Artagnan; “but that has nothing to do with this affair. Yet I mistake! It has, on the contrary, a great deal to do with it; for if your man is mine also, I shall at one blow perform two acts of revenge.—But where can I meet with him?”

      “I have not the slightest idea.”

      “Have you no clue to his abode?”

      “None whatever. One day, when I accompanied my wife to the Louvre, he came out as she entered, and she pointed him out to me.”

      “Plague on it!” murmured d’Artagnan; “this is all very vague. But how did you hear of the abduction of your wife?”

      “From M. de la Porte.”

      “Did he tell you the details?”

      “He knew none.”

      “You have got no information from other quarters?”

      “Yes, I have received———”

      “What?”

      “But I know not whether I should inform you.”

      “You return to your hesitation; but permit me to observe, that you have now advanced too far to recede.”

      “I do not draw back,” exclaimed the citizen, accompanying the assurance with an oath, to support his courage; besides, on the honour of Bonancieux———”

      “Then your name is Bonancieux?” interrupted d’Artagnan.

      “Yes, that is my name.”

      “You say, on the honour of Bonancieux! Pardon this interruption, but the name appears not to be unknown to me.”

      “It is very possible, sir, for I am your landlord.”

      “Ah, ah!” said d’Artagnan, half rising, “ah, you are my landlord?”

      “Yes, sir, yes; and as for the three months that you have been in my house (diverted, no doubt, by your great and splendid occupations), you have forgotten to pay me my rent, and as, likewise, I have not once asked you for payment, I thought that you would have some regard on account of my delicacy in that respect.”

      “Why, I have no alternative, my dear M. Bonancieux,” answered d’Artagnan, “believe me, I am grateful for such a proceeding, and shall, as I have said, be most happy if I can

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