is false; he has just written
to me!"

But the next day she was obliged to believe this fatal intelligence;
Laporte, detained in England, as everyone else had been, by the orders
of Charles I, arrived, and was the bearer of the duke's dying gift to
the queen.

The joy of the king was lively. He did not even give himself the trouble
to dissemble, and displayed it with affectation before the queen. Louis
XIII, like every weak mind, was wanting in generosity.

But the king soon again became dull and indisposed; his brow was not one
of those that long remain clear. He felt that in returning to camp he
should re-enter slavery; nevertheless, he did return.

The cardinal was for him the fascinating serpent, and himself the bird
which flies from branch to branch without power to escape.

The return to La Rochelle, therefore, was profoundly dull. Our four
friends, in particular, astonished their comrades; they traveled
together, side by side, with sad eyes and heads lowered. Athos alone
from time to time raised his expansive brow; a flash kindled in his
eyes, and a bitter smile passed over his lips, then, like his comrades,
he sank again into reverie.

As soon as the escort arrived in a city, when they had conducted the
king to his quarters the four friends either retired to their own or to
some secluded cabaret, where they neither drank nor played; they only
conversed in a low voice, looking around attentively to see that no one
overheard them.

One day, when the king had halted to fly the magpie, and the four
friends, according to their custom, instead of following the sport had
stopped at a cabaret on the high road, a man coming from la Rochelle on
horseback pulled up at the door to drink a glass of wine, and darted a
searching glance into the room where the four Musketeers were sitting.

"Holloa, Monsieur d'Artagnan!" said he, "is not that you whom I see
yonder?"

D'Artagnan raised his head and uttered a cry of joy. It was the man
he called his phantom; it was his stranger of Meung, of the Rue des
Fossoyeurs and of Arras.

D'Artagnan drew his sword, and sprang toward the door.

But this time, instead of avoiding him the stranger jumped from his
horse, and advanced to meet d'Artagnan.

"Ah, monsieur!" said the young man, "I meet you, then, at last! This
time you shall not escape me!"

"Neither is it my intention, monsieur, for this time I was seeking you;
in the name of the king, I arrest you."

"How! what