"You?"

"Yes; I."

"And how do you know her?"

"Oh, monsieur, if I could believe I might trust in your discretion."

"Speak! By the word of a gentleman, you shall have no cause to repent of
your confidence."

"Well, monsieur, you understand that uneasiness makes us do many
things."

"What have you done?"

"Oh, nothing which was not right in the character of a creditor."

"Well?"

"Monsieur Porthos gave us a note for his duchess, ordering us to put it
in the post. This was before his servant came. As he could not leave his
chamber, it was necessary to charge us with this commission."

"And then?"

"Instead of putting the letter in the post, which is never safe, I took
advantage of the journey of one of my lads to Paris, and ordered him
to convey the letter to this duchess himself. This was fulfilling the
intentions of Monsieur Porthos, who had desired us to be so careful of
this letter, was it not?"

"Nearly so."

"Well, monsieur, do you know who this great lady is?"

"No; I have heard Porthos speak of her, that's all."

"Do you know who this pretended duchess is?

"I repeat to you, I don't know her."

"Why, she is the old wife of a procurator* of the Chatelet, monsieur,
named Madame Coquenard, who, although she is at least fifty, still gives
herself jealous airs. It struck me as very odd that a princess should
live in the Rue aux Ours."

*Attorney

"But how do you know all this?"

"Because she flew into a great passion on receiving the letter, saying
that Monsieur Porthos was a weathercock, and that she was sure it was
for some woman he had received this wound."

"Has he been wounded, then?"

"Oh, good Lord! What have I said?"

"You said that Porthos had received a sword cut."

"Yes, but he has forbidden me so strictly to say so."

"And why so."

"Zounds, monsieur! Because he had boasted that he would perforate the
stranger with whom you left him in dispute; whereas the stranger, on
the contrary, in spite of all his rodomontades quickly threw him on his
back. As Monsieur Porthos is a very boastful man, he insists that
nobody shall know he has received this wound except the duchess, whom he
endeavored to interest by an account of his adventure."

"It is a wound that confines him to his bed?"

"Ah, and a master stroke, too, I assure you. Your friend's soul must
stick tight to his body."

"Were you there, then?"

"Monsieur, I followed them from curiosity, so that I saw the comb