No," replied d'Artagnan, "if I recollect well what you said, it was
nothing out of the common way."

"Ah, you surprise me. I thought I had told you a most lamentable story."
And he looked at the young man as if he would read the bottom of his
heart.

"My faith," said d'Artagnan, "it appears that I was more drunk than you,
since I remember nothing of the kind."

Athos did not trust this reply, and he resumed; "you cannot have failed
to remark, my dear friend, that everyone has his particular kind of
drunkenness, sad or gay. My drunkenness is always sad, and when I am
thoroughly drunk my mania is to relate all the lugubrious stories which
my foolish nurse inculcated into my brain. That is my failing--a capital
failing, I admit; but with that exception, I am a good drinker."

Athos spoke this in so natural a manner that d'Artagnan was shaken in
his conviction.

"It is that, then," replied the young man, anxious to find out the
truth, "it is that, then, I remember as we remember a dream. We were
speaking of hanging."

"Ah, you see how it is," said Athos, becoming still paler, but yet
attempting to laugh; "I was sure it was so--the hanging of people is my
nightmare."

"Yes, yes," replied d'Artagnan. "I remember now; yes, it was about--stop
a minute--yes, it was about a woman."

"That's it," replied Athos, becoming almost livid; "that is my grand
story of the fair lady, and when I relate that, I must be very drunk."

"Yes, that was it," said d'Artagnan, "the story of a tall, fair lady,
with blue eyes."

"Yes, who was hanged."

"By her husband, who was a nobleman of your acquaintance," continued
d'Artagnan, looking intently at Athos.

"Well, you see how a man may compromise himself when he does not know
what he says," replied Athos, shrugging his shoulders as if he thought
himself an object of pity. "I certainly never will get drunk again,
d'Artagnan; it is too bad a habit."

D'Artagnan remained silent; and then changing the conversation all at
once, Athos said:

"By the by, I thank you for the horse you have brought me."

"Is it to your mind?" asked d'Artagnan.

"Yes; but it is not a horse for hard work."

"You are mistaken; I rode him nearly ten leagues in less than an hour
and a half, and he appeared no more distressed than if he had only made
the tour of the Place St. Sulpice."

"Ah, you begin to awaken my regret."

"Regret?"

"Yes; I have parted with him."

"How?"

"Why, here is the simple f