iculty in believing such things, my pretty
dear, were it only from self-love."

"Then you don't believe me?"

"I confess that unless you deign to give me some proof of what you
advance--"

"What do you think of this?"

Kitty drew a little note from her bosom.

"For me?" said d'Artagnan, seizing the letter.

"No; for another."

"For another?"

"Yes."

"His name; his name!" cried d'Artagnan.

"Read the address."

"Monsieur El Comte de Wardes."

The remembrance of the scene at St. Germain presented itself to the
mind of the presumptuous Gascon. As quick as thought, he tore open the
letter, in spite of the cry which Kitty uttered on seeing what he was
going to do, or rather, what he was doing.

"Oh, good Lord, Monsieur Chevalier," said she, "what are you doing?"

"I?" said d'Artagnan; "nothing," and he read,

"You have not answered my first note. Are you indisposed, or have you
forgotten the glances you favored me with at the ball of Mme. de Guise?
You have an opportunity now, Count; do not allow it to escape."

d'Artagnan became very pale; he was wounded in his SELF-love: he thought
that it was in his LOVE.

"Poor dear Monsieur d'Artagnan," said Kitty, in a voice full of
compassion, and pressing anew the young man's hand.

"You pity me, little one?" said d'Artagnan.

"Oh, yes, and with all my heart; for I know what it is to be in love."

"You know what it is to be in love?" said d'Artagnan, looking at her for
the first time with much attention.

"Alas, yes."

"Well, then, instead of pitying me, you would do much better to assist
me in avenging myself on your mistress."

"And what sort of revenge would you take?"

"I would triumph over her, and supplant my rival."

"I will never help you in that, Monsieur Chevalier," said Kitty, warmly.

"And why not?" demanded d'Artagnan.

"For two reasons."

"What ones?"

"The first is that my mistress will never love you."

"How do you know that?"

"You have cut her to the heart."

"I? In what can I have offended her--I who ever since I have known her
have lived at her feet like a slave? Speak, I beg you!"

"I will never confess that but to the man--who should read to the bottom
of my soul!"

D'Artagnan looked at Kitty for the second time. The young girl had
freshness and beauty which many duchesses would have purchased with
their coronets.

"Kitty," said he, "I will read to the bottom of your soul when-ever you
like; don't let that di