nbuckling his belt and thawing
the asperity of his smile.

"Because Mademoiselle de la Valliere is deceiving me."

"She is deceiving you," said D'Artagnan, not a muscle of whose face had
moved; "those are big words. Who makes use of them?"

"Every one."

"Ah! if every one says so, there must be some truth in it. I begin to
believe there is fire when I see smoke. It is ridiculous, perhaps, but
it is so."

"Therefore you _do_ believe me?" exclaimed Bragelonne, quickly.

"I never mix myself up in affairs of that kind; you know that very
well."

"What! not for a friend, for a son!"

"Exactly. If you were a stranger, I should tell you--I will tell _you_
nothing at all. How is Porthos, do you know?"

"Monsieur," cried Raoul, pressing D'Artagnan's hand, "I entreat you in
the name of the friendship you vowed my father!"

"The deuce take it, you are really ill--from curiosity."

"No, it is not from curiosity, it is from love."

"Good. Another big word. If you were really in love, my dear Raoul, you
would be very different."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean that if you were really so deeply in love that I could believe I
was addressing myself to your heart--but it is impossible."

"I tell you I love Louise to distraction."

D'Artagnan could read to the very bottom of the young man's heart.

"Impossible, I tell you," he said. "You are like all young men; you are
not in love, you are out of your senses."

"Well! suppose it were only that?"

"No sensible man ever succeeded in making much of a brain when the head
was turned. I have completely lost my senses in the same way a hundred
times in my life. You would listen to me, but you would not hear me! you
would hear, but you would not understand me; you would understand, but
you would not obey me."

"Oh! try, try."

"I go far. Even if I were unfortunate enough to know something, and
foolish enough to communicate it to you--You are my friend, you say?"

"Indeed, yes."

"Very good. I should quarrel with you. You would never forgive me for
having destroyed your illusion, as people say in love affairs."

"Monsieur d'Artagnan, you know all; and yet you plunge me in perplexity
and despair, in death itself."

"There, there now."

"I never complain, as you know; but as Heaven and my father would never
forgive me for blowing out my brains, I will go and get the first person
I meet to give me the information which you withhold; I will tell him he
lies, and--"