"You forget the portrait," said Porthos, in a voice of thunder, which
made the comte's blood freeze in his veins.

As the portrait in question was La Valliere's portrait, and no mistake
could any longer exist on the subject, Saint-Aignan's eyes were
completely opened. "Ah!" he exclaimed--"ah! monsieur, I remember now
that M. de Bragelonne was engaged to be married to her."

Porthos assumed an imposing air, all the majesty of ignorance, in fact,
as he said: "It matters nothing whatever to me, nor to yourself, indeed,
whether or not my friend was, as you say, engaged to be married. I am
even astonished that you should have made use of so indiscreet a remark.
It may possibly do your cause harm, monsieur."

"Monsieur," replied Saint-Aignan, "you are the incarnation of
intelligence, delicacy, and loyalty of feeling united. I see the whole
matter now clearly enough."

"So much the better," said Porthos.

"And," pursued Saint-Aignan, "you have made me comprehend it in the most
ingenious and the most delicate manner possible. I beg you to accept my
best thanks." Porthos drew himself up, unable to resist the flattery of
the remark. "Only, now that I know everything, permit me to explain--"

Porthos shook his head, as a an who does not wish to hear, but
Saint-Aignan continued: "I am in despair, I assure you, at all that
has happened; but how would you have acted in my place? Come, between
ourselves, tell me what you would have done?"

Porthos drew himself up as he answered: "There is now no question of
all of what I should have done, young man; you have been made acquainted
with the three causes of complaint against you, I believe?"

"As for the first, my change of rooms, and I now address myself to you
as a man of honor and of great intelligence, could I, when the desire
of so august a personage was so urgently expressed that I should move,
ought I to have disobeyed?"

Porthos was about to speak, but Saint-Aignan did not give him time to
answer. "Ah! my frankness, I see, convinces you," he said, interpreting
the movement according to his own fancy. "You feel that I am right."

Porthos did not reply, and so Saint-Aignan continued: "I pass by that
unfortunate trap-door," he said, placing his hand on Porthos's arm,
"that trap-door, the occasion and means of so much unhappiness, and
which was constructed for--you know what. Well, then, in plain truth, do
you suppose that it was I who, of my own accord, in such a place, t