ew with the king, at the end of which
Athos had returned home so unusually gloomy; then the explanation
between the father and the son, at the termination of which Athos had
embraced Raoul with such sadness of expression, while Raoul himself went
away equally weary and melancholy; and finally, D'Artagnan's arrival,
biting, as if he were vexed, the end of his mustache, and leaving again
in the carriage, accompanied by the Comte de la Fere. All this composed
a drama in five acts very clearly, particularly for so analytical an
observer as Grimaud.

The first step he took was to search in his master's coat for M.
d'Artagnan's letter; he found the letter still there, and its contents
were found to run as follows:

"MY DEAR FRIEND,--Raoul has been to ask me for some particulars about
the conduct of Mademoiselle de la Valliere, during our young friend's
residence in London. I am a poor captain of musketeers, and I am
sickened to death every day by hearing all the scandal of the barracks
and bedside conversations. If I had told Raoul all I believe, I know the
poor fellow would have died of it; but I am in the king's service, and
cannot relate all I hear about the king's affairs. If your heart tells
you to do it, set off at once; the matter concerns you more than it does
myself, and almost as much as Raoul."

Grimaud tore, not a handful, but a finger-and-thumbful of hair out of
his head; he would have done more if his head of hair had been in a more
flourishing condition.

"Yes," he said, "that is the key of the whole enigma. The young girl has
been playing her pranks; what people say about her and the king is true,
then; our young master has been deceived; he ought to know it. Monsieur
le comte has been to see the king, and has told him a piece of his mind;
and then the king sent M. d'Artagnan to arrange the affair. Ah! gracious
goodness!" continued Grimaud, "monsieur le comte, I now remember,
returned without his sword."

This discovery made the perspiration break out all over poor Grimaud's
face. He did not waste any more time in useless conjecture, but clapped
his hat on his head, and ran to Raoul's lodgings.

Raoul, after Louise had left him, had mastered his grief, if not his
affection; and, compelled to look forward on that perilous road over
which madness and revulsion were hurrying him, he had seen, from the
very first glance, his father exposed to the royal obstinacy, since
Athos had himself been the first to op