ch. The King, Don Carlos, has escaped the
vigilance exercised over him at Bourges, and has returned to
Spain by the Catalonian frontier. Barcelona has risen in his
favor."

All that evening nothing was spoken of but the foresight of Danglars,
who had sold his shares, and of the luck of the stock-jobber, who only
lost five hundred thousand francs by such a blow. Those who had kept
their shares, or bought those of Danglars, looked upon themselves as
ruined, and passed a very bad night. Next morning Le Moniteur
contained the following:

"It was without any foundation that Le Messager yesterday
announced the flight of Don Carlos and the revolt of
Barcelona. The King (Don Carlos) has not left Bourges, and
the peninsula is in the enjoyment of profound peace. A
telegraphic signal, improperly interpreted owing to the fog,
was the cause of this error."

The funds rose one per cent, higher than before they had
fallen. This, reckoning his loss, and what he had missed gaining,
made the difference of a million to Danglars. "Good!" said
Monte Cristo to Morrel, who was at his house when the news
arrived of the strange reverse of fortune of which Danglars had
been the victim. "I have just made a discovery for twenty-five
thousand francs, for which I would have paid a hundred thousand."

"What have you discovered?" asked Morrel.

"I have just discovered the method of ridding a gardener of
the dormice that eat his peaches."

THE SHOULDER OF ATHOS, THE BELT OF PORTHOS, AND THE HANDKERCHIEF OF
ARAMIS

From 'The Three Musketeers'

Furious with rage, D'Artagnan crossed the ante-room in three strides,
and began to descend the stairs four steps at a time, without looking
where he was going; when suddenly he was brought up short by knocking
violently against the shoulder of a musketeer who was leaving the
apartments of M. De Treville. The young man staggered backwards from
the shock, uttering a cry, or rather a yell.

"Excuse me," said D'Artagnan, trying to pass him, "but I am in a great
hurry."

He had hardly placed his foot on the next step, when he was stopped by
the grasp of an iron wrist on his sash.

"You are in a great hurry!" cried the musketeer, whose face was the
color of a shroud; "and you think that is enough apology for nearly
knocking me down? Not so fast, my young man. I suppose you imagine
that because you heard M. De Treville speaking to us rather brusquely
to-day, that