“Ah, ah!” said D’Artagnan, half rising and bowing; “you are my landlord?”

“Yes, sir, yes. And as it is three months since you came, and, engaged as you must be in your important occupations, you have forgotten to pay me my rent—as, I say, I have not tormented you a single instant, I thought you would appreciate my delicacy.”

“How can it be otherwise, my dear Bonacieux?” replied D’Artagnan. “Believe me, I am wholly grateful for such conduct; and if, as I have told you, I can be of any service to you——”

“And then I thought that owing me three months’ rent, which I have said nothing about——”

“Yes, yes; you have already given me that reason, and I find it excellent.”

“And, besides, considering that as long as you do me the honour to remain in my house I shall never speak to you about your future rent——”

“Very good!”

“And adding to this, if necessary, that I mean to offer you fifty pistoles, if, against all probability, you should be short at the present moment.”

“Admirable! But you are rich, then, my dear Monsieur Bonacieux?”

“I am comfortably off, sir, that’s all. I have scraped together something like an income of two or three thousand crowns in the haber-dashery business, and especially by investing some capital in the last voyage of the celebrated navigator Jean Mocquet; so that you understand, sir. But——” cried the bourgeois.

“What?” demanded D’Artagnan.

“Whom do I see yonder?”

“Where?”

“In the street, in front of your window, on the sill of that door—a man wrapped in a cloak.”

“It is he!” cried D’Artagnan and the bourgeois, each at the same time having recognized his man.

“Ah, this time,” cried D’Artagnan, leaping towards his sword—“this time he shall not escape me!”

Drawing his sword from the sheath, he rushed out of the apartment.

On the staircase he met Athos and Porthos, who were coming to see him. They separated, and D’Artagnan rushed between them like an arrow.

“Where the devil are you going?” cried the two musketeers in a breath.

“The man of Meung!” replied D’Artagnan, and disappeared.

D’Artagnan had more than once related to his friends his adventure with the unknown, as well as the apparition of the beautiful foreigner, to whom this man had confided some important letter.

They understood, then, from the few words which escaped from D’Artagnan, what affair was in hand; and as they thought that after having overtaken his man or lost sight of him D’Artagnan would return to his rooms again, they kept on their way.