“Well, one day when she was hunting with her husband,” continued Athos, in a low voice, and speaking very quickly, “she fell from her horse and fainted. The count flew to her help; and as she appeared to be oppressed by her clothes, he ripped them open with his poniard, and in so doing laid bare her shoulder. Guess, D’Artagnan,” said Athos, with a loud burst of laughter—“guess what she had on her shoulder.”

“How can I tell?” said D’Artagnan.

“A fleur-de-lis!” said Athos. “She was branded!”

And Athos emptied at a single draught the glass he held in his hand.

“Horrors,” cried D’Artagnan. “What are you telling me?”

“The truth. My friend, the angle was a demon. The poor young girl had been a thief.”

“And what did the count do?”

“The count was a great noble. He had on his estates the right of life and death. He tore the countess’s dress to pieces, tied her hands behind her, and hanged her on a tree!”

“Heavens, Athos, a murder!” cried D’Artagnan.

“Yes, a murder—nothing else,” said Athos, pale as death. “But methinks I am left without wine!” And he seized by the neck the last bottle that remained, put it to his mouth, and emptied it at a single draught, as he would have emptied an ordinary glass.

Then he let his head fall on his two hands, while D’Artagnan sat facing him, overwhelmed with dismay.

“That has cured me of beautiful, poetical, and loving women,” said Athos, getting to his feet, and neglecting to pursue the apologue of the count. “God grant you as much! Let us drink!”

“Then she is dead?” stammered D’Artagnan.

“Zounds!” said Athos. “But hold out your glass. Some ham, my man!” cried Athos; “we can drink no longer!”

“And her brother?” asked D’Artagnan timidly.

“Her brother?” replied Athos.

“Yes, the priest.”

“Oh, I inquired after him for the purpose of hanging him likewise; but he was beforehand with me—he had quitted the curacy instantly.”

“Was it ever known who this miserable fellow was?”

“He was doubtless the fair lady’s first lover and accomplice—a worthy man, who had pretended to be a curate for the purpose of getting his mistress married and securing her a position. He has been quartered before this time, I hope.”

“My God! my God!” cried D’Artagnan, quite stunned by the relation of this horrible adventure.

“Pray eat some of this ham, D’Artagnan; it is exquisite,” said Athos, cutting a slice, which he placed on the young man’s plate. “What a pity it is there are only four like this in the cellar! I could have drunk fifty bottles more.”