“For two reasons.”

“What are they?”

“The first is, that my mistress will never love you. The second reason, Chevalier is, that in love, every one for herself!”

Then only D’Artagnan remembered Kitty’s languishing glances and stifled sigh; how she constantly met him in the antechamber, in the corridor, or on the stairs; how she touched him with her hand every time she met him. But absorbed by his desire to please the great lady, he had disdained the maid. He who hunts the eagle heeds not the sparrow.

But this time our Gascon saw at a glance all the advantage that he might derive from the love which Kitty had just confessed so naïvely, or so boldly—the interception of letters addressed to the Comte de Wardes, bits of secret information, entrance at all hours into Kitty’s chamber, which was near her mistress’s. The perfidious fellow, as may be seen, was already sacrificing in idea the poor girl to obtain milady willingly or by force.

“Well, my dear Kitty,” said he to the young girl, “do you want me to give you a proof of that love of which you doubt?”

“What love?” asked the girl.

“Of that which I am ready to feel for you.”

“And what proof is that?”

“Do you want me to spend with you this evening the time I generally spend with your mistress?”

“Oh yes!” said Kitty, clapping her hands, “indeed I do.”

“Well, then, my dear girl,” said D’Artagnan, establishing himself in an armchair, “come here and let me tell you that you are the prettiest maid I ever saw.”

And he told her so much, and so well, that the poor girl, who asked nothing better than to believe him, believed him. Nevertheless, to D’Artagnan’s great astonishment, the pretty Kitty defended herself with considerable resolution.

Time passes very rapidly in attacks and repulses.

Twelve o’clock struck, and almost at the same time the bell was rung in milady’s chamber.

“Great Heavens!” cried Kitty, “there is my mistress calling me! Go, go quick!”

D’Artagnan rose, took his hat as if it had been his intention to obey; then quickly opening the door of a large wardrobe, instead of the door of the staircase, he crouched down in the midst of milady’s robes and dressing-gowns.

“What are you doing?” cried Kitty.

D’Artagnan, who had secured the key, locked himself into the wardrobe without replying.

“Well,” cried milady, in a sharp voice, “are you asleep, that you don’t answer when I ring?”

And D’Artagnan heard the communicating door open violently.

“Here I am, milady, here I am!” cried Kitty, springing forward to meet her mistress.