“But what were you to have done with the woman?” asked D’Artagnan, in great agitation.

“We were to have conveyed her to a hôtel in the Place Royale,” said the wounded man.

“Yes, yes,” murmured D’Artagnan; “that’s the place—milady’s own residence.”

Then the young man, shuddering, felt what a terrible thirst of vengeance impelled this woman to destroy him, as well as those who loved him, and how well acquainted she must be with affairs of the court, since she had discovered everything. Doubtless she owed this information to the cardinal.

But he also perceived, with a feeling of genuine joy, that the queen must have at last discovered the prison in which poor Madame Bonacieux was expiating her devotion, and that she had freed her from that prison. And the letter he had received from the young woman, and her passing along the Chaillot road like an apparition, were now explained.

He turned to the wounded man, who had watched with intense anxiety all the varying expressions of his countenance, and holding out his arm to him,

“Come,” said he; “I will not abandon you thus. Lean upon me, and let us return to camp.”

The guardsman who had returned at the first discharge had announced the death of his four companions. There was therefore much astonishment and delight in the regiment when the young man was seen to come back safe and sound.

D’Artagnan explained the sword-wound of his companion by a sortie which he improvised. He told of the other soldier’s death and the perils they had encountered. This recital was for him the occasion of a veritable triumph. The whole army talked of this expedition for a day, and Monsieur sent him his compliments on it.