“A proof!” cried milady; “I will find you ten.”

“Well, then, it is the simplest thing in the world. Get me your proof, and I will send him to the Bastille.”

“So far so good, monseigneur; but afterwards?”

“When one is in the Bastille there is no afterwards!” said the cardinal in a low voice. “Ah, by God!” continued he, “if it were as easy for me to get rid of my enemy as it is easy to get rid of yours, and if it were only against such people you required impunity—”

“Monseigneur,” replied milady, “a fair exchange—life for life, man for man; give me one, I will give you the other.”

“I don’t know what you mean, nor do I even wish to know what you mean,” replied the cardinal; “but I wish to please you, and see nothing out of the way in giving you what you ask for with respect to so mean a creature—the more so as you tell me this petty D’Artagnan is a libertine, a duellist, a traitor.”

“An infamous scoundrel, monseigneur, an infamous scoundrel!”

“Give me a paper, a pen, and some ink, then,” said the cardinal.

“Here they are, monseigneur.”

There was a moment of silence, which proved that the cardinal was engaged in seeking the terms in which he should write the note, or else in writing it. Athos, who had not lost a word of the conversation, took his two companions by the hand and led them to the other end of the room.

“Well,” said Porthos, “what do you want, and why do you not let us listen to the end of the conversation?”

“Hush!” said Athos, speaking in a low voice; “we have heard all it was necessary for us to hear; besides, I don’t prevent you from listening but I must be gone.”

“You must be gone!” said Porthos; “and if the cardinal asks for you, what answer can we make?”

“You will not wait till he asks; you will speak first, and tell him that I am gone as a scout, because certain expressions of our landlord have made me think the road is not safe. I will say a word or two about it to the cardinal’s attendant likewise. The rest concerns myself; don’t be anxious about that.”

“Be prudent, Athos,” said Aramis.

“Don’t be worried,” replied Athos.

Porthos and Aramis resumed their places by the stove-pipe.

Athos went out without any mystery, took his horse, which was tied with those of his friends to the fastenings of the shutters, in four words convinced the attendant of the necessity of a vanguard for their return, carefully examined the priming of his pistol, drew his sword, and, like a forlorn hope, took the road to the camp.