y that it had been put wrong, and certain from that time that
he had a witness to prove his alibi, he ran downstairs and soon found
himself in the street.

11 IN WHICH THE PLOT THICKENS

His visit to M. de Treville being paid, the pensive d'Artagnan took the
longest way homeward.

On what was d'Artagnan thinking, that he strayed thus from his path,
gazing at the stars of heaven, and sometimes sighing, sometimes smiling?

He was thinking of Mme. Bonacieux. For an apprentice Musketeer the young
woman was almost an ideal of love. Pretty, mysterious, initiated in
almost all the secrets of the court, which reflected such a charming
gravity over her pleasing features, it might be surmised that she was
not wholly unmoved; and this is an irresistible charm to novices in
love. Moreover, d'Artagnan had delivered her from the hands of the
demons who wished to search and ill treat her; and this important
service had established between them one of those sentiments of
gratitude which so easily assume a more tender character.

D'Artagnan already fancied himself, so rapid is the flight of our dreams
upon the wings of imagination, accosted by a messenger from the young
woman, who brought him some billet appointing a meeting, a gold chain,
or a diamond. We have observed that young cavaliers received presents
from their king without shame. Let us add that in these times of lax
morality they had no more delicacy with respect to the mistresses;
and that the latter almost always left them valuable and durable
remembrances, as if they essayed to conquer the fragility of their
sentiments by the solidity of their gifts.

Without a blush, men made their way in the world by the means of women
blushing. Such as were only beautiful gave their beauty, whence, without
doubt, comes the proverb, "The most beautiful girl in the world can only
give what she has." Such as were rich gave in addition a part of their
money; and a vast number of heroes of that gallant period may be cited
who would neither have won their spurs in the first place, nor their
battles afterward, without the purse, more or less furnished, which
their mistress fastened to the saddle bow.

D'Artagnan owned nothing. Provincial diffidence, that slight varnish,
the ephemeral flower, that down of the peach, had evaporated to the
winds through the little orthodox counsels which the three Musketeers
gave their friend. D'Artagnan, following the strange custom of the
times, co