f I were in uniform," said D'Artagnan to
himself, "I would have this fellow seized and his letter with him. I
could easily get assistance at the very first guard-house; but the devil
take me if I mention my name in an affair of this kind. If I were to
treat him to something to drink, his suspicions would be roused; and,
besides, he would make me drunk. Mordioux! my wits seem to have left
me," said D'Artagnan; "it is all over with me. Yet, supposing I were to
attack this poor devil, make him draw his sword, and kill him for the
sake of his letter. No harm in that, if it were a question of a letter
from a queen to a nobleman, or a letter from a cardinal to a queen; but
what miserable intrigues are those of Messieurs Aramis and Fouquet with
M. Colbert. A man's life for that! No, no, indeed; not even ten crowns."
As he philosophized in this manner, biting, first his nails, and then
his mustaches, he perceived a group of archery and a commissary of
police engaged in forcibly carrying away a man of very gentlemanly
exterior, who was struggling with all his might against them. The
archers had torn his clothes, and were dragging him roughly away. He
begged they would lead him along more respectfully, asserting that he
was a gentleman and a soldier. And observing our soldier walking in the
street, he called out, "Help, comrade."

The soldier walked on with the same step toward the man who had called
out to him, followed by the crowd. An idea suddenly occurred to
D'Artagnan; it was his first one, and we shall find it was not a bad one
either. During the time the gentleman was relating to the soldier that
he had just been seized in a house as a thief, when the truth was he was
only there as a lover; and while the soldier was pitying him, and
offering him consolation and advice with that gravity which a French
soldier has always ready whenever his vanity or his _esprit de corps_ is
concerned, D'Artagnan glided behind the soldier, who was closely hemmed
in by the crowd, and with a rapid gesture drew the paper out of his
belt. As at this moment the gentleman with the torn clothes was pulling
about the soldier to show how the commissary of police had pulled him
about, D'Artagnan effected his capture of the letter without the
slightest inconvenience. He stationed himself about ten paces distant,
behind the pillar of an adjoining house, and read on the address, "To
Monsieur de Valon, at Monsieur Fouquet's, Saint-Mande."

"Good!" he sai