branch, and stuck it into the ground; then, wiping the
tears from her eyes, she bowed to D'Artagnan, and disappeared.

The captain watched the departure of the horses, horsemen, and carriage,
then crossing his arms upon his swelling chest, "When will it be my turn
to depart?" said he, in an agitated voice. "What is there left for man
after youth, after love, after glory, after friendship, after strength,
after riches? That rock, under which sleeps Porthos, who possessed all I
have named; this moss, under which repose Athos and Raoul, who possessed
still much more!"

He hesitated a moment, with a dull eye; then, drawing himself up:
"Forward! still forward!" said he. "When it shall be time, God will tell
me, as He has told others."

He touched the earth, moistened with the evening dew, with the ends of
his fingers, signed himself as if he had been at the _benitier_ of a
church, and retook alone--ever alone--the road to Paris.

EPILOGUE.

Four years after the scene we have just described, two horsemen, well
mounted, traversed Blois early in the morning, for the purpose of
arranging a birding party which the king intended to make in that uneven
plain which the Loire divides in two, and which borders on the one side
on Meung, on the other on Amboise. These were the captain of the king's
harriers and the governor of the falcons, personages greatly respected
in the time of Louis XIII., but rather neglected by his successor. These
two horsemen, having reconnoitered the ground, were returning, their
observations made, when they perceived some little groups of soldiers,
here and there, whom the sergeants were placing at distances at the
openings of the inclosures. These were the king's musketeers. Behind
them came, upon a good horse, the captain, known by his richly
embroidered uniform. His hair was gray, his beard was becoming so. He
appeared a little bent, although sitting and handling his horse
gracefully. He was looking about him watchfully.

"M. d'Artagnan does not get any older," said the captain of the harriers
to his colleague the falconer: "with ten years more than either of us,
he has the seat of a young man on horseback."

"That is true," replied the falconer. "I don't see any change in him for
the last twenty years."

But this officer was mistaken; D'Artagnan in the last four years had
lived twelve years. Age imprinted its pitiless claws at each angle of
his eyes; his brow was bald; his hands, formerl