suddenly, through the door, he fancied he recognized
Montalais's voice in the Cabinet des Porcelaines. "She!" he cried. "Yes;
it is indeed her voice! She will be able to tell me the whole truth; but
shall I question her here? She conceals herself even from me; she is
coming no doubt from Madame. I will see her in her own apartment. She
will explain her alarm, her flight, the strange manner in which I was
driven out; she will tell me all that--after M. d'Artagnan, who knows
everything, shall have given me fresh strength and courage. Madame, a
coquette, I fear, and yet a coquette who is herself in love, has her
moments of kindness; a coquette who is as capricious and uncertain as
life or death, but who tells De Guiche that he is the happiest of men.
He at least is lying on roses." And so he hastily quitted the comte's
apartments, and reproaching himself as he went for having talked of
nothing but his own affairs to De Guiche, he arrived at D'Artagnan's
quarters.

CHAPTER LVIII.

BRAGELONNE CONTINUES HIS INQUIRIES.

The captain was sitting buried in his leathern armchair, his spur fixed
in the floor, his sword between his legs, and was occupied in reading a
great number of letters, as he twisted his mustache. D'Artagnan uttered
a welcome full of pleasure when he perceived his friend's son. "Raoul,
my boy," he said, "by what lucky accident does it happen that the king
has recalled you?"

These words did not sound over agreeably in the young man's ears, who,
as he seated himself, replied, "Upon my word, I cannot tell you; all
that I know is that I have come back."

"Hum!" said D'Artagnan, folding up his letters and directing a look full
of meaning at him; "what do you say, my boy? that the king has not
recalled you, and that you have returned? I do not understand that at
all."

Raoul was already pale enough, and he began to turn his hat round and
round in his hand.

"What the deuce is the matter that you look as you do, and what makes
you so dumb?" said the captain. "Do people assume that sort of airs in
England? I have been in England, and came back again as lively as a
chaffinch. Will you not say something?"

"I have too much to say."

"Ah! ah! how is your father?"

"Forgive me, my dear friend, I was going to ask you that?"

D'Artagnan increased the sharpness of his penetrating gaze, which no
secret was capable of resisting. "You are unhappy about something," he
said.

"I am, indeed; and you know v