e with you, I must go away with you. I can't leave you alone in
this abominable country."

"Thanks, my worthy friend. So I have a little adventure to propose to
you when the count is gone. I want to find out who was the man in the
mask, who so obligingly offered to cut the king's throat."

"A man in a mask?" cried Athos. "You did not let the executioner escape,
then?"

"The executioner is still in the cellar, where, I presume, he has had an
interview with mine host's bottles. But you remind me. Mousqueton!"

"Sir," answered a voice from the depths of the earth.

"Let out your prisoner. All is over."

"But," said Athos, "who is the wretch that has dared to raise his hand
against his king?"

"An amateur headsman," replied Aramis, "who however, does not handle the
axe amiss."

"Did you not see his face?" asked Athos.

"He wore a mask."

"But you, Aramis, who were close to him?"

"I could see nothing but a gray beard under the fringe of the mask."

"Then it must be a man of a certain age."

"Oh!" said D'Artagnan, "that matters little. When one puts on a mask, it
is not difficult to wear a beard under it."

"I am sorry I did not follow him," said Porthos.

"Well, my dear Porthos," said D'Artagnan, "that's the very thing it came
into my head to do."

Athos understood all now.

"Pardon me, D'Artagnan," he said. "I have distrusted God; I could the
more easily distrust you. Pardon me, my friend."

"We will see about that presently," said D'Artagnan, with a slight
smile.

"Well, then?" said Aramis.

"Well, while I was watching--not the king, as monsieur le comte thinks,
for I know what it is to see a man led to death, and though I ought to
be accustomed to the sight it always makes me ill--while I was watching
the masked executioner, the idea came to me, as I said, to find out who
he was. Now, as we are wont to complete ourselves each by all the rest
and to depend on one another for assistance, as one calls his other hand
to aid the first, I looked around instinctively to see if Porthos was
there; for I had seen you, Aramis, with the king, and you, count, I
knew would be under the scaffold, and for that reason I forgive you," he
added, offering Athos his hand, "for you must have suffered much. I
was looking around for Porthos when I saw near me a head which had been
broken, but which, for better or worse, had been patched with plaster
and with black silk. 'Humph!' thought I, 'that looks like my handiwork