he Gascon, timidly, "that the Comte de la Fere
has commissioned you to give his compliments to Monsieur du Vallon and
myself?"

"Yes, sir."

"Then you have seen him?"

"Certainly I have."

"Where? if I may ask without indiscretion."

"Near here," replied De Comminges, smiling; "so near that if the windows
which look on the orangery were not stopped up you could see him from
where you are."

"He is wandering about the environs of the castle," thought D'Artagnan.
Then he said aloud:

"You met him, I dare say, in the park--hunting, perhaps?"

"No; nearer, nearer still. Look, behind this wall," said De Comminges,
knocking against the wall.

"Behind this wall? What is there, then, behind this wall? I was brought
here by night, so devil take me if I know where I am."

"Well," said Comminges, "suppose one thing."

"I will suppose anything you please."

"Suppose there were a window in this wall."

"Well?"

"From that window you would see Monsieur de la Fere at his."

"The count, then, is in the chateau?"

"Yes."

"For what reason?"

"The same as yourself."

"Athos--a prisoner?"

"You know well," replied De Comminges, "that there are no prisoners at
Rueil, because there is no prison."

"Don't let us play upon words, sir. Athos has been arrested."

"Yesterday, at Saint Germain, as he came out from the presence of the
queen."

The arms of D'Artagnan fell powerless by his side. One might have
supposed him thunderstruck; a paleness ran like a cloud over his dark
skin, but disappeared immediately.

"A prisoner?" he reiterated.

"A prisoner," repeated Porthos, quite dejected.

Suddenly D'Artagnan looked up and in his eyes there was a gleam which
scarcely even Porthos observed; but it died away and he appeared more
sorrowful than before.

"Come, come," said Comminges, who, since D'Artagnan, on the day of
Broussel's arrest, had saved him from the hands of the Parisians, had
entertained a real affection for him, "don't be unhappy; I never thought
of bringing you bad news. Laugh at the chance which has brought your
friend near to you and Monsieur du Vallon, instead of being in the
depths of despair about it."

But D'Artagnan was still in a desponding mood.

"And how did he look?" asked Porthos, who, perceiving that D'Artagnan
had allowed the conversation to drop, profited by it to put in a word or
two.

"Very well, indeed, sir," replied Comminges; "at first, like you, he
seemed distressed; but w