where you sit." (Athos changed color.) "I--I
was where D'Artagnan stands. I wore a long sword which cut like a
Damascus--you remember it, Aramis for you always called it Balizarde.
Well, I swear to you, all three, that had the executioner of
Bethune--was he not of Bethune?--yes, egad! of Bethune!--not been there,
I would have cut off the head of that infamous being without thinking of
it, or even after thinking of it. She was a most atrocious woman."

"And then," said Aramis, with the tone of philosophical indifference
which he had assumed since he had belonged to the church and in which
there was more atheism than confidence in God, "what is the use of
thinking of it all? At the last hour we must confess this action and
God knows better than we can whether it is a crime, a fault, or a
meritorious deed. I repent of it? Egad! no. Upon my honor and by the
holy cross; I only regret it because she was a woman."

"The most satisfactory part of the matter," said D'Artagnan, "is that
there remains no trace of it."

"She had a son," observed Athos.

"Oh! yes, I know that," said D'Artagnan, "and you mentioned it to me;
but who knows what has become of him? If the serpent be dead, why not
its brood? Do you think his uncle De Winter would have brought up that
young viper? De Winter probably condemned the son as he had done the
mother."

"Then," said Athos, "woe to De Winter, for the child had done no harm."

"May the devil take me, if the child be not dead," said Porthos. "There
is so much fog in that detestable country, at least so D'Artagnan
declares."

Just as the quaint conclusion reached by Porthos was about to bring back
hilarity to faces now more or less clouded, hasty footsteps were heard
upon the stair and some one knocked at the door.

"Come in," cried Athos.

"Please your honors," said the host, "a person in a great hurry wishes
to speak to one of you."

"To which of us?" asked all the four friends.

"To him who is called the Comte de la Fere."

"It is I," said Athos, "and what is the name of the person?"

"Grimaud."

"Ah!" exclaimed Athos, turning pale. "Back already! What can have
happened, then, to Bragelonne?"

"Let him enter," cried D'Artagnan; "let him come up."

But Grimaud had already mounted the staircase and was waiting on the
last step; so springing into the room he motioned the host to leave it.
The door being closed, the four friends waited in expectation. Grimaud's
agitation, his pall