re fortunate than I deserve to be. But I was
returning late, or early, as your majesty pleases, from that fortunate
house in which I had spent the night in retreat, when four cut-throats
rushed from the Rue de la Mortellerie and pursued me with indescribably
long knives. It is grotesque, is it not, madame? but it is true--I had
to run away, for I had forgotten my sword."

"Oh! I understand," said Marguerite, with an admirably naive manner,
"and you have come back to find your sword?"

La Mole looked at Marguerite as though a suspicion flashed through his
mind.

"Madame, I would return to some place and very willingly too, since my
sword is an excellent blade, but I do not know where the house is."

"What, monsieur?" exclaimed Marguerite. "You do not know where the house
is in which you passed the night?"

"No, madame, and may Satan exterminate me if I have any idea!"

"Well this is strange! your story, then, is a romance?"

"A true romance, as you say, madame."

"Tell it to me."

"It is somewhat long."

"Never mind, I have time."

"And, above all, it is improbable."

"Never mind, no one could be more credulous than I."

"Does your majesty command me?"

"Why, yes; if necessary."

"In that case I obey. Last evening, having left two adorable women with
whom we had spent the evening on the Saint Michel bridge, we took supper
at Maitre La Huriere's."

"In the first place," said Marguerite, perfectly naturally, "who is
Maitre La Huriere?"

"Maitre La Huriere, madame," said La Mole, again glancing at Marguerite
with the suspicion he had already felt, "Maitre La Huriere is the host
of the inn of the _Belle Etoile_ in the Rue de l'Arbre Sec."

"Yes, I can see it from here. You were supping, then, at Maitre La
Huriere's with your friend Coconnas, no doubt?"

"Yes, madame, with my friend Coconnas, when a man entered and handed us
each a note."

"Were they alike?" asked Marguerite.

"Exactly alike. They contained only a single line:

"'_You are awaited in the Rue Saint Antoine, opposite the Rue Saint
Jouy_.'"

"And had the note no signature?" asked Marguerite.

"No; only three words--three charming words which three times promised
the same thing, that is to say, a three-fold happiness."

"And what were these three words?"

"_Eros, Cupido, Amor_."

"In short, three sweet words; and did they fulfil what they promised?"

"Oh! more, madame, a hundred times more!" cried La Mole with enthusiasm.

"C