ieur de Treville was
about to check sharply this infraction of the laws of etiquette,
when he suddenly felt the hand of Athos contract in his, and
looking at the guardsman, he saw that he was going to faint. At
the same moment Athos, who had summoned all his energies to
struggle against the sufferings he endured, was overcome by the
torture of his wound, and fell senseless to the ground.

"'A surgeon!' cried Monsieur de Treville. 'My surgeon--the
King's--the best! A surgeon! or, _sangdieu!_ my brave Athos will
die!'"

The swoon of Athos had merely been occasioned by loss of blood. The
surgeon declares there is no danger, and D'Artagnan, who has stood his
ground with true Gascon tenacity, at length obtains an audience. The
loss of his letter of recommendation now proves a great disadvantage
to him. In those days of court intrigue and espionage, men were
naturally suspicious of each other, and the mingled _naivete_ and
shrewdness of the young Bearnais, are causes for Monsieur de Treville
at first suspecting him of being a spy of the Cardinal's. His
suspicions, however, are wearing off, and he is disposed to be useful
to D'Artagnan, although he cannot admit him into the mousquetaires--a
noviciate of two years in some other regiment being the indispensable
condition of admission into that favoured corps--when D'Artagnan,
happening to look out of the window, starts, reddens with anger, and
rushes to the door. He has recognised, in a passer-by, the person who
had stolen his letter; and leaves Monsieur de Treville in doubt
whether he has to do with a madman or with an emissary of the
Cardinal's, who, fearing himself suspected, takes this pretext for
effecting a retreat.

In his hurry to leave the hotel and pursue his robber, D'Artagnan gets
into all sorts of scrapes. On the landing-place he runs against Athos,
who is returning home after having his wound dressed. Some hasty words
pass, a challenge is the result, and rendezvous is taken for noon in a
field near the Carmelite convent, then a favourite duelling ground. In
the gateway of the courtyard, Porthos is talking with one of his
comrades, and D'Artagnan, in trying to pass between them, gets
entangled in the velvet cloak of the former, and discovers, what the
guardsman had been most anxious to conceal, that the front only of his
embroidered shoulder-belt was gold, and the back mere leather.
Porthos, not having sufficient pistoles to