Episode 3

“But before he fainted he collected all his strength to challenge you， and to defy you while challenging you.”

“Why， this fellow must be the devil in person！” cried the unknown.

“Oh no， your Excellency，” replied the host， with a grin of contempt， “he is not the devil； for during his fainting we rummaged his valise， and found nothing but a clean shirt and twelve crowns， which， however， did not prevent his saying， as he was fainting， that if such a thing had happened in Paris you should have instantly repented of it， while here you will only repent of it later on.”

“Then，” said the unknown coldly， “he must be some prince of the blood in disguise.”

“I have told you this， good sir，” resumed the host， “in order that you may be on your guard.”

“Did he name no one in his passion？”

“Yes. He struck his pocket and said， ‘We shall see what M. de Tréville will think of this insult offered to his protégé.’ ”

“M. de Tréville？” said the unknown， becoming attentive. “He struck his pocket while pronouncing the name of M. de Tréville？ Now， my dear host， while your young man was unconscious you did not fail， I am quite sure， to ascertain what that pocket contained. What was there in it？”

“A letter addressed to M. de Tréville， captain of the musketeers.”

“Indeed！”

“Just as I have the honour to tell your Excellency.”

The host， who was not endowed with great perspicacity， did not notice at all the expression which his words called up in the countenance of the unknown. The latter arose from the window， upon the sill of which he had been leaning his elbow， and knitted his brows like a man suddenly disturbed.

“The devil！” muttered he between his teeth. “Can Tréville have set this Gascon upon me？ He is very young， but a sword-thrust is a sword-thrust， whatever be the age of him who gives it， and a youth is less to be suspected than an older man. A weak obstacle is sometimes sufficient to overthrow a great design.”

And the unknown fell into a reverie which lasted some minutes.

“Host，” said he， “could you not contrive to get rid of this frantic boy for me？ In conscience， I cannot kill him； and yet，” added he， with a coldly menacing expression—“and yet he annoys me. Where is he？”

“In my wife’s chamber， where they are dressing his wounds， on the first floor.”

“His things and his bag are with him？ Has he taken off his doublet？”

“On the contrary， everything is down in the kitchen. But if he annoys you， this crazy young fool—”

“To be sure he does. He causes a disturbance in your hostelry， which respectable people cannot put up with. Go， make out my bill， and call my servant.”

“What， sir！ do you mean to leave us already？”

“You knew I was going， as I ordered you to get my horse saddled. Have they not obeyed？”

“Yes， sir； and as your Excellency may have observed， your horse is in the great gateway， ready saddled for your departure.”

“That is well. Do as I have directed you， then.”

“What the devil！” said the host to himself. “Can he be afraid of this boy？” But an imperious glance from the unknown stopped him short； he bowed humbly and retired.

“Milady must see nothing of this fellow，” continued the stranger. “She will soon pass by； she is already late. I had better get on horseback， and go and meet her. I should like， however， to know what this letter addressed to Tréville contains.”

And the unknown， muttering to himself， directed his steps towards the kitchen.

In the meantime the host， who entertained no doubt that it was the presence of the young man which was driving the unknown from his hostelry， had gone up to his wife’s chamber， and found D’Artagnan entirely returned to consciousness. Giving him to understand that the police could deal with him pretty severely for having sought a quarrel with a great lord (for in the opinion of the host the unknown could be nothing less than a great lord)， he insisted that， notwithstanding his weakness， he should get up and depart as quickly as possible. D’Artagnan， half-stupefied， without his doublet， and with his head all swathed with bandages， arose then， and urged on by the host， began to descend the stairs； but on arriving at the kitchen the first thing he saw was his antagonist， who stood quietly talking beside the step of a heavy carriage drawn by two large Norman horses.

His interlocutor， whose head appeared through the carriage window， was a woman of from twenty to two-and-twenty years of age. We have already observed with what rapidity D’Artagnan took in every feature of a face. He perceived then， at a glance， that this woman was young and beautiful； and her style of beauty struck him the more forcibly on account of its being totally different from that of the southern countries in which D’Artagnan had hitherto resided. She was pale and fair， with long curls falling in profusion over her shoulders； had large languishing blue eyes， rosy lips， and hands of alabaster. She was talking with great animation with the unknown.