"But Porthos?" cried the countess. "Delightful! Is that the baron?" "Yes," laughed the count. "My cousin is to this day known as Porthos. But who took the papers? Not you!" "No, D'Artagnan--I mean, Merton took them as far as Belgium, and then Lieutenant West and I carried them to London. D'Artagnan's share was a bad rapier-wound." "D'Artagnan?" cried the countess. "That makes it complete." Merton merely smiled, and the blue eyes narrowed a little as the countess said: "And so you are D'Artagnan. How delightful! The man of three duels. And pray, who was my husband?" "That high-minded gentleman, Athos," said Merton, lifting his glass and bowing to the count. "Gracious!" cried the countess. "What delightfully ingenious people! I shall always call him Athos." "It was well, colonel," said the count, "that no one suspected you. The absence of secrecy in the duel put the police at fault. Had you been supposed to be carrying those papers, you would never have reached the field." "Perhaps. One never can tell," said D'Artagnan, simply. "Ah, well," said our host, rising, "I have long since forgiven you, Madame Merton, and no one is now more glad than I that you helped to prevent the recognition of the Confederacy." "You must permit me to thank you all," said the countess; "my curiosity may now sleep in peace. You were vastly clever folk to have defeated our sharp police." "Come," said the count, "you Americans will want a cigar. _On peut etre fin, mais pas plus fin que tout le monde._" TRANSCRIBER'S NOTE: Minor changes have been made to correct obvious typesetter errors; otherwise, every effort has been made to remain true to the author's words and intent. End of Project Gutenberg's A Diplomatic Adventure, by S. Weir Mitchell