D’Artagnan frowned, and sought the face of Athos; Porthos looked furious, and twirled his huge moustaches; Athos lifted his eyebrows, and the habitual melancholy of his noble and patrician face became much increased. “What say you to this, friend Athos?” inquired D’Artagnan. Without a word Athos took the _Globe_ from the hand of Aramis, and studied it. “One Beerbohm Tree essays your part, dear D’Artagnan; but be calm, be calm! He may mean well.” D’Artagnan drank a bumper of champagne, but his hand trembled, and a terrible light gleamed in his eyes. “And we--we are all in the play,” continued Athos. He started, and grew pale. “And Milady also,” he hissed. “And Richelieu?” inquired Porthos. “They are all there.” Porthos shut his teeth like a rat-trap. “It will be like old times,” he said. Aramis answered nothing; he merely drew his blade and made it glitter thrice through the air, then put it up again. The diners were much surprised, and the waiters also showed uneasiness. “I perceive the play is alleged to be by one Sydney Grundy,” observed Athos, his melancholy increasing. “Bon Dieu!” observed D’Artagnan. “Bon Dumas!” said Aramis. “Speak, Athos,” continued D’Artagnan; “deliver your opinion, and we four will execute it in the face of this city. One thing I am determined upon. This profanation must cease. We owe it to the Master.” “Dumas would certainly will it so,” declared Porthos. “His mighty shade must not be troubled by these puppets. I have my muscles still, Athos has his brains, Aramis his priestly cunning, D’Artagnan his matchless blade.” “This passes belief!” cried Aramis, suddenly shaking the _Globe_ aloft. He started to his feet, and his friends, moved by that close, mysterious sympathy which at all times united them, likewise leapt from their chairs. “What now?” cried D’Artagnan, his dark eyes gleaming with Gascon fire. “Another travesty! Another _Three Musketeers_--this time at a house of entertainment named the ‘Garrick,’ and executed by one Hamilton!” “’Sdeath, this passes belief!” murmured Athos. A tear stood in his eye, but he dashed it away, gripped his companions by the hand, and put one foot on the table. The others instantly followed his example. “For auld lang syne!” cried Porthos, and, raising his bull-like voice, he made the electric-light fittings shake in the roof. “So be it; Athos is right,” said Aramis. “He is always right,” declared D’Artagnan. “His word shall be obeyed to the last letter, by----!” swore Porthos. “I have not spoken yet, however,” said Athos. A roar of laughter greeted this sally, then the friends resumed their business and their meal. “Briefly, in a little affair of this kind, expedition is the main factor,” declared Athos. “We are, of course, agreed,” he continued, “that these exhibitions must cease?” “Agreed!” they shouted like one musketeer. “Then the only question left is that of the penalty.” “Let them die; it is the reward of sacrilege!” said Aramis coldly.