“Nay, they mean no evil; they probably know not what they do,” said Athos. “These poor knaves must live.” “And I say they must die!” repeated Aramis. The eyes of Aramis and Athos met, and both turned deathly pale. “A quarrel?” asked Athos, with the delicate intonation of a royal prince. Porthos and D’Artagnan waited in breathless suspense for the answer of Aramis. “Heaven forbid!” cried the musketeer. “’Twill be time for that when we are back again on the shores of Styx. Duty first, pleasure afterwards.” Athos bowed, and all four friends caressed each other warmly. Porthos ordered more wine. “To your plan,” cried D’Artagnan. “The night wanes and the playhouse opens its doors ere long.” “We must be there at the rise of the curtain. We will disguise ourselves.” “Nay, no disguise. There is nothing to fear.” “So be it, then. We will take our place among the spectators, and at a given signal from D’Artagnan we will force a way to the stage. Then each man must draw and put a quarrel on the mummer who is impersonating him. If they do not instantly yield, their fate be upon their own shoulders.” “I pray they may draw their weapons,” said Porthos. “Pshaw! What glory comes to us from spitting of players? ’Tis as easy as toasting cheese,” said D’Artagnan. They had now dined well, and Porthos called aloud for the reckoning. “Hasten, lackey!” he cried, “or I shall lace thy black, frowsy jacket in a new pattern.” The musketeers buckled on their swords, and D’Artagnan spoke to Athos. “Our adventure, then, is bloodless--a mere farce, nothing like the good old times?” Athos shook his head. “Alas! I would it were so. But blood must flow. It is ever our fate to spill it. Two gentlemen must die to-night; we owe it to the Master.” “Their names?” cried Aramis. “Messieurs Sydney Grundy and Henry Hamilton.” A look of terrible meaning flashed from eye to eye, and the avengers clasped each other’s hands. Then Porthos flung two pistoles upon the table, and arm-in-arm the musketeers clanged and clashed out of the Criterion, to the relief of everybody present. Their lackeys awaited them. Mousqueton and Grimaud were directed to go into the pit of the theatre and join their masters on the stage at the critical moment; while Planchet and Bazin were to have the horses in readiness at the stage-door. “And now?” said Porthos. “_Pardieu!_ To Her Majesty’s Theatre!” answered D’Artagnan. A flash of lightning flickered over Panton Street as the immortal four moved stealthily in that direction. * * * * * Among the first to enter Her Majesty’s Theatre on the night with which we are concerned were Athos, Porthos, Aramis, and D’Artagnan. Porthos flung three pistoles into the box-office, and demanded four seats near the stage, while the clerk in charge regarded the coins with some suspicion. “They are each worth sixteen English shillings,” said D’Artagnan shortly.