“What business had you, then, to go into the chamber of Monsieur d’Artagnan, your neighbor, with whom you had a long conference during the day?” “Ah, yes, Monsieur Commissary; yes, that is true, and I confess that I was in the wrong. I did go to Monsieur d’Artagnan’s.” “What was the aim of that visit?” “To beg him to assist me in finding my wife. I believed I had a right to endeavor to find her. I was deceived, as it appears, and I ask your pardon.” “And what did Monsieur d’Artagnan reply?” “Monsieur d’Artagnan promised me his assistance; but I soon found out that he was betraying me.” “You impose upon justice. Monsieur d’Artagnan made a compact with you; and in virtue of that compact put to flight the police who had arrested your wife, and has placed her beyond reach.” “M. d’Artagnan has abducted my wife! Come now, what are you telling me?” “Fortunately, Monsieur d’Artagnan is in our hands, and you shall be confronted with him.” “By my faith, I ask no better,” cried Bonacieux; “I shall not be sorry to see the face of an acquaintance.” “Bring in the Monsieur d’Artagnan,” said the commissary to the guards. The two guards led in Athos. “Monsieur d’Artagnan,” said the commissary, addressing Athos, “declare all that passed yesterday between you and Monsieur.” “But,” cried Bonacieux, “this is not Monsieur d’Artagnan whom you show me.” “What! Not Monsieur d’Artagnan?” exclaimed the commissary. “Not the least in the world,” replied Bonacieux. “What is this gentleman’s name?” asked the commissary. “I cannot tell you; I don’t know him.” “How! You don’t know him?” “No.” “Did you never see him?” “Yes, I have seen him, but I don’t know what he calls himself.” “Your name?” replied the commissary. “Athos,” replied the Musketeer. “But that is not a man’s name; that is the name of a mountain,” cried the poor questioner, who began to lose his head. “That is my name,” said Athos, quietly. “But you said that your name was D’Artagnan.” “Who, I?” “Yes, you.” “Somebody said to me, ‘You are Monsieur d’Artagnan?’ I answered, ‘You think so?’ My guards exclaimed that they were sure of it. I did not wish to contradict them; besides, I might be deceived.” “Monsieur, you insult the majesty of justice.” “Not at all,” said Athos, calmly. “You are Monsieur d’Artagnan.” “You see, monsieur, that you say it again.” “But I tell you, Monsieur Commissary,” cried Bonacieux, in his turn, “there is not the least doubt about the matter. Monsieur d’Artagnan is my tenant, although he does not pay me my rent—and even better on that account ought I to know him. Monsieur d’Artagnan is a young man, scarcely nineteen or twenty, and this gentleman must be thirty at least. Monsieur d’Artagnan is in Monsieur Dessessart’s Guards, and this gentleman is in the company of Monsieur de Tréville’s Musketeers. Look at his uniform, Monsieur Commissary, look at his uniform!” “That’s true,” murmured the commissary; “_pardieu_, that’s true.”