“Well, this evening will come, thank God! And perhaps you look for it with as much impatience as I do; perhaps this evening Madame Bonacieux will visit the conjugal domicile.” “Madame Bonacieux is not at liberty this evening,” replied the husband, seriously; “she is detained at the Louvre this evening by her duties.” “So much the worse for you, my dear host, so much the worse! When I am happy, I wish all the world to be so; but it appears that is not possible.” The young man departed, laughing at the joke, which he thought he alone could comprehend. “Amuse yourself well!” replied Bonacieux, in a sepulchral tone. But D’Artagnan was too far off to hear him; and if he had heard him in the disposition of mind he then enjoyed, he certainly would not have remarked it. He took his way toward the hôtel of M. de Tréville; his visit of the day before, it is to be remembered, had been very short and very little explicative. He found Tréville in a joyful mood. He had thought the king and queen charming at the ball. It is true the cardinal had been particularly ill-tempered. He had retired at one o’clock under the pretense of being indisposed. As to their Majesties, they did not return to the Louvre till six o’clock in the morning. “Now,” said Tréville, lowering his voice, and looking into every corner of the apartment to see if they were alone, “now let us talk about yourself, my young friend; for it is evident that your happy return has something to do with the joy of the king, the triumph of the queen, and the humiliation of his Eminence. You must look out for yourself.” “What have I to fear,” replied D’Artagnan, “as long as I shall have the luck to enjoy the favor of their Majesties?” “Everything, believe me. The cardinal is not the man to forget a mystification until he has settled account with the mystifier; and the mystifier appears to me to have the air of being a certain young Gascon of my acquaintance.” “Do you believe that the cardinal is as well posted as yourself, and knows that I have been to London?” “The devil! You have been to London! Was it from London you brought that beautiful diamond that glitters on your finger? Beware, my dear D’Artagnan! A present from an enemy is not a good thing. Are there not some Latin verses upon that subject? Stop!” “Yes, doubtless,” replied D’Artagnan, who had never been able to cram the first rudiments of that language into his head, and who had by his ignorance driven his master to despair, “yes, doubtless there is one.” “There certainly is one,” said M. de Tréville, who had a tincture of literature, “and Monsieur de Benserade was quoting it to me the other day. Stop a minute—ah, this is it: ‘Timeo Danaos et dona ferentes,’ which means, ‘Beware of the enemy who makes you presents.” “This diamond does not come from an enemy, monsieur,” replied D’Artagnan, “it comes from the queen.”