“Here is the story, monseigneur,” resumed the trembling host; “for I now recollect you. It was you who rode off at the moment I had that unfortunate difference with the gentleman you speak of.” “Yes, it was I; so you may plainly perceive that you have no mercy to expect if you do not tell me the whole truth.” “Condescend to listen to me, and you shall know all.” “I listen.” “I had been warned by the authorities that a celebrated coiner of bad money would arrive at my inn, with several of his companions, all disguised as Guards or Musketeers. Monseigneur, I was furnished with a description of your horses, your lackeys, your countenances—nothing was omitted.” “Go on, go on!” said D’Artagnan, who quickly understood whence such an exact description had come. “I took then, in conformity with the orders of the authorities, who sent me a reinforcement of six men, such measures as I thought necessary to get possession of the persons of the pretended coiners.” “Again!” said D’Artagnan, whose ears chafed terribly under the repetition of this word _coiners_. “Pardon me, monseigneur, for saying such things, but they form my excuse. The authorities had terrified me, and you know that an innkeeper must keep on good terms with the authorities.” “But once again, that gentleman—where is he? What has become of him? Is he dead? Is he living?” “Patience, monseigneur, we are coming to it. There happened then that which you know, and of which your precipitate departure,” added the host, with an acuteness that did not escape D’Artagnan, “appeared to authorize the issue. That gentleman, your friend, defended himself desperately. His lackey, who, by an unforeseen piece of ill luck, had quarreled with the officers, disguised as stable lads—” “Miserable scoundrel!” cried D’Artagnan, “you were all in the plot, then! And I really don’t know what prevents me from exterminating you all.” “Alas, monseigneur, we were not in the plot, as you will soon see. Monsieur your friend (pardon for not calling him by the honorable name which no doubt he bears, but we do not know that name), Monsieur your friend, having disabled two men with his pistols, retreated fighting with his sword, with which he disabled one of my men, and stunned me with a blow of the flat side of it.” “You villain, will you finish?” cried D’Artagnan, “Athos—what has become of Athos?” “While fighting and retreating, as I have told Monseigneur, he found the door of the cellar stairs behind him, and as the door was open, he took out the key, and barricaded himself inside. As we were sure of finding him there, we left him alone.” “Yes,” said D’Artagnan, “you did not really wish to kill; you only wished to imprison him.”