“What need you fear?” said Athos, recovering from the instinctive fear he had at first experienced, by the aid of reason; “are we not men accustomed to defend ourselves? Is this young man an assassin by profession—a murderer in cold blood? He has killed the executioner of Bethune in an access of passion, but now his fury is assuaged.” De Winter smiled sorrowfully and shook his head. “Do you not know the race?” said he. “Pooh!” said Athos, trying to smile in his turn. “It must have lost its ferocity in the second generation. Besides, my friend, Providence has warned us, that we may be on our guard. All we can now do is to wait. Let us wait; and, as I said before, let us speak of yourself. What brings you to Paris?” “Affairs of importance which you shall know later. But what is this that I hear from Her Majesty the Queen of England? Monsieur d’Artagnan sides with Mazarin! Pardon my frankness, dear friend. I neither hate nor blame the cardinal, and your opinions will be held ever sacred by me. But do you happen to belong to him?” “Monsieur d’Artagnan,” replied Athos, “is in the service; he is a soldier and obeys all constitutional authority. Monsieur d’Artagnan is not rich and has need of his position as lieutenant to enable him to live. Millionaires like yourself, my lord, are rare in France.” “Alas!” said De Winter, “I am at this moment as poor as he is, if not poorer. But to return to our subject.” “Well, then, you wish to know if I am of Mazarin’s party? No. Pardon my frankness, too, my lord.” “I am obliged to you, count, for this pleasing intelligence! You make me young and happy again by it. Ah! so you are not a Mazarinist? Delightful! Indeed, you could not belong to him. But pardon me, are you free? I mean to ask if you are married?” “Ah! as to that, no,” replied Athos, laughing. “Because that young man, so handsome, so elegant, so polished——” “Is a child I have adopted and who does not even know who was his father.” “Very well; you are always the same, Athos, great and generous. Are you still friends with Monsieur Porthos and Monsieur Aramis?” “Add Monsieur d’Artagnan, my lord. We still remain four friends devoted to each other; but when it becomes a question of serving the cardinal or of fighting him, of being Mazarinists or Frondists, then we are only two.” “Is Monsieur Aramis with D’Artagnan?” asked Lord de Winter. “No,” said Athos; “Monsieur Aramis does me the honor to share my opinions.” “Could you put me in communication with your witty and agreeable friend? Is he much changed?” “He has become an abbé, that is all.” “You alarm me; his profession must have made him renounce any great undertakings.” “On the contrary,” said Athos, smiling, “he has never been so much a musketeer as since he became an abbé, and you will find him a veritable soldier.” “Could you engage to bring him to me to-morrow morning at ten o’clock, on the Pont du Louvre?” “Oh, oh!” exclaimed Athos, smiling, “you have a duel in prospect.”