“Very well,” said the king, and he granted him leave of absence.

We shall not look for D’Artagnan, therefore, at Fontainebleau, for to do so would be useless; but, with the permission of our readers, follow him to the Rue des Lombards, where he was located at the sign of the Pilon d’Or, in the house of our old friend Planchet. It was about eight o’clock in the evening, and the weather was exceedingly warm; there was only one window open, and that one belonging to a room on the entresol.

A perfume of spices, mingled with another perfume less exotic, but more penetrating, namely, that which arose from the street, ascended to salute the nostrils of the musketeer. D’Artagnan, reclining in an immense straight-backed chair, with his legs not stretched out,