arms with a sort of embarrassment which did not ill become him.

“You here?” he exclaimed.

“And you?” replied D’Artagnan. “Ah, you sly fellow!”

“Yes,” said Porthos, with a somewhat embarrassed smile; “yes, you see I am staying in M. Fouquet’s house, at which you are not a little surprised, I suppose?”

“Not at all; why should you not be one of M. Fouquet’s friends? M. Fouquet has a very large number, particularly among clever men.”

Porthos had the modesty not to take the compliment to himself. “Besides,” he added, “you saw me at Belle-Isle.”