“This fellow is a perfect madman,” thought Saint-Aignan. “What, in Heaven’s name, does he want?” He then said aloud: “Come, monsieur, let us hush up this affair.”

“You forget the portrait,” said Porthos, in a voice of thunder, which made the comte’s blood freeze in his veins.

As the portrait in question was La Valliere’s portrait, and no mistake could any longer exist on the subject, Saint-Aignan’s eyes were completely opened.

“Ah!” he exclaimed — ”ah! monsieur, I remember now that M. de Bragelonne was engaged to be married to her.”

Porthos assumed an imposing air, all the majesty of ignorance, in fact, as he said: