“‘The Vicomte de Bragelonne!’“ exclaimed the king; changing from a fit of laughter to the most profound stupor, and then, after a moment’s silence, while he wiped his forehead, which was bedewed with perspiration, he again murmured, “Bragelonne!”

“No other, sire.”

“Bragelonne, who was affianced to — ”

“Yes, sire.”

“But — he has been in London.”

“Yes; but I can assure you, sire, he is there no longer.”

“Is he in Paris, then?”

“He is at Minimes, sire, where he is waiting for me, as I have already had the honor of telling you.”