perched behind the board, and carefully stitching cloth or velvet. Nevertheless, this man held up his head too often to be very productively employed with his fingers. D’Artagnan was not deceived, — not he; and he saw at once that if this man was working at anything, it certainly was not at velvet.

“Eh!” said he, addressing this man, “and so you have become a tailor’s boy, Monsieur Moliere!”

“Hush, M. d’Artagnan!” replied the man, softly, “you will make them recognize me.”

“Well, and what harm?”

“The fact is, there is no harm, but — ”

“You were going to say there is no good in doing it either, is it not so?”