putting all vulgar reasons of propriety to silence, the two protecting angels of this man united to offer, at the moment of the crisis, the support of their twined arms. Madame de Belliere was pale, trembling, and full of respectful attentions for madame la surintendante, who, with one hand on her husband’s, was looking anxiously towards the door by which Pelisson had gone out to bring D’Artagnan. The captain entered at first full of courtesy, and afterwards of admiration, when, with his infallible glance, he had divined as well as taken in the expression of every face. Fouquet raised himself up in his chair.

“Pardon me, Monsieur d’Artagnan,” said he, “if I did not myself receive you when coming in the king’s name.” And he pronounced the last words with a sort of melancholy