firmness, which filled the hearts of all his friends with terror.

“Monseigneur,” replied D’Artagnan, “I only come to you in the king’s name to demand payment of an order for two hundred pistoles.”

The clouds passed from every brow but that of Fouquet, which still remained overcast.

“Ah! then,” said he, “perhaps you also are setting out for Nantes?”

“I do not know whither I am setting out, monseigneur.”

“But,” said Madame Fouquet, recovered from her fright, “you are not going so soon, monsieur le capitaine, as not to do us the honor to take a seat with