a right to do without changing your dress, immediately, in your robe de chambre — just as you are.” Saying these words, and with a profound bow, the musketeer, whose looks had lost none of their intelligent kindness, left the apartment. He had not reached the steps of the vestibule, when Fouquet, quite beside himself, hung to the bell-rope, and shouted, “My horses! — my lighter!” But nobody answered. The surintendant dressed himself with everything that came to hand.

“Gourville! — Gourville!” cried he, while slipping his watch into his pocket. And the bell sounded again, whilst Fouquet repeated, “Gourville! — Gourville!”

Gourville at length appeared, breathless and pale.

“Let us be gone! Let us be gone!”