procureur — and that was naturally the successor of Master Coquenard — commenced by slowly unfolding the vast parchment upon which the powerful hand of Porthos had traced his sovereign will. The seal broken — the spectacles put on — the preliminary cough having sounded — every one pricked up his ears. Mousqueton had squatted himself in a corner, the better to weep and the better to hear.

All at once the folding-doors of the great room, which had been shut, were thrown open as if by magic, and a warlike figure appeared upon the threshold, resplendent in the full light of the sun. This was D’Artagnan, who had come alone to the gate, and finding nobody to hold his stirrup, had tied his horse to the knocker and announced himself. The splendor of daylight invading the room, the murmur of all