glassful of the wine he loved the best — that old Anjou wine mentioned by Porthos in his admirable will.

Then, refreshed, free in mind, he had his horse brought again; but only with the aid of his servants was he able painfully to climb into the saddle. He did not go a hundred paces; a shivering seized him again at the turning of the road.

“This is very strange!” said he to his valet de chambre, who accompanied him.

“Let us stop, monsieur — I conjure you!” replied the faithful servant; “how pale you are getting!”

“That will not prevent my pursuing my route, now I have once started,” replied the comte. And he gave his horse his head again. But suddenly, the