placed his hand upon her shoulder, she sank upon one knee, crying in a choking voice, “Kill me, if you please, you shall know nothing!”

D’Artagnan raised her by passing his arm round her waist; but as he felt by her weight she was on the point of fainting, he made haste to reassure her by protestations of devotedness. These protestations were nothing for Mme. Bonacieux, for such protestations may be made with the worst intentions in the world; but the voice was all. Mme. Bonacieux thought she recognized the sound of that voice; she reopened her eyes, cast a quick glance upon the man who had terrified her so, and at once perceiving it was d’Artagnan, she uttered a cry of joy, “Oh, it is you, it is you! Thank God, thank God!”

“Yes, it is I,” said d’Artagnan,