yesterday in Paris, I as yet know no one but Monsieur de Treville, to whom I was recommended by my father, who has the honor to be, in some degree, one of his friends.”

Athos reflected for an instant. “You know no one but Monsieur de Treville?” he asked.

“Yes, monsieur, I know only him.”

“Well, but then,” continued Athos, speaking half to himself, “if I kill you, I shall have the air of a boy-slayer.”

“Not too much so,” replied d’Artagnan, with a bow that was not deficient in dignity, “since you do me the honor to draw a sword with me while suffering from a wound which is very inconvenient.”

“Very inconvenient, upon my word; and you hurt me devilishly, I can tell you. But I will take the left hand —