“She revives!” cried the young man. “Oh, my God, my God, I thank thee!”
“Madame!” said Athos, “madame, in the name of heaven, whose empty glass is this?”
“Mine, monsieur,” said the young woman, in a dying voice.
“But who poured the wine for you that was in this glass?”
“She.”
“But who is SHE?”
“Oh, I remember!” said Mme. Bonacieux, “the Comtesse de Winter.”
The four friends uttered one and the same cry, but that of Athos dominated all the rest.
At that moment the