acquainted in his youth. Only the India-rubber had passed and repassed so often over this writing that it might have escaped a less practiced eye than that of our musketeer.

“Bravo! my friend, bravo!” said D’Artagnan.

“And now you know all that you want to know, do you not?” said Porthos, wheeling about.

“Mordioux! yes, only do me one last favor, dear friend!”

“Speak, I am master here.”

“Do me the pleasure to tell me the name of that gentleman who is walking yonder.”

“Where, there?”

“Behind the soldiers.”