said the topographer, blushing to the top of his ears.

“Why, you say the house, when speaking of Belle-Isle, as if you were speaking of the chateau of Pierrefonds.”

Porthos bit his lip. “Belle-Isle, my friend,” said he, “belongs to M. Fouquet, does it not?”

“Yes, I believe so.”

“As Pierrefonds belongs to me?”

“I told you I believed so; there are no two words to that.”

“Did you ever see a man there who is accustomed to walk about with a ruler in his hand?”

“No; but I might have seen him there, if he really walked there.”