— ”

Porthos, in pronouncing these words, seemed to gulp down something.

“Madame du Vallon was of doubtful gentility. She had, in her first marriage — I don’t think, D’Artagnan, I am telling you anything new — married a lawyer; they thought that ‘nauseous;’ you can understand that’s a word bad enough to make one kill thirty thousand men. I have killed two, which has made people hold their tongues, but has not made me their friend.

So that I have no society; I live alone; I am sick of it — my mind preys on itself.”

D’Artagnan smiled. He now saw where the breastplate was weak, and prepared the blow.

“But now,”