said Porthos; “true, I had forgotten it!”

Athos looked at him intently.

“You have forgotten it, Porthos?” said he.

“Faith! yes, it is so long ago,” answered Porthos.

“This affair does not, then, weigh upon your conscience?”

“Faith, no.”

“And you, D’Artagnan?”

“I — I own that when my mind returns to that terrible period I have no recollection of anything but the rigid corpse of poor Madame Bonancieux.

Yes, yes,” murmured he, “I have often felt regret for the victim, but never the very slightest remorse for the assassin.”