And he began to wander about the room like a man beside himself, gesticulating and half drawing his sword out of the scabbard.

As to D’Artagnan, he remained standing like a man in consternation, with the deepest affliction depicted on his face.

“Ah, this is not right; Athos insults us; he wishes to die alone; it is bad, bad, bad.”

Mousqueton, witnessing this despair, melted into tears in a corner of the room.

“Come,” said D’Artagnan, “all this leads to nothing. Let us go on. We will embrace Raoul, and perhaps he will have news of Athos.”

“Stop — an idea!” cried Porthos; “indeed, my dear D’Artagnan,