“Mockery,” muttered Athos, savagely; “royal honors to one whom they have murdered!”
“Well, cheer up!” said a loud voice from the staircase, which Porthos had just mounted. “We are all mortal, my poor friends.”
“You are late, my dear Porthos.”
“Yes, there were some people on the way who delayed me. The wretches were dancing. I took one of them by the throat and three-quarters throttled him. Just then a patrol rode up.
Luckily the man I had had most to do with was some minutes before he could speak, so I took advantage of his silence to walk off.”
“Have you seen D’Artagnan?”