"Is that all?"
"Yes, monsieur le comte."
"Speak the truth before this gentleman--the truth, you understand. I will take care you are not blamed."
"There was a note, also, from--from--"
"Well, from whom?"
"From Mademoiselle--de--"
"Out with it!"
"De Laval."
"That is quite sufficient," interrupted Porthos. "I believe you, monsieur le comte."
Saint-Aignan dismissed the valet, and followed him to the door, in order to close it after him; and when he had done so, looking straight before him, he happened to see in the keyhole of the adjoining apartment the paper which Bragelonne had slipped in there as he left. "What is this?"
he said.
Porthos, who was sitting with his back to the room, turned round. "Aha!"
he said.
"A note in the keyhole!" exclaimed Saint-Aignan.
"That is not unlikely to be the missing letter, monsieur le comte," said Porthos.
Saint-Aignan took out the paper. "A note from M. de Bragelonne!" he exclaimed.
"You see, monsieur, I was right. Oh, when I say a thing--"
"Brought here by M. de Bragelonne himself," the comte murmured, turning pale. "This is infamous! How could he possibly have come here?" And the comte rang again.
"Who has been here during my absence with the king?"
"No one, monsieur."
"That is impossible! Some one must have been here."
"No one could possibly have entered, monsieur, since the keys have never left my pocket."
"And yet I find the letter in yonder lock; some one must have put it there; it could not have come here of its own accord."
Basque opened his arms as if signifying the most absolute ignorance on the subject.
"Probably it was M. de Bragelonne himself who placed it there," said Porthos.
"In that case he must have entered here."
"How could that have been, since I have the key in my own pocket?"
returned Basque, perseveringly.
Saint-Aignan crumpled the letter in his palm, after having read it.
"There is something mysterious about this," he murmured, absorbed in thought. Porthos left him to his reflections; but after a while returned to the mission he had undertaken.
"Shall we return to our little affair?" Porthos resumed, addressing Saint-Aignan after a brief pause.
"I think I can now understand it, from this note, which has arrived here in so singular a manner. Monsieur de Bragelonne says that a friend will call."
"I am his friend. I am the person he alludes to."
"For the purpose of giving me a challenge?"
"Precisely."
"And he complains that I have insulted him?"
"Mortally."
"In what way, may I ask; for his conduct is so mysterious, that, at least, it needs some explanation?"
"Monsieur," replied Porthos, "my friend cannot but be right; and, as far as his conduct is concerned, if it be mysterious, as you say, you have only yourself to blame for it." Porthos p.r.o.nounced these words with an amount of confidence which, for a man who was unaccustomed to his ways, must have revealed an infinity of sense.
"Mystery, so be it; but what is all the mystery about?" said Saint-Aignan.
"You will think it the best, perhaps," Porthos replied, with a low bow, "if I do not enter in to particulars."
"Oh, I perfectly understand. We will touch very lightly upon it, then, so speak, monsieur, I am listening."
"In the first place, monsieur," said Porthos, "you have changed your apartments."
"Yes, that is quite true," said Saint-Aignan.
"You admit it," said Porthos, with an air of satisfaction.
"Admit it! of course I admit it. Why should I not admit it, do you suppose?"
"You have admitted it. Very good," said Porthos, lifting up one finger.
"But how can my having moved my lodgings have done M. de Bragelonne any harm? Have the goodness to tell me that, for I positively do not comprehend a word of what you are saying."
Porthos stopped him, and then said, with great gravity, "Monsieur, this is the first of M. de Bragelonne"s complaints against you. If he makes a complaint, it is because he feels himself insulted."
Saint-Aignan began to beat his foot impatiently on the ground. "This looks like a spurious quarrel," he said.
"No one can possibly have a spurious quarrel with the Vicomte de Bragelonne," returned Porthos; "but, at all events, you have nothing to add on the subject of your changing your apartments, I suppose?"
"Nothing. And what is the next point?"