“His honor’s equipage is waiting,” said Mousqueton.

The two friends, after a cordial pressure of the hands, separated.  D’Artagnan was standing at the door looking after Porthos with a mournful gaze, when the baron, after walking scarcely more than twenty paces, returned —­ stood still —­ struck his forehead with his finger and exclaimed: 

“I recollect!”

“What?” inquired D’Artagnan.

“Who the beggar was that I killed.”

“Ah! indeed! and who was he?”

“’Twas that low fellow, Bonacieux.”

And Porthos, enchanted at having relieved his mind, rejoined Mousqueton and they disappeared around an angle of the street.  D’Artagnan stood for an instant, mute, pensive and motionless; then, as he went in, he saw the fair Madeleine, his hostess, standing on the threshold.

“Madeleine,” said the Gascon, “give me your apartment on the first floor; now that I am a captain in the royal musketeers I must make an appearance; nevertheless, reserve my old room on the fifth story for me; one never knows what may happen.”