appeared to promise favorably for his mission.  Nevertheless, it seemed to him that Athos was not in all respects sincere and frank.  Who was the youth he had adopted and who bore so striking a resemblance to him?  What could explain Athos’s having re-entered the world and the extreme sobriety he had observed at table?  The absence of Grimaud, whose name had never once been uttered by Athos, gave D’Artagnan uneasiness.  It was evident either that he no longer possessed the confidence of his friend, or that Athos was bound by some invisible chain, or that he had been forewarned of the lieutenant’s visit.

He could not help thinking of M. Rochefort, whom he had seen in Notre Dame; could De Rochefort have forestalled him with Athos?  Again, the moderate fortune which Athos possessed, concealed as it was, so skillfully, seemed to show a regard for appearances and to betray a latent ambition which might be easily aroused.  The clear and vigorous intellect of Athos would render him more open to conviction than a less able man would be.  He would enter into the minister’s schemes with the more ardor, because his natural activity would be doubled by necessity.

Resolved to seek an explanation on all these points on the following day, D’Artagnan, in spite of his fatigue, prepared for an attack and determined that it should take place after breakfast.  He determined to cultivate the good-will of the youth Raoul and, either whilst fencing with him or when out shooting, to extract from his simplicity some information which would connect the Athos of old times with the Athos of the present.  But D’Artagnan at the same time, being a man of extreme caution, was quite aware what injury he should do himself, if by any indiscretion or awkwardness he should betray has manoeuvering to the experienced eye of Athos.  Besides, to tell truth, whilst D’Artagnan was quite disposed to adopt a subtle course against the cunning of Aramis or the vanity of Porthos, he was ashamed to equivocate with Athos, true-hearted, open Athos.  It seemed to him that if Porthos and Aramis deemed him superior to them in the arts of diplomacy, they would like him all the better for it; but that Athos, on the contrary, would despise him.

“Ah! why is not Grimaud, the taciturn Grimaud, here?” thought D’Artagnan, “there are so many things his silence would have told me; with Grimaud silence was another form of eloquence!”

There reigned a perfect stillness in the house.  D’Artagnan had heard the door shut and the shutters barred; the dogs became in their turn silent.  At last a nightingale, lost in a thicket of shrubs, in the midst of its most melodious cadences had fluted low and lower into stillness and fallen asleep.  Not a sound was heard in the castle, except of a footstep up and down, in the chamber above —­ as he supposed, the bedroom of Athos.

“He is walking about and thinking,” thought D’Artagnan; “but of what?  It is impossible to know; everything else might be guessed, but not that.”