“Well， one day when she was hunting with her husband，” continued Athos， in a low voice， and speaking very quickly， “she fell from her horse and fainted. The count flew to her help； and as she appeared to be oppressed by her clothes， he ripped them open with his poniard， and in so doing laid bare her shoulder. Guess， D’Artagnan，” said Athos， with a loud burst of laughter—“guess what she had on her shoulder.”
“How can I tell？” said D’Artagnan.
“A fleur-de-lis！” said Athos. “She was branded！”
And Athos emptied at a single draught the glass he held in his hand.
“Horrors，” cried D’Artagnan. “What are you telling me？”
“The truth. My friend， the angle was a demon. The poor young girl had been a thief.”
“And what did the count do？”
“The count was a great noble. He had on his estates the right of life and death. He tore the countess’s dress to pieces， tied her hands behind her， and hanged her on a tree！”
“Heavens， Athos， a murder！” cried D’Artagnan.
“Yes， a murder—nothing else，” said Athos， pale as death. “But methinks I am left without wine！” And he seized by the neck the last bottle that remained， put it to his mouth， and emptied it at a single draught， as he would have emptied an ordinary glass.
Then he let his head fall on his two hands， while D’Artagnan sat facing him， overwhelmed with dismay.
“That has cured me of beautiful， poetical， and loving women，” said Athos， getting to his feet， and neglecting to pursue the apologue of the count. “God grant you as much！ Let us drink！”
“Then she is dead？” stammered D’Artagnan.
“Zounds！” said Athos. “But hold out your glass. Some ham， my man！” cried Athos； “we can drink no longer！”
“And her brother？” asked D’Artagnan timidly.
“Her brother？” replied Athos.
“Yes， the priest.”
“Oh， I inquired after him for the purpose of hanging him likewise； but he was beforehand with me—he had quitted the curacy instantly.”
“Was it ever known who this miserable fellow was？”
“He was doubtless the fair lady’s first lover and accomplice—a worthy man， who had pretended to be a curate for the purpose of getting his mistress married and securing her a position. He has been quartered before this time， I hope.”
“My God！ my God！” cried D’Artagnan， quite stunned by the relation of this horrible adventure.
“Pray eat some of this ham， D’Artagnan； it is exquisite，” said Athos， cutting a slice， which he placed on the young man’s plate. “What a pity it is there are only four like this in the cellar！ I could have drunk fifty bottles more.”
D’Artagnan could no longer endure this conversation， which would have driven him crazy. He let his head fall on his hands and pretended to go to sleep.
“Young men no longer know how to drink，” said Athos， looking at him pityingly， “and yet this is one of the best of them， too！”
Their only anxiety now was to depart. D’Artagnan and Athos soon arrived at Crévec？ur. From a distance they perceived Aramis， seated in a melancholy manner at his window， looking out， like Sister Anne， at the dust in the horizon.
“Hello， ha， Aramis！” cried the two friends.
“Ah， it is you， D’Artagnan， and you， Athos，” said the young man. “And so， my friends， we are returning， then， to Paris？ Bravo！ I am charged his bill， and then set forward to join Porthos.
They made a halt for an hour to refresh their horses. Aramis discharged his bill， and then set forward to poin Porthos.
They found him up， not so pale as when D’Artagnan left him， and seated at a table， on which， though he was alone， was spread dinner enough for four persons. This dinner consisted of meats nicely dressed， choice wines， and superb fruit.
“Ah， by Jove！” said he， rising， “you come in the nick of time. Gentlemen， I was just at the soup， and you will dine with me.”
The four friends， having set their minds at ease with regard to the future， did honour to the repast， the remains of which were abandoned to MM. Mousqueton， Bazin， Planchet， and Grimaud.
On arriving in Paris， D’Artagnan found a letter from M. de Tréville， informing him that， at his request， the king had just promised him his immediate admission into the musketeers.
As this was the height of D’Artagnan’s worldly ambition—apart， of course， from his desire of finding Madame Bonacieux—he ran， full of joy， to seek his comrades， whom he had left only half an hour before. He found them very sad and deeply preoccupied. They were assembed in council at the residence of Athos， which always indicated an event of some seriousness.
M. de Tréville had just informed them that since it was his Majesty’s fixed intention to open the campaign on the first of May， they must immediately get ready all their equipments.
The four philosophers looked at one another in a state of bewilderment. M. de Tréville never joked in matters relating to discipline.
“And what do you reckon your equipments will cost？” said D’Artagnan.
“Oh， we can scarcely venture to say. We have just made our calculations with Spartan niggardliness， and we each require fifteen hundred livres.”
“Four times fifteen make sixty—ah！ six thousand livres，” said Athos.
“For my part， I think，” said D’Artagnan， “with a thousand livres each—it is true I do not speak as a Spartan， but as a procureur—”
The word procureur roused Porthos.
“Stop！” said he； “I have an idea.”
“Well， that’s something. For my part， I have not the shadow of one，” said Athos coolly. “But as to D’Artagnan， the hope of soon being one of us， gentlemen， has made him crazy. A thousand livres！ I declare I want two thousand myself.”
“Four times two make eight， then，” said Aramis. “It is eight thousand that we want to complete our outfit.”
“One thing more！” said Athos， waiting till D’Artagnan， who was going to thank M. de Tréville， had shut the door， “one thing more—that beautiful diamond which glitters on our friend’s finger. What the devil！ D’Artagnan is too good a comrade to leave his brothers in embarrassment while he wears a king’s ransom on his middle finger.”
