“I accuse this woman of having procured the assassination of the Duke of Buckingham,” said Lord de Winter.  “Moreover, my brother, who made her his heiress, died suddenly of a strange disease.”

“I married this woman and gave her my name and wealth, and found afterwards she was branded as a felon,” said Athos.

The musketeers and Lord de Winter passed sentence of death upon the miserable woman.

She was taken out to the river bank, and beheaded, and her body dropped into the middle of the stream.

“Let the justice of Heaven be done!” they cried in a loud voice.

Within three days the musketeers were back in Paris, ready to return with the king to La Rochelle.  Then the cardinal summoned D’Artagnan to his presence.

“You are charged with having corresponded with the enemies of France, with having surprised state secrets, and with having attempted to thwart the plans of your general,” said the cardinal.

“The woman who charges me—­a branded felon—­Milady de Winter, is dead,” replied D’Artagnan.

“Dead!” exclaimed the cardinal.  “Dead!”

“We have tried her and condemned her,” said D’Artagnan.  Then he told the cardinal of the poisoning of Madame Bonacieux, and of the subsequent trial and execution.

The cardinal shuddered before he answered quietly, “You will be tried and condemned.”

“Monseigneur,” said D’Artagnan, “though I have the pardon in my pocket I am willing to die.”

“What pardon?” said the cardinal, in astonishment.  “From the king?”

“No, a pardon signed by your eminence.”  D’Artagnan produced the precious paper which Athos had forced Milady to give him before her journey to England.

For a time the cardinal sat looking at the paper before him.  Then he slowly tore it up.

“Now I am lost.” thought D’Artagnan.  “But he shall see how a gentleman can die.”

The cardinal went to a table, and wrote a few lines on a parchment.

“Here, monsieur,” he said; “I have taken away from you one paper; I give you another.  Only the name is wanting in this commission, and you must fill that up.”

D’Artagnan took the document with hesitation.  He looked at it, saw it was a lieutenant’s commission in the musketeers, and fell at the cardinal’s feet.

“Monseigneur, my life is yours.  Dispose of it as you will.  But I do not deserve this.  I have three friends, all more worthy——­”

The cardinal interrupted him.

“You are a brave young man, D’Artagnan.  Fill up this commission as you will.”

D’Artagnan sought out his friends, and offered the commission to them in turn.

But each declined, and Athos filled in the name of D’Artagnan on the commission.

“I shall soon have no more friends.  Nothing but bitter recollections!” said D’Artagnan, thinking of Madame Bonacieux.

“You are young yet,” Athos answered.  “In time these bitter recollections will give way to sweet remembrances.”