“My Lord, The person who writes these few lines had the honor of crossing swords with you in the little enclosure of the Rue d’Enfer.  As you have several times since declared yourself the friend of that person, he thinks it his duty to respond to that friendship by sending you important information.  Twice you have nearly been the victim of a near relative, whom you believe to be your heir because you are ignorant that before she contracted a marriage in England she was already married in France.  But the third time, which is the present, you may succumb.  Your relative left La Rochelle for England during the night.  Watch her arrival, for she has great and terrible projects.  If you require to know positively what she is capable of, read her past history on her left shoulder.”

“Well, now that will do wonderfully well,” said Athos.  “My dear Aramis, you have the pen of a secretary of state.  Lord de Winter will now be upon his guard if the letter should reach him; and even if it should fall into the hands of the cardinal, we shall not be compromised.  But as the lackey who goes may make us believe he has been to London and may stop at Chatellerault, let us give him only half the sum promised him, with the letter, with an agreement that he shall have the other half in exchange for the reply.  Have you the diamond?” continued Athos.

“I have what is still better.  I have the price”; and d’Artagnan threw the bag upon the table.  At the sound of the gold Aramis raised his eyes and Porthos started.  As to Athos, he remained unmoved.

“How much in that little bag?”

“Seven thousand livres, in louis of twelve francs.”

“Seven thousand livres!” cried Porthos.  “That poor little diamond was worth seven thousand livres?”

“It appears so,” said Athos, “since here they are.  I don’t suppose that our friend d’Artagnan has added any of his own to the amount.”

“But, gentlemen, in all this,” said d’Artagnan, “we do not think of the queen.  Let us take some heed of the welfare of her dear Buckingham.  That is the least we owe her.”

“That’s true,” said Athos; “but that concerns Aramis.”

“Well,” replied the latter, blushing, “what must I say?”

“Oh, that’s simple enough!” replied Athos.  “Write a second letter for that clever personage who lives at Tours.”

Aramis resumed his pen, reflected a little, and wrote the following lines, which he immediately submitted to the approbation of his friends.

“My dear cousin.”

“Ah, ah!” said Athos.  “This clever person is your relative, then?”

“Cousin-german.”

“Go on, to your cousin, then!”

Aramis continued: