“In the queen’s name?”

“Yes, to make him come to Paris; and when once come to Paris, to draw him into some snare.”

“The devil!  But your wife, monsieur, what has she to do with all this?”

“Her devotion to the queen is known; and they wish either to remove her from her mistress, or to intimidate her, in order to obtain her Majesty’s secrets, or to seduce her and make use of her as a spy.”

“That is likely,” said d’Artagnan; “but the man who has abducted her—­do you know him?”

“I have told you that I believe I know him.”

“His name?”

“I do not know that; what I do know is that he is a creature of the cardinal, his evil genius.”

“But you have seen him?”

“Yes, my wife pointed him out to me one day.”

’Has he anything remarkable about him by which one may recognize him?”

“Oh, certainly; he is a noble of very lofty carriage, black hair, swarthy complexion, piercing eye, white teeth, and has a scar on his temple.”

“A scar on his temple!” cried d’Artagnan; “and with that, white teeth, a piercing eye, dark complexion, black hair, and haughty carriage—­why, that’s my man of Meung.”

“He is your man, do you say?”

“Yes, yes; but that has nothing to do with it.  No, I am wrong.  On the contrary, that simplifies the matter greatly.  If your man is mine, with one blow I shall obtain two revenges, that’s all; but where to find this man?”

“I know not.”

“Have you no information as to his abiding place?”

“None.  One day, as I was conveying my wife back to the Louvre, he was coming out as she was going in, and she showed him to me.”

“The devil!  The devil!” murmured d’Artagnan; “all this is vague enough.  From whom have you learned of the abduction of your wife?”

“From Monsieur Laporte.”

“Did he give you any details?”

“He knew none himself.”

“And you have learned nothing from any other quarter?”

“Yes, I have received—­”

“What?”

“I fear I am committing a great imprudence.”

“You always come back to that; but I must make you see this time that it is too late to retreat.”

“I do not retreat, MORDIEU!” cried the citizen, swearing in order to rouse his courage.  “Besides, by the faith of Bonacieux—­”

“You call yourself Bonacieux?” interrupted d’Artagnan.

“Yes, that is my name.”

“You said, then, by the word of Bonacieux.  Pardon me for interrupting you, but it appears to me that that name is familiar to me.”

“Possibly, monsieur.  I am your landlord.”

“Ah, ah!” said d’Artagnan, half rising and bowing; “you are my landlord?”

“Yes, monsieur, yes.  And as it is three months since you have been here, and though, distracted as you must be in your important occupations, you have forgotten to pay me my rent—­as, I say, I have not tormented you a single instant, I thought you would appreciate my delicacy.”