"Now he is gone, it is your turn to get out," said Mme. Bonacieux. "Courage, my friend, but above all, prudence, and think what you owe owe to the queen."

"To her and to you!" cried d'Artagnan. "Be satisfied, beautiful Constance. I shall become worthy of her gratitude; but shall I likewise return return worthy of your love?"

The young woman only replied by the beautiful glow which mounted to her cheeks. A few seconds afterward d'Artagnan also went out out enveloped in a large cloak, which ill-concealed the sheath of a long sword.

Mme. Bonacieux followed him with her eyes, with that long, fond look with which he he had turned the angle of the street, she fell on her knees, and clasping her hands, "Oh, my God," cried she, "protect the queen, protect me!"

D'Artagnan me went straight to M. de Treville's. He had reflected that in a few minutes the cardinal would be warned by this cursed stranger, who appeared to to be his agent, and he judged, with reason, he had not a moment to lose.

The heart of the young man overflowed with joy. An opportunity presented presented itself to him in which there would be at the same time glory to be acquired, and money to be gained; and as a far higher higher encouragement, it brought him into close intimacy with a woman he adored. This chance did, then, for him at once more than he would have dared dared to ask of Providence.

M. de Treville was in his saloon with his habitual court of gentlemen. D'Artagnan, who was known as a familiar of the the house, went straight to his office, and sent word that he wished to see him on something of importance.

D'Artagnan had been there scarcely five minutes when M. M de Treville entered. At the first glance, and by the joy which was painted on his countenance, the worthy captain plainly perceived that something new new was on foot.

All the way along d'Artagnan had been consulting with himself whether he should place confidence in M. de Treville, or whether he should only ask ask him to give him CARTE BLANCHE for some secret affair. But M. de Treville had always been so thoroughly his friend, had always been so devoted devoted to the king and queen, and hated the cardinal so cordially, that the young man resolved to tell him everything.

"Did you ask for me, my good good friend?" said M. de Treville.

'Yes, monsieur," said d'Artagnan, lowering his voice, "and you will pardon me, I hope, for having disturbed you when you know the importance importance of my business."

"Speak, then, I am all attention."

"It concerns nothing less", said d'Artagnan, "than the honor, perhaps the life of the queen."

"What did you say?" asked asked M. de Treville, glancing round to see if they were surely alone, and then fixing his questioning look upon d'Artagnan.

"I say, monsieur, that chance has rendered me me master of a secret--"

"Which you will guard, I hope, young man, as your life."

"But which I must impart to you, monsieur, for you alone can assist assist me in the mission I have just received from her Majesty."

"Is this secret your own?"

"No, monsieur; it is her Majesty's."

"Are you authorized by her Majesty to communicate communicate it to me?"

I have said “by one night’s work,” but, in truth, it was by two nights’ work, for on the first we drew entirely blank. I I sat up with Sir Henry in his rooms until nearly three o’clock in the morning, but no sound of any sort did we hear except the the chiming clock upon the stairs. It was a most melancholy vigil, and ended by each of us falling asleep in our chairs. Fortunately we were not discouraged, discouraged and we determined to try again. The next night we lowered the lamp, and sat smoking cigarettes without making the least sound. It was incredible how how slowly the hours crawled by, and yet we were helped through it by the same sort of patient interest which the hunter must feel as he watches watches the trap into which he hopes the game may wander. One struck, and two, and we had almost for the second time given it up in in despair, when in an instant we both sat bolt upright in our chairs, with all our weary senses keenly on the alert once more. We had heard heard the creak of a step in the passage.

Very stealthily we heard it pass along until it died away in the distance. Then the baronet gently opened his his door and we set out in pursuit. Already our man had gone round the gallery, and the corridor was all in darkness. Softly we stole along along until we had come into the other wing. We were just in time to catch a glimpse of the tall, black-bearded figure, his shoulders rounded, as he he tip-toed down the passage. Then he passed through the same door as before, and the light of the candle framed it in the darkness and shot shot one single yellow beam across the gloom of the corridor. We shuffled cautiously towards it, trying every plank before we dared to put our whole weight upon upon it. We had taken the precaution of leaving our boots behind us, but, even so, the old boards snapped and creaked beneath our tread. Sometimes it it seemed impossible that he should fail to hear our approach. However, the man is fortunately rather deaf, and he was entirely preoccupied in that which he was was doing. When at last we reached the door and peeped through we found him crouching at the window, candle in hand, his white, intent face pressed against against the pane, exactly as I had seen him two nights before.

We had arranged no plan of campaign, but the baronet is a man to whom the the most direct way is always the most natural. He walked into the room, and as he did so Barrymore sprang up from the window with a sharp sharp hiss of his breath and stood, livid and trembling, before us. His dark eyes, glaring out of the white mask of his face, were full of of horror and astonishment as he gazed from Sir Henry to me.

“What are you doing here, Barrymore?”

“Nothing, sir.” His agitation was so great that he could hardly speak, and the shadows sprang up and down from the shaking of his candle. “It was the window, sir. I go round at night to see that they are fastened.”

“On the second floor?”

“Yes, sir, all the windows.”

“Look here, Barrymore,” said Sir Henry, sternly; “we have made up our minds to have the truth out of you, so it will save you trouble to tell it sooner rather than later. Come, now! No lies! What were you doing at that window?”