“That no one shall make love to my wife.”
“And I warn you that you are too late, and that some one makes love to her already.”
Monsoreau uttered a terrible cry. “Is it you?” cried he.
“You are mad, count!”
“No, I am not; prove your words.”
“Who was hidden this evening, twenty steps from your door, with a musket?”
“I.”
“Well, comte, during that time there was a man with your wife.”
“You saw him go in?”
“I saw him come out.”