“De Laval.”
“That is quite sufficient,” interrupted Porthos. “I believe you, monsieur le comte.”
Saint-Aignan dismissed the valet, and followed him to the door, in order to close it after him; and when he had done so, looking straight before him, he happened to see in the keyhole of the adjoining apartment the paper which Bragelonne had slipped in there as he left. “What is this?” he said.
Porthos, who was sitting with his back to the room, turned round. “Aha!” he said.
“A note in the keyhole!” exclaimed Saint-Aignan.
“That is not unlikely to be the missing letter, monsieur le comte,” said Porthos.
Saint-Aignan took out the paper. “A note from M. de Bragelonne!” he exclaimed.
“You see, monsieur, I was right. Oh, when I say a thing—”
“Brought here by M. de Bragelonne himself,” the comte murmured, turning pale. “This is infamous! How could he possibly have come here?” And the comte rang again.
“Who has been here during my absence with the king?”