“But it’s of no importance,” continued D’Artagnan, with natural assurance; “it’s of no importance. The money is nothing; that letter was everything. I would rather have lost a thousand pistoles than have lost it.” He would not have risked more if he had said twenty thousand; but a certain juvenile modesty restrained him.
A ray of light all at once broke upon the mind of the host as he was giving himself to the devil upon finding nothing.
“That letter is not lost!” cried he.
“What!” cried D’Artagnan.
“No, it has been stolen from you.”
“Stolen? By whom?”
“By the gentleman who was here yesterday. He came down into the kitchen, where your doublet was. He remained there some time alone. I would lay a wager he has stolen it.”
“Do you think so?” answered D’Artagnan, but little convinced, as he knew better than anyone else how entirely personal the value of this letter was, and saw nothing in it likely to tempt cupidity. The fact was that none of his servants, none of the travelers present, could have gained anything by being possessed of this paper.
“Do you say,” resumed D’Artagnan, “that you suspect that impertinent gentleman?”
“I tell you I am sure of it,” continued the host. “When I informed him that your lordship was the protégé of Monsieur de Tréville, and that you even had a letter for that illustrious gentleman, he appeared to be very much disturbed, and asked me where that letter was, and immediately came down into the kitchen, where he knew your doublet was.”