“Don’t laugh, my friend!” cried D’Artagnan; “for heaven’s sake, don’t laugh, for upon my soul, it’s no laughing matter!”
And he pronounced these words with such a solemn air and with such a real appearance of terror, that Athos eagerly seized his hand, crying, “Are you wounded, my friend? How pale you are!”
“No, but I have just met with a terrible adventure! Are you alone, Athos?”
“Parbleu! whom do you expect to find with me at this hour?”
“Well, well!” and D’Artagnan rushed into Athos’s chamber.
“Come, speak!” said the latter, closing the door and bolting it, that they might not be disturbed. “Is the king dead? Have you killed the cardinal? You are quite upset! Come, come, tell me; I am dying with curiosity and uneasiness!”
“Athos,” said D’Artagnan, getting rid of his female garments, and appearing in his shirt, “prepare yourself to hear an incredible, an unheard-of story.”
“Well, but put on this dressing gown first,” said the Musketeer to his friend.
D’Artagnan donned the robe as quickly as he could, mistaking one sleeve for the other, so greatly was he still agitated.
“Well?” said Athos.