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Rh LOUISE DE LA VALLIERE. 365 of politeness, sat down gravely, and coughed. The ordi- nary courtesies having been exchanged between the two gentlemen, the comte, to whom the visit was paid, said: "May I ask. Monsieur le Baron, to what happy circum- stance I am indebted for the favor of a visit from you?" "The very thing I am about to have the honor of explain- ing to you. Monsieur le Comte; but, I beg your pardon " "What is the matter, monsieur?" inquired St. Aignan. "I regret to say that I have broken your chair." "Not at all, monsieur," said St. Aignan, "not at all." "It is the fact, though. Monsieur le Comte; I have broken it — so much so, indeed, that if I do not move, I shall fall down, which would be an exceedingly disagreeable position for me in the discharge of the very serious mission which has been intrusted to me with regard to yourself." Porthos rose, and but just in time, for the chair had given way several inches. St. Aignan looked about him for some- thing more solid for his guest to sit upon. "Modern articles of furniture," said Porthos, while the comte was looking about, "are constructed in a ridiculously light manner. In my early days, when I used to sit down with far more energy than is now the case, I do not remem- ber ever to have broken a chair, except in taverns, with my arms." St. Aignan smiled at this remark. "But," said Porthos, as he settled himself down in a couch, which creaked, but did not give way beneath his weight, "that, unfortunately, has nothing whatever to do with my present visit." "Why unfortunately? Are you the bearer of a message of ill-omen. Monsieur le Baron?" "Of ill-omen— for a gentleman? Certainly not. Monsieur le Comte," replied Porthos nobly. "I have simply come to say that you have seriously insulted a friend of mine." "I! monsieur?" exclaimed St. Aignan— "I have insulted a friend of yours, do you say? May I ask his name?" "Monsieur Eaoul de Bragelonne." "I have insulted Monsieur Eaoul de Bragelonne!" cried St. Aignan. "I really assure you, monsieur, that it is quite impossible; for Monsieur de Bragelonne, whom I know but very slightly — nay, whom I know hardly at all—is in Eng- land, and, as I have not seen him for a long time past, I cannot possibly have insulted him." "Monsieur de Bragelonne is in Paris, Monsieur le Comte,*' said Porthos, perfectly unmoved; "and I repeat, it is quite