“Meanwhile, Kitty, when we are about to separate, and you are no longer jealous of me⁠—”

“Monsieur Chevalier, far off or near,” said Kitty, “I shall always love you.”

“Where the devil will constancy niche itself next?” murmured Athos.

“And I, also,” said d’Artagnan, “I also. I shall always love you; be sure of that. But now answer me. I attach great importance to the question I am about to put to you. Did you never hear talk of a young woman who was carried off one night?”

“There, now! Oh, Monsieur Chevalier, do you love that woman still?”

“No, no; it is one of my friends who loves her⁠— M. Athos, this gentleman here.”

“I?” cried Athos, with an accent like that of a man who perceives he is about to tread upon an adder.