finger? Beware, my dear d’Artagnan! A present from an enemy is not a good thing. Are there not some Latin verses upon that subject? Stop!”
“Yes, doubtless,” replied d’Artagnan, who had never been able to cram the first rudiments of that language into his head, and who had by his ignorance driven his master to despair, “yes, doubtless there is one.”
“There certainly is one,” said M. de Tréville, who had a tincture of literature, “and M. de Benserade was quoting it to me the other day. Stop a minute—ah, this is it: ‘ Timeo Danaos et dona ferentes ,’ which means, ‘Beware of the enemy who makes you presents.’ ”
“This diamond does not come from an enemy, Monsieur,” replied d’Artagnan, “it comes from the queen.”
“From the queen! Oh, oh!” said M. de Tréville. “Why, it is indeed a true royal jewel, which is worth a thousand pistoles if it is worth a denier. By whom did the queen send you this jewel?”