lively, graceful, and uniting in the delicate lines of her brow all the
signs of a strong will. Her eyes, animated and piercing, in particular,
spoke more eloquently than all the amorous phrases in fashion in those
days of gallantry. It was to her D'Artagnan addressed himself, without
fear of being mistaken, although the other was, as we have said, the more
handsome of the two.

"Madame," said he, "I am the lieutenant of the musketeers, and there is
on the road a horseman who awaits you, and is desirous of paying his
respects to you."

At these words, the effect of which he watched closely, the lady with the
black eyes uttered a cry of joy, leant out of the carriage window, and
seeing the cavalier approaching, held out her arms, exclaiming:

"Ah, my dear sire!" and the tears gushed from her eyes.

The coachman stopped his team; the women rose in confusion from the back
of the carriage, and the second lady made a slight curtsey, terminated by
the most ironical smile that jealousy ever imparted to the lips of woman.

"Marie, dear Marie," cried the king, taking the hand of the black-eyed
lady in both his. And opening the heavy door himself, he drew her out of
the carriage with so much ardor, that she was in his arms before she
touched the ground. The lieutenant, posted on the other side of the
carriage, saw and heard all without being observed.

The king offered his arm to Mademoiselle de Mancini, and made a sign to
the coachman and lackeys to proceed. It was nearly six o'clock; the road
was fresh and pleasant; tall trees with their foliage still inclosed in