Aramis bowed and folded his arms.

   "Arrest yourself!"

   Aramis did not move.

   The King shuddered and turned pale. "Am I not King of France?"

   "Assuredly, sire, but we are also severally, Porthos, Aramis, D'Artagnan, and Athos."

   "Ah!" said the King.

   "Yes, sire."

   "What does this mean?"

   "It means, your Majesty," said Aramis, stepping forward, "that your conduct as a married man is highly improper. I am an Abbe, and I object to these improprieties. My friends here, D'Artagnan, Athos, and Porthos, pure-minded young men, are also terribly shocked. Observe, sire, how they blush!"

   Athos, Porthos, and D'Artagnan blushed. "Ah," said the King, thoughtfully. "You teach me a lesson. You are devoted and noble young gentlemen, but your only weakness is your excessive modesty. From this moment I make you all Marshals and Dukes, with the exception of Aramis."

   "And me, sire?" said Aramis.

   "You shall be an Archbishop!"

   The four friends looked up and then rushed into each other's arms. The King embraced Louise de la Valliere, by way of keeping them company. A pause ensued. At last Athos spoke:—

   "Swear, my children, that, next to yourselves, you will respect the King of France; and remember that 'Forty years after' we will meet again."

   It was noon. Sir Edward had stepped from his brougham and was proceeding on foot down the Strand. He was dressed with his usual faultless taste, but in alighting from his vehicle his foot had slipped, and a small round disk of conglomerated soil, which instantly appeared on his high arched instep, marred the harmonious glitter of his boots. Sir Edward was fastidious. Casting his eyes around, at a little distance he perceived the stand of a youthful bootblack. Thither he sauntered, and carelessly placing his foot on the low stool, he waited the application of the polisher's art. "'Tis true," said Sir Edward to himself, yet 

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