The Shoulder of Athos, the Baldric of Porthos and the Handkerchief of Aramis

           D’Artagnan,inastateoffury,crossedtheantechamberatthreebounds,andwasdartingtowardthestairs,whichhereckonedupondescendingfouratatime,when,inhisheedlesscourse,heranheadforemostagainstaMusketeerwhowascomingoutofoneofM.deTreville’sprivaterooms,andstrikinghisshoulderviolently,madehimutteracry,orratherahowl.

           "Excuseme,"saidd’Artagnan,endeavoringtoresumehiscourse,"excuseme,butIaminahurry."

           Scarcelyhadhedescendedthefirststair,whenahandofironseizedhimbythebeltandstoppedhim.

           "Youareinahurry?"saidtheMusketeer,aspaleasasheet."Underthatpretenseyourunagainstme!Yousay.‘Excuseme,’andyoubelievethatissufficient?Notatallmyyoungman.DoyoufancybecauseyouhaveheardMonsieurdeTrevillespeaktousalittlecavalierlytodaythatotherpeoplearetotreatusashespeakstous?Undeceiveyourself,comrade,youarenotMonsieurdeTreville."

           "Myfaith!"repliedd’Artagnan,recognizingAthos,who,afterthedressingperformedbythedoctor,wasreturningtohisownapartment."Ididnotdoitintentionally,andnotdoingitintentionally,Isaid‘Excuseme.’Itappearstomethatthisisquiteenough.Irepeattoyou,however,andthistimeonmywordofhonorIthinkperhapstoooftenthatIaminhaste,greathaste.Leaveyourhold,then,Ibegofyou,andletmegowheremybusinesscallsme."

           "Monsieur,"saidAthos,lettinghimgo,"youarenotpolite;itiseasytoperceivethatyoucomefromadistance."

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