CHAPTER LXXXV.

THE STRONG ARM. Supper was eaten in silence, but not in sadness; for from time to time one of those sweet smiles which were habitual to him in his moments of good-humour illumined the face of d'Artagnan. Not one of these smiles was lost on Porthos; and at every one he uttered an exclamation which betrayed to his friend that he had not lost sight of the idea which possessed his brain. At dessert d'Artagnan reposed in a chair, crossed one leg over another, and lounged about like a man perfectly at his ease. "Well?" h…