“Badly, Monsieur, badly!” replied a voice which the young man recognized as that of Planchet; for, soliloquizing aloud, as very preoccupied people do, he had entered the alley, at the end of which were the stairs which led to his chamber.
“How, badly? What do you mean by that, you idiot?” asked d’Artagnan. “What has happened?”
“All sorts of misfortunes.”
“What?”
“In the first place, M. Athos is arrested.”
“Arrested! Athos arrested! What for?”
“He was found in your lodging; they took him for you.”
“And by whom was he arrested?”
“By guards brought by the men in black whom you put to flight.”
“Why did he not tell them his name? Why did he not tell them he knew nothing about this affair?”
“He took care not to do so, Monsieur; on the contrary, he came up to me and said, ‘It is your master that needs his liberty at this moment and not I, since he knows everything and I know nothing. They will believe he is arrested, and that will give him time; in three days I will tell them who I am, and they cannot fail to let me go.’ ”
“Bravo, Athos! Noble heart!” murmured d’Artagnan. “I know him well there! And what did the officers do?”