Mousqueton, and Bazin as I am to know what has become of Athos, Porthos, and Aramis?”
“Yes, Monsieur,” said Planchet, “and I will go as soon as you please. Indeed, I think provincial air will suit us much better just now than the air of Paris. So then—”
“So then, pack up our luggage, Planchet, and let us be off. On my part, I will go out with my hands in my pockets, that nothing may be suspected. You may join me at the Hôtel des Gardes. By the way, Planchet, I think you are right with respect to our host, and that he is decidedly a frightfully low wretch.”
“Ah, Monsieur, you may take my word when I tell you anything. I am a physiognomist, I assure you.”
D’Artagnan went out first, as had been agreed upon. Then, in order that he might have nothing to reproach himself with, he directed his steps, for the last time, toward the residences of his three friends. No news had been received of them; only a letter, all perfumed and of an elegant writing in small characters, had come for Aramis. D’Artagnan took charge of it. Ten minutes afterward Planchet joined him at the stables of the Hôtel des Gardes. D’Artagnan, in order that there might be no time lost, had saddled his horse himself.
“That’s well,” said he to Planchet, when the latter added the portmanteau to the equipment. “Now saddle the other three horses.”
“Do you think, then, Monsieur, that we shall travel faster with two horses apiece?” said Planchet, with his shrewd air.
“No, Monsieur jester,” replied d’Artagnan; “but with our four horses we may bring back our three friends, if we should have the good fortune to find them living.”