“Which route must I take?” demanded d’Artagnan, in his turn.

“That of Rouen; but you will leave the city on your right. You must stop at the little village of Éccuis, in which there is but one tavern⁠—the Shield of France. Don’t condemn it from appearances; you will find a horse in the stables quite as good as this.”

“The same password?”

“Exactly.”

“Adieu, master!”

“A good journey, gentleman! Do you want anything?”