“Ah, Monsieur!” stammered Planchet, more dead than alive, “ah, Monsieur, what an escape I have had!”
“How, sirrah! you were going to drink my wine?”
“To the health of the king, Monsieur; I was going to drink a small glass of it if Fourreau had not told me I was called.”
“Alas!” said Fourreau, whose teeth chattered with terror, “I wanted to get him out of the way that I might drink myself.”
“Gentlemen,” said d’Artagnan, addressing the guardsmen, “you may easily comprehend that such a feast can only be very dull after what has taken place; so accept my excuses, and put off the party till another day, I beg of you.”
The two guardsmen courteously accepted d’Artagnan’s excuses, and perceiving that the four friends desired to be alone, retired.
When the young guardsman and the three musketeers were without witnesses, they looked at one another with an air which plainly expressed that each of them perceived the gravity of their situation.
“In the first place,” said Athos, “let us leave this chamber; the dead are not agreeable company, particularly when they have died a violent death.”
“Planchet,” said d’Artagnan, “I commit the corpse of this poor devil to your care. Let him be interred in holy ground. He committed a crime, it is true; but he repented of it.”