“Patience!” cried Athos; “one of our party is still wanting.”
The four horsemen looked round them with astonishment, for they sought vainly in their minds to know who this other person could be.
At this moment Planchet brought out Athos’s horse; the musketeer leaped lightly into the saddle.
“Wait for me,” cried he, “I will soon be back,” and he set off at a gallop.
In a quarter of an hour he returned, accompanied by a tall man, masked, and wrapped in a large red cloak.
Lord de Winter and the three musketeers looked at one another inquiringly. Neither could give the others any information, for all were ignorant who this man could be; nevertheless, they felt convinced that all was as it should be, as it was done by the order of Athos.
At nine o’clock, guided by Planchet, the little cavalcade set out, taking the route the carriage had taken.
It was a melancholy sight—that of these six men, traveling in silence, each plunged in his own thoughts, sad as despair, gloomy as chastisement.