“Bernajoux, at your service.”
“Well, then, M. Bernajoux,” said d’Artagnan, tranquilly, “I will wait for you at the door.”
“Go, Monsieur, I will follow you.”
“Do not hurry yourself, Monsieur, lest it be observed that we go out together. You must be aware that for our undertaking, company would be in the way.”
“That’s true,” said the guardsman, astonished that his name had not produced more effect upon the young man.
Indeed, the name of Bernajoux was known to all the world, d’Artagnan alone excepted, perhaps; for it was one of those which figured most frequently in the daily brawls which all the edicts of the cardinal could not repress.
Porthos and Aramis were so engaged with their game, and Athos was watching them with so much attention, that they did not even perceive their young companion go out, who, as he had told the guardsman of his Eminence, stopped outside the door. An instant after, the guardsman descended in his turn. As d’Artagnan had no time to lose, on account of the audience of the king, which was fixed for midday, he cast his eyes around, and seeing that the street was empty, said to his adversary, “My faith! It is fortunate for you, although your name is Bernajoux, to have only to deal with an apprentice musketeer. Never mind; be content, I will do my best. On guard!”
“But,” said he whom d’Artagnan thus provoked, “it appears to me that this place is badly chosen, and that we should be better behind the Abbey St. Germain or in the Pre-aux-Clercs.”
“What you say is full of sense,” replied d’Artagnan; “but unfortunately I have very little time to spare, having an appointment at