Aramis thought that there might be no imprudence in taking a little rest, but that to continue would make the matter more certain. Twenty leagues more performed with the same rapidity, twenty more leagues devoured, and no one, not even d’Artagnan, could overtake the enemies of the King. Aramis felt obliged, therefore, to inflict upon Porthos the pain of mounting on horseback again. They rode on till seven o’clock in the evening, and had only one post more between them and Blois. But here a diabolical accident alarmed Aramis greatly; there were no horses at the post. The prelate asked himself by what infernal machination his enemies had succeeded in depriving him of the means of going farther. He who never recognized chance as a deity, he who found a cause for every result,- he preferred believing that the refusal of the postmaster, at such an hour, in such a country, was the consequence of an order emanating from above; an order given with a view of stopping short the king-maker in the midst of his flight. But at the moment he was about to fly into a passion, so as to procure either a horse or an explanation, he suddenly recollected that the Comte de la Fere lived in the neighborhood.
“I am not travelling,” said he; “I do not want horses for a whole stage. Find me two horses to go and pay a visit to a nobleman of my acquaintance who resides near this place.”
“What nobleman?” asked the postmaster.
“M. le Comte de la Fere.”
“Oh!” replied the postmaster, uncovering with respect, “a very worthy nobleman. But whatever may be my desire to make myself agreeable to him, I cannot furnish you with horses, for all mine are engaged by M. le Duc de Beaufort.”
“Indeed!” said Aramis, much disappointed.
“Only,” continued the postmaster, “if you will put up with a little carriage I have, I will harness an old blind horse, who has still his legs left, and who will draw you to the house of M. le Comte de la Fere.”
“That is worth a louis,” said Aramis.
“No, Monsieur, that is never worth more than a crown. That is what M. Grimaud, the count’s intendant, always pays me when he makes use of that carriage; and I should not wish the Comte de la Fere to have to reproach me with having imposed on one of his friends.”
“As you please,” said Aramis, “particularly as regards disobliging the Comte de la Fere; you will have your crown, but I have a right to give you a louis for your idea.”
“Oh, doubtless!” replied the postmaster, with delight; and he himself harnessed the old horse to the creaking carriage. In the mean time Porthos was curious to behold. He imagined he had discovered the secret, and he felt pleased,- because a visit to Athos in the first place promised him much satisfaction, and in the next, gave him the hopes of finding at the same time a good bed and a good supper. The master, having got the carriage ready, ordered one of his men to drive the strangers to La Fere. Porthos took his seat by the side of Aramis, whispering in his ear, “I understand.”
“Ah, ah!” said Aramis, “and what do you understand, my friend?”
“We are going, on the part of the King, to make some great proposal to Athos.”
“Pooh!” said Aramis.
“You need tell me nothing about it,” added the worthy Porthos, endeavoring to place himself so as to avoid the jolting,- “you need tell me nothing, I shall guess.”
“Well, do, my friend; guess away.”
They arrived at Athos’s dwelling about nine o’clock in the evening, favored by a splendid moon. This cheerful light rejoiced Porthos beyond expression; but Aramis appeared annoyed by it in an equal degree. He could not help showing something of this to Porthos, who replied, “Ay, ay! I guess how it is!- the mission is a secret one.”
These were his last words in the carriage. The driver interrupted him by saying:
“Gentlemen, you are arrived.”
Porthos and his companion alighted before the gate of the little chateau, where we are about to meet again with Athos and Bragelonne, both of whom had disappeared after the discovery of the infidelity of La Valliere.