At a hundred paces from the gates of Calais, d’Artagnan’s horse gave out, and could not by any means be made to get up again, the blood flowing from his eyes and his nose. There still remained Planchet’s horse; but he stopped short, and could not be made to move a step.
Fortunately, as we have said, they were within a hundred paces of the city; they left their two nags upon the high road, and ran toward the quay. Planchet called his master’s attention to a gentleman who had just arrived with his lackey, and only preceded them by about fifty paces. They made all speed to come up to this gentleman, who appeared to be in great haste. His boots were covered with dust, and he inquired if he could not instantly cross over to England.
“Nothing would be more easy,” said the captain of a vessel ready to set sail, “but this morning came an order to let no one leave without express permission from the cardinal.”
“I have that permission,” said the gentleman, drawing the paper from his pocket; “here it is.”
“Have it examined by the governor of the port,” said the shipmaster, “and give me the preference.”
“Where shall I find the governor?”
“At his country house.”
“And that is situated?”
“At a quarter of a league from the city. Look, you may see it from here–at the foot of that little hill, that slated roof.”
“Very well,” said the gentleman. And, with his lackey, he took the road to the governor’s country house.
D’Artagnan and Planchet followed the gentleman at a distance of five hundred paces. Once outside the city, d’Artagnan overtook the gentleman as he was entering a little wood.
“Monsieur,” you appear to be in great haste?”
“No one can be more so, monsieur.”
“I am sorry for that,” said d’Artagnan; “for as I am in great haste likewise, I wish to beg you to render me a service.”
“What?”
“To let me sail first.”
“That’s impossible,” said the gentleman; “I have traveled sixty leagues in forty hours, and by tomorrow at midday I must be in London.”
“I have performed that same distance in forty hours, and by ten o’clock in the morning I must be in London.”
“Very sorry, monsieur; but I was here first, and will not sail second.”
“I am sorry, too, monsieur; but I arrived second, and must sail first.”
“The king’s service!” said the gentleman.
“My own service!” said d’Artagnan.
“But this is a needless quarrel you seek with me, as it seems to me.”
“PARBLEU! What do you desire it to be?”
“What do you want?”
“Would you like to know?”
“Certainly.”
“Well, then, I wish that order of which you are bearer, seeing that I have not one of my own and must have one.”
“You jest, I presume.”
“I never jest.”
“Let me pass!”
“You shall not pass.”
“My brave young man, I will blow out your brains. HOLA, Lubin, my pistols!”
“Planchet,” called out d’Artagnan, “take care of the lackey; I will manage the master.”
Planchet, emboldened by the first exploit, sprang upon Lubin; and being strong and vigorous, he soon got him on the broad of his back, and placed his knee upon his breast.
“Go on with your affair, monsieur,” cried Planchet; “I have finished mine.”
Seeing this, the gentleman drew his sword, and sprang upon d’Artagnan; but he had too strong an adversary. In three seconds d’Artagnan had wounded him three times, exclaiming at each thrust, “One for Athos, one for Porthos; and one for Aramis!”
At the third hit the gentleman fell like a log. D’Artagnan believed him to be dead, or at least insensible, and went toward him for the purpose of taking the order; but the moment he extended his hand to search for it, the wounded man, who had not dropped his sword, plunged the point into d’Artagnan’s breast, crying, “One for you!”
“And one for me–the best for last!” cried d’Artagnan, furious, nailing him to the earth with a fourth thrust through his body.
This time the gentleman closed his eyes and fainted. D’Artagnan searched his pockets, and took from one of them the order for the passage. It was in the name of Comte de Wardes.