the suburb which leads to the gates of the town, upon a
white wall which was at the corner of a street turning
around the rampart, Athos cast his eyes upon a drawing in
black chalk, which represented, with the awkwardness of a
first attempt, two cavaliers riding furiously; one of them
carried a roll of paper on which were written these words:
“They are following us.”
“Oh!” exclaimed Athos, “here it is, as clear as day; pursued
as he was, D’Artagnan would not have tarried here five
minutes had he been pressed very closely, which gives us
hopes that he may have succeeded in escaping.”
Aramis shook his head.
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“Had he escaped we should either have seen him or have heard
him spoken of.”
“You are right, Aramis, let us travel on.”
To describe the impatience and anxiety of these two friends
would be impossible. Uneasiness took possession of the
tender, constant heart of Athos, and fearful forecasts were
the torment of the impulsive Aramis. They galloped on for
two or three hours as furiously as the cavaliers on the
wall. All at once, in a narrow pass, they perceived that the
road was partially barricaded by an enormous stone. It had
evidently been rolled across the pass by some arm of giant
strength.
Aramis stopped.
“Oh!” he said, looking at the stone, “this is the work of
either Hercules or Porthos. Let us get down, count, and
examine this rock.”
They both alighted. The stone had been brought with the
evident intention of barricading the road, but some one
having perceived the obstacle had partially turned it aside.
With the assistance of Blaisois and Grimaud the friends
succeeded in turning the stone over. Upon the side next the
ground were scratched the following words:
“Eight of the light dragoons are pursuing us. If we reach
Compiegne we shall stop at the Peacock. It is kept by a
friend of ours.”
“At last we have something definite,” said Athos; “let us go
to the Peacock.”
“Yes,” answered Aramis, “but if we are to get there we must
rest our horses, for they are almost broken-winded.”
Aramis was right; they stopped at the first tavern and made
each horse swallow a double quantity of corn steeped in
wine; they gave them three hours’ rest and then set off
again. The men themselves were almost dead with fatigue, but
hope supported them.
In six hours they reached Compiegne and alighted at the
Peacock. The host proved to be a worthy man, as bald as a
Chinaman. They asked him if some time ago he had not
received in his house two gentlemen who were pursued by
dragoons; without answering he went out and brought in the
blade of a rapier.
“Do you know that?” he asked.
Athos merely glanced at it.
“‘Tis D’Artagnan’s sword,” he said.
“Does it belong to the smaller or to the larger of the two?”
asked the host.
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“To the smaller.”
“I see that you are the friends of these gentlemen.”
“Well, what has happened to them?”
“They were pursued by eight of the light dragoons, who rode
into the courtyard before they had time to close the gate.”
“Eight!” said Aramis; “it surprises me that two such heroes
as Porthos and D’Artagnan should have allowed themselves to
be arrested by eight men.”
“The eight men would doubtless have failed had they not been
assisted by twenty soldiers of the regiment of Italians in
the king’s service, who are in garrison in this town so that
your friends were overpowered by numbers.”
“Arrested, were they?” inquired Athos; “is it known why?”
“No, sir, they were carried off instantly, and had not even
time to tell me why; but as soon as they were gone I found
this broken sword-blade, as I was helping to raise two dead
men and five or six wounded ones.”
“‘Tis still a consolation that they were not wounded,” said
Aramis.
“Where were they taken?” asked Athos.
“Toward the town of Louvres,” was the reply.
The two friends having agreed to leave Blaisois and Grimaud
at Compiegne with the horses, resolved to take post horses;