They went on through the darkness, silent as phantoms; they
saw a light glimmering in the midst of some trees.
“Yonder is the house, Porthos,” said the Gascon; “let me do
what I please and do you what I do.”
They glided from tree to tree till they arrived at twenty
steps from the house unperceived and saw by means of a
lantern suspended under a hut, four fine horses. A groom was
rubbing them down; near them were saddles and bridles.
D’Artagnan approached quickly, making a sign to his two
companions to remain a few steps behind.
“I buy those horses,” he said to the groom.
The groom turned toward him with a look of surprise, but
made no reply.
“Didn’t you hear, fellow?”
“Yes, I heard.”
“Why, then, didn’t you reply?”
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“Because these horses are not to be sold,” was the reply.
“I take them, then,” said the lieutenant.
And he took hold of one within his reach; his two companions
did the same thing.
“Sir,” cried the groom, “they have traversed six leagues and
have only been unsaddled half an hour.”
“Half an hour’s rest is enough ” replied the Gascon.
The groom cried aloud for help. A kind of steward appeared,
just as D’Artagnan and his companions were prepared to
mount. The steward attempted to expostulate.
“My dear friend,” cried the lieutenant, “if you say a word I
will blow out your brains.”
“But, sir,” answered the steward, “do you know that these
horses belong to Monsieur de Montbazon?”
“So much the better; they must be good animals, then.”
“Sir, I shall call my people.”
“And I, mine; I’ve ten guards behind me, don’t you hear them
gallop? and I’m one of the king’s musketeers. Come, Porthos;
come, Mousqueton.”
They all mounted the horses as quickly as possible.
“Halloo! hi! hi!” cried the steward; “the house servants,
with the carbines!”
“On! on!” cried D’Artagnan; “there’ll be firing! on!”
They all set off, swift as the wind.
“Here!” cried the steward, “here!” whilst the groom ran to a
neighboring building.
“Take care of your horses!” cried D’Artagnan to him.
“Fire!” replied the steward.
A gleam, like a flash of lightning, illumined the road, and
with the flash was heard the whistling of balls, which were
fired wildly in the air.
“They fire like grooms,” said Porthos. “In the time of the
cardinal people fired better than that, do you remember the
road to Crevecoeur, Mousqueton?”
“Ah, sir! my left side still pains me!”
“Are you sure we are on the right track, lieutenant?”
“Egad, didn’t you hear? these horses belong to Monsieur de
Montbazon; well, Monsieur de Montbazon is the husband of
Madame de Montbazon —- ”
“And —- ”
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“And Madame de Montbazon is the mistress of the Duc de
Beaufort.”
“Ah! I understand,” replied Porthos; “she has ordered relays
of horses.”
“Exactly so.”
“And we are pursuing the duke with the very horses he has
just left?”
“My dear Porthos, you are really a man of most superior
understanding,” said D’Artagnan, with a look as if he spoke
against his conviction.
“Pooh!” replied Porthos, “I am what I am.”
They rode on for an hour, till the horses were covered with
foam and dust.
“Zounds! what is yonder?” cried D’Artagnan.
“You are very lucky if you see anything such a night as
this,” said Porthos.
“Something bright.”
“I, too,” cried Mousqueton, “saw them also.”
“Ah! ah! have we overtaken them?”
“Good! a dead horse!” said D’Artagnan, pulling up his horse,
which shied; “it seems their horses, too, are breaking down,
as well as ours.”
“I seem to hear the noise of a troop of horsemen,” exclaimed
Porthos, leaning over his horse’s mane.
“Impossible.”
“They appear to be numerous.”
“Then ’tis something else.”
“Another horse!” said Porthos.
“Dead?”
“No, dying.”
“Saddled?”
“Yes, saddled and bridled.”
“Then we are upon the fugitives.”
“Courage, we have them!”
“But if they are numerous,” observed Mousqueton, “’tis not we
who have them, but they who have us.”
“Nonsense!” cried D’Artagnan, “they’ll suppose us to be
stronger than themselves, as we’re in pursuit; they’ll be
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