"Give it to me," said D'Artagnan, who when the gate was open deposited the key in his pocket, reckoning upon returning by that gate.
The steps were already down and the door open. Musqueton stood at the door and Porthos was inside the carriage.
"Mount, my lord," said D'Artagnan to Mazarin, who sprang into the carriage without waiting for a second bidding.
D'Artagnan followed him, and Musqueton, having closed the door, mounted behind the carriage with many groans. He had made some difficulties about going, under pretext that he still suffered from his wound, but D'Artagnan had said to him:
"Remain if you like, my dear Monsieur Mouston, but I warn you that Paris will be burnt down to-night;" upon which Musqueton had declared, without asking anything further, that he was ready to follow his master and Monsieur d'Artagnan to the end of the world.
The carriage started at a measured pace, without betraying by the slightest sign that it contained people in a hurry.
The cardinal wiped his forehead with his handkerchief and looked around him. On his left was Porthos, whilst D'Artagnan was on his right; each guarded a door and served as a rampart to him on either side. Before him, on the front seat, lay two pairs of pistols -- one in front of Porthos and the other of D'Artagnan. About a hundred paces from the Palais Royal a patrol stopped the carriage.
"Who goes?" asked the captain.
"Mazarin!" replied D'Artagnan, bursting into a laugh. The cardinal's hair stood on end. But the joke appeared an excellent one to the citizens, who, seeing the conveyance without escort and unarmed, would never have believed in the possibility of so great an imprudence.
"A good journey to ye," they cried, allowing it to pass.
"Hem!" said D'Artagnan, "what does my lord think of that reply?"
"Man of talent!" cried Mazarin.
"In truth," said Porthos, "I understand; but now ---- "
About the middle of the Rue des Petits Champs they were stopped by a second patrol.
"Who goes there?" inquired the captain of the patrol.
"Keep back, my lord," said D'Artagnan. And Mazarin buried himself so far behind the two friends that he disappeared, completely hidden between them.
"Who goes there?" cried the same voice, impatiently whilst D'Artagnan perceived that they had rushed to the horses' heads. But putting hid head out of the carriage:
"Eh! Planchet," said he.
The chief approached, and it was indeed Planchet; D'Artagnan had recognized the voice of his old servant.
"How, sir!" said Planchet, "is it you?"
"Eh! mon Dieu! yes, my good friend, this worthy Porthos has just received a sword wound and I am taking him to his country house at Saint Cloud."
"Oh! really," said Planchet.
"Porthos," said D'Artagnan, "if you can still speak, say a word, my dear Porthos, to this good Planchet."
"Planchet, my friend," said Porthos, in a melancholy voice, "I am very ill; should you meet a doctor you will do me a favor by sending him to me."
"Oh! good Heaven," said Planchet, "what a misfortune! and how did it happen?"
"I will tell you all about it," replied Musqueton.
Porthos uttered a deep groan.
"Make way for us, Planchet," said D'Artagnan in a whisper to him, "or he will not arrive alive; the lungs are attacked, my friend."
Planchet shook his head with the air of a man who says, "In that case things look ill." Then he exclaimed, turning to his men:
"Let them pass; they are friends.
The carriage resumed its course, and Mazarin, who had held his breath, ventured to breathe again.
"Bricconi!" muttered he.
A few steps in advance of the gate of Saint Honore they met a third troop; this latter party was composed of ill-looking fellows, who resembled bandits more than anything else; they were the men of the beggar of Saint Eustache.
