25

An Adventure on the High Road.



The musketeers rode the whole length of the Faubourg Saint
Antoine and of the road to Vincennes, and soon found
themselves out of the town, then in a forest and then within
sight of a village.

The horses seemed to become more lively with each successive
step; their nostrils reddened like glowing furnaces.
D'Artagnan, freely applying his spurs, was in advance of
Porthos two feet at the most; Mousqueton followed two lengths
behind; the guards were scattered according to the varying
excellence of their respective mounts.

From the top of an eminence D'Artagnan perceived a group of
people collected on the other side of the moat, in front of
that part of the donjon which looks toward Saint Maur. He
rode on, convinced that in this direction he would gain
intelligence of the fugitive. In five minutes he had arrived
at the place, where the guards joined him, coming up one by
one.

The several members of that group were much excited. They
looked at the cord, still hanging from the loophole and
broken at about twenty feet from the ground. Their eyes
measured the height and they exchanged conjectures. On the
top of the wall sentinels went and came with a frightened
air.

A few soldiers, commanded by a sergeant, drove away idlers
from the place where the duke had mounted his horse.
D'Artagnan went straight to the sergeant.

"My officer," said the sergeant, "it is not permitted to
stop here."

"That prohibition is not for me," said D'Artagnan. "Have the
fugitives been pursued?"

"Yes, my officer; unfortunately, they are well mounted."

"How many are there?"

"Four, and a fifth whom they carried away wounded."

"Four!" said D'Artagnan, looking at Porthos. "Do you hear,
baron? They are only four!"

A joyous smile lighted Porthos's face.

"How long a start have they?"

"Two hours and a quarter, my officer."

"Two hours and a quarter -- that is nothing; we are well
mounted, are we not, Porthos?"

Porthos breathed a sigh; he thought of what was in store for
his poor horses.

"Very good," said D'Artagnan; "and now in what direction did
they set out?"

"That I am forbidden to tell."

D'Artagnan drew from his pocket a paper. "Order of the
king," he said.

"Speak to the governor, then."

"And where is the governor?"

"In the country."

Anger mounted to D'Artagnan's face; he frowned and his
cheeks were colored.

"Ah, you scoundrel!" he said to the sergeant, "I believe you
are impudent to me! Wait!"

He unfolded the paper, presented it to the sergeant with one
hand and with the other took a pistol from his holsters and
cocked it.

"Order of the king, I tell you. Read and answer, or I will
blow out your brains!"

The sergeant saw that D'Artagnan was in earnest. "The
Vendomois road," he replied.

"And by what gate did they go out?"

"By the Saint Maur gate."

"If you are deceiving me, rascal, you will be hanged
to-morrow."

"And if you catch up with them you won't come back to hang
me," murmured the sergeant.

D'Artagnan shrugged his shoulders, made a sign to his escort
and started.

"This way, gentlemen, this way!" he cried, directing his
course toward the gate that had been pointed out.

But, now that the duke had escaped, the concierge had seen
fit to fasten the gate with a double lock. It was necessary
to compel him to open it, as the sergeant had been compelled
to speak, and this took another ten minutes. This last
obstacle having been overcome, the troop pursued their
course with their accustomed ardor; but some of the horses
could no longer sustain this pace; three of them stopped
after an hour's gallop, and one fell down.

D'Artagnan, who never turned his head, did not perceive it.
Porthos told him of it in his calm manner.

"If only we two arrive," said D'Artagnan, "it will be
enough, since the duke's troop are only four in number."

"That is true," said Porthos

And he spurred his courser on.

At the end of another two hours the horses had gone twelve
leagues without stopping; their legs began to tremble, and
the foam they shed whitened the doublets of their masters.

"Let us rest here an instant to give these poor creatures
breathing time," said Porthos.

"Let us rather kill them! yes, kill them!" cried D'Artagnan;
"I see fresh tracks; 'tis not a quarter of an hour since
they passed this place."

In fact, the road was trodden by horses' feet, visible even
in the approaching gloom of evening.