The Journey
At two o’clock in the morning our four adventurers left Paris by the gate St. Denis.
The lackeys followed， armed to the teeth.
All went well as far as Chantilly， where they arrived about eight o’clock in the morning. They needed breakfast， and alighted at the door of an inn recommended by a sign representing St. Martin giving half his cloak to a poor man.
They entered the public room， and seated themselves at table. A gentleman， who had just arrived by the route of Dammartin， was seated at the same table， and was taking his breakfast.
At the moment Mousqueton came to announce that the horses were ready， and they were rising from the table， the stranger proposed to Porthos to drink the cardinal’s health. Porthos replied that he asked no better， if the stranger in his turn would drink the king’s health. The stranger cried that he acknowledged no other king but his Eminence. Porthos told him he was drunk， and the stranger drew his sword.
“You have committed a piece of folly，” said Athos， “but it can’t be helped； there is no drawing back. Kill your man， and rejoin us as soon as you can.”
And all three mounted their horses and set out at a good pace， while Porthos was promising his adversary to perforate him with all the thrusts known in the fencing schools.
And the travellers continued their route.
At Beauvais they stopped two hours， as much to breathe their horses a little as to wait for Porthos. At the end of the two hours， as Porthos did not come and they heard no news of him， they resumed their journey.
At a league from Beauvais， where the road was confined between two high banks， they fell in with eight or ten men who， taking advantage of the road being unpaved in this spot， appeared to be employed in digging holes and ****** muddy ruts.
Aramis， not liking to soil his boots with this artificial mortar， apostrophized them rather sharply. Athos wished to restrain him， but it was too late. The labourers began to jeer the travellers， and by their insolence disturbed the equanimity even of the cool Athos， who urged on his horse against one of them.
The men all immediately drew back to the ditch， from which each took a concealed musket. The result was that our seven travellers were outnumbered in weapons. Aramis received a ball which passed through his shoulder， and Mousqueton another ball which lodged in the fleshy parts at the lower portion of the back. Mousqueton alone fell from his horse， not because he was severely wounded， but from not being able to see the wound， he deemed it to be more serious than it really was.
“It is an ambuscade！” shouted D’Artagnan； “don’t waste a shot！ Forward！”
Aramis， wounded as he was， seized the mane of his horse， which carried him on with the others. Mousqueton’s horse rejoined them， and galloped by the side of his companions.
“That horse will serve us for a relay，” said Athos.
They continued at their best speed for two hours， although the horses were so fatigued that it was to be feared they would soon refuse service.
The travellers had chosen cross-roads， in the hope that they might meet with less interruption. But at Crèvec？ur Aramis declared he could proceed no farther. In fact， it required all the courage which he concealed beneath his elegant form and polished manners to bear him so far. He grew paler every minute， and they were obliged to support him on his horse. They lifted him off at the door of an inn， left Bazin with him—who， besides， in a skirmish was more embarrassing than useful—and set forward again in the hope of sleeping at Amiens. They arrived at midnight， and alighted at the inn of the Golden Lily.
The host had the appearance of as honest a man as any on earth. He received the travellers with his candlestick in one hand and his cotton nightcap in the other.
“Grimaud can take care of the horses，” said Planchet. “If you are willing， gentlemen， I will sleep across your doorway， and you will then be certain that nobody can come to you.”
“And what will you sleep upon？” said D’Artagnan.
“Here is my bed，” replied Planchet， producing a bundle of straw.
At four o’clock in the morning a terrible noise was heard in the stables. Grimaud had tried to waken the stable-boys， and the stable-boys were beating him. When the window was opened the poor lad was seen lying senseless， with his head split by a blow with a fork-handle.
Planchet went down into the yard， and proceeded to saddle the horses. But the horses were all used up. Mousqueton’s horse， which had travelled for five or six hours without a rider the day before， alone might have been able to pursue the journey. But， by an inconceivable error， a veterinary surgeon， who had been sent for， as it appeared， to bleed one of the host’s horses， had bled Mousqueton’s.
This began to be annoying. All these successive accidents were， perhaps， the result of chance， but they might， quite as probably， be the fruits of a plot. Athos and D’Artagnan went out， while Planchet was sent to inquire if there were not three horses for sale in the neighbourhood. At the door stood two horses， fresh， strong， and fully equipped. These were just what they wanted. He asked where their owners were， and was informed that they had passed the night in the inn， and were then settling with the master.
Athos went down to pay the reckoning， while D’Artagnan and Planchet stood at the street door. The host was in a low room at the back， to which Athos was requested to go.
Athos entered without the least mistrust， and took out two pistoles to pay the bill. The host was alone， seated before his desk， one of the drawers of which was partly open. He took the money which Athos offered to him， and after turning and turning it over and over in his hands， suddenly cried out that it was bad， and that he would have him and his companions arrested as counterfeiters.
“You scoundrel！” cried Athos， stepping towards him， “I’ll cut your ears off！”
But the host stooped， took two pistols from the half-open drawer， pointed them at Athos， and called out for help.
