“Well, my dear friend, you are furnished with all you need, I suppose?”
“I shall take a second horse with me. Select your own rendezvous, and while you are waiting there, you can practice some of the best passes, so as to get your limbs as elastic as possible.”
“Thank you. I shall be waiting for you in the wood of Vincennes, close to Minimes.”
“All goes well, then. Where am I to find this M. de Saint-Aignan?”
“At the Palais Royal.”
Porthos ran a huge hand-bell. “My court suit,” he said to the servant who answered the summons, “my horse, and a led horse to accompany me.” Then turning to Raoul, as soon as the servant had quitted the room, he said: “Does your father know anything about this?”
“No; I am going to write to him.”
“And D’Artagnan?”
“No, nor D’Artagnan either. He is very cautious, you know, and might have diverted me from my purpose.”
“D’Artagnan is a sound adviser, though,” said Porthos, astonished that, in his own loyal faith in D’Artagnan, any one could have thought of himself, so long as there was a D’Artagnan in the world.