“In truth,” murmured D’Artagnan, to whom M. de Tréville’s recommendation recurred, “this animal will end by making me afraid.” And he put his horse into a trot.
Planchet followed the movements of his master as if he had been his shadow, and was soon trotting by his side.
“Are we going to continue this pace all night?” asked Planchet.
“No; you are at your journey’s end.”
“How, monsieur! And you?”
“I am going a few steps farther.”
“And Monsieur leaves me here alone?”
“You are afraid, Planchet?”
“No; I only beg leave to observe to Monsieur that the night will be very cold, that chills bring on rheumatism, and that a lackey who has the rheumatism makes but a poor servant, particularly to a master as active as Monsieur.”
“Well, if you are cold, Planchet, you can go into one of those cabarets that you see yonder, and be in waiting for me at the door by six o’clock in the morning.”