And with a light step, an eye on the watch, observing the movements of the enemy and taking advantage of the accidents of the ground, D’Artagnan succeeded in reaching the second soldier.
There were two means of gaining his object—to search him on the spot, or to carry him away, making a buckler of his body, and search him in the trench.
D’Artagnan preferred the second means, and lifted the assassin onto his shoulders at the moment the enemy fired.
A slight shock, the dull noise of three balls which penetrated the flesh, a last cry, a convulsion of agony, proved to D’Artagnan that the would-be assassin had saved his life.
D’Artagnan regained the trench, and threw the corpse beside the wounded man, who was as pale as death.
Then he began to search. A leather pocketbook, a purse, in which was evidently a part of the sum which the bandit had received, with a dice box and dice, completed the possessions of the dead man.
He left the box and dice where they fell, threw the purse to the wounded man, and eagerly opened the pocketbook.
Among some unimportant papers he found the following letter, that which he had sought at the risk of his life:
“Since you have lost sight of that woman and she is now in safety in the convent, which you should never have allowed her to reach, try, at least, not to miss the man. If you do, you know that my hand stretches far, and that you shall pay very dearly for the hundred louis you have from me.”
No signature. Nevertheless it was plain the letter came from Milady. He consequently kept it as a piece of evidence, and being in safety behind the angle of the trench, he began to interrogate the wounded man. He confessed that he had undertaken with his comrade—the same who was killed—to carry off a young woman who was to leave Paris by the Barrière de La Villette; but having stopped to drink at a cabaret, they had missed the carriage by ten minutes.