“Well?” eagerly demanded all his three friends.
“Nothing but one word!” said D’Artagnan.
“Yes,” said Aramis, “but that one word is the name of some town or village.”
“Armentières,” read Porthos; “Armentières? I don’t know such a place.”
“And that name of a town or village is written in her hand!” cried Athos.
“Come on, come on!” said D’Artagnan; “let us keep that paper carefully, perhaps I have not thrown away my half-pistole. To horse, my friends, to horse!”
And the four friends flew at a gallop along the road to Béthune.
Chapter LXI.
THE CARMELITE CONVENT AT BÉTHUNE
Great criminals bear about them a kind of predestination which makes them surmount all obstacles, which makes them escape all dangers, up to the moment which a wearied Providence has marked as the rock of their impious fortunes.
It was thus with Milady. She escaped the cruisers of both nations, and arrived at Boulogne without accident.