“What would you? The cardinal has a weakness for these men which I cannot comprehend.”
“Indeed!”
“Yes.”
“Well, then, tell him this, Rochefort. Tell him that our conversation at the inn of the Red Dovecot was overheard by these four men; tell him that after his departure one of them came up to me and took from me by violence the safe-conduct which he had given me; tell him they warned Lord de Winter of my journey to England; that this time they nearly foiled my mission as they foiled the affair of the studs; tell him that among these four men two only are to be feared—D’Artagnan and Athos; tell him that the third, Aramis, is the lover of Madame de Chevreuse—he may be left alone, we know his secret, and it may be useful; as to the fourth, Porthos, he is a fool, a simpleton, a blustering booby, not worth troubling himself about.”
“But these four men must be now at the siege of La Rochelle?”
“I thought so, too; but a letter which Madame Bonacieux has received from Madame the Constable, and which she has had the imprudence to show me, leads me to believe that these four men, on the contrary, are on the road hither to take her away.”
“The devil! What’s to be done?”
“What did the cardinal say about me?”
“I was to take your dispatches, written or verbal, and return by post; and when he shall know what you have done, he will advise what you have to do.”
“I must, then, remain here?”