“Yes, monsieur, it is here he lives,” the servant replied to Planchet, who was not in livery.
“A nobleman retired from service, is he not?”
“Yes.”
“And who had a lackey named Grimaud?” persisted Planchet, who had prudently considered that he couldn’t have too much information.
“Monsieur Grimaud is absent from the chateau for the time being,” said the servitor, who, little used as he was to such inquiries, began to examine Planchet from head to foot.
“Then,” cried Planchet joyously, “I see well that it is the same Comte de la Fere whom we seek. Be good enough to open to me, for I wish to announce to monsieur le comte that my master, one of his friends, is here, and wishes to greet him.”
“Why didn’t you say so?” said the servitor, opening the gate. “But where is your master?”
“He is following me.”
The servitor opened the gate and walked before Planchet, who made a sign to D’Artagnan. The latter, his heart palpitating more than ever, entered the courtyard without dismounting.
Whilst Planchet was standing on the steps before the house he heard a voice say: