As to D’Artagnan, scarcely, on his side, was he out of sight when he drew from his pocket a letter, which he read over again:
“Return immediately to Paris.—J. M——.”
“The epistle is laconic,” said D’Artagnan; “and if there had not been a postscript, probably I should not have understood it; but happily there is a postscript.”
And he read that welcome postscript, which made him forget the abruptness of the letter.
“P. S.—Go to the king’s treasurer, at Blois; tell him your name and show him this letter; you will receive two hundred pistoles.”
“Assuredly,” said D’Artagnan, “I admire this piece of prose. The cardinal writes better than I thought. Come, Planchet, let us pay a visit to the king’s treasurer and then set off.”
“Toward Paris, sir?”
“Toward Paris.”
And they set out at as hard a canter as their horses could maintain.