The sergeant saw that D’Artagnan was in earnest. “The Vendomois road,” he replied.
“And by what gate did they go out?”
“By the Saint Maur gate.”
“If you are deceiving me, rascal, you will be hanged to-morrow.”
“And if you catch up with them you won’t come back to hang me,” murmured the sergeant.
D’Artagnan shrugged his shoulders, made a sign to his escort and started.
“This way, gentlemen, this way!” he cried, directing his course toward the gate that had been pointed out.
But, now that the duke had escaped, the concierge had seen fit to fasten the gate with a double lock. It was necessary to compel him to open it, as the sergeant had been compelled to speak, and this took another ten minutes. This last obstacle having been overcome, the troop pursued their course with their accustomed ardor; but some of the horses could no longer sustain this pace; three of them stopped after an hour’s gallop, and one fell down.
D’Artagnan, who never turned his head, did not perceive it. Porthos told him of it in his calm manner.
“If only we two arrive,” said D’Artagnan, “it will be enough, since the duke’s troop are only four in number.”