“Please your honors,” said the host, “a person in a great hurry wishes to speak to one of you.”
“To which of us?” asked all the four friends.
“To him who is called the Comte de la Fere.”
“It is I,” said Athos, “and what is the name of the person?”
“Grimaud.”
“Ah!” exclaimed Athos, turning pale. “Back already! What can have happened, then, to Bragelonne?”
“Let him enter,” cried D’Artagnan; “let him come up.”
But Grimaud had already mounted the staircase and was waiting on the last step; so springing into the room he motioned the host to leave it. The door being closed, the four friends waited in expectation. Grimaud’s agitation, his pallor, the sweat which covered his face, the dust which soiled his clothes, all indicated that he was the messenger of some important and terrible news.
“Your honors,” said he, “that woman had a child; that child has become a man; the tigress had a little one, the tiger has roused himself; he is ready to spring upon you—beware!”
Athos glanced around at his friends with a melancholy smile. Porthos turned to look at his sword, which was hanging on the wall; Aramis seized his knife; D’Artagnan arose.