The chief approached, and it was indeed Planchet; D’Artagnan had recognized the voice of his old servant.
“How, sir!” said Planchet, “is it you?”
“Eh! mon Dieu! yes, my good friend, this worthy Porthos has just received a sword wound and I am taking him to his country house at Saint Cloud.”
“Oh! really,” said Planchet.
“Porthos,” said D’Artagnan, “if you can still speak, say a word, my dear Porthos, to this good Planchet.”
“Planchet, my friend,” said Porthos, in a melancholy voice, “I am very ill; should you meet a doctor you will do me a favor by sending him to me.”
“Oh! good Heaven,” said Planchet, “what a misfortune! and how did it happen?”
“I will tell you all about it,” replied Mousqueton.
Porthos uttered a deep groan.
“Make way for us, Planchet,” said D’Artagnan in a whisper to him, “or he will not arrive alive; the lungs are attacked, my friend.”