Porthos made no remark, but obeyed, with the sublime confidence he had in his friend.
“I go,” he said, “only, shall I enter the chamber where those gentlemen are?”
“No, it is not worth while.”
“Well, do me the kindness to take my purse, which I left on the mantelpiece.”
“All right.”
He then proceeded, with his usual calm gait, to the stable and went into the very midst of the soldiery, who, foreigner as he was, could not help admiring his height and the enormous strength of his great limbs.
At the corner of the street he met Mousqueton and took him with him.
D’Artagnan, meantime, went into the house, whistling a tune which he had begun before Porthos went away.
“My dear Athos, I have reflected on your arguments and I am convinced. I am sorry to have had anything to do with this matter. As you say, Mazarin is a knave. I have resolved to fly with you, not a word—be ready. Your swords are in the corner; do not forget them, they are in many circumstances very useful; there is Porthos’s purse, too.”
He put it into his pocket. The two friends were perfectly stupefied.