“Nothing!” replied Grimaud.
“Those idiots!” cried Porthos, “they have not even pursued us. Oh! if we had been in their place!”
“Yes, they are wrong,” said D’Artagnan. “I would willingly have said two words to Mordaunt in this little desert. It is an excellent spot for bringing down a man in proper style.”
“I think, decidedly,” observed Aramis, “gentlemen, that the son hasn’t his mother’s energy.”
“What, my good fellow!” replied Athos, “wait awhile; we have scarcely left him two hours ago—he does not know yet in what direction we came nor where we are. We may say that he is not equal to his mother when we put foot in France, if we are not poisoned or killed before then.”
“Meanwhile, let us dine,” suggested Porthos.
“I’faith, yes,” said Athos, “for I am hungry.”
“Look out for the black fowls!” cried Aramis.
And the four friends, guided by Mousqueton, took up the way toward the house, already almost restored to their former gayety; for they were now, as Athos had said, all four once more united and of single mind.