“Sir!” cried the man, “in the name of Heaven put your sword back into the sheath and don’t kill me unheard. I’m no thief, but an honest citizen, well off in the world, with a house of my own. My name is—ah! but surely you are Monsieur d’Artagnan?”
“And thou—Planchet!” cried the lieutenant.
“At your service, sir,” said Planchet, overwhelmed with joy; “if I were still capable of serving you.”
“Perhaps so,” replied D’Artagnan. “But why the devil dost thou run about the tops of houses at seven o’clock of the morning in the month of January?”
“Sir,” said Planchet, “you must know; but, perhaps you ought not to know——”
“Tell us what,” returned D’Artagnan, “but first put a napkin against the window and draw the curtains.”
“Sir,” said the prudent Planchet, “in the first place, are you on good terms with Monsieur de Rochefort?”
“Perfectly; one of my dearest friends.”
“Ah! so much the better!”
“But what has De Rochefort to do with this manner you have of invading my room?”