“All four of us?” asked Athos.
“Pardieu! certainly, all four; we couldn’t leave our prisoners, could we?”
“Ah! ah!” said Aramis.
“Tell us about it,” said Athos, palpitating.
“We are going, then, we two with our swords, you with daggers. We four have got to master these eight fools and their stupid captain. Monsieur Porthos, what do you say to that?”
“I say it is easy enough,” answered Porthos.
“We dress the king in Groslow’s clothes. Mousqueton, Grimaud and Blaisois have our horses saddled at the end of the first street. We mount them and before daylight are twenty leagues distant.”
Athos placed his two hands on D’Artagnan’s shoulders, and gazed at him with his calm, sad smile.
“I declare, my friend,” said he, “that there is not a creature under the sky who equals you in prowess and in courage. Whilst we thought you indifferent to our sorrows, which you couldn’t share without crime, you alone among us have discovered what we were searching for in vain. I repeat it, D’Artagnan, you are the best one among us; I bless and love you, my dear son.”
“And to think that I couldn’t find that out,” said Porthos, scratching his head; “it is so simple.”