He perceived in the tavern a pert boy between twelve and fifteen years of age whom he fancied he had seen not twenty minutes before under the guise of a chorister. He questioned him, and as the boy had no interest in deceiving, D’Artagnan learned that he exercised, from six o’clock in the morning until nine, the office of chorister, and from nine o’clock till midnight that of a waiter in the tavern.
Whilst he was talking to this lad a horse was brought to the door of Bazin’s house. It was saddled and bridled. Almost immediately Bazin came downstairs.
“Look!” said the boy, “there’s our beadle, who is going a journey.”
“And where is he going?” asked D’Artagnan.
“Forsooth, I don’t know.”
“Half a pistole if you can find out,” said D’Artagnan.
“For me?” cried the boy, his eyes sparkling with joy, “if I can find out where Bazin is going? That is not difficult. You are not joking, are you?”
“No, on the honor of an officer; there is the half-pistole;” and he showed him the seductive coin, but did not give it him.
“I shall ask him.”
“Just the very way not to know. Wait till he is set out and then, marry, come up, ask, and find out. The half-pistole is ready,” and he put it back again into his pocket.