“Come,” said D’Artagnan, after a conference of five minutes’ duration, “let us begin our journey.”
“Where are we to go?” asked Porthos.
“To your house, dear Porthos, at Pierrefonds; your fine chateau is worthy of affording its princely hospitality to his eminence; it is, likewise, well situated—neither too near Paris, nor too far from it; we can establish a communication between it and the capital with great facility. Come, my lord, you shall be treated like a prince, as you are.”
“A fallen prince!” exclaimed Mazarin, piteously.
“The chances of war,” said Athos, “are many, but be assured we shall take no improper advantage of them.”
“No, but we shall make use of them,” said D’Artagnan.
The rest of the night was employed by these cavaliers in traveling with the wonderful rapidity of former days. Mazarin, still sombre and pensive, permitted himself to be dragged along in this way; it looked a race of phantoms. At dawn twelve leagues had been passed without drawing rein; half the escort were exhausted and several horses fell down.
“Horses, nowadays, are not what they were formerly,” observed Porthos; “everything degenerates.”
“I have sent Grimaud to Dammartin,” said Aramis. “He is to bring us five fresh horses—one for his eminence, four for us. We, at least, must keep close to monseigneur; the rest of the start will rejoin us later. Once beyond Saint Denis we shall have nothing to fear.”
Grimaud, in fact, brought back five horses. The nobleman to whom he applied, being a friend of Porthos, was very ready, not to sell them, as was proposed, but to lend them. Ten minutes later the escort stopped at Ermenonville, but the four friends went on with well sustained ardor, guarding Mazarin carefully. At noon they rode into the avenue of Pierrefonds.