'In all things he excels M. de Brissac.'
'Thank you; but for the place to which we are going, I would ask you to alight and measure swords with me.'
'Now that you speak of it, where are we going?'
'Cannot you guess?'
'No; but your musketeers must be well nigh out of breath by this time.'
'We are en route to the Bastille.'
'The Bastille!' I exclaimed, while my blood ran cold.
'Yes; 'tis occasionally fashionable to visit it at the French court.'
'I would prefer any other prison—'
'The Château d'Amboise, perhaps; but we cannot always choose our own quarters, M. Blane,' said De Brissac, as the fiacre, to the great relief of messieurs the twelve breathless musketeers, halted close by the Porte St. Antoine; and vainly I recalled the warning of the Marquis de Gordon, when first I met him at Clara's—