“Mordioux! You said that after a brave fashion, Raoul,” said D’Artagnan, seizing his hand, “that savors of Athos, distinctly. Well, I will go, then. Do not forget my last word.” “Except a fifth,” said Raoul. “Yes, you are a fine boy! and I wish you to add one thing to that last word.” “Speak, chevalier!” “It is that if you cannot get me out of the Bastile, and I remain there—oh! that will be so, and I shall be a detestable prisoner; I, who have been a passable man,—in that case, I give three-fifths to you, and the fourth to your father.” “Chevalier!” “Mordioux! If you will have some masses said for me, you are welcome.” That being said, D’Artagnan took his belt from the hook, girded on his sword, took a hat the feather of which was fresh, and held his hand out to Raoul, who threw himself into his arms. When in the shop, he cast a quick glance at the shop-lads, who looked upon the scene with a pride mingled with some inquietude; then plunging his hands into a chest of currants, he went straight to the officer who was waiting for him at the door. “Those features! Can it be you, Monsieur de Friedisch?” cried D’Artagnan, gayly. “Eh! eh! what, do we arrest our friends?” “Arrest!” whispered the lads among themselves. “Yes, it is I, Monsieur d’Artagnan! Good-day to you!” said the Swiss, in his mountain patois. “Must I give you up my sword? I warn you, that it is long and heavy; you had better let me wear it to the Louvre: I feel quite lost in the streets without a sword, and you would be more at a loss than I should, with two.” “The king has given no orders about it,” replied the Swiss, “so keep your sword.” “Well, that is very polite on the part of the king. Let us go, at once.” Monsieur Friedisch was not a talker, and D’Artagnan had too many things to think about to say much. From Planchet’s shop to the Louvre was not far—they arrived in ten minutes. It was a dark night. M. de Friedisch wanted to enter by the wicket. “No,” said D’Artagnan, “you would lose time by that; take the little staircase.”