“The cardinal, I believe, would give the world to prevent my success.” “And you are going alone?” “I am going alone.” “In that case you will not get beyond Bondy. I tell you so, by the faith of de Tréville.” “How so?” “You will be assassinated.” “And I shall die in the performance of my duty.” “But your mission will not be accomplished.” “That is true,” replied D’Artagnan. “Believe me,” continued Tréville, “in enterprises of this kind, in order that one may arrive, four must set out.” “Ah, you are right, monsieur,” said D’Artagnan; “but you know Athos, Porthos, and Aramis, and you know if I can dispose of them.” “Without confiding to them the secret which I am not willing to know?” “We are sworn, once for all, to implicit confidence and devotedness against all proof. Besides, you can tell them that you have full confidence in me, and they will not be more incredulous than you.” “I can send to each of them leave of absence for fifteen days, that is all—to Athos, whose wound still makes him suffer, to go to the waters of Forges; to Porthos and Aramis to accompany their friend, whom they are not willing to abandon in such a painful condition. Sending their leave of absence will be proof enough that I authorize their journey.” “Thanks, monsieur. You are a hundred times too good.” “Begone, then, find them instantly, and let all be done tonight! Ha! But first write your request to Dessessart. Perhaps you had a spy at your heels; and your visit, if it should ever be known to the cardinal, will thus seem legitimate.” D’Artagnan drew up his request, and M. de Tréville, on receiving it, assured him that by two o’clock in the morning the four leaves of absence should be at the respective domiciles of the travelers. “Have the goodness to send mine to Athos’s residence. I should dread some disagreeable encounter if I were to go home.” “Be easy. Adieu, and a prosperous voyage. _A propos_,” said M. de Tréville, calling him back. D’Artagnan returned. “Have you any money?” D’Artagnan tapped the bag he had in his pocket. “Enough?” asked M. de Tréville. “Three hundred pistoles.” “Oh, plenty! That would carry you to the end of the world. Begone, then!” D’Artagnan saluted M. de Tréville, who held out his hand to him; D’Artagnan pressed it with a respect mixed with gratitude. Since his first arrival at Paris, he had had constant occasion to honor this excellent man, whom he had always found worthy, loyal, and great. His first visit was to Aramis, at whose residence he had not been since the famous evening on which he had followed Mme. Bonacieux. Still further, he had seldom seen the young Musketeer; but every time he had seen him, he had remarked a deep sadness imprinted on his countenance.