D’Artagnan made his way through the crowd, advanced toward the host, and pronounced the word “Forward!” The host instantly made him a sign to follow, went out with him by a door which opened into a yard, led him to the stable, where a saddled horse awaited him, and asked him if he stood in need of anything else. “I want to know the route I am to follow,” said D’Artagnan. “Go from hence to Blangy, and from Blangy to Neufchâtel. At Neufchâtel, go to the tavern of the Golden Harrow, give the password to the landlord, and you will find, as you have here, a horse ready saddled.” “Have I anything to pay?” demanded D’Artagnan. “Everything is paid,” replied the host, “and liberally. Begone, and may God guide you!” “Amen!” cried the young man, and set off at full gallop. Four hours later he was in Neufchâtel. He strictly followed the instructions he had received. At Neufchâtel, as at St. Valery, he found a horse quite ready and awaiting him. He was about to remove the pistols from the saddle he had quit to the one he was about to fill, but he found the holsters furnished with similar pistols. “Your address at Paris?” “Hôtel of the Guards, company of Dessessart.” “Enough,” replied the questioner. “Which route must I take?” demanded D’Artagnan, in his turn. “That of Rouen; but you will leave the city on your right. You must stop at the little village of Eccuis, in which there is but one tavern—the Shield of France. Don’t condemn it from appearances; you will find a horse in the stables quite as good as this.” “The same password?” “Exactly.” “Adieu, master!” “A good journey, gentlemen! Do you want anything?” D’Artagnan shook his head, and set off at full speed. At Eccuis, the same scene was repeated. He found as provident a host and a fresh horse. He left his address as he had done before, and set off again at the same pace for Pontoise. At Pontoise he changed his horse for the last time, and at nine o’clock galloped into the yard of Tréville’s hôtel. He had made nearly sixty leagues in little more than twelve hours. M. de Tréville received him as if he had seen him that same morning; only, when pressing his hand a little more warmly than usual, he informed him that the company of Dessessart was on duty at the Louvre, and that he might repair at once to his post. Chapter XXII. THE BALLET OF LA MERLAISON On the morrow, nothing was talked of in Paris but the ball which the aldermen of the city were to give to the king and queen, and in which their Majesties were to dance the famous La Merlaison—the favorite ballet of the king.