Left alone, D’Artagnan read and reread his billet. Then he kissed and rekissed twenty times the lines traced by the hand of his beautiful mistress. At length he went to bed, fell asleep, and had golden dreams. At seven o’clock in the morning he arose and called Planchet, who at the second summons opened the door, his countenance not yet quite freed from the anxiety of the preceding night. “Planchet,” said D’Artagnan, “I am going out for all day, perhaps. You are, therefore, your own master till seven o’clock in the evening; but at seven o’clock you must hold yourself in readiness with two horses.” “There!” said Planchet. “We are going again, it appears, to have our hides pierced in all sorts of ways.” “You will take your musketoon and your pistols.” “There, now! Didn’t I say so?” cried Planchet. “I was sure of it—the cursed letter!” “Don’t be afraid, you idiot; there is nothing in hand but a party of pleasure.” “Ah, like the charming journey the other day, when it rained bullets and produced a crop of steel traps!” “Well, if you are really afraid, Monsieur Planchet,” resumed D’Artagnan, “I will go without you. I prefer traveling alone to having a companion who entertains the least fear.” “Monsieur does me wrong,” said Planchet; “I thought he had seen me at work.” “Yes, but I thought perhaps you had worn out all your courage the first time.” “Monsieur shall see that upon occasion I have some left; only I beg Monsieur not to be too prodigal of it if he wishes it to last long.” “Do you believe you have still a certain amount of it to expend this evening?” “I hope so, monsieur.” “Well, then, I count on you.” “At the appointed hour I shall be ready; only I believed that Monsieur had but one horse in the Guard stables.” “Perhaps there is but one at this moment; but by this evening there will be four.” “It appears that our journey was a remounting journey, then?” “Exactly so,” said D’Artagnan; and nodding to Planchet, he went out. M. Bonacieux was at his door. D’Artagnan’s intention was to go out without speaking to the worthy mercer; but the latter made so polite and friendly a salutation that his tenant felt obliged, not only to stop, but to enter into conversation with him. Besides, how is it possible to avoid a little condescension toward a husband whose pretty wife has appointed a meeting with you that same evening at St. Cloud, opposite D’Estrées’s pavilion? D’Artagnan approached him with the most amiable air he could assume. The conversation naturally fell upon the incarceration of the poor man. M. Bonacieux, who was ignorant that D’Artagnan had overheard his conversation with the stranger of Meung, related to his young tenant the persecutions of that monster, M. de Laffemas, whom he never ceased to designate, during his account, by the title of the “cardinal’s executioner,” and expatiated at great length upon the Bastille, the bolts, the wickets, the dungeons, the gratings, the instruments of torture.