“So then, pack up our luggage, Planchet, and let us be off. On my part, I will go out with my hands in my pockets, that nothing may be suspected. You may join me at the Hôtel des Gardes. By the way, Planchet, I think you are right with respect to our host, and that he is decidedly a frightfully low wretch.” “Ah, monsieur, you may take my word when I tell you anything. I am a physiognomist, I assure you.” D’Artagnan went out first, as had been agreed upon. Then, in order that he might have nothing to reproach himself with, he directed his steps, for the last time, toward the residences of his three friends. No news had been received of them; only a letter, all perfumed and of an elegant writing in small characters, had come for Aramis. D’Artagnan took charge of it. Ten minutes afterward Planchet joined him at the stables of the Hôtel des Gardes. D’Artagnan, in order that there might be no time lost, had saddled his horse himself. “That’s well,” said he to Planchet, when the latter added the portmanteau to the equipment. “Now saddle the other three horses.” “Do you think, then, monsieur, that we shall travel faster with two horses apiece?” said Planchet, with his shrewd air. “No, Monsieur Jester,” replied D’Artagnan; “but with our four horses we may bring back our three friends, if we should have the good fortune to find them living.” “Which is a great chance,” replied Planchet, “but we must not despair of the mercy of God.” “Amen!” said D’Artagnan, getting into his saddle. As they went from the Hôtel des Gardes, they separated, leaving the street at opposite ends, one having to quit Paris by the Barrière de la Villette and the other by the Barrière Montmartre, to meet again beyond St. Denis—a strategic maneuver which, having been executed with equal punctuality, was crowned with the most fortunate results. D’Artagnan and Planchet entered Pierrefitte together. Planchet was more courageous, it must be admitted, by day than by night. His natural prudence, however, never forsook him for a single instant. He had forgotten not one of the incidents of the first journey, and he looked upon everybody he met on the road as an enemy. It followed that his hat was forever in his hand, which procured him some severe reprimands from D’Artagnan, who feared that his excess of politeness would lead people to think he was the lackey of a man of no consequence. Nevertheless, whether the passengers were really touched by the urbanity of Planchet or whether this time nobody was posted on the young man’s road, our two travelers arrived at Chantilly without any accident, and alighted at the tavern of Great St. Martin, the same at which they had stopped on their first journey.