Planchet proceeded toward the Rue du Colombier, and D’Artagnan toward the Rue Férou. Athos was at home, emptying sadly a bottle of the famous Spanish wine he had brought back with him from his journey into Picardy. He made a sign for Grimaud to bring a glass for D’Artagnan, and Grimaud obeyed as usual. D’Artagnan related to Athos all that had passed at the church between Porthos and the procurator’s wife, and how their comrade was probably by that time in a fair way to be equipped. “As for me,” replied Athos to this recital, “I am quite at my ease; it will not be women that will defray the expense of my outfit.” “Handsome, well-bred, noble lord as you are, my dear Athos, neither princesses nor queens would be secure from your amorous solicitations.” “How young this D’Artagnan is!” said Athos, shrugging his shoulders; and he made a sign to Grimaud to bring another bottle. At that moment Planchet put his head modestly in at the half-open door, and told his master that the horses were ready. “What horses?” asked Athos. “Two horses that Monsieur de Tréville lends me at my pleasure, and with which I am now going to take a ride to St. Germain.” “Well, and what are you going to do at St. Germain?” then demanded Athos. Then D’Artagnan described the meeting which he had at the church, and how he had found that lady who, with the seigneur in the black cloak and with the scar near his temple, filled his mind constantly. “That is to say, you are in love with this lady as you were with Madame Bonacieux,” said Athos, shrugging his shoulders contemptuously, as if he pitied human weakness. “I? not at all!” said D’Artagnan. “I am only curious to unravel the mystery to which she is attached. I do not know why, but I imagine that this woman, wholly unknown to me as she is, and wholly unknown to her as I am, has an influence over my life.” “Well, perhaps you are right,” said Athos. “I do not know a woman that is worth the trouble of being sought for when she is once lost. Madame Bonacieux is lost; so much the worse for her if she is found.” “No, Athos, no, you are mistaken,” said D’Artagnan; “I love my poor Constance more than ever, and if I knew the place in which she is, were it at the end of the world, I would go to free her from the hands of her enemies; but I am ignorant. All my researches have been useless. What is to be said? I must divert my attention!” “Amuse yourself with Milady, my dear D’Artagnan; I wish you may with all my heart, if that will amuse you.” “Hear me, Athos,” said D’Artagnan. “Instead of shutting yourself up here as if you were under arrest, get on horseback and come and take a ride with me to St. Germain.” “My dear fellow,” said Athos, “I ride horses when I have any; when I have none, I go afoot.” “Well,” said D’Artagnan, smiling at the misanthropy of Athos, which from any other person would have offended him, “I ride what I can get; I am not so proud as you. So _au revoir_, dear Athos.”