“Sire!” said Athos, opening a casket, form which he drew both gold and jewels, “you see, sire, we are too rich. Fortunately, there are four of us, in the event of our meeting with thieves.” Joy made the blood rush to the pale cheeks of Charles II., as he saw Athos’s two horses, led by Grimaud, already booted for the journey, advance towards the porch. “Blaisois, this letter for the Vicomte de Bragelonne. For everybody else I am gone to Paris. I confide the house to you, Blaisois.” Blaisois bowed, shook hands with Grimaud, and shut the gate. Chapter XVII. In which Aramis is sought, and only Bazin is found. Two hours had scarcely elapsed since the departure of the master of the house, who, in Blaisois’s sight, had taken the road to Paris, when a horseman, mounted on a good pied horse, stopped before the gate, and with a sonorous “hola!” called the stable-boys, who, with the gardeners, had formed a circle round Blaisois, the historian-in-ordinary to the household of the chateau. This “hola,” doubtless well known to Master Blaisois, made him turn his head and exclaim—“Monsieur d’Artagnan! run quickly, you chaps, and open the gate.” A swarm of eight brisk lads flew to the gate, which was opened as if it had been made of feathers; and every one loaded him with attentions, for they knew the welcome this friend was accustomed to receive from their master; and for such remarks the eye of the valet may always be depended upon. “Ah!” said M. d’Artagnan, with an agreeable smile, balancing himself upon his stirrup to jump to the ground, “where is that dear count?” “Ah! how unfortunate you are, monsieur!” said Blaisois: “and how unfortunate will monsieur le comte, our master, think himself when he hears of your coming! As ill luck will have it, monsieur le comte left home two hours ago.” D’Artagnan did not trouble himself about such trifles. “Very good!” said he. “You always speak the best French in the world; you shall give me a lesson in grammar and correct language, whilst I wait the return of your master.” “That is impossible, monsieur,” said Blaisois; “you would have to wait too long.” “Will he not come back to-day, then?” “No, nor to-morrow, nor the day after to-morrow. Monsieur le comte has gone on a journey.” “A journey!” said D’Artagnan, surprised; “that’s a fable, Master Blaisois.” “Monsieur, it is no more than the truth. Monsieur has done me the honor to give me the house in charge; and he added, with his voice so full of authority and kindness—that is all one to me: ‘You will say I have gone to Paris.’” “Well!” cried D’Artagnan, “since he is gone towards Paris, that is all I wanted to know! you should have told me so at first, booby! He is then two hours in advance?” “Yes, monsieur.” “I shall soon overtake him. Is he alone?” “No, monsieur.” “Who is with him, then?” “A gentleman whom I don’t know, an old man, and M. Grimaud.” “Such a party cannot travel as fast as I can—I will start.”