But, now that the duke had escaped, the concierge had seen fit to fasten the gate with a double lock. It was necessary to compel him to open it, as the sergeant had been compelled to speak, and this took another ten minutes. This last obstacle having been overcome, the troop pursued their course with their accustomed ardor; but some of the horses could no longer sustain this pace; three of them stopped after an hour’s gallop, and one fell down. D’Artagnan, who never turned his head, did not perceive it. Porthos told him of it in his calm manner. “If only we two arrive,” said D’Artagnan, “it will be enough, since the duke’s troop are only four in number.” “That is true,” said Porthos And he spurred his courser on. At the end of another two hours the horses had gone twelve leagues without stopping; their legs began to tremble, and the foam they shed whitened the doublets of their masters. “Let us rest here an instant to give these poor creatures breathing time,” said Porthos. “Let us rather kill them! yes, kill them!” cried D’Artagnan; “I see fresh tracks; ’tis not a quarter of an hour since they passed this place.” In fact, the road was trodden by horses’ feet, visible even in the approaching gloom of evening. They set out; after a run of two leagues, Mousqueton’s horse sank. “Gracious me!” said Porthos, “there’s Phœbus ruined.” “The cardinal will pay you a hundred pistoles.” “I’m above that.” “Let us set out again, at full gallop.” “Yes, if we can.” But at last the lieutenant’s horse refused to go on; he could not breathe; one last spur, instead of making him advance, made him fall. “The devil!” exclaimed Porthos; “there’s Vulcan foundered.” “Zounds!” cried D’Artagnan, “then we must stop! Give me your horse, Porthos. What the devil are you doing?” “By Jove, I am falling, or rather, Bayard is falling,” answered Porthos. All three then cried: “All’s over.” “Hush!” said D’Artagnan. “What is it?” “I hear a horse.” “It belongs to one of our companions, who is overtaking us.” “No,” said D’Artagnan, “it is in advance.” “That is another thing,” said Porthos; and he listened toward the quarter indicated by D’Artagnan. “Monsieur,” said Mousqueton, who, abandoning his horse on the high road, had come on foot to rejoin his master, “Phœbus could no longer hold out and——” “Silence!” said Porthos. In fact, at that moment a second neighing was borne to them on the night wind. “It is five hundred feet from here, in advance,” said D’Artagnan. “True, monsieur,” said Mousqueton; “and five hundred feet from here is a small hunting-house.” “Mousqueton, thy pistols,” said D’Artagnan. “I have them at hand, monsieur.” “Porthos, take yours from your holsters.” “I have them.” “Good!” said D’Artagnan, seizing his own; “now you understand, Porthos?” “Not too well.” “We are out on the king’s service.” “Well?” “For the king’s service we need horses.” “That is true,” said Porthos. “Then not a word, but set to work!”