“Athos! Athos!” muttered D’Artagnan; “you think of every one; you are indeed a nobleman! Whither art thou going, Grimaud?” “To join the Vicomte de Bragelonne in Flanders, your honor.” They were taking the road toward Paris, when groans, which seemed to proceed from a ditch, attracted their attention. “What is that?” asked D’Artagnan. “It is I—Mousqueton,” said a mournful voice, whilst a sort of shadow arose out of the side of the road. Porthos ran to him. “Art thou dangerously wounded, my dear Mousqueton?” he said. “No, sir, but I am severely.” “What can we do?” said D’Artagnan; “we must return to Paris.” “I will take care of Mousqueton,” said Grimaud; and he gave his arm to his old comrade, whose eyes were full of tears, nor could Grimaud tell whether the tears were caused by wounds or by the pleasure of seeing him again. D’Artagnan and Porthos went on, meantime, to Paris. They were passed by a sort of courier, covered with dust, the bearer of a letter from the duke to the cardinal, giving testimony to the valor of D’Artagnan and Porthos. Mazarin had passed a very bad night when this letter was brought to him, announcing that the duke was free and that he would henceforth raise up mortal strife against him. “What consoles me,” said the cardinal after reading the letter, “is that, at least, in this chase, D’Artagnan has done me one good turn—he has destroyed Broussel. This Gascon is a precious fellow; even his misadventures are of use.” The cardinal referred to that man whom D’Artagnan upset at the corner of the Cimetière Saint Jean in Paris, and who was no other than the Councillor Broussel. Chapter XXVII. The four old Friends prepare to meet again. Well,” said Porthos, seated in the courtyard of the Hotel de la Chevrette, to D’Artagnan, who, with a long and melancholy face, had returned from the Palais Royal; “did he receive you ungraciously, my dear friend?” “I’faith, yes! a brute, that cardinal. What are you eating there, Porthos?” “I am dipping a biscuit in a glass of Spanish wine; do the same.” “You are right. Gimblou, a glass of wine.” “Well, how has all gone off?” “Zounds! you know there’s only one way of saying things, so I went in and said, ‘My lord, we were not the strongest party.’ “‘Yes, I know that,’ he said, ‘but give me the particulars.’ “You know, Porthos, I could not give him the particulars without naming our friends; to name them would be to commit them to ruin, so I merely said they were fifty and we were two. “‘There was firing, nevertheless, I heard,’ he said; ‘and your swords—they saw the light of day, I presume?’ “‘That is, the night, my lord,’ I answered. “‘Ah!’ cried the cardinal, ‘I thought you were a Gascon, my friend?’ “‘I am a Gascon,’ said I, ‘only when I succeed.’ The answer pleased him and he laughed.