“We will give the fifty pistoles to the hostess for our expenses,” said D’Artagnan, “and share the three hundred.” “We will share,” said Porthos. “A paltry piece of business!” murmured D’Artagnan crumpling his note. “Pooh!” said Porthos, “it is always that. But tell me——” “What?” “Didn’t he speak of me in any way?” “Ah! yes, indeed!” cried D’Artagnan, who was afraid of disheartening his friend by telling him that the cardinal had not breathed a word about him; “yes, surely, he said——” “He said?” resumed Porthos. “Stop, I want to remember his exact words. He said, ‘As to your friend, tell him he may sleep in peace.’” “Good, very good,” said Porthos; “that signified as clear as daylight that he still intends to make me a baron.” At this moment nine o’clock struck. D’Artagnan started. “Ah, yes,” said Porthos, “there is nine o’clock. We have a rendezvous, you remember, at the Place Royale.” “Ah! stop! hold your peace, Porthos, don’t remind me of it; ’tis that which has made me so cross since yesterday. I shall not go.” “Why?” asked Porthos. “Because it is a grievous thing for me to meet again those two men who caused the failure of our enterprise.” “And yet,” said Porthos, “neither of them had any advantage over us. I still had a loaded pistol and you were in full fight, sword in hand.” “Yes,” said D’Artagnan; “but what if this rendezvous had some hidden purpose?” “Oh!” said Porthos, “you can’t think that, D’Artagnan!” D’Artagnan did not believe Athos to be capable of a deception, but he sought an excuse for not going to the rendezvous. “We must go,” said the superb lord of Bracieux, “lest they should say we were afraid. We who have faced fifty foes on the high road can well meet two in the Place Royale.” “Yes, yes, but they took part with the princes without apprising us of it. Athos and Aramis have played a game with me which alarms me. We discovered yesterday the truth; what is the use of going to-day to learn something else?” “You really have some distrust, then?” said Porthos. “Of Aramis, yes, since he has become an abbé. You can’t imagine, my dear fellow, the sort of man he is. He sees us on the road which leads him to a bishopric, and perhaps will not be sorry to get us out of his way.” “Ah, as regards Aramis, that is another thing,” said Porthos, “and it wouldn’t surprise me at all.” “Perhaps Monsieur de Beaufort will try, in his turn, to lay hands on us.” “Nonsense! He had us in his power and he let us go. Besides we can be on our guard; let us take arms, let Planchet post himself behind us with his carbine.” “Planchet is a Frondeur,” answered D’Artagnan. “Devil take these civil wars! one can no more now reckon on one’s friends than on one’s footmen,” said Porthos. “Ah! if Mousqueton were here! there’s a fellow who will never desert me!”