“So long as you are rich! Ah! my friend! ’tis not civil war that disunites us. It is that we are each of us twenty years older; it is that the honest emotions of youth have given place to suggestions of interest, whispers of ambition, counsels of selfishness. Yes, you are right; let us go, Porthos, but let us go well armed; were we not to keep the rendezvous, they would declare we were afraid. Halloo! Planchet! here! saddle our horses, take your carbine.” “Whom are we going to attack, sir?” “No one; a mere matter of precaution,” answered the Gascon. “You know, sir, that they wished to murder that good councillor, Broussel, the father of the people?” “Really, did they?” said D’Artagnan. “Yes, but he has been avenged. He was carried home in the arms of the people. His house has been full ever since. He has received visits from the coadjutor, from Madame de Longueville, and the Prince de Conti; Madame de Chevreuse and Madame de Vendôme have left their names at his door. And now, whenever he wishes——” “Well, whenever he wishes?” Planchet began to sing: “Un vent de fronde S’est levé ce matin; Je crois qu’il gronde Contre le Mazarin. Un vent de fronde S’est levé ce matin.” “It doesn’t surprise me,” said D’Artagnan, in a low tone to Porthos, “that Mazarin would have been much better satisfied had I crushed the life out of his councillor.” “You understand, then, monsieur,” resumed Planchet, “that if it were for some enterprise like that undertaken against Monsieur Broussel that you should ask me to take my carbine——” “No, don’t be alarmed; but where did you get all these details?” “From a good source, sir; I heard it from Friquet.” “From Friquet? I know that name——” “A son of Monsieur de Broussel’s servant, and a lad that, I promise you, in a revolt will not give away his share to the dogs.” “Is he not a singing boy at Notre Dame?” asked D’Artagnan. “Yes, that is the very boy; he’s patronized by Bazin.” “Ah, yes, I know.” “Of what importance is this little reptile to you?” asked Porthos. “Gad!” replied D’Artagnan; “he has already given me good information and he may do the same again.” Whilst all this was going on, Athos and Aramis were entering Paris by the Faubourg St. Antoine. They had taken some refreshment on the road and hastened on, that they might not fail at the appointed place. Bazin was their only attendant, for Grimaud had stayed behind to take care of Mousqueton. As they were passing onward, Athos proposed that they should lay aside their arms and military costume, and assume a dress more suited to the city. “Oh, no, dear count!” cried Aramis, “is it not a warlike encounter that we are going to?” “What do you mean, Aramis?” “That the Place Royale is the termination to the main road to Vendomois, and nothing else.” “What! our friends?” “Are become our most dangerous enemies, Athos. Let us be on our guard.” “Oh! my dear D’Herblay!”