“Come and open, then!” cried D’Artagnan to the man with the scythe, taking one of the pistols up by the muzzle and preparing to strike with the handle. And as the man approached, D’Artagnan, in order to have more freedom for his actions, leaned half out of the door; his eyes were fixed upon those of the mendicant, which were lighted up by a lantern. Without doubt he recognized D’Artagnan, for he became deadly pale; doubtless the musketeer knew him, for his hair stood up on his head. “Monsieur d’Artagnan!” he cried, falling back a step; “it is Monsieur d’Artagnan! _let him pass_.” D’Artagnan was perhaps about to reply, when a blow, similar to that of a mallet falling on the head of an ox, was heard. The noise was caused by Porthos, who had just knocked down his man. D’Artagnan turned around and saw the unfortunate man upon his back about four paces off. “’Sdeath!” cried he to the coachman. “Spur your horses! whip! get on!” The coachman bestowed a heavy blow of the whip upon his horses; the noble animals bounded forward; then cries of men who were knocked down were heard; then a double concussion was felt, and two of the wheels seemed to pass over a round and flexible body. There was a moment’s silence, then the carriage cleared the gate. “To Cours la Reine!” cried D’Artagnan to the coachman; then turning to Mazarin he said, “Now, my lord, you can say five _paters_ and five _aves_, in thanks to Heaven for your deliverance. You are safe—you are free.” Mazarin replied only by a groan; he could not believe in such a miracle. Five minutes later the carriage stopped, having reached Cours la Reine. “Is my lord pleased with his escort?” asked D’Artagnan. “Enchanted, monsieur,” said Mazarin, venturing his head out of one of the windows; “and now do as much for the queen.” “It will not be so difficult,” replied D’Artagnan, springing to the ground. “Monsieur du Vallon, I commend his eminence to your care.” “Be quite at ease,” said Porthos, holding out his hand, which D’Artagnan took and shook in his. “Oh!” cried Porthos, as if in pain. D’Artagnan looked with surprise at his friend. “What is the matter, then?” he asked. “I think I have sprained my wrist,’ said Porthos. “The devil! why, you strike like a blind or a deaf man.” “It was necessary; my man was going to fire a pistol at me; but you—how did you get rid of yours?” “Oh, mine,” replied D’Artagnan, “was not a man.” “What was it then?” “It was an apparition.” “And——” “I charmed it away.” Without further explanation D’Artagnan took the pistols which were upon the front seat, placed them in his belt, wrapped himself in his cloak, and not wishing to enter by the same gate as that through which they had left, he took his way toward the Richelieu gate. Chapter LII. The Carriage of Monsieur le Coadjuteur.