D’Artagnan thought a moment and then went to the wardrobe in which hung his old clothes. He looked for his doublet of the year 1648 and as he had orderly habits, he found it hanging on its nail. He felt in the pocket and drew from it a paper; it was the letter of Aramis: “Monsieur D’Artagnan: You know that I have had a quarrel with a certain gentleman, who has given me an appointment for this evening in the Place Royale. As I am of the church, and the affair might injure me if I should share it with any other than a sure friend like you, I write to beg that you will serve me as second. “You will enter by the Rue Neuve Sainte Catherine; under the second lamp on the right you will find your adversary. I shall be with mine under the third. “Wholly yours, “Aramis.” D’Artagnan tried to recall his remembrances. He had gone to the rendezvous, had encountered there the adversary indicated, whose name he had never known, had given him a pretty sword-stroke on the arm, then had gone toward Aramis, who at the same time came to meet him, having already finished his affair. “It is over,” Aramis had said. “I think I have killed the insolent fellow. But, dear friend, if you ever need me you know that I am entirely devoted to you.” Thereupon Aramis had given him a clasp of the hand and had disappeared under the arcades. So, then, he no more knew where Aramis was than where Athos and Porthos were, and the affair was becoming a matter of great perplexity, when he fancied he heard a pane of glass break in his room window. He thought directly of his bag and rushed from the inner room where he was sleeping. He was not mistaken; as he entered his bedroom a man was getting in by the window. “Ah! you scoundrel!” cried D’Artagnan, taking the man for a thief and seizing his sword. “Sir!” cried the man, “in the name of Heaven put your sword back into the sheath and don’t kill me unheard. I’m no thief, but an honest citizen, well off in the world, with a house of my own. My name is—ah! but surely you are Monsieur d’Artagnan?” “And thou—Planchet!” cried the lieutenant. “At your service, sir,” said Planchet, overwhelmed with joy; “if I were still capable of serving you.” “Perhaps so,” replied D’Artagnan. “But why the devil dost thou run about the tops of houses at seven o’clock of the morning in the month of January?” “Sir,” said Planchet, “you must know; but, perhaps you ought not to know——” “Tell us what,” returned D’Artagnan, “but first put a napkin against the window and draw the curtains.” “Sir,” said the prudent Planchet, “in the first place, are you on good terms with Monsieur de Rochefort?” “Perfectly; one of my dearest friends.” “Ah! so much the better!” “But what has De Rochefort to do with this manner you have of invading my room?” “Ah, sir! I must first tell you that Monsieur de Rochefort is——” Planchet hesitated. “Egad, I know where he is,” said D’Artagnan. “He’s in the Bastile.”