ng more than usual was passing in the mind of his lackey and
said, "Well, Monsieur Planchet, what is the matter with us now?"

"Don't you think, monsieur, that woods are like churches?"

"How so, Planchet?"

"Because we dare not speak aloud in one or the other."

"But why did you not dare to speak aloud, Planchet--because you are
afraid?"

"Afraid of being heard? Yes, monsieur."

"Afraid of being heard! Why, there is nothing improper in our
conversation, my dear Planchet, and no one could find fault with it."

"Ah, monsieur!" replied Planchet, recurring to his besetting idea, "that
Monsieur Bonacieux has something vicious in his eyebrows, and something
very unpleasant in the play of his lips."

"What the devil makes you think of Bonacieux?"

"Monsieur, we think of what we can, and not of what we will."

"Because you are a coward, Planchet."

"Monsieur, we must not confound prudence with cowardice; prudence is a
virtue."

"And you are very virtuous, are you not, Planchet?"

"Monsieur, is not that the barrel of a musket which glitters yonder? Had
we not better lower our heads?"

"In truth," murmured d'Artagnan, to whom M. de Treville's recommendation
recurred, "this animal will end by making me afraid." And he put his
horse into a trot.

Planchet followed the movements of his master as if he had been his
shadow, and was soon trotting by his side.

"Are we going to continue this pace all night?" asked Planchet.

"No; you are at your journey's end."

"How, monsieur! And you?"

"I am going a few steps farther."

"And Monsieur leaves me here alone?"

"You are afraid, Planchet?"

"No; I only beg leave to observe to Monsieur that the night will be very
cold, that chills bring on rheumatism, and that a lackey who has the
rheumatism makes but a poor servant, particularly to a master as active
as Monsieur."

"Well, if you are cold, Planchet, you can go into one of those cabarets
that you see yonder, and be in waiting for me at the door by six o'clock
in the morning."

"Monsieur, I have eaten and drunk respectfully the crown you gave me
this morning, so that I have not a sou left in case I should be cold."

"Here's half a pistole. Tomorrow morning."

D'Artagnan sprang from his horse, threw the bridle to Planchet, and
departed at a quick pace, folding his cloak around him.

"Good Lord, how cold I am!" cried Planchet, as soon as he had lost sight
of his master; and in such haste was he to warm himse