to a profound reverie and answered nothing. But when they
were alone he said, "You have done that which you ought to have done,
d'Artagnan; but perhaps you have been wrong."

D'Artagnan sighed deeply, for this voice responded to a secret voice of
his soul, which told him that great misfortunes awaited him.

The whole of the next day was spent in preparations for departure.
D'Artagnan went to take leave of M. de Treville. At that time it was
believed that the separation of the Musketeers and the Guards would
be but momentary, the king holding his Parliament that very day and
proposing to set out the day after. M. de Treville contented himself
with asking d'Artagnan if he could do anything for him, but d'Artagnan
answered that he was supplied with all he wanted.

That night brought together all those comrades of the Guards of M.
Dessessart and the company of Musketeers of M. de Treville who had been
accustomed to associate together. They were parting to meet again when
it pleased God, and if it pleased God. That night, then, was somewhat
riotous, as may be imagined. In such cases extreme preoccupation is only
to be combated by extreme carelessness.

At the first sound of the morning trumpet the friends separated; the
Musketeers hastening to the hotel of M. de Treville, the Guards to
that of M. Dessessart. Each of the captains then led his company to the
Louvre, where the king held his review.

The king was dull and appeared ill, which detracted a little from his
usual lofty bearing. In fact, the evening before, a fever had seized him
in the midst of the Parliament, while he was holding his Bed of Justice.
He had, not the less, decided upon setting out that same evening; and in
spite of the remonstrances that had been offered to him, he persisted
in having the review, hoping by setting it at defiance to conquer the
disease which began to lay hold upon him.

The review over, the Guards set forward alone on their march, the
Musketeers waiting for the king, which allowed Porthos time to go and
take a turn in his superb equipment in the Rue aux Ours.

The procurator's wife saw him pass in his new uniform and on his fine
horse. She loved Porthos too dearly to allow him to part thus; she made
him a sign to dismount and come to her. Porthos was magnificent; his
spurs jingled, his cuirass glittered, his sword knocked proudly against
his ample limbs. This time the clerks evinced no inclination to laugh,
such a real ear clipp