, "I assure you that you do me wrong in
dwelling so upon that. What I think of is, that we have crossed swords
as enemies. Yes," he continued, sadly shaking his head, "Yes, it is as
you said, misfortune, indeed, has overtaken us. Come, Aramis."

"And we, Porthos," said D'Artagnan, "will return, carrying our shame to
the cardinal."

"And tell him," cried a voice, "that I am not too old yet for a man of
action."

D'Artagnan recognized the voice of De Rochefort.

"Can I do anything for you, gentlemen?" asked the duke.

"Bear witness that we have done all that we could."

"That shall be testified to, rest assured. Adieu! we shall meet soon,
I trust, in Paris, where you shall have your revenge." The duke, as he
spoke, kissed his hand, spurred his horse into a gallop and disappeared,
followed by his troop, who were soon lost in distance and darkness.

D'Artagnan and Porthos were now alone with a man who held by the bridles
two horses; they thought it was Mousqueton and went up to him.

"What do I see?" cried the lieutenant. "Grimaud, is it thou?"

Grimaud signified that he was not mistaken.

"And whose horses are these?" cried D'Artagnan.

"Who has given them to us?" said Porthos.

"The Comte de la Fere."

"Athos! Athos!" muttered D'Artagnan; "you think of every one; you are
indeed a nobleman! Whither art thou going, Grimaud?"

"To join the Vicomte de Bragelonne in Flanders, your honor."

They were taking the road toward Paris, when groans, which seemed to
proceed from a ditch, attracted their attention.

"What is that?" asked D'Artagnan.

"It is I--Mousqueton," said a mournful voice, whilst a sort of shadow
arose out of the side of the road.

Porthos ran to him. "Art thou dangerously wounded, my dear Mousqueton?"
he said.

"No, sir, but I am severely."

"What can we do?" said D'Artagnan; "we must return to Paris."

"I will take care of Mousqueton," said Grimaud; and he gave his arm to
his old comrade, whose eyes were full of tears, nor could Grimaud tell
whether the tears were caused by wounds or by the pleasure of seeing him
again.

D'Artagnan and Porthos went on, meantime, to Paris. They were passed by
a sort of courier, covered with dust, the bearer of a letter from the
duke to the cardinal, giving testimony to the valor of D'Artagnan and
Porthos.

Mazarin had passed a very bad night when this letter was brought to him,
announcing that the duke was free and that he would henceforth raise up
m