y descended the private stair, Mazarin leaning on the arm of
D'Artagnan a hand the musketeer felt trembling. At last, after crossing
the courts of the Palais Royal, where there still remained some of the
conveyances of late guests, they entered the garden and reached the
little gate. Mazarin attempted to open it by a key which he took from
his pocket, but with such shaking fingers that he could not find the
keyhole.

"Give it to me," said D'Artagnan, who when the gate was open deposited
the key in his pocket, reckoning upon returning by that gate.

The steps were already down and the door open. Mousqueton stood at the
door and Porthos was inside the carriage.

"Mount, my lord," said D'Artagnan to Mazarin, who sprang into the
carriage without waiting for a second bidding. D'Artagnan followed him,
and Mousqueton, having closed the door, mounted behind the carriage with
many groans. He had made some difficulties about going, under pretext
that he still suffered from his wound, but D'Artagnan had said to him:

"Remain if you like, my dear Monsieur Mouston, but I warn you that
Paris will be burnt down to-night;" upon which Mousqueton had declared,
without asking anything further, that he was ready to follow his master
and Monsieur d'Artagnan to the end of the world.

The carriage started at a measured pace, without betraying by the
slightest sign that it contained people in a hurry. The cardinal wiped
his forehead with his handkerchief and looked around him. On his left
was Porthos, whilst D'Artagnan was on his right; each guarded a door
and served as a rampart to him on either side. Before him, on the front
seat, lay two pairs of pistols--one in front of Porthos and the other of
D'Artagnan. About a hundred paces from the Palais Royal a patrol stopped
the carriage.

"Who goes?" asked the captain.

"Mazarin!" replied D'Artagnan, bursting into a laugh. The cardinal's
hair stood on end. But the joke appeared an excellent one to the
citizens, who, seeing the conveyance without escort and unarmed, would
never have believed in the possibility of so great an imprudence.

"A good journey to ye," they cried, allowing it to pass.

"Hem!" said D'Artagnan, "what does my lord think of that reply?"

"Man of talent!" cried Mazarin.

"In truth," said Porthos, "I understand; but now----"

About the middle of the Rue des Petits Champs they were stopped by a
second patrol.

"Who goes there?" inquired the captain of the patrol.