"Keep back, my lord," said D'Artagnan. And Mazarin buried himself so far
behind the two friends that he disappeared, completely hidden between
them.

"Who goes there?" cried the same voice, impatiently whilst D'Artagnan
perceived that they had rushed to the horses' heads. But putting his
head out of the carriage:

"Eh! Planchet," said he.

The chief approached, and it was indeed Planchet; D'Artagnan had
recognized the voice of his old servant.

"How, sir!" said Planchet, "is it you?"

"Eh! mon Dieu! yes, my good friend, this worthy Porthos has just
received a sword wound and I am taking him to his country house at Saint
Cloud."

"Oh! really," said Planchet.

"Porthos," said D'Artagnan, "if you can still speak, say a word, my dear
Porthos, to this good Planchet."

"Planchet, my friend," said Porthos, in a melancholy voice, "I am very
ill; should you meet a doctor you will do me a favor by sending him to
me."

"Oh! good Heaven," said Planchet, "what a misfortune! and how did it
happen?"

"I will tell you all about it," replied Mousqueton.

Porthos uttered a deep groan.

"Make way for us, Planchet," said D'Artagnan in a whisper to him, "or he
will not arrive alive; the lungs are attacked, my friend."

Planchet shook his head with the air of a man who says, "In that case
things look ill." Then he exclaimed, turning to his men:

"Let them pass; they are friends."

The carriage resumed its course, and Mazarin, who had held his breath,
ventured to breathe again.

"Bricconi!" muttered he.

A few steps in advance of the gate of Saint Honore they met a third
troop; this latter party was composed of ill-looking fellows, who
resembled bandits more than anything else; they were the men of the
beggar of Saint Eustache.

"Attention, Porthos!" cried D'Artagnan.

Porthos placed his hand on the pistols.

"What is it?" asked Mazarin.

"My lord, I think we are in bad company."

A man advanced to the door with a kind of scythe in his hand. "Qui
vive?" he asked.

"Eh, rascal!" said D'Artagnan, "do you not recognize his highness the
prince's carriage?"

"Prince or not," said the man, "open. We are here to guard the gate, and
no one whom we do not know shall pass."

"What is to be done?" said Porthos.

"Pardieu! pass," replied D'Artagnan.

"But how?" asked Mazarin.

"Through or over; coachman, gallop on."

The coachman raised his whip.

"Not a step further," said the man, who appeared to be the capt