the
post, and chose a horse which he soon caused to demonstrate, with
good spurs and a light hand, that deer are not the swiftest animals in
nature.

Chapter LXXIV. In which D'Artagnan makes all Speed, Porthos snores, and
Aramis counsels.

From thirty to thirty-five hours after the events we have just related,
as M. Fouquet, according to his custom, having interdicted his door, was
working in the cabinet of his house at Saint-Mande, with which we are
already acquainted, a carriage, drawn by four horses steaming with
sweat, entered the court at full gallop. This carriage was, probably,
expected; for three or four lackeys hastened to the door, which they
opened. Whilst M. Fouquet rose from his bureau and ran to the window,
a man got painfully out of the carriage, descending with difficulty the
three steps of the door, leaning upon the shoulders of the lackeys. He
had scarcely uttered his name, when the _valet_ upon whom he was not
leaning, sprang up to the _perron_, and disappeared in the vestibule.
This man went to inform his master; but he had no occasion to knock at
the door: Fouquet was standing on the threshold.

"Monseigneur, the Bishop of Vannes," said he.

"Very well!" replied his master.

Then, leaning over the banister of the staircase, of which Aramis was
beginning to ascend the first steps,--

"Ah, dear friend!" said he, "you, so soon!"

"Yes; I, myself, monsieur! but bruised, battered, as you see."

"Oh! my poor friend," said Fouquet, presenting him his arm, on which
Aramis leant, whilst the servants drew back respectfully.

"Bah!" replied Aramis, "it is nothing, since I am here; the principal
thing was that I should _get_ here, and here I am."

"Speak quickly," said Fouquet, closing the door of the cabinet behind
Aramis and himself.

"Are we alone?"

"Yes, perfectly."

"No one observes us?--no one can hear us?"

"Be satisfied; nobody."

"Is M. du Vallon arrived?"

"Yes."

"And you have received my letter?"

"Yes. The affair is serious, apparently, since it necessitates your
attendance in Paris, at a moment when your presence was so urgent
elsewhere."

"You are right, it could not be more serious."

"Thank you! thank you! What is it about? But, for God's sake! before
anything else, take time to breathe, dear friend. You are so pale, you
frighten me."

"I am really in great pain. But, for Heaven's sake, think nothing about
me. Did M. du Vallon tell you nothing, when he deliver