d over their
heads, according to their sentence. As to those names, the sentence made
no mention of them. The curiosity of the Parisians was at its height,
and, as we have said, an immense crowd waited with feverish impatience
the hour fixed for the execution. The news had already spread that the
prisoners, transferred to the Chateau of Vincennes, would be conducted
from that prison to the Place de Greve. Consequently, the faubourg and
the Rue Saint Antoine were crowded; for the population of Paris in those
days of great executions was divided into two categories: those who
came to see the condemned pass--these were of timid and mild hearts,
but philosophically curious--and those who wished to see the condemned
die--these had hearts that hungered for sensation. On this day M.
d'Artagnan received his last instructions from the king, and made his
adieus to his friends, the number of whom was, at the moment, reduced
to Planchet, then he traced the plan of his day, as every busy man
whose moments are counted ought to do, because he appreciates their
importance.

"My departure is to be," said he, "at break of day, three o'clock in
the morning; I have then fifteen hours before me. Take from them the
six hours of sleep which are indispensable for me--six; one hour for
repasts--seven; one hour for a farewell visit to Athos--eight; two hours
for chance circumstances--total, ten. There are then five hours left.
One hour to get my money,--that is, to have payment refused by M.
Fouquet; another hour to go and receive my money of M. Colbert, together
with his questions and grimaces; one hour to look over my clothes and
arms, and get my boots cleaned. I still have two hours left. _Mordioux!_
how rich I am." And so saying, D'Artagnan felt a strange joy, a joy of
youth, a perfume of those great and happy years of former times mount
into his brain and intoxicate him. "During these two hours I will
go," said the musketeer, "and take my quarter's rent of the
Image-de-Notre-Dame. That will be pleasant. Three hundred and
seventy-five livres! _Mordioux!_ but that is astonishing! If the poor
man who has but one livre in his pocket, found a livre and twelve
deniers, that would be justice, that would be excellent; but never does
such a godsend fall to the lot of the poor man. The rich man, on the
contrary, makes himself revenue with his money, which he does not even
touch. Here are three hundred and seventy-five livres which fall to
me from he