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D’Artagnan thought he was dead, or at least unconscious, and went up to him to take the order; but just as he reached out to search him, the wounded man, who had not let go of his sword, thrust the point into his chest, saying:

“And one for you.”

“And one for me! Saving the best for last!” d’Artagnan cried, furious, and pinned him to the ground with a fourth stroke through the stomach.

This time the gentleman closed his eyes and passed out.

D’Artagnan rummaged in the pocket where he had seen him put the order of passage, and took it. It was in the name of the comte de Wardes.86

Then, casting a last glance at the handsome young man, who was barely twenty-five years old, and whom he left lying there, insensible and perhaps dead, he heaved a sigh over the strange destiny that leads men to destroy each other for the interests of people who are strangers to them and who often do not even know that they exist.

But he was soon drawn out of these reflections by Lubin, who was howling and crying for help with all his might.

Planchet applied his hands to his throat and squeezed as hard as he could.

“Monsieur,” he said, “as long as I hold him like this, he won’t shout, I’m quite sure; but as soon as I let him go, he’ll start shouting again. I make him out to be a Norman, and Normans are stubborn.”

“Wait!” said d’Artagnan.

And taking his handkerchief, he gagged him.

“Now,” said Planchet, “let’s tie him to a tree.”

The thing was done conscientiously. Then they dragged the comte de Wardes near his domestic, and as night was beginning to fall, and the bound man and the wounded man were both a few feet into the wood, it was evident that they would have to stay there until the morrow.

“And now,” said d’Artagnan, “to the governor’s!”

“But it seems you’re wounded?” said Planchet.

“It’s nothing. Let’s deal with what’s most urgent; then we can come back to my wound, which anyhow doesn’t seem very dangerous to me.”

And the two set off with great strides to the worthy functionary’s country house.

M. le comte de Wardes was announced.

D’Artagnan was ushered in.

“You have an order signed by the cardinal?” asked the governor.

“Yes, Monsieur,” replied d’Artagnan, “here it is.”

“Hm! Yes, it is correct and well recommended,” said the governor.

“That’s simply explained,” replied d’Artagnan. “I am among his most faithful followers.”

“It seems His Eminence wants to keep someone from getting to England.”

“Yes, a certain d’Artagnan, a gentleman from Béarn, who left Paris with three friends, intending to go to London.”

“Do you know him personally?” asked the governor.

“Whom?”

“This d’Artagnan.”

“Perfectly.”

“Give me his description, then.”

“Nothing could be easier.”

And d’Artagnan gave him feature by feature the description of the comte de Wardes.

“Is anyone with him?” asked the governor.

“Yes, a valet named Lubin.”

“We’ll watch out for them, and if we lay hands on them, His Eminence can rest assured that they will be returned to Paris under a good escort.”

“In so doing, Monsieur le gouverneur,” said d’Artagnan, “you will have served the cardinal well.”

“Will you see him on your return, Monsieur le comte?”

“Without a doubt.”

“Tell him, please, that I am his humble servant.”

“I shall not fail to do so.”

And, delighted with this assurance, the governor certified the pass and gave it back to d’Artagnan.

D’Artagnan did not waste time in useless compliments; he bowed to the governor, thanked him, and left.

Once outside, he and Planchet hurried off and, making a long detour to avoid the wood, reentered town by a different gate.

The ship was still ready to depart. The skipper was waiting on the dock.

“Well?” he said, catching sight of d’Artagnan.

“Here is my certified pass,” said the latter.

“And that other gentleman?”

“He won’t be leaving today,” said d’Artagnan, “but don’t worry, I’ll pay the passage for us both.”

“In that case, let’s go,” said the skipper.

“Let’s go!” d’Artagnan repeated.

And he and Planchet jumped into the skiff; five minutes later they were