ll the
kingdoms of the earth, she is able to repose herself, knowing full well
that she has left her companion, Envy, to gnaw his heart. Planchet had
tasted of riches easily acquired, and was never afterwards likely
to stop in his desires; but, as he had a good heart in spite of his
covetousness, as he adored D'Artagnan, he could not refrain from making
him a thousand recommendations, each more affectionate than the others.
He would not have been sorry, nevertheless, to have caught a little hint
of the secret his master concealed so well; tricks, turns, counsels and
traps were all useless, D'Artagnan let nothing confidential escape
him. The evening passed thus. After supper the portmanteau occupied
D'Artagnan, he took a turn to the stable, patted his horse, and examined
his shoes and legs, then, having counted over his money, he went to
bed, sleeping as if only twenty, because he had neither inquietude nor
remorse; he closed his eyes five minutes after he had blown out his
lamp. Many events might, however, have kept him awake. Thought boiled
in his brain, conjectures abounded, and D'Artagnan was a great drawer
of horoscopes; but, with that imperturbable phlegm which does more
than genius for the fortune and happiness of men of action, he put off
reflection till the next day, for fear, he said, not to be fresh when he
wanted to be so.

The day came. The Rue des Lombards had its share of the caresses of
Aurora with the rosy fingers, and D'Artagnan arose like Aurora. He did
not awaken anybody, he placed his portmanteau under his arm, descended
the stairs without making one of them creak and without disturbing one
of the sonorous snorings in every story from the garret to the cellar,
then, having saddled his horse, shut the stable and house doors, he set
off, at a foot-pace, on his expedition to Bretagne. He had done quite
right not to trouble himself with all the political and diplomatic
affairs which solicited his attention; for, in the morning, in freshness
and mild twilight, his ideas developed themselves in purity and
abundance. In the first place, he passed before the house of Fouquet,
and threw in a large gaping box the fortunate order which, the evening
before, he had had so much trouble to recover from the hooked fingers of
the intendant. Placed in an envelope, and addressed to Fouquet, it
had not even been divined by Planchet, who in divination was equal to
Calchas or the Pythian Apollo. D'Artagnan thus sent back