onacieux was
abducted. I have seen him; that is he! I recognized him when the wind
blew upon his cloak."

"The devil!" said Athos, musingly.

"To saddle, gentlemen! to saddle! Let us pursue him, and we shall
overtake him!"

"My dear friend," said Aramis, "remember that he goes in an opposite
direction from that in which we are going, that he has a fresh horse,
and ours are fatigued, so that we shall disable our own horses without
even a chance of overtaking him. Let the man go, d'Artagnan; let us save
the woman."

"Monsieur, monsieur!" cried a hostler, running out and looking after the
stranger, "monsieur, here is a paper which dropped out of your hat! Eh,
monsieur, eh!"

"Friend," said d'Artagnan, "a half-pistole for that paper!"

"My faith, monsieur, with great pleasure! Here it is!"

The hostler, enchanted with the good day's work he had done, returned to
the yard. D'Artagnan unfolded the paper.

"Well?" eagerly demanded all his three friends.

"Nothing but one word!" said d'Artagnan.

"Yes," said Aramis, "but that one word is the name of some town or
village."

"Armentieres," read Porthos; "Armentieres? I don't know such a place."

"And that name of a town or village is written in her hand!" cried
Athos.

"Come on, come on!" said d'Artagnan; "let us keep that paper carefully,
perhaps I have not thrown away my half-pistole. To horse, my friends, to
horse!"

And the four friends flew at a gallop along the road to Bethune.

61 THE CARMELITE CONVENT AT BETHUNE

Great criminals bear about them a kind of predestination which makes
them surmount all obstacles, which makes them escape all dangers, up to
the moment which a wearied Providence has marked as the rock of their
impious fortunes.

It was thus with Milady. She escaped the cruisers of both nations, and
arrived at Boulogne without accident.

When landing at Portsmouth, Milady was an Englishwoman whom the
persecutions of the French drove from La Rochelle; when landing at
Boulogne, after a two days' passage, she passed for a Frenchwoman whom
the English persecuted at Portsmouth out of their hatred for France.

Milady had, likewise, the best of passports--her beauty, her noble
appearance, and the liberality with which she distributed her pistoles.
Freed from the usual formalities by the affable smile and gallant
manners of an old governor of the port, who kissed her hand, she
only remained long enough at Boulogne to put into the post a le