trenches we go
cheerfully to expose ourselves to worse than that--for a bullet may
break a leg, and I am convinced a surgeon would give us more pain in
cutting off a thigh than an executioner in cutting off a head. Wait
quietly, then; in two hours, in four, in six hours at latest, Planchet
will be here. He promised to be here, and I have very great faith in
Planchet, who appears to me to be a very good lad."

"But if he does not come?" said d'Artagnan.

"Well, if he does not come, it will be because he has been delayed,
that's all. He may have fallen from his horse, he may have cut a caper
from the deck; he may have traveled so fast against the wind as to
have brought on a violent catarrh. Eh, gentlemen, let us reckon upon
accidents! Life is a chaplet of little miseries which the philosopher
counts with a smile. Be philosophers, as I am, gentlemen; sit down at
the table and let us drink. Nothing makes the future look so bright as
surveying it through a glass of chambertin."

"That's all very well," replied d'Artagnan; "but I am tired of fearing
when I open a fresh bottle that the wine may come from the cellar of
Milady."

"You are very fastidious," said Athos; "such a beautiful woman!"

"A woman of mark!" said Porthos, with his loud laugh.

Athos started, passed his hand over his brow to remove the drops of
perspiration that burst forth, and rose in his turn with a nervous
movement he could not repress.

The day, however, passed away; and the evening came on slowly, but
finally it came. The bars were filled with drinkers. Athos, who had
pocketed his share of the diamond, seldom quit the Parpaillot. He had
found in M. de Busigny, who, by the by, had given them a magnificent
dinner, a partner worthy of his company. They were playing together,
as usual, when seven o'clock sounded; the patrol was heard passing to
double the posts. At half past seven the retreat was sounded.

"We are lost," said d'Artagnan, in the ear of Athos.

"You mean to say we have lost," said Athos, quietly, drawing four
pistoles from his pocket and throwing them upon the table. "Come,
gentlemen," said he, "they are beating the tattoo. Let us to bed!"

And Athos went out of the Parpaillot, followed by d'Artagnan. Aramis
came behind, giving his arm to Porthos. Aramis mumbled verses to
himself, and Porthos from time to time pulled a hair or two from his
mustache, in sign of despair.

But all at once a shadow appeared in the darkness the out