w what that means."

"But _I_ do not know."

"Whenever M. d'Artagnan disappears it is always for some mission or some
great affair."

"Has he said anything to you about it?"

"Never."

"You were acquainted with his departure for England formerly, were you
not?"

"On account of the speculation." said Planchet, heedlessly.

"The speculation!"

"I mean--" interrupted Planchet, quite confused.

"Well, well; neither your affairs nor those of your master are in
question; the interest we take in him alone has induced me to apply to
you. Since the captain of the musketeers is not here, and as we cannot
learn from you where we are likely to find M. d'Artagnan, we will take
our leave of you. _Au revoir_, Planchet, _au revoir_. Let us be gone,
Raoul."

"Monsieur le comte, I wish I were able to tell you--"

"Oh, not at all; I am not the man to reproach a servant with
discretion."

This word "servant" struck rudely on the ears of the _demi-millionnaire_
Planchet, but natural respect and _bonhomie_ prevailed over pride.
"There is nothing indiscreet in telling you, monsieur le comte, M.
d'Artagnan came here the other day--"

"Aha?"

"And remained several hours consulting a geographical chart."

"You are right, then, my friend; say no more about it."

"And the chart is there as a proof," added Planchet, who went to fetch
from the neighboring wall, where it was suspended by a twist, forming a
triangle with the bar of the window to which it was fastened, the plan
consulted by the captain on his last visit to Planchet. This plan, which
he brought to the comte, was a map of France, upon which the practiced
eye of that gentleman discovered an itinerary, marked out with small
pins; wherever a pin was missing, a hole denoted its having been there.
Athos, by following with his eye the pins and holes, saw that
D'Artagnan had taken the direction of the south, and gone as far as the
Mediterranean, towards Toulon. It was near Cannes that the marks and
the punctured places ceased. The Comte de la Fere puzzled his brains for
some time, to divine what the musketeer could be going to do at Cannes,
and what motive could have led him to examine the banks of the Var. The
reflections of Athos suggested nothing. His accustomed perspicacity was
at fault. Raoul's researches were not more successful than his father's.

"Never mind," said the young man to the comte, who silently, and with
his finger, had made him understand the route of