r their vigor and
their fleetness.

At such moments, when the wind cut his eyes so as to make the tears
spring from them, when the saddle had become burning hot, when the
galled and spurred horse reared with pain, and threw behind him a shower
of dust and stones, D'Artagnan, raising himself in his stirrups, and
seeing nothing on the waters, nothing beneath the trees, looked up into
the air like a madman. He was losing his senses. In the paroxysms of
eagerness he dreamt of aerial ways,--the discovery of following century;
he called to his mind Daedalus and the vast wings that had saved him
from the prisons of Crete. A hoarse sigh broke from his lips, as he
repeated, devoured by the fear of ridicule, "I! I! duped by a Gourville!
I! They will say that I am growing old,--they will say I have received a
million to allow Fouquet to escape!" And he again dug his spurs into the
sides of his horse: he had ridden astonishingly fast. Suddenly, at the
extremity of some open pasture-ground, behind the hedges, he saw a white
form which showed itself, disappeared, and at last remained distinctly
visible against the rising ground. D'Artagnan's heart leaped with joy.
He wiped the streaming sweat from his brow, relaxed the tension of his
knees,--by which the horse breathed more freely,--and, gathering up his
reins, moderated the speed of the vigorous animal, his active accomplice
on this man-hunt. He had then time to study the direction of the
road, and his position with regard to Fouquet. The superintendent had
completely winded his horse by crossing the soft ground. He felt the
necessity of gaining a firmer footing, and turned towards the road by
the shortest secant line. D'Artagnan, on his part, had nothing to do but
to ride straight on, concealed by the sloping shore; so that he would
cut his quarry off the road when he came up with him. Then the real race
would begin,--then the struggle would be in earnest.

D'Artagnan gave his horse good breathing-time. He observed that the
superintendent had relaxed into a trot, which was to say, he, too, was
favoring his horse. But both of them were too much pressed for time to
allow them to continue long at that pace. The white horse sprang off
like an arrow the moment his feet touched firm ground. D'Artagnan
dropped his head, and his black horse broke into a gallop. Both followed
the same route; the quadruple echoes of this new race-course were
confounded. Fouquet had not yet perceived D'Artag