the lucky envelope. He pounced on it like a falcon on its prey. The
envelope was certainly a little dirty, and rather crumpled, but at all
events the letter itself was found. D'Artagnan observed that the broken
seal attracted the soldier's attention a good deal, but he finished
apparently by consoling himself, and returned the letter to his belt.
"Go on," said D'Artagnan, "I have plenty of time before me, so you may
precede me. It appears that Aramis is not in Paris, since Baisemeaux
writes to Porthos. Dear Porthos, how delighted I shall be to see him
again, and to have some conversation with him!" said the Gascon. And,
regulating his pace according to that of the soldier, he promised himself
to arrive a quarter of an hour after him at M. Fouquet's.


Chapter III:
In Which the Reader will be Delighted to Find that Porthos Has Lost
Nothing of His Muscularity.

D'Artagnan had, according to his usual style, calculated that every hour
is worth sixty minutes, and every minute worth sixty seconds. Thanks to
this perfectly exact calculation of minutes and seconds, he reached the
superintendent's door at the very moment the soldier was leaving it with
his belt empty. D'Artagnan presented himself at the door, which a porter
with a profusely embroidered livery held half opened for him. D'Artagnan
would very much have liked to enter without giving his name, but this was
impossible, and so he gave it. Notwithstanding this concession, which
ought to have removed every difficulty in the way, at least D'Artagnan
thought so, the _concierge_ hesitated; however, at the second repetition
of the title, captain of the king's guards, the _concierge_, without
quite leaving the passage clear for him, ceased to bar it completely.
D'Artagnan understood that orders of the most positive character had