“Oh!” exclaimed Athos, “here it is, as clear as day; pursued as he was, D’Artagnan would not have tarried here five minutes had he been pressed very closely, which gives us hopes that he may have succeeded in escaping.”

Aramis shook his head.

“Had he escaped we should either have seen him or have heard him spoken of.”

“You are right, Aramis, let us travel on.”

To describe the impatience and anxiety of these two friends would be impossible.  Uneasiness took possession of the tender, constant heart of Athos, and fearful forecasts were the torment of the impulsive Aramis.  They galloped on for two or three hours as furiously as the cavaliers on the wall.  All at once, in a narrow pass, they perceived that the road was partially barricaded by an enormous stone.  It had evidently been rolled across the pass by some arm of giant strength.

Aramis stopped.

“Oh!” he said, looking at the stone, “this is the work of either Hercules or Porthos.  Let us get down, count, and examine this rock.”

They both alighted.  The stone had been brought with the evident intention of barricading the road, but some one having perceived the obstacle had partially turned it aside.

With the assistance of Blaisois and Grimaud the friends succeeded in turning the stone over.  Upon the side next the ground were scratched the following words: 

“Eight of the light dragoons are pursuing us.  If we reach Compiegne we shall stop at the Peacock.  It is kept by a friend of ours.”

“At last we have something definite,” said Athos; “let us go to the Peacock.”

“Yes,” answered Aramis, “but if we are to get there we must rest our horses, for they are almost broken-winded.”

Aramis was right; they stopped at the first tavern and made each horse swallow a double quantity of corn steeped in wine; they gave them three hours’ rest and then set off again.  The men themselves were almost dead with fatigue, but hope supported them.

In six hours they reached Compiegne and alighted at the Peacock.  The host proved to be a worthy man, as bald as a Chinaman.  They asked him if some time ago he had not received in his house two gentlemen who were pursued by dragoons; without answering he went out and brought in the blade of a rapier.

“Do you know that?” he asked.

Athos merely glanced at it.

“’Tis D’Artagnan’s sword,” he said.

“Does it belong to the smaller or to the larger of the two?” asked the host.

“To the smaller.”

“I see that you are the friends of these gentlemen.”

“Well, what has happened to them?”

“They were pursued by eight of the light dragoons, who rode into the courtyard before they had time to close the gate.”

“Eight!” said Aramis; “it surprises me that two such heroes as Porthos and D’Artagnan should have allowed themselves to be arrested by eight men.”