“My faith,” said d’Artagnan.  “I would almost answer for Planchet.”

“Well, my dear friend, add to his natural devotedness a good sum of money, and then, instead of answering for him once, answer for him twice.”

“Why, good God! you will be deceived just the same,” said Athos, who was an optimist when things were concerned, and a pessimist when men were in question.  “They will promise everything for the sake of the money, and on the road fear will prevent them from acting.  Once taken, they will be pressed; when pressed, they will confess everything.  What the devil! we are not children.  To reach England”—­Athos lowered his voice—­“all France, covered with spies and creatures of the cardinal, must be crossed.  A passport for embarkation must be obtained; and the party must be acquainted with English in order to ask the way to London.  Really, I think the thing very difficult.”

“Not at all,” cried d’Artagnan, who was anxious the matter should be accomplished; “on the contrary, I think it very easy.  It would be, no doubt, parbleu, if we write to Lord de Winter about affairs of vast importance, of the horrors of the cardinal—­”

“Speak lower!” said Athos.

“—­of intrigues and secrets of state,” continued d’Artagnan, complying with the recommendation.  “There can be no doubt we would all be broken on the wheel; but for God’s sake, do not forget, as you yourself said, Athos, that we only write to him concerning a family affair; that we only write to him to entreat that as soon as Milady arrives in London he will put it out of her power to injure us.  I will write to him, then, nearly in these terms.”

“Let us see,” said Athos, assuming in advance a critical look.

“Monsieur and dear friend—­”

“Ah, yes!  Dear friend to an Englishman,” interrupted Athos; “well commenced!  Bravo, d’Artagnan!  Only with that word you would be quartered instead of being broken on the wheel.”

“Well, perhaps.  I will say, then, Monsieur, quite short.”

“You may even say, My Lord,” replied Athos, who stickled for propriety.

“My Lord, do you remember the little goat pasture of the Luxembourg?”

“Good, the Luxembourg!  One might believe this is an allusion to the queen-mother!  That’s ingenious,” said Athos.

“Well, then, we will put simply, My Lord, do you remember a certain little enclosure where your life was spared?”

“My dear d’Artagnan, you will never make anything but a very bad secretary.  Where your life was spared!  For shame! that’s unworthy.  A man of spirit is not to be reminded of such services.  A benefit reproached is an offense committed.”

“The devil!” said d’Artagnan, “you are insupportable.  If the letter must be written under your censure, my faith, I renounce the task.”

“And you will do right.  Handle the musket and the sword, my dear fellow.  You will come off splendidly at those two exercises; but pass the pen over to Monsieur Abbe.  That’s his province.”