“Now, retire to your chambers,” said Athos, “and leave me to act.  You must perceive that in my quality of a husband this concerns me.  Only, d’Artagnan, if you have not lost it, give me the paper which fell from that man’s hat, upon which is written the name of the village of—­”

“Ah,” said d’Artagnan, “I comprehend! that name written in her hand.”

“You see, then,” said Athos, “there is a god in heaven still!”

64 The man in the red cloak

The despair of Athos had given place to a concentrated grief which only rendered more lucid the brilliant mental faculties of that extraordinary man.

Possessed by one single thought—­that of the promise he had made, and of the responsibility he had taken—­he retired last to his chamber, begged the host to procure him a map of the province, bent over it, examined every line traced upon it, perceived that there were four different roads from Bethune to Armentieres, and summoned the lackeys.

Planchet, Grimaud, Bazin, and Mousqueton presented themselves, and received clear, positive, and serious orders from Athos.

They must set out the next morning at daybreak, and go to Armentieres—­ each by a different route.  Planchet, the most intelligent of the four, was to follow that by which the carriage had gone upon which the four friends had fired, and which was accompanied, as may be remembered, by Rochefort’s servant.

Athos set the lackeys to work first because, since these men had been in the service of himself and his friends he had discovered in each of them different and essential qualities.  Then, lackeys who ask questions inspire less mistrust than masters, and meet with more sympathy among those to whom they address themselves.  Besides, Milady knew the masters, and did not know the lackeys; on the contrary, the lackeys knew Milady perfectly.

All four were to meet the next day at eleven o’clock.  If they had discovered Milady’s retreat, three were to remain on guard; the fourth was to return to Bethune in order to inform Athos and serve as a guide to the four friends.  These arrangements made, the lackeys retired.

Athos then arose from his chair, girded on his sword, enveloped himself in his cloak, and left the hotel.  It was nearly ten o’clock.  At ten o’clock in the evening, it is well known, the streets in provincial towns are very little frequented.  Athos nevertheless was visibly anxious to find someone of whom he could ask a question.  At length he met a belated passenger, went up to him, and spoke a few words to him.  The man he addressed recoiled with terror, and only answered the few words of the Musketeer by pointing.  Athos offered the man half a pistole to accompany him, but the man refused.

Athos then plunged into the street the man had indicated with his finger; but arriving at four crossroads, he stopped again, visibly embarrassed.  Nevertheless, as the crossroads offered him a better chance than any other place of meeting somebody, he stood still.  In a few minutes a night watch passed.  Athos repeated to him the same question he had asked the first person he met.  The night watch evinced the same terror, refused, in his turn, to accompany Athos, and only pointed with his hand to the road he was to take.