“Planchet!” cried D’Artagnan intoxicated with joy.

“Planchet!” repeated Aramis and Porthos.

“Well, certainly Planchet,” said Athos; “what is there astonishing in that? He promised to be back by eight o’clock, and eight is just now striking. Bravo, Planchet! you are a lad of your word, and if ever you leave your master I promise you a place in my service.”

“Oh no, never!” said Planchet. “I will never leave M. d’Artagnan.”At the same time D’Artagnan felt Planchet slipping a note into his hand.

“I have a note,” said he to Athos and his friends.

“Very well,” said Athos; “let us go home and we will read it.”

The note burned in D’Artagnan’s hand. He wished to hasten; but Athos took his arm and passed it under his own, and the young man was obliged to regulate his pace by his friend’s.

At length they reached the tent, lit a lamp, and whilst Planchet stood at the entrance, so that the four friends might not be surprised, D’Artagnan with a trembling hand broke the seal and opened the letter so anxiously expected.

It contained half a line in a thoroughly British hand, and of thoroughly Spartan brevity:

“Thank you. Be easy.”

Athos took the letter from D’Artagnan’s hands, drew near to the lamp, set fire to it, and did not let it go till it was reduced to ashes.

Then calling Planchet,

“Now, my lad,” said he, “you may claim your seven hundred livres; but you did not run much risk with such a note as that.”

“Twas not from lack of trying every means to compass it,” said Planchet.

“Well,” cried D’Artagnan, “tell us about it.”

“Ah, sir, it’s a very long story.”

“You are right, Planchet,” said Athos; “besides, tattoo has been sounded, and we should be observed if we kept a light burning longer than the others.”

“So be it,” said D’Artagnan. “Let us go to bed. Planchet, sleep soundly.”

“Faith, sir, it will be the first time I have done so these sixteen days!”

“Or I either!” said D’Artagnan.

“Or I either!” said Porthos.

“Or I either!” said Aramis.

“Well, if I must tell you the truth—or I either!” said Athos.