ready and awaiting him. He was about to remove the pistols from the saddle he had quit to the one he was about to fill, but he found the holsters furnished with similar pistols.

“Your address at Paris?”

“Hotel of the Guards, company of Dessessart.”

“Enough,” replied the questioner.

“Which route must I take?” demanded d’Artagnan, in his turn.

“That of Rouen; but you will leave the city on your right. You must stop at the little village of Eccuis, in which there is but one tavern — the Shield of France. Don’t condemn it from appearances; you will find a horse in the stables quite as good as this.”