“you think of every one; you are indeed a nobleman! Whither art thou going, Grimaud?”
“To join the Vicomte de Bragelonne in Flanders, your honor.”
They were taking the road toward Paris, when groans, which seemed to proceed from a ditch, attracted their attention.
“What is that?” asked D’Artagnan.
“It is I — Mousqueton,” said a mournful voice, whilst a sort of shadow arose out of the side of the road.
Porthos ran to him. “Art thou dangerously wounded, my dear Mousqueton?” he said.
“No, sir, but I am severely.”
“What can we do?” said D’Artagnan;