“I will tell you all about it,” replied Mousqueton.
Porthos uttered a deep groan.
“Make way for us, Planchet,” said D’Artagnan in a whisper to him, “or he will not arrive alive; the lungs are attacked, my friend.”
Planchet shook his head with the air of a man who says, “In that case things look ill.” Then he exclaimed, turning to his men:
“Let them pass; they are friends.”
The carriage resumed its course, and Mazarin, who had held his breath, ventured to breathe again.
“Bricconi!” muttered he.
A few steps in advance of the gate of Saint Honore