the door of the hotel belonging to Madame de Guemenee.
He was struck by a sudden idea.
“Ah, pardieu!” he exclaimed; “that would be fair play.”
And approaching the carriage, he examined the arms on the panels and the livery of the coachman on his box. This scrutiny was so much the more easy, the coachman being sound asleep.
“It is, in truth, monsieur le coadjuteur’s carriage,” said D’Artagnan; “upon my honor I begin to think that Heaven favors us.”
He mounted noiselessly into the chariot and pulled the silk cord which was attached to the coachman’s little finger.
“To the Palais Royal,” he called out.