reasons known to himself, like Automedon of antiquity.
The queen, though occupied by a thousand details, tried to catch the Gascon’s eye; but he, with his wonted prudence, had mingled with the crowd.
“Let us be the avant guard,” said he to Porthos, “and find good quarters at Saint Germain; nobody will think of us, and for my part I am greatly fatigued.”
“As for me,” replied Porthos, “I am falling asleep, which is strange, considering we have not had any fighting; truly the Parisians are idiots.”
“Or rather, we are very clever,” said D’Artagnan.
“And how is your wrist?”