— with economy; for it is not so well filled as that of Monsieur d’Emery.”
And having, meantime, embraced his ward, he passed him into the robust arms of Porthos, who lifted him up from the ground and held him a moment suspended near the noble heart of the formidable giant.
“Come,” said D’Artagnan, “let us go.”
And they set out for Boulogne, where toward evening they arrived, their horses flecked with foam and dark with perspiration.
At ten steps from the place where they halted was a young man in black, who seemed waiting for some one, and who, from the moment he saw them enter the town, never took his eyes off