along in this way; it looked a race of phantoms. At dawn twelve leagues had been passed without drawing rein; half the escort were exhausted and several horses fell down.
“Horses, nowadays, are not what they were formerly,” observed Porthos; “everything degenerates.”
“I have sent Grimaud to Dammartin,” said Aramis. “He is to bring us five fresh horses — one for his eminence, four for us. We, at least, must keep close to monseigneur; the rest of the start will rejoin us later. Once beyond Saint Denis we shall have nothing to fear.”
Grimaud, in fact, brought back five horses.
The nobleman to whom he applied, being a friend of Porthos, was very ready, not to