It was perhaps the fiftieth time since the day on which weopen this history, that this man. with a heart of bronze andmuscles of steel, had left house and friends, everything, inshort, to go in search of fortune and death. The one - thatis to say. death - had constantly retreated before him, asif afraid of him; the other - that is to say, fortune - for a month past only had really made an alliance with him.Although he was not a great philosopher, after the fashionof either Epicurus or Socrates, he was a powerful spirit,having knowledge of life, and endowed with thought. No oneis as brave, as adventurous, or as skillful as D'Artagnan,without being at the same time inclined to be a dreamer. Hehad picked up, here and there, some scraps of M. de laRochefoucauld, worthy of being translated into Latin by MM.de Port Royal, and he had made a collection, en passant, inthe society of Athos and Aramis, of many morsels of Senecaand Cicero, translated by them, and applied to the uses ofcommon life. That contempt of riches which our Gascon hadobserved as an article of faith during the thirty-five firstyears of his life, had for a long time been considered byhim as the first article of the code of bravery. "Articlefirst," said he, "A man is brave because he has nothing. Aman has nothing because he despises riches." Therefore, withthese principles, which, as we have said had regulated thethirty-five first years of his life, D'Artagnan was nosooner possessed of riches, than he felt it necessary to askhimself if, in spite of his riches, he were still brave. Tothis, for any other but D'Artagnan, the events of the Placede Greve might have served as a reply. Many conscienceswould have been satisfied with them, but D'Artagnan wasbrave enough to ask himself sincerely and conscientiously ifhe were brave. Therefore to this: -

"But it appears to me that I drew promptly enough and cutand thrust pretty freely on the Place de Greve to besatisfied of my bravery," D'Artagnan had himself replied."Gently, captain, that is not an answer. I was brave thatday, because they were burning my house, and there are ahundred, and even a thousand, to speak against one, that ifthose gentlemen of the riots had not formed that unluckyidea, their plan of attack would have succeeded, or, atleast, it would not have been I who would have opposedmyself to it. Now, what will be brought against me? I haveno house to be burnt in Bretagne; I have no treasure therethat can be taken from me. - No; but I have my skin; thatprecious skin of M. d'Artagnan, which to him is worth morethan all the houses and all the treasures of the world. Thatskin to which I cling above everything, because it is,everything considered, the binding of a body which enclosesa heart very warm and ready to fight, and, consequently, tolive. Then, I do desire to live; and, in reality, I livemuch better, more completely, since I have become rich. Whothe devil ever said that money spoiled life! Upon my soul,it is no such thing; on the contrary, it seems as if Iabsorbed a double quantity of air and sun. Mordioux! whatwill it be then, if I double that fortune, and if, insteadof the switch I now hold in my hand, I should ever carry thebaton of a marechal? Then I really don't know if there willbe, from that moment enough of air and sun for me. In fact,this is not a dream, who the devil would oppose it, if theking made me a marechal, as his father, King Louis XIII.,made a duke and constable of Albert de Luynes? Am I not asbrave, and much more intelligent, than that imbecile DeVitry? Ah! that's exactly what will prevent my advancement:I have too much wit. Luckily, if there is any justice inthis world, fortune owes me many compensations. She owes mecertainly a recompense for all I did for Anne of Austria,and an indemnification for all she has not done for me.Then, at the present, I am very well with a king, and with aking who has the appearance of determining to reign. May Godkeep him in that illustrious road! For, if he is resolved toreign he will want me; and if he wants me, he will give mewhat he has promised me - warmth and light; so that Imarch, comparatively, now, as I marched formerly, - fromnothing to everything. Only the nothing of to-day is the allof former days; there has only this little change takenplace in my life. And now let us see! let us take the partof the heart, as I just now was speaking of it. But intruth, I only spoke of it from memory." And the Gasconapplied his hand to his breast, as if he were actuallyseeking the place where his heart was.

"Ah! wretch!" murmured he, smiling with bitterness. "Ah!poor mortal species! You hoped, for an instant, that you hadnot a heart, and now you find you have one - bad courtieras thou art, - and even one of the most seditious. You havea heart which speaks to you in favor of M. Fouquet. And whatis M. Fouquet, when the king is in question? - Aconspirator, a real conspirator, who did not even givehimself the trouble to conceal his being a conspirator;therefore, what a weapon would you not have against him, ifhis good grace and his intelligence had not made a scabbardfor that weapon. An armed revolt! - for, in fact, M.Fouquet has been guilty of an armed revolt. Thus, while theking vaguely suspects M. Fouquet of rebellion, I know it - I could prove that M. Fouquet had caused the shedding of theblood of his majesty's subjects. Now, then, let us see?Knowing all that, and holding my tongue, what further wouldthis heart wish in return for a kind action of M. Fouquet's,for an advance of fifteen thousand livres, for a diamondworth a thousand pistoles, for a smile in which there was asmuch bitterness as kindness? - I save his life."

"Now, then, I hope," continued the musketeer, "that thisimbecile of a heart is going to preserve silence, and so befairly quits with M. Fouquet. Now, then, the king becomes mysun, and as my heart is quits with M. Fouquet, let himbeware who places himself between me and my sun! Forward,for his majesty Louis XIV.! - Forward!"

These reflections were the only impediments which were ableto retard the progress of D'Artagnan. These reflections oncemade, he increased the speed of his horse. But, howeverperfect his horse Zephyr might be, it could not hold out atsuch a pace forever. The day after his departure from Paris,he was left at Chartres, at the house of an old friendD'Artagnan had met with in an hotelier of that city. Fromthat moment the musketeer travelled on post-horses. Thanksto this mode of locomotion, he traversed the spaceseparating Chartres from Chateaubriand. In the last of thesetwo cities, far enough from the coast to prevent any oneguessing that D'Artagnan wished to reach the sea - farenough from Paris to prevent all suspicion of his being amessenger from Louis XIV., whom D'Artagnan had called hissun, without suspecting that he who was only at present arather poor star in the heaven of royalty, would, one day,make that star his emblem; the messenger of Louis XIV., wesay, quitted the post and purchased a bidet of the meanestappearance, - one of those animals which an officer ofcavalry would never choose, for fear of being disgraced.Excepting the color, this new acquisition recalled to themind of D'Artagnan the famous orange-colored horse, withwhich, or rather upon which, he had made his firstappearance in the world. Truth to say, from the moment hecrossed this new steed, it was no longer D'Artagnan who wastravelling, - it was a good man clothed in an iron-grayjustaucorps, brown haut-de-chausses, holding the mediumbetween a priest and a layman; that which brought himnearest to the churchman was, that D'Artagnan had placed onhis head a calotte of threadbare velvet, and over thecalotte, a large black hat; no more sword, a stick, hung bya cord to his wrist, but to which, he promised himself, asan unexpected auxiliary, to join, upon occasion, a gooddagger, ten inches long, concealed under his cloak. Thebidet purchased at Chateaubriand completed themetamorphosis; it was called, or rather D'Artagnan calledit, Furet (ferret).

"If I have changed Zephyr into Furet," said D'Artagnan, "Imust make some diminutive or other of my own name. So,instead of D'Artagnan, I will be Agnan, short; that is aconcession which I naturally owe to my gray coat, my roundhat, and my rusty calotte."

Monsieur D'Artagnan traveled, then, pretty easily uponFuret, who ambled like a true butter-woman's pad, and who,with his amble, managed cheerfully about twelve leagues aday, upon four spindle-shanks, of which the practiced eye ofD'Artagnan had appreciated the strength and safety beneaththe thick mass of hair which covered them. Jogging along,the traveler took notes, studied the country, which hetraversed reserved and silent, ever seeking the mostplausible pretext for reaching Belle-Isle-en-Mer, and forseeing everything without arousing suspicion. In thismanner, he was enabled to convince himself of the importancethe event assumed in proportion as he drew near to it. Inthis remote country, in this ancient duchy of Bretagne,which was not France at that period, and is not so even now,the people knew nothing of the king of France. They not onlydid not know him, but were unwilling to know him. One face- a single one - floated visibly for them upon thepolitical current. Their ancient dukes no longer ruled them;government was a void - nothing more. In place of thesovereign duke, the seigneurs of parishes reigned withoutcontrol; and, above these seigneurs, God, who has never beenforgotten in Bretagne. Among these suzerains of chateaux andbelfries, the most powerful, the richest, and the mostpopular, was M. Fouquet, seigneur of Belle-Isle. Even in thecountry, even within sight of that mysterious isle, legendsand traditions consecrate its wonders. Every one might notpenetrate it: the isle, of an extent of six leagues inlength, and six in breadth, was a seignorial property, whichthe people had for a long time respected, covered as it waswith the name of Retz, so redoubtable in the country.Shortly after the erection of this seignory into amarquisate, Belle-Isle passed to M. Fouquet. The celebrityof the isle did not date from yesterday; its name, or ratherits qualification, is traced back to the remotest antiquity.The ancients called it Kalonese, from two Greek words,signifying beautiful isle. Thus at a distance of eighteenhundred years, it had borne, in another idiom, the same nameit still bears. There was, then, something in itself in thisproperty of M. Fouquet's, besides its position of sixleagues off the coast of France; a position which makes it asovereign in its maritime solitude, like a majestic shipwhich disdains roads, and proudly casts anchor in mid-ocean.

D'Artagnan learnt all this without appearing the least inthe world astonished. He also learnt that the best way toget intelligence was to go to La Roche-Bernard, a tolerablyimportant city at the mouth of the Vilaine. Perhaps there hecould embark; if not, crossing the salt marshes, he wouldrepair to Guerande-en-Croisic, to wait for an opportunity tocross over to Belle-Isle. He had discovered, besides, sincehis departure from Chateaubriand, that nothing would beimpossible for Furet under the impulsion of M. Agnan, andnothing to M. Agnan through the initiative of Furet. Heprepared, then, to sup off a teal and a tourteau, in a hotelof La Roche-Bernard, and ordered to be brought from thecellar, to wash down these two Breton dishes, some cider,which, the moment it touched his lips, he perceived to bemore Breton still.