Among Women.D'Artagnan had not been able to hide his feelings from his friends so much as he would have wished. The stoical soldier, the impassive man–at–arms, overcome by fear and sad presentiments, had yielded, for a few moments, to human weakness. When, therefore, he had silenced his heart and calmed the agitation of his nerves, turning towards his lackey, a silent servant, always listening, in order to obey the more promptly:
"Rabaud," said he, "mind, we must travel thirty leagues a day."
"At your pleasure, captain," replied Rabaud.
And from that moment, D'Artagnan, accommodating his action to the pace of the horse, like a true centaur, gave up his thoughts to nothing—that is to say, to everything. He asked himself why the king had sent for him back; why the Iron Mask had thrown the
