Chapter 2 - Page 2

"Golden Portcullis," under the pent-
house of which he could keep himself a little in the shade, D'Artagnan
observed a soldier leave the Bastile. This was, indeed, the surest
indication he could possibly have wished for, as every jailer or warder
has certain days, and even certain hours, for leaving the Bastile, since
all are alike prohibited from having either wives or lodgings in the
castle, and can accordingly leave without exciting any curiosity; but a
soldier once in barracks is kept there for four and twenty hours when on
duty, - and no one knew this better than D'Artagnan. The guardsman in
question, therefore, was not likely to leave his regimentals, except on
an express and urgent order. The soldier, we were saying, left the
Bastile at a slow and lounging pace, like a happy mortal, in fact, who,
instead of mounting sentry before a wearisome guard-house, or upon a
bastion no less wearisome, has the good luck to get a little liberty, in
addition to a walk - both pleasures being luckily reckoned as part of his
time on duty. He bent his steps towards the Faubourg Saint-Antoine,
enjoying the fresh air and the warmth of the sun, and looking at all the
pretty faces he passed. D'Artagnan followed him at a distance; he had
not yet arranged his ideas as what was to be done. "I must, first of
all," he thought, "see the fellow's face. A man seen is a man judged."
D'Artagnan increased his pace, and, which was not very difficult, by the
by, soon got in advance of the soldier. Not only did he observe that his
face showed a tolerable amount of intelligence and resolution, but he
noticed also that his nose was a little red. "He has a weakness for
brandy, I see," said D'Artagnan to himself. At the same moment that he
remarked his red nose, he saw that the soldier had a white paper in his
belt.

"Good, he has a letter," added D'Artagnan. The only difficulty was to
get hold of the letter. But a common soldier would, of course, be only
too delighted at having been selected by M. de Baisemeaux as a special
messenger, and would not be likely to sell his message. As D'Artagnan
was biting his nails, the soldier continued to advance more and more into
the Faubourg Saint-Antoine. "He is certainly going to Saint-Mande," he
said to himself, "and I shall not be able to learn what the letter
contains." It was enough to drive him wild. "If I were in uniform,"
said D'Artagnan to himself, "I would have this fellow seized, and his
letter with him. I could easily get assistance at the very first guard-
house; but the devil take me if I mention my name in an affair of this
kind. If I were to treat him to something to drink, his suspicions would
be roused; and besides, he might drink me drunk. _Mordioux!_ my wits
seem to have left me,"