Chapter 38

38. How, Without Incommoding Himself, Athos Procures His Equipment
D’Artagnan was so completely bewildered that without taking any heed of what might become of Kitty he ran at full speed across half Paris, and did not stop till he came to Athos’s door. The confusion of his mind, the terror which spurred him on, the cries of some of the patrol who started in pursuit of him, and the hooting of the people who, notwithstanding the early hour, were going to their work, only made him precipitate his course.

He crossed the court, ran up the two flights to Athos’s apartment, and knocked at the door enough to break it down.

Grimaud came, rubbing his half-open eyes, to answer this noisy summons, and D’Artagnan sprang with such violence into the room as nearly to overturn the astonished lackey.

In spite of his habitual silence, the poor lad this time found his speech.

“Holloa, there!” cried he; “what do you want, you strumpet? What’s your business here, you hussy?”

D’Artagnan threw off his hood, and disengaged his hands from the folds of the cloak. At sight of the mustaches and the naked sword, the poor devil perceived he had to deal with a man. He then concluded it must be an assassin.

“Help! murder! help!” cried he.

“Hold your tongue, you stupid fellow!” said the young man; “I am D’Artagnan; don’t you know me? Where is your master?”

“You, Monsieur D’Artagnan!” cried Grimaud, “impossible.”

“Grimaud,” said Athos, coming out of his apartment in a dressing gown, “Grimaud, I thought I heard you permitting yourself to speak?”

“Ah, monsieur, it is--”

“Silence!”

Grimaud contented himself with pointing D’Artagnan out to his master with his finger.

Athos recognized his comrade, and phlegmatic as he was, he burst into a laugh which was quite excused by the strange masquerade before his eyes--petticoats falling over his shoes, sleeves tucked up, and mustaches stiff with agitation.

“Don’t laugh, my friend!” cried D’Artagnan; “for heaven’s sake, don’t laugh, for upon my soul, it’s no laughing matter!”

And he pronounced these words with such a solemn air and with such a real appearance of terror, that Athos eagerly seized his hand, crying, “Are you wounded, my friend? How pale you are!”

“No, but I have just met with a terrible adventure! Are you alone, Athos?”

“Parbleu! whom do you expect to find with me at this hour?”

“Well, well!” and D’Artagnan rushed into Athos’s chamber.

“Come, speak!”