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The Three Musketeers

The Rendezvous
D'Artagnan ran home immediately, and although it was three o'clock in the morning and
he had some of the worst quarters of Paris to traverse, he met with no misadventure.
Everyone knows that drunkards and lovers have a protecting deity.
He found the door of his passage open, sprang up the stairs and knocked softly in a
manner agreed upon between him and his lackey. Planchet*, whom he had sent home two
hours before from the Hotel de Ville, telling him to sit up for him, opened the door for
him.
*The reader may ask, "How came Planchet here?" when he was left "stiff as a rush" in
London. In the intervening time Buckingham perhaps sent him to Paris, as he did the
horses.
"Has anyone brought a letter for me?" asked d'Artagnan, eagerly.
"No one has BROUGHT a letter, monsieur," replied Planchet; "but one has come of
itself."
"What do you mean, blockhead?"
"I mean to say that when I came in, although I had the key of your apartment in my
pocket, and that key had never quit me, I found a letter on the green table cover in your
bedroom."
"And where is that letter?"
"I left it where I found it, monsieur. It is not natural for letters to enter people's houses in
this manner. If the window had been open or even ajar, I should think nothing of it; but,
no--all was hermetically sealed. Beware, monsieur; there is certainly some magic
underneath."
Meanwhile, the young man had darted in to his chamber, and opened the letter. It was
from Mme. Bonacieux, and was expressed in these terms:
"There are many thanks to be offered to you, and to be transmitted to you. Be this
evening about ten o'clock at St. Cloud, in front of the pavilion which stands at the corner
of the house of M. d'Estrees.--C.B."
While reading this letter, d'Artagnan felt his heart dilated and compressed by that
delicious spasm which tortures and caresses the hearts of lovers.
 
 
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