14 LOUISE DE LA VALLIERE. to the Eue du Petit Muse, so as to see every one who might leave the gates of the Bastile. After he had spent an hour on the lookout from the "Golden Portcullis/' under the penthouse 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 twenty-four hours when on duty — and no one knew this better than D'Artagnan. The soldier in question, therefore, was not likely to leave in 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 keeping ^ sentry be- fore a wearisome guardhouse, or upon a bastion no less wearisome, has the good luck to get a little liberty in addi- tion to a walk — the two pleasures being reckoned as part of his time on duty. He bent his steps toward the Faubourg St. Antoine, enjoying the fresh air and the warmth of the sun, and looking at all the pretty faces he passed. D'Ar- tagnan followed him at a distance; he had not yet arranged his ideas as to what was to be done.
- 'I must, first of all," he thought, "see the fellow's face.
A man seen is a man judged of." D'Artagnan increased his pace, and, which was not very difficult, by the bye, 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 soldier would, of course, be too delighted at having been selected by M. de Baisemeaux for 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 St. Antoine. "He is certainly going to St. Mande," he said to him-
