would begin, — then the struggle would be in earnest.

D’Artagnan gave his horse good breathing-time. He observed that the superintendent had relaxed into a trot, which was to say, he, too, was favoring his horse. But both of them were too much pressed for time to allow them to continue long at that pace. The white horse sprang off like an arrow the moment his feet touched firm ground. D’Artagnan dropped his head, and his black horse broke into a gallop. Both followed the same route; the quadruple echoes of this new race-course were confounded. Fouquet had not yet perceived D’Artagnan. But on issuing from the slope, a single echo struck the air; it was that of the steps of D’Artagnan’s horse, which rolled along like thunder. Fouquet turned round, and saw behind him, within a hundred