And then, without touching Fouquet's hand, he turned his head aside, and stepped back a pace or two.

His last word was an imprecation, his last gesture a curse, which his blood-stained hand seemed to invoke, as it sprinkled on Fouquet's face a few drops of blood which flowed from his breast.

And both of them darted out of the room by the secret staircase which led down to the inner courtyard.

Fouquet ordered his best horses, while Aramis paused at the foot of the staircase which led to Porthos's apartment.

He reflected profoundly and for some time, while Fouquet's carriage left the courtyard at full gallop.
"Shall I go alone ?" said Aramis to himself, "or warn the prince?
Oh! fury! Warn the prince, and then--do what?
Take him with me?
To carry this accusing witness about with me everywhere?
War, too, would follow--civil war, implacable in its nature! And without any resource save myself--it is impossible! What could he do without me?
Oh! without me he will be utterly destroyed.