Chapter XL: The White Horse and the Black.
"That is rather surprising," said D'Artagnan; "Gourville running about the streets so gayly, when he is almost certain that M.Fouquet is in danger; when it is almost equally certain that it was Gourville who warned M.Fouquet just now by the note which was torn into a thousand pieces upon the terrace, and given to the winds by monsieur le surintendant.

Gourville is rubbing his hands; that is because he has done something clever.

Whence comes M.Gourville?
Gourville is coming from the Rue aux Herbes.

Whither does the Rue aux Herbes lead ?" And D'Artagnan followed, along the tops of the houses of Nantes, dominated by the castle, the line traced by the streets, as he would have done upon a topographical plan; only, instead of the dead, flat paper, the living chart rose in relief with the cries, the movements, and the shadows of men and things.

Beyond the inclosure of the city, the great verdant plains stretched out, bordering the Loire, and appeared to run towards the pink horizon, which was cut by the azure of the waters and the dark green of the marshes.