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 Bastille at a slow and lounging pace, like a happy mortal, in fact, who, instead of keeping sentry before a wearisome guard-house, or upon a bastion no less wearisome, has the good luck to get a little liberty in addition to a walk--the two pleasures being reckoned as part of his time on duty.

He bent his steps toward the Faubourg Saint-Antoine, enjoying the fresh air and the warmth of the sun, and looking at all the pretty faces he passed.

D'Artagnan 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.