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+*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 1257 ***
+
+The Three Musketeers
+
+By Alexandre Dumas, Père
+
+First Volume of the D’Artagnan Series
+
+
+CONTENTS
+
+ AUTHOR’S PREFACE
+ Chapter I. THE THREE PRESENTS OF D’ARTAGNAN THE ELDER
+ Chapter II. THE ANTECHAMBER OF M. DE TRÉVILLE
+ Chapter III. THE AUDIENCE
+ Chapter IV. THE SHOULDER OF ATHOS, THE BALDRIC OF PORTHOS AND THE HANDKERCHIEF OF ARAMIS
+ Chapter V. THE KING’S MUSKETEERS AND THE CARDINAL’S GUARDS
+ Chapter VI. HIS MAJESTY KING LOUIS XIII.
+ Chapter VII. THE INTERIOR OF THE MUSKETEERS
+ Chapter VIII. CONCERNING A COURT INTRIGUE
+ Chapter IX. D’ARTAGNAN SHOWS HIMSELF
+ Chapter X. A MOUSETRAP IN THE SEVENTEENTH CENTURY
+ Chapter XI. IN WHICH THE PLOT THICKENS
+ Chapter XII. GEORGE VILLIERS, DUKE OF BUCKINGHAM
+ Chapter XIII. MONSIEUR BONACIEUX
+ Chapter XIV. THE MAN OF MEUNG
+ Chapter XV. MEN OF THE ROBE AND MEN OF THE SWORD
+ Chapter XVI. IN WHICH M. SÉGUIER, KEEPER OF THE SEALS, LOOKS MORE THAN ONCE FOR THE BELL
+ Chapter XVII. BONACIEUX AT HOME
+ Chapter XVIII. LOVER AND HUSBAND
+ Chapter XIX. PLAN OF CAMPAIGN
+ Chapter XX. THE JOURNEY
+ Chapter XXI. THE COUNTESS DE WINTER
+ Chapter XXII. THE BALLET OF LA MERLAISON
+ Chapter XXIII. THE RENDEZVOUS
+ Chapter XXIV. THE PAVILION
+ Chapter XXV. PORTHOS
+ Chapter XXVI. ARAMIS AND HIS THESIS
+ Chapter XXVII. THE WIFE OF ATHOS
+ Chapter XXVIII. THE RETURN
+ Chapter XXIX. HUNTING FOR THE EQUIPMENTS
+ Chapter XXX. D’ARTAGNAN AND THE ENGLISHMAN
+ Chapter XXXI. ENGLISH AND FRENCH
+ Chapter XXXII. A PROCURATOR’S DINNER
+ Chapter XXXIII. SOUBRETTE AND MISTRESS
+ Chapter XXXIV. IN WHICH THE EQUIPMENT OF ARAMIS AND PORTHOS IS TREATED OF
+ Chapter XXXV. A GASCON A MATCH FOR CUPID
+ Chapter XXXVI. DREAM OF VENGEANCE
+ Chapter XXXVII. MILADY’S SECRET
+ Chapter XXXVIII. HOW, WITHOUT INCOMMDING HIMSELF, ATHOS PROCURES HIS EQUIPMENT
+ Chapter XXXIX. A VISION
+ Chapter XL. A TERRIBLE VISION
+ Chapter XLI. THE SIEGE OF LA ROCHELLE
+ Chapter XLII. THE ANJOU WINE
+ Chapter XLIII. THE SIGN OF THE RED DOVECOT
+ Chapter XLIV. THE UTILITY OF STOVEPIPES
+ Chapter XLV. A CONJUGAL SCENE
+ Chapter XLVI. THE BASTION SAINT-GERVAIS
+ Chapter XLVII. THE COUNCIL OF THE MUSKETEERS
+ Chapter XLVIII. A FAMILY AFFAIR
+ Chapter XLIX. FATALITY
+ Chapter L. CHAT BETWEEN BROTHER AND SISTER
+ Chapter LI. OFFICER
+ Chapter LII. CAPTIVITY: THE FIRST DAY
+ Chapter LIII. CAPTIVITY: THE SECOND DAY
+ Chapter LIV. CAPTIVITY: THE THIRD DAY
+ Chapter LV. CAPTIVITY: THE FOURTH DAY
+ Chapter LVI. CAPTIVITY: THE FIFTH DAY
+ Chapter LVII. MEANS FOR CLASSICAL TRAGEDY
+ Chapter LVIII. ESCAPE
+ Chapter LIX. WHAT TOOK PLACE AT PORTSMOUTH AUGUST 23, 1628
+ Chapter LX. IN FRANCE
+ Chapter LXI. THE CARMELITE CONVENT AT BÉTHUNE
+ Chapter LXII. TWO VARIETIES OF DEMONS
+ Chapter LXIII. THE DROP OF WATER
+ Chapter LXIV. THE MAN IN THE RED CLOAK
+ Chapter LXV. TRIAL
+ Chapter LXVI. EXECUTION
+ Chapter LXVII. CONCLUSION
+ EPILOGUE
+
+
+
+
+AUTHOR’S PREFACE
+
+In which it is proved that, notwithstanding their names’ ending in _os_
+and _is_, the heroes of the story which we are about to have the honor
+to relate to our readers have nothing mythological about them.
+
+A short time ago, while making researches in the Royal Library for my
+History of Louis XIV., I stumbled by chance upon the Memoirs of M.
+d’Artagnan, printed—as were most of the works of that period, in which
+authors could not tell the truth without the risk of a residence, more
+or less long, in the Bastille—at Amsterdam, by Pierre Rouge. The title
+attracted me; I took them home with me, with the permission of the
+guardian, and devoured them.
+
+It is not my intention here to enter into an analysis of this curious
+work; and I shall satisfy myself with referring such of my readers as
+appreciate the pictures of the period to its pages. They will therein
+find portraits penciled by the hand of a master; and although these
+squibs may be, for the most part, traced upon the doors of barracks and
+the walls of cabarets, they will not find the likenesses of Louis XIII.,
+Anne of Austria, Richelieu, Mazarin, and the courtiers of the period,
+less faithful than in the history of M. Anquetil.
+
+But, it is well known, what strikes the capricious mind of the poet is
+not always what affects the mass of readers. Now, while admiring, as
+others doubtless will admire, the details we have to relate, our main
+preoccupation concerned a matter to which no one before ourselves had
+given a thought.
+
+D’Artagnan relates that on his first visit to M. de Tréville, captain
+of the king’s Musketeers, he met in the antechamber three young men,
+serving in the illustrious corps into which he was soliciting the honor
+of being received, bearing the names of Athos, Porthos, and Aramis.
+
+We must confess these three strange names struck us; and it immediately
+occurred to us that they were but pseudonyms, under which D’Artagnan
+had disguised names perhaps illustrious, or else that the bearers of
+these borrowed names had themselves chosen them on the day in which,
+from caprice, discontent, or want of fortune, they had donned the
+simple Musketeer’s uniform.
+
+From that moment we had no rest till we could find some trace in
+contemporary works of these extraordinary names which had so strongly
+awakened our curiosity.
+
+The catalogue alone of the books we read with this object would fill a
+whole chapter, which, although it might be very instructive, would
+certainly afford our readers but little amusement. It will suffice,
+then, to tell them that at the moment at which, discouraged by so many
+fruitless investigations, we were about to abandon our search, we at
+length found, guided by the counsels of our illustrious friend Paulin
+Paris, a manuscript in folio, endorsed 4772 or 4773, we do not
+recollect which, having for title, “Memoirs of the Comte de la Fère,
+Touching Some Events Which Passed in France Toward the End of the Reign
+of King Louis XIII. and the Commencement of the Reign of King Louis
+XIV.”
+
+It may be easily imagined how great was our joy when, in turning over
+this manuscript, our last hope, we found at the twentieth page the name
+of Athos, at the twenty-seventh the name of Porthos, and at the
+thirty-first the name of Aramis.
+
+The discovery of a completely unknown manuscript at a period in which
+historical science is carried to such a high degree appeared almost
+miraculous. We hastened, therefore, to obtain permission to print it,
+with the view of presenting ourselves someday with the pack of others
+at the doors of the Académie des Inscriptions et Belles Lettres, if we
+should not succeed—a very probable thing, by the by—in gaining
+admission to the Académie Française with our own proper pack. This
+permission, we feel bound to say, was graciously granted; which compels
+us here to give a public contradiction to the slanderers who pretend
+that we live under a government but moderately indulgent to men of
+letters.
+
+Now, this is the first part of this precious manuscript which we offer
+to our readers, restoring it to the title which belongs to it, and
+entering into an engagement that if (of which we have no doubt) this
+first part should obtain the success it merits, we will publish the
+second immediately.
+
+In the meanwhile, as the godfather is a second father, we beg the
+reader to lay to our account, and not to that of the Comte de la Fère,
+the pleasure or the _ennui_ he may experience.
+
+This being understood, let us proceed with our history.
+
+
+
+
+The Three Musketeers
+
+
+
+
+Chapter I.
+THE THREE PRESENTS OF D’ARTAGNAN THE ELDER
+
+
+On the first Monday of the month of April, 1625, the market town of
+Meung, in which the author of _Romance of the Rose_ was born, appeared
+to be in as perfect a state of revolution as if the Huguenots had just
+made a second La Rochelle of it. Many citizens, seeing the women flying
+toward the High Street, leaving their children crying at the open
+doors, hastened to don the cuirass, and supporting their somewhat
+uncertain courage with a musket or a partisan, directed their steps
+toward the hostelry of the Jolly Miller, before which was gathered,
+increasing every minute, a compact group, vociferous and full of
+curiosity.
+
+In those times panics were common, and few days passed without some
+city or other registering in its archives an event of this kind. There
+were nobles, who made war against each other; there was the king, who
+made war against the cardinal; there was Spain, which made war against
+the king. Then, in addition to these concealed or public, secret or
+open wars, there were robbers, mendicants, Huguenots, wolves, and
+scoundrels, who made war upon everybody. The citizens always took up
+arms readily against thieves, wolves or scoundrels, often against
+nobles or Huguenots, sometimes against the king, but never against the
+cardinal or Spain. It resulted, then, from this habit that on the said
+first Monday of April, 1625, the citizens, on hearing the clamor, and
+seeing neither the red-and-yellow standard nor the livery of the Duc de
+Richelieu, rushed toward the hostel of the Jolly Miller. When arrived
+there, the cause of the hubbub was apparent to all.
+
+A young man—we can sketch his portrait at a dash. Imagine to yourself a
+Don Quixote of eighteen; a Don Quixote without his corselet, without
+his coat of mail, without his cuisses; a Don Quixote clothed in a
+woolen doublet, the blue color of which had faded into a nameless shade
+between lees of wine and a heavenly azure; face long and brown; high
+cheek bones, a sign of sagacity; the maxillary muscles enormously
+developed, an infallible sign by which a Gascon may always be detected,
+even without his cap—and our young man wore a cap set off with a sort
+of feather; the eye open and intelligent; the nose hooked, but finely
+chiseled. Too big for a youth, too small for a grown man, an
+experienced eye might have taken him for a farmer’s son upon a journey
+had it not been for the long sword which, dangling from a leather
+baldric, hit against the calves of its owner as he walked, and against
+the rough side of his steed when he was on horseback.
+
+For our young man had a steed which was the observed of all observers.
+It was a Béarn pony, from twelve to fourteen years old, yellow in his
+hide, without a hair in his tail, but not without windgalls on his
+legs, which, though going with his head lower than his knees, rendering
+a martingale quite unnecessary, contrived nevertheless to perform his
+eight leagues a day. Unfortunately, the qualities of this horse were so
+well concealed under his strange-colored hide and his unaccountable
+gait, that at a time when everybody was a connoisseur in horseflesh,
+the appearance of the aforesaid pony at Meung—which place he had
+entered about a quarter of an hour before, by the gate of
+Beaugency—produced an unfavorable feeling, which extended to his rider.
+
+And this feeling had been more painfully perceived by young
+D’Artagnan—for so was the Don Quixote of this second Rosinante
+named—from his not being able to conceal from himself the ridiculous
+appearance that such a steed gave him, good horseman as he was. He had
+sighed deeply, therefore, when accepting the gift of the pony from M.
+d’Artagnan the elder. He was not ignorant that such a beast was worth
+at least twenty livres; and the words which had accompanied the present
+were above all price.
+
+“My son,” said the old Gascon gentleman, in that pure Béarn _patois_ of
+which Henry IV. could never rid himself, “this horse was born in the
+house of your father about thirteen years ago, and has remained in it
+ever since, which ought to make you love it. Never sell it; allow it to
+die tranquilly and honorably of old age, and if you make a campaign
+with it, take as much care of it as you would of an old servant. At
+court, provided you have ever the honor to go there,” continued M.
+d’Artagnan the elder, “—an honor to which, remember, your ancient
+nobility gives you the right—sustain worthily your name of gentleman,
+which has been worthily borne by your ancestors for five hundred years,
+both for your own sake and the sake of those who belong to you. By the
+latter I mean your relatives and friends. Endure nothing from anyone
+except Monsieur the Cardinal and the king. It is by his courage, please
+observe, by his courage alone, that a gentleman can make his way
+nowadays. Whoever hesitates for a second perhaps allows the bait to
+escape which during that exact second fortune held out to him. You are
+young. You ought to be brave for two reasons: the first is that you are
+a Gascon, and the second is that you are my son. Never fear quarrels,
+but seek adventures. I have taught you how to handle a sword; you have
+thews of iron, a wrist of steel. Fight on all occasions. Fight the more
+for duels being forbidden, since consequently there is twice as much
+courage in fighting. I have nothing to give you, my son, but fifteen
+crowns, my horse, and the counsels you have just heard. Your mother
+will add to them a recipe for a certain balsam, which she had from a
+Bohemian and which has the miraculous virtue of curing all wounds that
+do not reach the heart. Take advantage of all, and live happily and
+long. I have but one word to add, and that is to propose an example to
+you—not mine, for I myself have never appeared at court, and have only
+taken part in religious wars as a volunteer; I speak of Monsieur de
+Tréville, who was formerly my neighbor, and who had the honor to be, as
+a child, the play-fellow of our king, Louis XIII., whom God preserve!
+Sometimes their play degenerated into battles, and in these battles the
+king was not always the stronger. The blows which he received increased
+greatly his esteem and friendship for Monsieur de Tréville. Afterward,
+Monsieur de Tréville fought with others: in his first journey to Paris,
+five times; from the death of the late king till the young one came of
+age, without reckoning wars and sieges, seven times; and from that date
+up to the present day, a hundred times, perhaps! So that in spite of
+edicts, ordinances, and decrees, there he is, captain of the
+Musketeers; that is to say, chief of a legion of Cæsars, whom the king
+holds in great esteem and whom the cardinal dreads—he who dreads
+nothing, as it is said. Still further, Monsieur de Tréville gains ten
+thousand crowns a year; he is therefore a great noble. He began as you
+begin. Go to him with this letter, and make him your model in order
+that you may do as he has done.”
+
+Upon which M. d’Artagnan the elder girded his own sword round his son,
+kissed him tenderly on both cheeks, and gave him his benediction.
+
+On leaving the paternal chamber, the young man found his mother, who
+was waiting for him with the famous recipe of which the counsels we
+have just repeated would necessitate frequent employment. The adieux
+were on this side longer and more tender than they had been on the
+other—not that M. d’Artagnan did not love his son, who was his only
+offspring, but M. d’Artagnan was a man, and he would have considered it
+unworthy of a man to give way to his feelings; whereas Mme. D’Artagnan
+was a woman, and still more, a mother. She wept abundantly; and—let us
+speak it to the praise of M. d’Artagnan the younger—notwithstanding the
+efforts he made to remain firm, as a future Musketeer ought, nature
+prevailed, and he shed many tears, of which he succeeded with great
+difficulty in concealing the half.
+
+The same day the young man set forward on his journey, furnished with
+the three paternal gifts, which consisted, as we have said, of fifteen
+crowns, the horse, and the letter for M. de Tréville—the counsels being
+thrown into the bargain.
+
+With such a _vade mecum_ D’Artagnan was morally and physically an exact
+copy of the hero of Cervantes, to whom we so happily compared him when
+our duty of an historian placed us under the necessity of sketching his
+portrait. Don Quixote took windmills for giants, and sheep for armies;
+D’Artagnan took every smile for an insult, and every look as a
+provocation—whence it resulted that from Tarbes to Meung his fist was
+constantly doubled, or his hand on the hilt of his sword; and yet the
+fist did not descend upon any jaw, nor did the sword issue from its
+scabbard. It was not that the sight of the wretched pony did not excite
+numerous smiles on the countenances of passers-by; but as against the
+side of this pony rattled a sword of respectable length, and as over
+this sword gleamed an eye rather ferocious than haughty, these
+passers-by repressed their hilarity, or if hilarity prevailed over
+prudence, they endeavored to laugh only on one side, like the masks of
+the ancients. D’Artagnan, then, remained majestic and intact in his
+susceptibility, till he came to this unlucky city of Meung.
+
+But there, as he was alighting from his horse at the gate of the Jolly
+Miller, without anyone—host, waiter, or hostler—coming to hold his
+stirrup or take his horse, D’Artagnan spied, though an open window on
+the ground floor, a gentleman, well-made and of good carriage, although
+of rather a stern countenance, talking with two persons who appeared to
+listen to him with respect. D’Artagnan fancied quite naturally,
+according to his custom, that he must be the object of their
+conversation, and listened. This time D’Artagnan was only in part
+mistaken; he himself was not in question, but his horse was. The
+gentleman appeared to be enumerating all his qualities to his auditors;
+and, as I have said, the auditors seeming to have great deference for
+the narrator, they every moment burst into fits of laughter. Now, as a
+half-smile was sufficient to awaken the irascibility of the young man,
+the effect produced upon him by this vociferous mirth may be easily
+imagined.
+
+Nevertheless, D’Artagnan was desirous of examining the appearance of
+this impertinent personage who ridiculed him. He fixed his haughty eye
+upon the stranger, and perceived a man of from forty to forty-five
+years of age, with black and piercing eyes, pale complexion, a strongly
+marked nose, and a black and well-shaped mustache. He was dressed in a
+doublet and hose of a violet color, with aiguillettes of the same
+color, without any other ornaments than the customary slashes, through
+which the shirt appeared. This doublet and hose, though new, were
+creased, like traveling clothes for a long time packed in a
+portmanteau. D’Artagnan made all these remarks with the rapidity of a
+most minute observer, and doubtless from an instinctive feeling that
+this stranger was destined to have a great influence over his future
+life.
+
+Now, as at the moment in which D’Artagnan fixed his eyes upon the
+gentleman in the violet doublet, the gentleman made one of his most
+knowing and profound remarks respecting the Béarnese pony, his two
+auditors laughed even louder than before, and he himself, though
+contrary to his custom, allowed a pale smile (if I may be allowed to
+use such an expression) to stray over his countenance. This time there
+could be no doubt; D’Artagnan was really insulted. Full, then, of this
+conviction, he pulled his cap down over his eyes, and endeavoring to
+copy some of the court airs he had picked up in Gascony among young
+traveling nobles, he advanced with one hand on the hilt of his sword
+and the other resting on his hip. Unfortunately, as he advanced, his
+anger increased at every step; and instead of the proper and lofty
+speech he had prepared as a prelude to his challenge, he found nothing
+at the tip of his tongue but a gross personality, which he accompanied
+with a furious gesture.
+
+“I say, sir, you sir, who are hiding yourself behind that shutter—yes,
+you, sir, tell me what you are laughing at, and we will laugh
+together!”
+
+The gentleman raised his eyes slowly from the nag to his cavalier, as
+if he required some time to ascertain whether it could be to him that
+such strange reproaches were addressed; then, when he could not
+possibly entertain any doubt of the matter, his eyebrows slightly bent,
+and with an accent of irony and insolence impossible to be described,
+he replied to D’Artagnan, “I was not speaking to you, sir.”
+
+“But I am speaking to you!” replied the young man, additionally
+exasperated with this mixture of insolence and good manners, of
+politeness and scorn.
+
+The stranger looked at him again with a slight smile, and retiring from
+the window, came out of the hostelry with a slow step, and placed
+himself before the horse, within two paces of D’Artagnan. His quiet
+manner and the ironical expression of his countenance redoubled the
+mirth of the persons with whom he had been talking, and who still
+remained at the window.
+
+D’Artagnan, seeing him approach, drew his sword a foot out of the
+scabbard.
+
+“This horse is decidedly, or rather has been in his youth, a
+buttercup,” resumed the stranger, continuing the remarks he had begun,
+and addressing himself to his auditors at the window, without paying
+the least attention to the exasperation of D’Artagnan, who, however,
+placed himself between him and them. “It is a color very well known in
+botany, but till the present time very rare among horses.”
+
+“There are people who laugh at the horse that would not dare to laugh
+at the master,” cried the young emulator of the furious Tréville.
+
+“I do not often laugh, sir,” replied the stranger, “as you may perceive
+by the expression of my countenance; but nevertheless I retain the
+privilege of laughing when I please.”
+
+“And I,” cried D’Artagnan, “will allow no man to laugh when it
+displeases me!”
+
+“Indeed, sir,” continued the stranger, more calm than ever; “well, that
+is perfectly right!” and turning on his heel, was about to re-enter the
+hostelry by the front gate, beneath which D’Artagnan on arriving had
+observed a saddled horse.
+
+But, D’Artagnan was not of a character to allow a man to escape him
+thus who had the insolence to ridicule him. He drew his sword entirely
+from the scabbard, and followed him, crying, “Turn, turn, Master Joker,
+lest I strike you behind!”
+
+“Strike me!” said the other, turning on his heels, and surveying the
+young man with as much astonishment as contempt. “Why, my good fellow,
+you must be mad!” Then, in a suppressed tone, as if speaking to
+himself, “This is annoying,” continued he. “What a godsend this would
+be for his Majesty, who is seeking everywhere for brave fellows to
+recruit for his Musketeers!”
+
+He had scarcely finished, when D’Artagnan made such a furious lunge at
+him that if he had not sprung nimbly backward, it is probable he would
+have jested for the last time. The stranger, then perceiving that the
+matter went beyond raillery, drew his sword, saluted his adversary, and
+seriously placed himself on guard. But at the same moment, his two
+auditors, accompanied by the host, fell upon D’Artagnan with sticks,
+shovels and tongs. This caused so rapid and complete a diversion from
+the attack that D’Artagnan’s adversary, while the latter turned round
+to face this shower of blows, sheathed his sword with the same
+precision, and instead of an actor, which he had nearly been, became a
+spectator of the fight—a part in which he acquitted himself with his
+usual impassiveness, muttering, nevertheless, “A plague upon these
+Gascons! Replace him on his orange horse, and let him begone!”
+
+“Not before I have killed you, poltroon!” cried D’Artagnan, making the
+best face possible, and never retreating one step before his three
+assailants, who continued to shower blows upon him.
+
+“Another gasconade!” murmured the gentleman. “By my honor, these
+Gascons are incorrigible! Keep up the dance, then, since he will have
+it so. When he is tired, he will perhaps tell us that he has had enough
+of it.”
+
+But the stranger knew not the headstrong personage he had to do with;
+D’Artagnan was not the man ever to cry for quarter. The fight was
+therefore prolonged for some seconds; but at length D’Artagnan dropped
+his sword, which was broken in two pieces by the blow of a stick.
+Another blow full upon his forehead at the same moment brought him to
+the ground, covered with blood and almost fainting.
+
+It was at this moment that people came flocking to the scene of action
+from all sides. The host, fearful of consequences, with the help of his
+servants carried the wounded man into the kitchen, where some trifling
+attentions were bestowed upon him.
+
+As to the gentleman, he resumed his place at the window, and surveyed
+the crowd with a certain impatience, evidently annoyed by their
+remaining undispersed.
+
+“Well, how is it with this madman?” exclaimed he, turning round as the
+noise of the door announced the entrance of the host, who came in to
+inquire if he was unhurt.
+
+“Your Excellency is safe and sound?” asked the host.
+
+“Oh, yes! Perfectly safe and sound, my good host; and I wish to know
+what has become of our young man.”
+
+“He is better,” said the host, “he fainted quite away.”
+
+“Indeed!” said the gentleman.
+
+“But before he fainted, he collected all his strength to challenge you,
+and to defy you while challenging you.”
+
+“Why, this fellow must be the devil in person!” cried the stranger.
+
+“Oh, no, your Excellency, he is not the devil,” replied the host, with
+a grin of contempt; “for during his fainting we rummaged his valise and
+found nothing but a clean shirt and eleven crowns—which however, did
+not prevent his saying, as he was fainting, that if such a thing had
+happened in Paris, you should have cause to repent of it at a later
+period.”
+
+“Then,” said the stranger coolly, “he must be some prince in disguise.”
+
+“I have told you this, good sir,” resumed the host, “in order that you
+may be on your guard.”
+
+“Did he name no one in his passion?”
+
+“Yes; he struck his pocket and said, ‘We shall see what Monsieur de
+Tréville will think of this insult offered to his _protégé_.’”
+
+“Monsieur de Tréville?” said the stranger, becoming attentive, “he put
+his hand upon his pocket while pronouncing the name of Monsieur de
+Tréville? Now, my dear host, while your young man was insensible, you
+did not fail, I am quite sure, to ascertain what that pocket contained.
+What was there in it?”
+
+“A letter addressed to Monsieur de Tréville, captain of the
+Musketeers.”
+
+“Indeed!”
+
+“Exactly as I have the honor to tell your Excellency.”
+
+The host, who was not endowed with great perspicacity, did not observe
+the expression which his words had given to the physiognomy of the
+stranger. The latter rose from the front of the window, upon the sill
+of which he had leaned with his elbow, and knitted his brow like a man
+disquieted.
+
+“The devil!” murmured he, between his teeth. “Can Tréville have set
+this Gascon upon me? He is very young; but a sword thrust is a sword
+thrust, whatever be the age of him who gives it, and a youth is less to
+be suspected than an older man,” and the stranger fell into a reverie
+which lasted some minutes. “A weak obstacle is sometimes sufficient to
+overthrow a great design.
+
+“Host,” said he, “could you not contrive to get rid of this frantic boy
+for me? In conscience, I cannot kill him; and yet,” added he, with a
+coldly menacing expression, “he annoys me. Where is he?”
+
+“In my wife’s chamber, on the first flight, where they are dressing his
+wounds.”
+
+“His things and his bag are with him? Has he taken off his doublet?”
+
+“On the contrary, everything is in the kitchen. But if he annoys you,
+this young fool—”
+
+“To be sure he does. He causes a disturbance in your hostelry, which
+respectable people cannot put up with. Go; make out my bill and notify
+my servant.”
+
+“What, monsieur, will you leave us so soon?”
+
+“You know that very well, as I gave my order to saddle my horse. Have
+they not obeyed me?”
+
+“It is done; as your Excellency may have observed, your horse is in the
+great gateway, ready saddled for your departure.”
+
+“That is well; do as I have directed you, then.”
+
+“What the devil!” said the host to himself. “Can he be afraid of this
+boy?” But an imperious glance from the stranger stopped him short; he
+bowed humbly and retired.
+
+“It is not necessary for Milady* to be seen by this fellow,” continued
+the stranger. “She will soon pass; she is already late. I had better
+get on horseback, and go and meet her. I should like, however, to know
+what this letter addressed to Tréville contains.” And the stranger,
+muttering to himself, directed his steps toward the kitchen.
+
+* We are well aware that this term, milady, is only properly used when
+followed by a family name. But we find it thus in the manuscript, and
+we do not choose to take upon ourselves to alter it.
+
+
+In the meantime, the host, who entertained no doubt that it was the
+presence of the young man that drove the stranger from his hostelry,
+re-ascended to his wife’s chamber, and found D’Artagnan just recovering
+his senses. Giving him to understand that the police would deal with
+him pretty severely for having sought a quarrel with a great lord—for
+in the opinion of the host the stranger could be nothing less than a
+great lord—he insisted that notwithstanding his weakness D’Artagnan
+should get up and depart as quickly as possible. D’Artagnan, half
+stupefied, without his doublet, and with his head bound up in a linen
+cloth, arose then, and urged by the host, began to descend the stairs;
+but on arriving at the kitchen, the first thing he saw was his
+antagonist talking calmly at the step of a heavy carriage, drawn by two
+large Norman horses.
+
+His interlocutor, whose head appeared through the carriage window, was
+a woman of from twenty to two-and-twenty years. We have already
+observed with what rapidity D’Artagnan seized the expression of a
+countenance. He perceived then, at a glance, that this woman was young
+and beautiful; and her style of beauty struck him more forcibly from
+its being totally different from that of the southern countries in
+which D’Artagnan had hitherto resided. She was pale and fair, with long
+curls falling in profusion over her shoulders, had large, blue,
+languishing eyes, rosy lips, and hands of alabaster. She was talking
+with great animation with the stranger.
+
+“His Eminence, then, orders me—” said the lady.
+
+“To return instantly to England, and to inform him as soon as the duke
+leaves London.”
+
+“And as to my other instructions?” asked the fair traveler.
+
+“They are contained in this box, which you will not open until you are
+on the other side of the Channel.”
+
+“Very well; and you—what will you do?”
+
+“I—I return to Paris.”
+
+“What, without chastising this insolent boy?” asked the lady.
+
+The stranger was about to reply; but at the moment he opened his mouth,
+D’Artagnan, who had heard all, precipitated himself over the threshold
+of the door.
+
+“This insolent boy chastises others,” cried he; “and I hope that this
+time he whom he ought to chastise will not escape him as before.”
+
+“Will not escape him?” replied the stranger, knitting his brow.
+
+“No; before a woman you would dare not fly, I presume?”
+
+“Remember,” said Milady, seeing the stranger lay his hand on his sword,
+“the least delay may ruin everything.”
+
+“You are right,” cried the gentleman; “begone then, on your part, and I
+will depart as quickly on mine.” And bowing to the lady, he sprang into
+his saddle, while her coachman applied his whip vigorously to his
+horses. The two interlocutors thus separated, taking opposite
+directions, at full gallop.
+
+“Pay him, booby!” cried the stranger to his servant, without checking
+the speed of his horse; and the man, after throwing two or three silver
+pieces at the foot of mine host, galloped after his master.
+
+“Base coward! false gentleman!” cried D’Artagnan, springing forward, in
+his turn, after the servant. But his wound had rendered him too weak to
+support such an exertion. Scarcely had he gone ten steps when his ears
+began to tingle, a faintness seized him, a cloud of blood passed over
+his eyes, and he fell in the middle of the street, crying still,
+“Coward! coward! coward!”
+
+“He is a coward, indeed,” grumbled the host, drawing near to
+D’Artagnan, and endeavoring by this little flattery to make up matters
+with the young man, as the heron of the fable did with the snail he had
+despised the evening before.
+
+“Yes, a base coward,” murmured D’Artagnan; “but she—she was very
+beautiful.”
+
+“What _she?_” demanded the host.
+
+“Milady,” faltered D’Artagnan, and fainted a second time.
+
+“Ah, it’s all one,” said the host; “I have lost two customers, but this
+one remains, of whom I am pretty certain for some days to come. There
+will be eleven crowns gained.”
+
+It is to be remembered that eleven crowns was just the sum that
+remained in D’Artagnan’s purse.
+
+The host had reckoned upon eleven days of confinement at a crown a day,
+but he had reckoned without his guest. On the following morning at five
+o’clock D’Artagnan arose, and descending to the kitchen without help,
+asked, among other ingredients the list of which has not come down to
+us, for some oil, some wine, and some rosemary, and with his mother’s
+recipe in his hand composed a balsam, with which he anointed his
+numerous wounds, replacing his bandages himself, and positively
+refusing the assistance of any doctor, D’Artagnan walked about that
+same evening, and was almost cured by the morrow.
+
+But when the time came to pay for his rosemary, this oil, and the wine,
+the only expense the master had incurred, as he had preserved a strict
+abstinence—while on the contrary, the yellow horse, by the account of
+the hostler at least, had eaten three times as much as a horse of his
+size could reasonably be supposed to have done—D’Artagnan found nothing
+in his pocket but his little old velvet purse with the eleven crowns it
+contained; for as to the letter addressed to M. de Tréville, it had
+disappeared.
+
+The young man commenced his search for the letter with the greatest
+patience, turning out his pockets of all kinds over and over again,
+rummaging and rerummaging in his valise, and opening and reopening his
+purse; but when he found that he had come to the conviction that the
+letter was not to be found, he flew, for the third time, into such a
+rage as was near costing him a fresh consumption of wine, oil, and
+rosemary—for upon seeing this hot-headed youth become exasperated and
+threaten to destroy everything in the establishment if his letter were
+not found, the host seized a spit, his wife a broom handle, and the
+servants the same sticks they had used the day before.
+
+“My letter of recommendation!” cried D’Artagnan, “my letter of
+recommendation! or, the holy blood, I will spit you all like ortolans!”
+
+Unfortunately, there was one circumstance which created a powerful
+obstacle to the accomplishment of this threat; which was, as we have
+related, that his sword had been in his first conflict broken in two,
+and which he had entirely forgotten. Hence, it resulted when D’Artagnan
+proceeded to draw his sword in earnest, he found himself purely and
+simply armed with a stump of a sword about eight or ten inches in
+length, which the host had carefully placed in the scabbard. As to the
+rest of the blade, the master had slyly put that on one side to make
+himself a larding pin.
+
+But this deception would probably not have stopped our fiery young man
+if the host had not reflected that the reclamation which his guest made
+was perfectly just.
+
+“But, after all,” said he, lowering the point of his spit, “where is
+this letter?”
+
+“Yes, where is this letter?” cried D’Artagnan. “In the first place, I
+warn you that that letter is for Monsieur de Tréville, and it must be
+found, or if it is not found, he will know how to find it.”
+
+His threat completed the intimidation of the host. After the king and
+the cardinal, M. de Tréville was the man whose name was perhaps most
+frequently repeated by the military, and even by citizens. There was,
+to be sure, Father Joseph, but his name was never pronounced but with a
+subdued voice, such was the terror inspired by his Gray Eminence, as
+the cardinal’s familiar was called.
+
+Throwing down his spit, and ordering his wife to do the same with her
+broom handle, and the servants with their sticks, he set the first
+example of commencing an earnest search for the lost letter.
+
+“Does the letter contain anything valuable?” demanded the host, after a
+few minutes of useless investigation.
+
+“Zounds! I think it does indeed!” cried the Gascon, who reckoned upon
+this letter for making his way at court. “It contained my fortune!”
+
+“Bills upon Spain?” asked the disturbed host.
+
+“Bills upon his Majesty’s private treasury,” answered D’Artagnan, who,
+reckoning upon entering into the king’s service in consequence of this
+recommendation, believed he could make this somewhat hazardous reply
+without telling of a falsehood.
+
+“The devil!” cried the host, at his wits’ end.
+
+“But it’s of no importance,” continued D’Artagnan, with natural
+assurance; “it’s of no importance. The money is nothing; that letter
+was everything. I would rather have lost a thousand pistoles than have
+lost it.” He would not have risked more if he had said twenty thousand;
+but a certain juvenile modesty restrained him.
+
+A ray of light all at once broke upon the mind of the host as he was
+giving himself to the devil upon finding nothing.
+
+“That letter is not lost!” cried he.
+
+“What!” cried D’Artagnan.
+
+“No, it has been stolen from you.”
+
+“Stolen? By whom?”
+
+“By the gentleman who was here yesterday. He came down into the
+kitchen, where your doublet was. He remained there some time alone. I
+would lay a wager he has stolen it.”
+
+“Do you think so?” answered D’Artagnan, but little convinced, as he
+knew better than anyone else how entirely personal the value of this
+letter was, and saw nothing in it likely to tempt cupidity. The fact
+was that none of his servants, none of the travelers present, could
+have gained anything by being possessed of this paper.
+
+“Do you say,” resumed D’Artagnan, “that you suspect that impertinent
+gentleman?”
+
+“I tell you I am sure of it,” continued the host. “When I informed him
+that your lordship was the _protégé_ of Monsieur de Tréville, and that
+you even had a letter for that illustrious gentleman, he appeared to be
+very much disturbed, and asked me where that letter was, and
+immediately came down into the kitchen, where he knew your doublet
+was.”
+
+“Then that’s my thief,” replied D’Artagnan. “I will complain to
+Monsieur de Tréville, and Monsieur de Tréville will complain to the
+king.” He then drew two crowns majestically from his purse and gave
+them to the host, who accompanied him, cap in hand, to the gate, and
+remounted his yellow horse, which bore him without any further accident
+to the gate of St. Antoine at Paris, where his owner sold him for three
+crowns, which was a very good price, considering that D’Artagnan had
+ridden him hard during the last stage. Thus the dealer to whom
+D’Artagnan sold him for the nine livres did not conceal from the young
+man that he only gave that enormous sum for him on the account of the
+originality of his color.
+
+Thus D’Artagnan entered Paris on foot, carrying his little packet under
+his arm, and walked about till he found an apartment to be let on terms
+suited to the scantiness of his means. This chamber was a sort of
+garret, situated in the Rue des Fossoyeurs, near the Luxembourg.
+
+As soon as the earnest money was paid, D’Artagnan took possession of
+his lodging, and passed the remainder of the day in sewing onto his
+doublet and hose some ornamental braiding which his mother had taken
+off an almost-new doublet of the elder M. d’Artagnan, and which she had
+given her son secretly. Next he went to the Quai de Feraille to have a
+new blade put to his sword, and then returned toward the Louvre,
+inquiring of the first Musketeer he met for the situation of the hôtel
+of M. de Tréville, which proved to be in the Rue du Vieux-Colombier;
+that is to say, in the immediate vicinity of the chamber hired by
+D’Artagnan—a circumstance which appeared to furnish a happy augury for
+the success of his journey.
+
+After this, satisfied with the way in which he had conducted himself at
+Meung, without remorse for the past, confident in the present, and full
+of hope for the future, he retired to bed and slept the sleep of the
+brave.
+
+This sleep, provincial as it was, brought him to nine o’clock in the
+morning; at which hour he rose, in order to repair to the residence of
+M. de Tréville, the third personage in the kingdom, in the paternal
+estimation.
+
+
+
+
+Chapter II.
+THE ANTECHAMBER OF M. DE TRÉVILLE
+
+
+M. de Troisville, as his family was still called in Gascony, or M. de
+Tréville, as he has ended by styling himself in Paris, had really
+commenced life as D’Artagnan now did; that is to say, without a sou in
+his pocket, but with a fund of audacity, shrewdness, and intelligence
+which makes the poorest Gascon gentleman often derive more in his hope
+from the paternal inheritance than the richest Perigordian or Berrichan
+gentleman derives in reality from his. His insolent bravery, his still
+more insolent success at a time when blows poured down like hail, had
+borne him to the top of that difficult ladder called Court Favor, which
+he had climbed four steps at a time.
+
+He was the friend of the king, who honored highly, as everyone knows,
+the memory of his father, Henry IV. The father of M. de Tréville had
+served him so faithfully in his wars against the league that in default
+of money—a thing to which the Béarnais was accustomed all his life, and
+who constantly paid his debts with that of which he never stood in need
+of borrowing, that is to say, with ready wit—in default of money, we
+repeat, he authorized him, after the reduction of Paris, to assume for
+his arms a golden lion passant upon gules, with the motto _Fidelis et
+fortis_. This was a great matter in the way of honor, but very little
+in the way of wealth; so that when the illustrious companion of the
+great Henry died, the only inheritance he was able to leave his son was
+his sword and his motto. Thanks to this double gift and the spotless
+name that accompanied it, M. de Tréville was admitted into the
+household of the young prince where he made such good use of his sword,
+and was so faithful to his motto, that Louis XIII., one of the good
+blades of his kingdom, was accustomed to say that if he had a friend
+who was about to fight, he would advise him to choose as a second,
+himself first, and Tréville next—or even, perhaps, before himself.
+
+Thus Louis XIII. had a real liking for Tréville—a royal liking, a
+self-interested liking, it is true, but still a liking. At that unhappy
+period it was an important consideration to be surrounded by such men
+as Tréville. Many might take for their device the epithet _strong_,
+which formed the second part of his motto, but very few gentlemen could
+lay claim to the _faithful_, which constituted the first. Tréville was
+one of these latter. His was one of those rare organizations, endowed
+with an obedient intelligence like that of the dog; with a blind valor,
+a quick eye, and a prompt hand; to whom sight appeared only to be given
+to see if the king were dissatisfied with anyone, and the hand to
+strike this displeasing personage, whether a Besme, a Maurevers, a
+Poltiot de Méré, or a Vitry. In short, up to this period nothing had
+been wanting to Tréville but opportunity; but he was ever on the watch
+for it, and he faithfully promised himself that he would not fail to
+seize it by its three hairs whenever it came within reach of his hand.
+At last Louis XIII. made Tréville the captain of his Musketeers, who
+were to Louis XIII. in devotedness, or rather in fanaticism, what his
+Ordinaries had been to Henry III., and his Scotch Guard to Louis XI.
+
+On his part, the cardinal was not behind the king in this respect. When
+he saw the formidable and chosen body with which Louis XIII. had
+surrounded himself, this second, or rather this first king of France,
+became desirous that he, too, should have his guard. He had his
+Musketeers therefore, as Louis XIII. had his, and these two powerful
+rivals vied with each other in procuring, not only from all the
+provinces of France, but even from all foreign states, the most
+celebrated swordsmen. It was not uncommon for Richelieu and Louis XIII.
+to dispute over their evening game of chess upon the merits of their
+servants. Each boasted the bearing and the courage of his own people.
+While exclaiming loudly against duels and brawls, they excited them
+secretly to quarrel, deriving an immoderate satisfaction or genuine
+regret from the success or defeat of their own combatants. We learn
+this from the memoirs of a man who was concerned in some few of these
+defeats and in many of these victories.
+
+Tréville had grasped the weak side of his master; and it was to this
+address that he owed the long and constant favor of a king who has not
+left the reputation behind him of being very faithful in his
+friendships. He paraded his Musketeers before the Cardinal Armand
+Duplessis with an insolent air which made the gray moustache of his
+Eminence curl with ire. Tréville understood admirably the war method of
+that period, in which he who could not live at the expense of the enemy
+must live at the expense of his compatriots. His soldiers formed a
+legion of devil-may-care fellows, perfectly undisciplined toward all
+but himself.
+
+Loose, half-drunk, imposing, the king’s Musketeers, or rather M. de
+Tréville’s, spread themselves about in the cabarets, in the public
+walks, and the public sports, shouting, twisting their mustaches,
+clanking their swords, and taking great pleasure in annoying the Guards
+of the cardinal whenever they could fall in with them; then drawing in
+the open streets, as if it were the best of all possible sports;
+sometimes killed, but sure in that case to be both wept and avenged;
+often killing others, but then certain of not rotting in prison, M. de
+Tréville being there to claim them. Thus M. de Tréville was praised to
+the highest note by these men, who adored him, and who, ruffians as
+they were, trembled before him like scholars before their master,
+obedient to his least word, and ready to sacrifice themselves to wash
+out the smallest insult.
+
+M. de Tréville employed this powerful weapon for the king, in the first
+place, and the friends of the king—and then for himself and his own
+friends. For the rest, in the memoirs of this period, which has left so
+many memoirs, one does not find this worthy gentleman blamed even by
+his enemies; and he had many such among men of the pen as well as among
+men of the sword. In no instance, let us say, was this worthy gentleman
+accused of deriving personal advantage from the cooperation of his
+minions. Endowed with a rare genius for intrigue which rendered him the
+equal of the ablest intriguers, he remained an honest man. Still
+further, in spite of sword thrusts which weaken, and painful exercises
+which fatigue, he had become one of the most gallant frequenters of
+revels, one of the most insinuating lady’s men, one of the softest
+whisperers of interesting nothings of his day; the _bonnes fortunes_ of
+de Tréville were talked of as those of M. de Bassompierre had been
+talked of twenty years before, and that was not saying a little. The
+captain of the Musketeers was therefore admired, feared, and loved; and
+this constitutes the zenith of human fortune.
+
+Louis XIV. absorbed all the smaller stars of his court in his own vast
+radiance; but his father, a sun _pluribus impar_, left his personal
+splendor to each of his favorites, his individual value to each of his
+courtiers. In addition to the levees of the king and the cardinal,
+there might be reckoned in Paris at that time more than two hundred
+smaller but still noteworthy levees. Among these two hundred levees,
+that of Tréville was one of the most sought.
+
+The court of his hôtel, situated in the Rue du Vieux-Colombier,
+resembled a camp from by six o’clock in the morning in summer and eight
+o’clock in winter. From fifty to sixty Musketeers, who appeared to
+replace one another in order always to present an imposing number,
+paraded constantly, armed to the teeth and ready for anything. On one
+of those immense staircases, upon whose space modern civilization would
+build a whole house, ascended and descended the office seekers of
+Paris, who ran after any sort of favor—gentlemen from the provinces
+anxious to be enrolled, and servants in all sorts of liveries, bringing
+and carrying messages between their masters and M. de Tréville. In the
+antechamber, upon long circular benches, reposed the elect; that is to
+say, those who were called. In this apartment a continued buzzing
+prevailed from morning till night, while M. de Tréville, in his office
+contiguous to this antechamber, received visits, listened to
+complaints, gave his orders, and like the king in his balcony at the
+Louvre, had only to place himself at the window to review both his men
+and arms.
+
+The day on which D’Artagnan presented himself the assemblage was
+imposing, particularly for a provincial just arriving from his
+province. It is true that this provincial was a Gascon; and that,
+particularly at this period, the compatriots of D’Artagnan had the
+reputation of not being easily intimidated. When he had once passed the
+massive door covered with long square-headed nails, he fell into the
+midst of a troop of swordsmen, who crossed one another in their
+passage, calling out, quarreling, and playing tricks one with another.
+In order to make one’s way amid these turbulent and conflicting waves,
+it was necessary to be an officer, a great noble, or a pretty woman.
+
+It was, then, into the midst of this tumult and disorder that our young
+man advanced with a beating heart, ranging his long rapier up his lanky
+leg, and keeping one hand on the edge of his cap, with that half-smile
+of the embarrassed provincial who wishes to put on a good face. When he
+had passed one group he began to breathe more freely; but he could not
+help observing that they turned round to look at him, and for the first
+time in his life D’Artagnan, who had till that day entertained a very
+good opinion of himself, felt ridiculous.
+
+Arrived at the staircase, it was still worse. There were four
+Musketeers on the bottom steps, amusing themselves with the following
+exercise, while ten or twelve of their comrades waited upon the landing
+place to take their turn in the sport.
+
+One of them, stationed upon the top stair, naked sword in hand,
+prevented, or at least endeavored to prevent, the three others from
+ascending.
+
+These three others fenced against him with their agile swords.
+
+D’Artagnan at first took these weapons for foils, and believed them to
+be buttoned; but he soon perceived by certain scratches that every
+weapon was pointed and sharpened, and that at each of these scratches
+not only the spectators, but even the actors themselves, laughed like
+so many madmen.
+
+He who at the moment occupied the upper step kept his adversaries
+marvelously in check. A circle was formed around them. The conditions
+required that at every hit the man touched should quit the game,
+yielding his turn for the benefit of the adversary who had hit him. In
+five minutes three were slightly wounded, one on the hand, another on
+the ear, by the defender of the stair, who himself remained intact—a
+piece of skill which was worth to him, according to the rules agreed
+upon, three turns of favor.
+
+However difficult it might be, or rather as he pretended it was, to
+astonish our young traveler, this pastime really astonished him. He had
+seen in his province—that land in which heads become so easily heated—a
+few of the preliminaries of duels; but the daring of these four fencers
+appeared to him the strongest he had ever heard of even in Gascony. He
+believed himself transported into that famous country of giants into
+which Gulliver afterward went and was so frightened; and yet he had not
+gained the goal, for there were still the landing place and the
+antechamber.
+
+On the landing they were no longer fighting, but amused themselves with
+stories about women, and in the antechamber, with stories about the
+court. On the landing D’Artagnan blushed; in the antechamber he
+trembled. His warm and fickle imagination, which in Gascony had
+rendered him formidable to young chambermaids, and even sometimes their
+mistresses, had never dreamed, even in moments of delirium, of half the
+amorous wonders or a quarter of the feats of gallantry which were here
+set forth in connection with names the best known and with details the
+least concealed. But if his morals were shocked on the landing, his
+respect for the cardinal was scandalized in the antechamber. There, to
+his great astonishment, D’Artagnan heard the policy which made all
+Europe tremble criticized aloud and openly, as well as the private life
+of the cardinal, which so many great nobles had been punished for
+trying to pry into. That great man who was so revered by D’Artagnan the
+elder served as an object of ridicule to the Musketeers of Tréville,
+who cracked their jokes upon his bandy legs and his crooked back. Some
+sang ballads about Mme. d’Aguillon, his mistress, and Mme. Cambalet,
+his niece; while others formed parties and plans to annoy the pages and
+guards of the cardinal duke—all things which appeared to D’Artagnan
+monstrous impossibilities.
+
+Nevertheless, when the name of the king was now and then uttered
+unthinkingly amid all these cardinal jests, a sort of gag seemed to
+close for a moment on all these jeering mouths. They looked
+hesitatingly around them, and appeared to doubt the thickness of the
+partition between them and the office of M. de Tréville; but a fresh
+allusion soon brought back the conversation to his Eminence, and then
+the laughter recovered its loudness and the light was not withheld from
+any of his actions.
+
+“Certes, these fellows will all either be imprisoned or hanged,”
+thought the terrified D’Artagnan, “and I, no doubt, with them; for from
+the moment I have either listened to or heard them, I shall be held as
+an accomplice. What would my good father say, who so strongly pointed
+out to me the respect due to the cardinal, if he knew I was in the
+society of such pagans?”
+
+We have no need, therefore, to say that D’Artagnan dared not join in
+the conversation, only he looked with all his eyes and listened with
+all his ears, stretching his five senses so as to lose nothing; and
+despite his confidence on the paternal admonitions, he felt himself
+carried by his tastes and led by his instincts to praise rather than to
+blame the unheard-of things which were taking place.
+
+Although he was a perfect stranger in the court of M. de Tréville’s
+courtiers, and this his first appearance in that place, he was at
+length noticed, and somebody came and asked him what he wanted. At this
+demand D’Artagnan gave his name very modestly, emphasized the title of
+compatriot, and begged the servant who had put the question to him to
+request a moment’s audience of M. de Tréville—a request which the
+other, with an air of protection, promised to transmit in due season.
+
+D’Artagnan, a little recovered from his first surprise, had now leisure
+to study costumes and physiognomy.
+
+The center of the most animated group was a Musketeer of great height
+and haughty countenance, dressed in a costume so peculiar as to attract
+general attention. He did not wear the uniform cloak—which was not
+obligatory at that epoch of less liberty but more independence—but a
+cerulean-blue doublet, a little faded and worn, and over this a
+magnificent baldric, worked in gold, which shone like water ripples in
+the sun. A long cloak of crimson velvet fell in graceful folds from his
+shoulders, disclosing in front the splendid baldric, from which was
+suspended a gigantic rapier. This Musketeer had just come off guard,
+complained of having a cold, and coughed from time to time affectedly.
+It was for this reason, as he said to those around him, that he had put
+on his cloak; and while he spoke with a lofty air and twisted his
+mustache disdainfully, all admired his embroidered baldric, and
+D’Artagnan more than anyone.
+
+“What would you have?” said the Musketeer. “This fashion is coming in.
+It is a folly, I admit, but still it is the fashion. Besides, one must
+lay out one’s inheritance somehow.”
+
+“Ah, Porthos!” cried one of his companions, “don’t try to make us
+believe you obtained that baldric by paternal generosity. It was given
+to you by that veiled lady I met you with the other Sunday, near the
+gate St. Honoré.”
+
+“No, upon honor and by the faith of a gentleman, I bought it with the
+contents of my own purse,” answered he whom they designated by the name
+Porthos.
+
+“Yes; about in the same manner,” said another Musketeer, “that I bought
+this new purse with what my mistress put into the old one.”
+
+“It’s true, though,” said Porthos; “and the proof is that I paid twelve
+pistoles for it.”
+
+The wonder was increased, though the doubt continued to exist.
+
+“Is it not true, Aramis?” said Porthos, turning toward another
+Musketeer.
+
+This other Musketeer formed a perfect contrast to his interrogator, who
+had just designated him by the name of Aramis. He was a stout man, of
+about two- or three-and-twenty, with an open, ingenuous countenance, a
+black, mild eye, and cheeks rosy and downy as an autumn peach. His
+delicate mustache marked a perfectly straight line upon his upper lip;
+he appeared to dread to lower his hands lest their veins should swell,
+and he pinched the tips of his ears from time to time to preserve their
+delicate pink transparency. Habitually he spoke little and slowly,
+bowed frequently, laughed without noise, showing his teeth, which were
+fine and of which, as the rest of his person, he appeared to take great
+care. He answered the appeal of his friend by an affirmative nod of the
+head.
+
+This affirmation appeared to dispel all doubts with regard to the
+baldric. They continued to admire it, but said no more about it; and
+with a rapid change of thought, the conversation passed suddenly to
+another subject.
+
+“What do you think of the story Chalais’s esquire relates?” asked
+another Musketeer, without addressing anyone in particular, but on the
+contrary speaking to everybody.
+
+“And what does he say?” asked Porthos, in a self-sufficient tone.
+
+“He relates that he met at Brussels Rochefort, the _âme damnée_ of the
+cardinal disguised as a Capuchin, and that this cursed Rochefort,
+thanks to his disguise, had tricked Monsieur de Laigues, like a ninny
+as he is.”
+
+“A ninny, indeed!” said Porthos; “but is the matter certain?”
+
+“I had it from Aramis,” replied the Musketeer.
+
+“Indeed?”
+
+“Why, you knew it, Porthos,” said Aramis. “I told you of it yesterday.
+Let us say no more about it.”
+
+“Say no more about it? That’s _your_ opinion!” replied Porthos.
+
+“Say no more about it! _Peste!_ You come to your conclusions quickly.
+What! The cardinal sets a spy upon a gentleman, has his letters stolen
+from him by means of a traitor, a brigand, a rascal—has, with the help
+of this spy and thanks to this correspondence, Chalais’s throat cut,
+under the stupid pretext that he wanted to kill the king and marry
+Monsieur to the queen! Nobody knew a word of this enigma. You unraveled
+it yesterday to the great satisfaction of all; and while we are still
+gaping with wonder at the news, you come and tell us today, ‘Let us say
+no more about it.’”
+
+“Well, then, let us talk about it, since you desire it,” replied
+Aramis, patiently.
+
+“This Rochefort,” cried Porthos, “if I were the esquire of poor
+Chalais, should pass a minute or two very uncomfortably with me.”
+
+“And you—you would pass rather a sad quarter-hour with the Red Duke,”
+replied Aramis.
+
+“Oh, the Red Duke! Bravo! Bravo! The Red Duke!” cried Porthos, clapping
+his hands and nodding his head. “The Red Duke is capital. I’ll
+circulate that saying, be assured, my dear fellow. Who says this Aramis
+is not a wit? What a misfortune it is you did not follow your first
+vocation; what a delicious abbé you would have made!”
+
+“Oh, it’s only a temporary postponement,” replied Aramis; “I shall be
+one someday. You very well know, Porthos, that I continue to study
+theology for that purpose.”
+
+“He will be one, as he says,” cried Porthos; “he will be one, sooner or
+later.”
+
+“Sooner,” said Aramis.
+
+“He only waits for one thing to determine him to resume his cassock,
+which hangs behind his uniform,” said another Musketeer.
+
+“What is he waiting for?” asked another.
+
+“Only till the queen has given an heir to the crown of France.”
+
+“No jesting upon that subject, gentlemen,” said Porthos; “thank God the
+queen is still of an age to give one!”
+
+“They say that Monsieur de Buckingham is in France,” replied Aramis,
+with a significant smile which gave to this sentence, apparently so
+simple, a tolerably scandalous meaning.
+
+“Aramis, my good friend, this time you are wrong,” interrupted Porthos.
+“Your wit is always leading you beyond bounds; if Monsieur de Tréville
+heard you, you would repent of speaking thus.”
+
+“Are you going to give me a lesson, Porthos?” cried Aramis, from whose
+usually mild eye a flash passed like lightning.
+
+“My dear fellow, be a Musketeer or an abbé. Be one or the other, but
+not both,” replied Porthos. “You know what Athos told you the other
+day; you eat at everybody’s mess. Ah, don’t be angry, I beg of you,
+that would be useless; you know what is agreed upon between you, Athos
+and me. You go to Madame d’Aguillon’s, and you pay your court to her;
+you go to Madame de Bois-Tracy’s, the cousin of Madame de Chevreuse,
+and you pass for being far advanced in the good graces of that lady.
+Oh, good Lord! Don’t trouble yourself to reveal your good luck; no one
+asks for your secret—all the world knows your discretion. But since you
+possess that virtue, why the devil don’t you make use of it with
+respect to her Majesty? Let whoever likes talk of the king and the
+cardinal, and how he likes; but the queen is sacred, and if anyone
+speaks of her, let it be respectfully.”
+
+“Porthos, you are as vain as Narcissus; I plainly tell you so,” replied
+Aramis. “You know I hate moralizing, except when it is done by Athos.
+As to you, good sir, you wear too magnificent a baldric to be strong on
+that head. I will be an abbé if it suits me. In the meanwhile I am a
+Musketeer; in that quality I say what I please, and at this moment it
+pleases me to say that you weary me.”
+
+“Aramis!”
+
+“Porthos!”
+
+“Gentlemen! Gentlemen!” cried the surrounding group.
+
+“Monsieur de Tréville awaits Monsieur d’Artagnan,” cried a servant,
+throwing open the door of the cabinet.
+
+At this announcement, during which the door remained open, everyone
+became mute, and amid the general silence the young man crossed part of
+the length of the antechamber, and entered the apartment of the captain
+of the Musketeers, congratulating himself with all his heart at having
+so narrowly escaped the end of this strange quarrel.
+
+
+
+
+Chapter III.
+THE AUDIENCE
+
+
+M. de Tréville was at the moment in rather ill-humor, nevertheless he
+saluted the young man politely, who bowed to the very ground; and he
+smiled on receiving D’Artagnan’s response, the Béarnese accent of which
+recalled to him at the same time his youth and his country—a double
+remembrance which makes a man smile at all ages; but stepping toward
+the antechamber and making a sign to D’Artagnan with his hand, as if to
+ask his permission to finish with others before he began with him, he
+called three times, with a louder voice at each time, so that he ran
+through the intervening tones between the imperative accent and the
+angry accent.
+
+“Athos! Porthos! Aramis!”
+
+The two Musketeers with whom we have already made acquaintance, and who
+answered to the last of these three names, immediately quitted the
+group of which they had formed a part, and advanced toward the cabinet,
+the door of which closed after them as soon as they had entered. Their
+appearance, although it was not quite at ease, excited by its
+carelessness, at once full of dignity and submission, the admiration of
+D’Artagnan, who beheld in these two men demigods, and in their leader
+an Olympian Jupiter, armed with all his thunders.
+
+When the two Musketeers had entered; when the door was closed behind
+them; when the buzzing murmur of the antechamber, to which the summons
+which had been made had doubtless furnished fresh food, had
+recommenced; when M. de Tréville had three or four times paced in
+silence, and with a frowning brow, the whole length of his cabinet,
+passing each time before Porthos and Aramis, who were as upright and
+silent as if on parade—he stopped all at once full in front of them,
+and covering them from head to foot with an angry look, “Do you know
+what the king said to me,” cried he, “and that no longer ago than
+yesterday evening—do you know, gentlemen?”
+
+“No,” replied the two Musketeers, after a moment’s silence, “no, sir,
+we do not.”
+
+“But I hope that you will do us the honor to tell us,” added Aramis, in
+his politest tone and with his most graceful bow.
+
+“He told me that he should henceforth recruit his Musketeers from among
+the Guards of Monsieur the Cardinal.”
+
+“The Guards of the cardinal! And why so?” asked Porthos, warmly.
+
+“Because he plainly perceives that his piquette* stands in need of
+being enlivened by a mixture of good wine.”
+
+* A watered liquor, made from the second pressing of the grape.
+
+
+The two Musketeers reddened to the whites of their eyes. D’Artagnan did
+not know where he was, and wished himself a hundred feet underground.
+
+“Yes, yes,” continued M. de Tréville, growing warmer as he spoke, “and
+his majesty was right; for, upon my honor, it is true that the
+Musketeers make but a miserable figure at court. The cardinal related
+yesterday while playing with the king, with an air of condolence very
+displeasing to me, that the day before yesterday those _damned
+Musketeers_, those _daredevils_—he dwelt upon those words with an
+ironical tone still more displeasing to me—those _braggarts_, added he,
+glancing at me with his tiger-cat’s eye, had made a riot in the Rue
+Férou in a cabaret, and that a party of his Guards (I thought he was
+going to laugh in my face) had been forced to arrest the rioters!
+_Morbleu!_ You must know something about it. Arrest Musketeers! You
+were among them—you were! Don’t deny it; you were recognized, and the
+cardinal named you. But it’s all my fault; yes, it’s all my fault,
+because it is myself who selects my men. You, Aramis, why the devil did
+you ask me for a uniform when you would have been so much better in a
+cassock? And you, Porthos, do you only wear such a fine golden baldric
+to suspend a sword of straw from it? And Athos—I don’t see Athos. Where
+is he?”
+
+“Ill—”
+
+“Very ill, say you? And of what malady?”
+
+“It is feared that it may be the smallpox, sir,” replied Porthos,
+desirous of taking his turn in the conversation; “and what is serious
+is that it will certainly spoil his face.”
+
+“The smallpox! That’s a great story to tell me, Porthos! Sick of the
+smallpox at his age! No, no; but wounded without doubt, killed,
+perhaps. Ah, if I knew! S’blood! Messieurs Musketeers, I will not have
+this haunting of bad places, this quarreling in the streets, this
+swordplay at the crossways; and above all, I will not have occasion
+given for the cardinal’s Guards, who are brave, quiet, skillful men who
+never put themselves in a position to be arrested, and who, besides,
+never allow themselves to be arrested, to laugh at you! I am sure of
+it—they would prefer dying on the spot to being arrested or taking back
+a step. To save yourselves, to scamper away, to flee—that is good for
+the king’s Musketeers!”
+
+Porthos and Aramis trembled with rage. They could willingly have
+strangled M. de Tréville, if, at the bottom of all this, they had not
+felt it was the great love he bore them which made him speak thus. They
+stamped upon the carpet with their feet; they bit their lips till the
+blood came, and grasped the hilts of their swords with all their might.
+All without had heard, as we have said, Athos, Porthos, and Aramis
+called, and had guessed, from M. de Tréville’s tone of voice, that he
+was very angry about something. Ten curious heads were glued to the
+tapestry and became pale with fury; for their ears, closely applied to
+the door, did not lose a syllable of what he said, while their mouths
+repeated as he went on, the insulting expressions of the captain to all
+the people in the antechamber. In an instant, from the door of the
+cabinet to the street gate, the whole hôtel was boiling.
+
+“Ah! The king’s Musketeers are arrested by the Guards of the cardinal,
+are they?” continued M. de Tréville, as furious at heart as his
+soldiers, but emphasizing his words and plunging them, one by one, so
+to say, like so many blows of a stiletto, into the bosoms of his
+auditors. “What! Six of his Eminence’s Guards arrest six of his
+Majesty’s Musketeers! _Morbleu!_ My part is taken! I will go straight
+to the Louvre; I will give in my resignation as captain of the king’s
+Musketeers to take a lieutenancy in the cardinal’s Guards, and if he
+refuses me, _morbleu!_ I will turn abbé.”
+
+At these words, the murmur without became an explosion; nothing was to
+be heard but oaths and blasphemies. The _morbleus_, the _sang Dieus_,
+the _morts touts les diables_, crossed one another in the air.
+D’Artagnan looked for some tapestry behind which he might hide himself,
+and felt an immense inclination to crawl under the table.
+
+“Well, my Captain,” said Porthos, quite beside himself, “the truth is
+that we were six against six. But we were not captured by fair means;
+and before we had time to draw our swords, two of our party were dead,
+and Athos, grievously wounded, was very little better. For you know
+Athos. Well, Captain, he endeavored twice to get up, and fell again
+twice. And we did not surrender—no! They dragged us away by force. On
+the way we escaped. As for Athos, they believed him to be dead, and
+left him very quiet on the field of battle, not thinking it worth the
+trouble to carry him away. That’s the whole story. What the devil,
+Captain, one cannot win all one’s battles! The great Pompey lost that
+of Pharsalia; and Francis the First, who was, as I have heard say, as
+good as other folks, nevertheless lost the Battle of Pavia.”
+
+“And I have the honor of assuring you that I killed one of them with
+his own sword,” said Aramis; “for mine was broken at the first parry.
+Killed him, or poniarded him, sir, as is most agreeable to you.”
+
+“I did not know that,” replied M. de Tréville, in a somewhat softened
+tone. “The cardinal exaggerated, as I perceive.”
+
+“But pray, sir,” continued Aramis, who, seeing his captain become
+appeased, ventured to risk a prayer, “do not say that Athos is wounded.
+He would be in despair if that should come to the ears of the king; and
+as the wound is very serious, seeing that after crossing the shoulder
+it penetrates into the chest, it is to be feared—”
+
+At this instant the tapestry was raised and a noble and handsome head,
+but frightfully pale, appeared under the fringe.
+
+“Athos!” cried the two Musketeers.
+
+“Athos!” repeated M. de Tréville himself.
+
+“You have sent for me, sir,” said Athos to M. de Tréville, in a feeble
+yet perfectly calm voice, “you have sent for me, as my comrades inform
+me, and I have hastened to receive your orders. I am here; what do you
+want with me?”
+
+And at these words, the Musketeer, in irreproachable costume, belted as
+usual, with a tolerably firm step, entered the cabinet. M. de Tréville,
+moved to the bottom of his heart by this proof of courage, sprang
+toward him.
+
+“I was about to say to these gentlemen,” added he, “that I forbid my
+Musketeers to expose their lives needlessly; for brave men are very
+dear to the king, and the king knows that his Musketeers are the
+bravest on the earth. Your hand, Athos!”
+
+And without waiting for the answer of the newcomer to this proof of
+affection, M. de Tréville seized his right hand and pressed it with all
+his might, without perceiving that Athos, whatever might be his
+self-command, allowed a slight murmur of pain to escape him, and if
+possible, grew paler than he was before.
+
+The door had remained open, so strong was the excitement produced by
+the arrival of Athos, whose wound, though kept as a secret, was known
+to all. A burst of satisfaction hailed the last words of the captain;
+and two or three heads, carried away by the enthusiasm of the moment,
+appeared through the openings of the tapestry. M. de Tréville was about
+to reprehend this breach of the rules of etiquette, when he felt the
+hand of Athos, who had rallied all his energies to contend against
+pain, at length overcome by it, fell upon the floor as if he were dead.
+
+“A surgeon!” cried M. de Tréville, “mine! The king’s! The best! A
+surgeon! Or, s’blood, my brave Athos will die!”
+
+At the cries of M. de Tréville, the whole assemblage rushed into the
+cabinet, he not thinking to shut the door against anyone, and all
+crowded round the wounded man. But all this eager attention might have
+been useless if the doctor so loudly called for had not chanced to be
+in the hôtel. He pushed through the crowd, approached Athos, still
+insensible, and as all this noise and commotion inconvenienced him
+greatly, he required, as the first and most urgent thing, that the
+Musketeer should be carried into an adjoining chamber. Immediately M.
+de Tréville opened and pointed the way to Porthos and Aramis, who bore
+their comrade in their arms. Behind this group walked the surgeon; and
+behind the surgeon the door closed.
+
+The cabinet of M. de Tréville, generally held so sacred, became in an
+instant the annex of the antechamber. Everyone spoke, harangued, and
+vociferated, swearing, cursing, and consigning the cardinal and his
+Guards to all the devils.
+
+An instant after, Porthos and Aramis re-entered, the surgeon and M. de
+Tréville alone remaining with the wounded.
+
+At length, M. de Tréville himself returned. The injured man had
+recovered his senses. The surgeon declared that the situation of the
+Musketeer had nothing in it to render his friends uneasy, his weakness
+having been purely and simply caused by loss of blood.
+
+Then M. de Tréville made a sign with his hand, and all retired except
+D’Artagnan, who did not forget that he had an audience, and with the
+tenacity of a Gascon remained in his place.
+
+When all had gone out and the door was closed, M. de Tréville, on
+turning round, found himself alone with the young man. The event which
+had occurred had in some degree broken the thread of his ideas. He
+inquired what was the will of his persevering visitor. D’Artagnan then
+repeated his name, and in an instant recovering all his remembrances of
+the present and the past, M. de Tréville grasped the situation.
+
+“Pardon me,” said he, smiling, “pardon me my dear compatriot, but I had
+wholly forgotten you. But what help is there for it! A captain is
+nothing but a father of a family, charged with even a greater
+responsibility than the father of an ordinary family. Soldiers are big
+children; but as I maintain that the orders of the king, and more
+particularly the orders of the cardinal, should be executed—”
+
+D’Artagnan could not restrain a smile. By this smile M. de Tréville
+judged that he had not to deal with a fool, and changing the
+conversation, came straight to the point.
+
+“I respected your father very much,” said he. “What can I do for the
+son? Tell me quickly; my time is not my own.”
+
+“Monsieur,” said D’Artagnan, “on quitting Tarbes and coming hither, it
+was my intention to request of you, in remembrance of the friendship
+which you have not forgotten, the uniform of a Musketeer; but after all
+that I have seen during the last two hours, I comprehend that such a
+favor is enormous, and tremble lest I should not merit it.”
+
+“It is indeed a favor, young man,” replied M. de Tréville, “but it may
+not be so far beyond your hopes as you believe, or rather as you appear
+to believe. But his majesty’s decision is always necessary; and I
+inform you with regret that no one becomes a Musketeer without the
+preliminary ordeal of several campaigns, certain brilliant actions, or
+a service of two years in some other regiment less favored than ours.”
+
+D’Artagnan bowed without replying, feeling his desire to don the
+Musketeer’s uniform vastly increased by the great difficulties which
+preceded the attainment of it.
+
+“But,” continued M. de Tréville, fixing upon his compatriot a look so
+piercing that it might be said he wished to read the thoughts of his
+heart, “on account of my old companion, your father, as I have said, I
+will do something for you, young man. Our recruits from Béarn are not
+generally very rich, and I have no reason to think matters have much
+changed in this respect since I left the province. I dare say you have
+not brought too large a stock of money with you?”
+
+D’Artagnan drew himself up with a proud air which plainly said, “I ask
+alms of no man.”
+
+“Oh, that’s very well, young man,” continued M. de Tréville, “that’s
+all very well. I know these airs; I myself came to Paris with four
+crowns in my purse, and would have fought with anyone who dared to tell
+me I was not in a condition to purchase the Louvre.”
+
+D’Artagnan’s bearing became still more imposing. Thanks to the sale of
+his horse, he commenced his career with four more crowns than M. de
+Tréville possessed at the commencement of his.
+
+“You ought, I say, then, to husband the means you have, however large
+the sum may be; but you ought also to endeavor to perfect yourself in
+the exercises becoming a gentleman. I will write a letter today to the
+Director of the Royal Academy, and tomorrow he will admit you without
+any expense to yourself. Do not refuse this little service. Our
+best-born and richest gentlemen sometimes solicit it without being able
+to obtain it. You will learn horsemanship, swordsmanship in all its
+branches, and dancing. You will make some desirable acquaintances; and
+from time to time you can call upon me, just to tell me how you are
+getting on, and to say whether I can be of further service to you.”
+
+D’Artagnan, stranger as he was to all the manners of a court, could not
+but perceive a little coldness in this reception.
+
+“Alas, sir,” said he, “I cannot but perceive how sadly I miss the
+letter of introduction which my father gave me to present to you.”
+
+“I certainly am surprised,” replied M. de Tréville, “that you should
+undertake so long a journey without that necessary passport, the sole
+resource of us poor Béarnese.”
+
+“I had one, sir, and, thank God, such as I could wish,” cried
+D’Artagnan; “but it was perfidiously stolen from me.”
+
+He then related the adventure of Meung, described the unknown gentleman
+with the greatest minuteness, and all with a warmth and truthfulness
+that delighted M. de Tréville.
+
+“This is all very strange,” said M. de Tréville, after meditating a
+minute; “you mentioned my name, then, aloud?”
+
+“Yes, sir, I certainly committed that imprudence; but why should I have
+done otherwise? A name like yours must be as a buckler to me on my way.
+Judge if I should not put myself under its protection.”
+
+Flattery was at that period very current, and M. de Tréville loved
+incense as well as a king, or even a cardinal. He could not refrain
+from a smile of visible satisfaction; but this smile soon disappeared,
+and returning to the adventure of Meung, “Tell me,” continued he, “had
+not this gentlemen a slight scar on his cheek?”
+
+“Yes, such a one as would be made by the grazing of a ball.”
+
+“Was he not a fine-looking man?”
+
+“Yes.”
+
+“Of lofty stature.”
+
+“Yes.”
+
+“Of pale complexion and brown hair?”
+
+“Yes, yes, that is he; how is it, sir, that you are acquainted with
+this man? If I ever find him again—and I will find him, I swear, were
+it in hell!”
+
+“He was waiting for a woman,” continued Tréville.
+
+“He departed immediately after having conversed for a minute with her
+whom he awaited.”
+
+“You know not the subject of their conversation?”
+
+“He gave her a box, told her not to open it except in London.”
+
+“Was this woman English?”
+
+“He called her Milady.”
+
+“It is he; it must be he!” murmured Tréville. “I believed him still at
+Brussels.”
+
+“Oh, sir, if you know who this man is,” cried D’Artagnan, “tell me who
+he is, and whence he is. I will then release you from all your
+promises—even that of procuring my admission into the Musketeers; for
+before everything, I wish to avenge myself.”
+
+“Beware, young man!” cried Tréville. “If you see him coming on one side
+of the street, pass by on the other. Do not cast yourself against such
+a rock; he would break you like glass.”
+
+“That will not prevent me,” replied D’Artagnan, “if ever I find him.”
+
+“In the meantime,” said Tréville, “seek him not—if I have a right to
+advise you.”
+
+All at once the captain stopped, as if struck by a sudden suspicion.
+This great hatred which the young traveler manifested so loudly for
+this man, who—a rather improbable thing—had stolen his father’s letter
+from him—was there not some perfidy concealed under this hatred? Might
+not this young man be sent by his Eminence? Might he not have come for
+the purpose of laying a snare for him? This pretended D’Artagnan—was he
+not an emissary of the cardinal, whom the cardinal sought to introduce
+into Tréville’s house, to place near him, to win his confidence, and
+afterward to ruin him as had been done in a thousand other instances?
+He fixed his eyes upon D’Artagnan even more earnestly than before. He
+was moderately reassured, however, by the aspect of that countenance,
+full of astute intelligence and affected humility. “I know he is a
+Gascon,” reflected he, “but he may be one for the cardinal as well as
+for me. Let us try him.”
+
+“My friend,” said he, slowly, “I wish, as the son of an ancient
+friend—for I consider this story of the lost letter perfectly true—I
+wish, I say, in order to repair the coldness you may have remarked in
+my reception of you, to discover to you the secrets of our policy. The
+king and the cardinal are the best of friends; their apparent
+bickerings are only feints to deceive fools. I am not willing that a
+compatriot, a handsome cavalier, a brave youth, quite fit to make his
+way, should become the dupe of all these artifices and fall into the
+snare after the example of so many others who have been ruined by it.
+Be assured that I am devoted to both these all-powerful masters, and
+that my earnest endeavors have no other aim than the service of the
+king, and also the cardinal—one of the most illustrious geniuses that
+France has ever produced.
+
+“Now, young man, regulate your conduct accordingly; and if you
+entertain, whether from your family, your relations, or even from your
+instincts, any of these enmities which we see constantly breaking out
+against the cardinal, bid me adieu and let us separate. I will aid you
+in many ways, but without attaching you to my person. I hope that my
+frankness at least will make you my friend; for you are the only young
+man to whom I have hitherto spoken as I have done to you.”
+
+Tréville said to himself: “If the cardinal has set this young fox upon
+me, he will certainly not have failed—he, who knows how bitterly I
+execrate him—to tell his spy that the best means of making his court to
+me is to rail at him. Therefore, in spite of all my protestations, if
+it be as I suspect, my cunning gossip will assure me that he holds his
+Eminence in horror.”
+
+It, however, proved otherwise. D’Artagnan answered, with the greatest
+simplicity: “I came to Paris with exactly such intentions. My father
+advised me to stoop to nobody but the king, the cardinal, and
+yourself—whom he considered the first three personages in France.”
+
+D’Artagnan added M. de Tréville to the others, as may be perceived; but
+he thought this addition would do no harm.
+
+“I have the greatest veneration for the cardinal,” continued he, “and
+the most profound respect for his actions. So much the better for me,
+sir, if you speak to me, as you say, with frankness—for then you will
+do me the honor to esteem the resemblance of our opinions; but if you
+have entertained any doubt, as naturally you may, I feel that I am
+ruining myself by speaking the truth. But I still trust you will not
+esteem me the less for it, and that is my object beyond all others.”
+
+M. de Tréville was surprised to the greatest degree. So much
+penetration, so much frankness, created admiration, but did not
+entirely remove his suspicions. The more this young man was superior to
+others, the more he was to be dreaded if he meant to deceive him.
+Nevertheless, he pressed D’Artagnan’s hand, and said to him: “You are
+an honest youth; but at the present moment I can only do for you that
+which I just now offered. My hôtel will be always open to you.
+Hereafter, being able to ask for me at all hours, and consequently to
+take advantage of all opportunities, you will probably obtain that
+which you desire.”
+
+“That is to say,” replied D’Artagnan, “that you will wait until I have
+proved myself worthy of it. Well, be assured,” added he, with the
+familiarity of a Gascon, “you shall not wait long.” And he bowed in
+order to retire, and as if he considered the future in his own hands.
+
+“But wait a minute,” said M. de Tréville, stopping him. “I promised you
+a letter for the director of the Academy. Are you too proud to accept
+it, young gentleman?”
+
+“No, sir,” said D’Artagnan; “and I will guard it so carefully that I
+will be sworn it shall arrive at its address, and woe be to him who
+shall attempt to take it from me!”
+
+M. de Tréville smiled at this flourish; and leaving his young man
+compatriot in the embrasure of the window, where they had talked
+together, he seated himself at a table in order to write the promised
+letter of recommendation. While he was doing this, D’Artagnan, having
+no better employment, amused himself with beating a march upon the
+window and with looking at the Musketeers, who went away, one after
+another, following them with his eyes until they disappeared.
+
+M. de Tréville, after having written the letter, sealed it, and rising,
+approached the young man in order to give it to him. But at the very
+moment when D’Artagnan stretched out his hand to receive it, M. de
+Tréville was highly astonished to see his _protégé_ make a sudden
+spring, become crimson with passion, and rush from the cabinet crying,
+“S’blood, he shall not escape me this time!”
+
+“And who?” asked M. de Tréville.
+
+“He, my thief!” replied D’Artagnan. “Ah, the traitor!” and he
+disappeared.
+
+“The devil take the madman!” murmured M. de Tréville, “unless,” added
+he, “this is a cunning mode of escaping, seeing that he had failed in
+his purpose!”
+
+
+
+
+Chapter IV.
+THE SHOULDER OF ATHOS, THE BALDRIC OF PORTHOS AND THE HANDKERCHIEF OF
+ARAMIS
+
+
+D’Artagnan, in a state of fury, crossed the antechamber at three
+bounds, and was darting toward the stairs, which he reckoned upon
+descending four at a time, when, in his heedless course, he ran head
+foremost against a Musketeer who was coming out of one of M. de
+Tréville’s private rooms, and striking his shoulder violently, made him
+utter a cry, or rather a howl.
+
+“Excuse me,” said D’Artagnan, endeavoring to resume his course, “excuse
+me, but I am in a hurry.”
+
+Scarcely had he descended the first stair, when a hand of iron seized
+him by the belt and stopped him.
+
+“You are in a hurry?” said the Musketeer, as pale as a sheet. “Under
+that pretense you run against me! You say, ‘Excuse me,’ and you believe
+that is sufficient? Not at all, my young man. Do you fancy because you
+have heard Monsieur de Tréville speak to us a little cavalierly today
+that other people are to treat us as he speaks to us? Undeceive
+yourself, comrade, you are not Monsieur de Tréville.”
+
+“My faith!” replied D’Artagnan, recognizing Athos, who, after the
+dressing performed by the doctor, was returning to his own apartment.
+“I did not do it intentionally, and not doing it intentionally, I said
+‘Excuse me.’ It appears to me that this is quite enough. I repeat to
+you, however, and this time on my word of honor—I think perhaps too
+often—that I am in haste, great haste. Leave your hold, then, I beg of
+you, and let me go where my business calls me.”
+
+“Monsieur,” said Athos, letting him go, “you are not polite; it is easy
+to perceive that you come from a distance.”
+
+D’Artagnan had already strode down three or four stairs, but at Athos’s
+last remark he stopped short.
+
+“_Morbleu_, monsieur!” said he, “however far I may come, it is not you
+who can give me a lesson in good manners, I warn you.”
+
+“Perhaps,” said Athos.
+
+“Ah! If I were not in such haste, and if I were not running after
+someone,” said D’Artagnan.
+
+“Monsieur Man-in-a-hurry, you can find me without running—_me_, you
+understand?”
+
+“And where, I pray you?”
+
+“Near the Carmes-Deschaux.”
+
+“At what hour?”
+
+“About noon.”
+
+“About noon? That will do; I will be there.”
+
+“Endeavor not to make me wait; for at quarter past twelve I will cut
+off your ears as you run.”
+
+“Good!” cried D’Artagnan, “I will be there ten minutes before twelve.”
+And he set off running as if the devil possessed him, hoping that he
+might yet find the stranger, whose slow pace could not have carried him
+far.
+
+But at the street gate, Porthos was talking with the soldier on guard.
+Between the two talkers there was just enough room for a man to pass.
+D’Artagnan thought it would suffice for him, and he sprang forward like
+a dart between them. But D’Artagnan had reckoned without the wind. As
+he was about to pass, the wind blew out Porthos’s long cloak, and
+D’Artagnan rushed straight into the middle of it. Without doubt,
+Porthos had reasons for not abandoning this part of his vestments, for
+instead of quitting his hold on the flap in his hand, he pulled it
+toward him, so that D’Artagnan rolled himself up in the velvet by a
+movement of rotation explained by the persistency of Porthos.
+
+D’Artagnan, hearing the Musketeer swear, wished to escape from the
+cloak, which blinded him, and sought to find his way from under the
+folds of it. He was particularly anxious to avoid marring the freshness
+of the magnificent baldric we are acquainted with; but on timidly
+opening his eyes, he found himself with his nose fixed between the two
+shoulders of Porthos—that is to say, exactly upon the baldric.
+
+Alas, like most things in this world which have nothing in their favor
+but appearances, the baldric was glittering with gold in the front, but
+was nothing but simple buff behind. Vainglorious as he was, Porthos
+could not afford to have a baldric wholly of gold, but had at least
+half. One could comprehend the necessity of the cold and the urgency of
+the cloak.
+
+“Bless me!” cried Porthos, making strong efforts to disembarrass
+himself of D’Artagnan, who was wriggling about his back; “you must be
+mad to run against people in this manner.”
+
+“Excuse me,” said D’Artagnan, reappearing under the shoulder of the
+giant, “but I am in such haste—I was running after someone and—”
+
+“And do you always forget your eyes when you run?” asked Porthos.
+
+“No,” replied D’Artagnan, piqued, “and thanks to my eyes, I can see
+what other people cannot see.”
+
+Whether Porthos understood him or did not understand him, giving way to
+his anger, “Monsieur,” said he, “you stand a chance of getting
+chastised if you rub Musketeers in this fashion.”
+
+“Chastised, Monsieur!” said D’Artagnan, “the expression is strong.”
+
+“It is one that becomes a man accustomed to look his enemies in the
+face.”
+
+“Ah, _pardieu!_ I know full well that you don’t turn your back to
+yours.”
+
+And the young man, delighted with his joke, went away laughing loudly.
+
+Porthos foamed with rage, and made a movement to rush after D’Artagnan.
+
+“Presently, presently,” cried the latter, “when you haven’t your cloak
+on.”
+
+“At one o’clock, then, behind the Luxembourg.”
+
+“Very well, at one o’clock, then,” replied D’Artagnan, turning the
+angle of the street.
+
+But neither in the street he had passed through, nor in the one which
+his eager glance pervaded, could he see anyone; however slowly the
+stranger had walked, he was gone on his way, or perhaps had entered
+some house. D’Artagnan inquired of everyone he met with, went down to
+the ferry, came up again by the Rue de Seine, and the Red Cross; but
+nothing, absolutely nothing! This chase was, however, advantageous to
+him in one sense, for in proportion as the perspiration broke from his
+forehead, his heart began to cool.
+
+He began to reflect upon the events that had passed; they were numerous
+and inauspicious. It was scarcely eleven o’clock in the morning, and
+yet this morning had already brought him into disgrace with M. de
+Tréville, who could not fail to think the manner in which D’Artagnan
+had left him a little cavalier.
+
+Besides this, he had drawn upon himself two good duels with two men,
+each capable of killing three D’Artagnans—with two Musketeers, in
+short, with two of those beings whom he esteemed so greatly that he
+placed them in his mind and heart above all other men.
+
+The outlook was sad. Sure of being killed by Athos, it may easily be
+understood that the young man was not very uneasy about Porthos. As
+hope, however, is the last thing extinguished in the heart of man, he
+finished by hoping that he might survive, even though with terrible
+wounds, in both these duels; and in case of surviving, he made the
+following reprehensions upon his own conduct:
+
+“What a madcap I was, and what a stupid fellow I am! That brave and
+unfortunate Athos was wounded on that very shoulder against which I
+must run head foremost, like a ram. The only thing that astonishes me
+is that he did not strike me dead at once. He had good cause to do so;
+the pain I gave him must have been atrocious. As to Porthos—oh, as to
+Porthos, faith, that’s a droll affair!”
+
+And in spite of himself, the young man began to laugh aloud, looking
+round carefully, however, to see that his solitary laugh, without a
+cause in the eyes of passers-by, offended no one.
+
+“As to Porthos, that is certainly droll; but I am not the less a giddy
+fool. Are people to be run against without warning? No! And have I any
+right to go and peep under their cloaks to see what is not there? He
+would have pardoned me, he would certainly have pardoned me, if I had
+not said anything to him about that cursed baldric—in ambiguous words,
+it is true, but rather drolly ambiguous. Ah, cursed Gascon that I am, I
+get from one hobble into another. Friend D’Artagnan,” continued he,
+speaking to himself with all the amenity that he thought due himself,
+“if you escape, of which there is not much chance, I would advise you
+to practice perfect politeness for the future. You must henceforth be
+admired and quoted as a model of it. To be obliging and polite does not
+necessarily make a man a coward. Look at Aramis, now; Aramis is
+mildness and grace personified. Well, did anybody ever dream of calling
+Aramis a coward? No, certainly not, and from this moment I will
+endeavor to model myself after him. Ah! That’s strange! Here he is!”
+
+D’Artagnan, walking and soliloquizing, had arrived within a few steps
+of the hôtel d’Arguillon and in front of that hôtel perceived Aramis,
+chatting gaily with three gentlemen; but as he had not forgotten that
+it was in presence of this young man that M. de Tréville had been so
+angry in the morning, and as a witness of the rebuke the Musketeers had
+received was not likely to be at all agreeable, he pretended not to see
+him. D’Artagnan, on the contrary, quite full of his plans of
+conciliation and courtesy, approached the young men with a profound
+bow, accompanied by a most gracious smile. All four, besides,
+immediately broke off their conversation.
+
+D’Artagnan was not so dull as not to perceive that he was one too many;
+but he was not sufficiently broken into the fashions of the gay world
+to know how to extricate himself gallantly from a false position, like
+that of a man who begins to mingle with people he is scarcely
+acquainted with and in a conversation that does not concern him. He was
+seeking in his mind, then, for the least awkward means of retreat, when
+he remarked that Aramis had let his handkerchief fall, and by mistake,
+no doubt, had placed his foot upon it. This appeared to be a favorable
+opportunity to repair his intrusion. He stooped, and with the most
+gracious air he could assume, drew the handkerchief from under the foot
+of the Musketeer in spite of the efforts the latter made to detain it,
+and holding it out to him, said, “I believe, monsieur, that this is a
+handkerchief you would be sorry to lose?”
+
+The handkerchief was indeed richly embroidered, and had a coronet and
+arms at one of its corners. Aramis blushed excessively, and snatched
+rather than took the handkerchief from the hand of the Gascon.
+
+“Ah, ah!” cried one of the Guards, “will you persist in saying, most
+discreet Aramis, that you are not on good terms with Madame de
+Bois-Tracy, when that gracious lady has the kindness to lend you one of
+her handkerchiefs?”
+
+Aramis darted at D’Artagnan one of those looks which inform a man that
+he has acquired a mortal enemy. Then, resuming his mild air, “You are
+deceived, gentlemen,” said he, “this handkerchief is not mine, and I
+cannot fancy why Monsieur has taken it into his head to offer it to me
+rather than to one of you; and as a proof of what I say, here is mine
+in my pocket.”
+
+So saying, he pulled out his own handkerchief, likewise a very elegant
+handkerchief, and of fine cambric—though cambric was dear at the
+period—but a handkerchief without embroidery and without arms, only
+ornamented with a single cipher, that of its proprietor.
+
+This time D’Artagnan was not hasty. He perceived his mistake; but the
+friends of Aramis were not at all convinced by his denial, and one of
+them addressed the young Musketeer with affected seriousness. “If it
+were as you pretend it is,” said he, “I should be forced, my dear
+Aramis, to reclaim it myself; for, as you very well know, Bois-Tracy is
+an intimate friend of mine, and I cannot allow the property of his wife
+to be sported as a trophy.”
+
+“You make the demand badly,” replied Aramis; “and while acknowledging
+the justice of your reclamation, I refuse it on account of the form.”
+
+“The fact is,” hazarded D’Artagnan, timidly, “I did not see the
+handkerchief fall from the pocket of Monsieur Aramis. He had his foot
+upon it, that is all; and I thought from having his foot upon it the
+handkerchief was his.”
+
+“And you were deceived, my dear sir,” replied Aramis, coldly, very
+little sensible to the reparation. Then turning toward that one of the
+guards who had declared himself the friend of Bois-Tracy, “Besides,”
+continued he, “I have reflected, my dear intimate of Bois-Tracy, that I
+am not less tenderly his friend than you can possibly be; so that
+decidedly this handkerchief is as likely to have fallen from your
+pocket as mine.”
+
+“No, upon my honor!” cried his Majesty’s Guardsman.
+
+“You are about to swear upon your honor and I upon my word, and then it
+will be pretty evident that one of us will have lied. Now, here,
+Montaran, we will do better than that—let each take a half.”
+
+“Of the handkerchief?”
+
+“Yes.”
+
+“Perfectly just,” cried the other two Guardsmen, “the judgment of King
+Solomon! Aramis, you certainly are full of wisdom!”
+
+The young men burst into a laugh, and as may be supposed, the affair
+had no other sequel. In a moment or two the conversation ceased, and
+the three Guardsmen and the Musketeer, after having cordially shaken
+hands, separated, the Guardsmen going one way and Aramis another.
+
+“Now is my time to make peace with this gallant man,” said D’Artagnan
+to himself, having stood on one side during the whole of the latter
+part of the conversation; and with this good feeling drawing near to
+Aramis, who was departing without paying any attention to him,
+“Monsieur,” said he, “you will excuse me, I hope.”
+
+“Ah, monsieur,” interrupted Aramis, “permit me to observe to you that
+you have not acted in this affair as a gallant man ought.”
+
+“What, monsieur!” cried D’Artagnan, “and do you suppose—”
+
+“I suppose, monsieur, that you are not a fool, and that you knew very
+well, although coming from Gascony, that people do not tread upon
+handkerchiefs without a reason. What the devil! Paris is not paved with
+cambric!”
+
+“Monsieur, you act wrongly in endeavoring to mortify me,” said
+D’Artagnan, in whom the natural quarrelsome spirit began to speak more
+loudly than his pacific resolutions. “I am from Gascony, it is true;
+and since you know it, there is no occasion to tell you that Gascons
+are not very patient, so that when they have begged to be excused once,
+were it even for a folly, they are convinced that they have done
+already at least as much again as they ought to have done.”
+
+“Monsieur, what I say to you about the matter,” said Aramis, “is not
+for the sake of seeking a quarrel. Thank God, I am not a bravo! And
+being a Musketeer but for a time, I only fight when I am forced to do
+so, and always with great repugnance; but this time the affair is
+serious, for here is a lady compromised by you.”
+
+“By _us_, you mean!” cried D’Artagnan.
+
+“Why did you so maladroitly restore me the handkerchief?”
+
+“Why did you so awkwardly let it fall?”
+
+“I have said, monsieur, and I repeat, that the handkerchief did not
+fall from my pocket.”
+
+“And thereby you have lied twice, monsieur, for I saw it fall.”
+
+“Ah, you take it with that tone, do you, Master Gascon? Well, I will
+teach you how to behave yourself.”
+
+“And I will send you back to your Mass book, Master Abbé. Draw, if you
+please, and instantly—”
+
+“Not so, if you please, my good friend—not here, at least. Do you not
+perceive that we are opposite the Hôtel d’Arguillon, which is full of
+the cardinal’s creatures? How do I know that this is not his Eminence
+who has honored you with the commission to procure my head? Now, I
+entertain a ridiculous partiality for my head, it seems to suit my
+shoulders so correctly. I wish to kill you, be at rest as to that, but
+to kill you quietly in a snug, remote place, where you will not be able
+to boast of your death to anybody.”
+
+“I agree, monsieur; but do not be too confident. Take your
+handkerchief; whether it belongs to you or another, you may perhaps
+stand in need of it.”
+
+“Monsieur is a Gascon?” asked Aramis.
+
+“Yes. Monsieur does not postpone an interview through prudence?”
+
+“Prudence, monsieur, is a virtue sufficiently useless to Musketeers, I
+know, but indispensable to churchmen; and as I am only a Musketeer
+provisionally, I hold it good to be prudent. At two o’clock I shall
+have the honor of expecting you at the hôtel of Monsieur de Tréville.
+There I will indicate to you the best place and time.”
+
+The two young men bowed and separated, Aramis ascending the street
+which led to the Luxembourg, while D’Artagnan, perceiving the appointed
+hour was approaching, took the road to the Carmes-Deschaux, saying to
+himself, “Decidedly I can’t draw back; but at least, if I am killed, I
+shall be killed by a Musketeer.”
+
+
+
+
+Chapter V.
+THE KING’S MUSKETEERS AND THE CARDINAL’S GUARDS
+
+
+D’Artagnan was acquainted with nobody in Paris. He went therefore to
+his appointment with Athos without a second, determined to be satisfied
+with those his adversary should choose. Besides, his intention was
+formed to make the brave Musketeer all suitable apologies, but without
+meanness or weakness, fearing that might result from this duel which
+generally results from an affair of this kind, when a young and
+vigorous man fights with an adversary who is wounded and weakened—if
+conquered, he doubles the triumph of his antagonist; if a conqueror, he
+is accused of foul play and want of courage.
+
+Now, we must have badly painted the character of our adventure seeker,
+or our readers must have already perceived that D’Artagnan was not an
+ordinary man; therefore, while repeating to himself that his death was
+inevitable, he did not make up his mind to die quietly, as one less
+courageous and less restrained might have done in his place. He
+reflected upon the different characters of those with whom he was going
+to fight, and began to view his situation more clearly. He hoped, by
+means of loyal excuses, to make a friend of Athos, whose lordly air and
+austere bearing pleased him much. He flattered himself he should be
+able to frighten Porthos with the adventure of the baldric, which he
+might, if not killed upon the spot, relate to everybody a recital
+which, well managed, would cover Porthos with ridicule. As to the
+astute Aramis, he did not entertain much dread of him; and supposing he
+should be able to get so far, he determined to dispatch him in good
+style or at least, by hitting him in the face, as Cæsar recommended his
+soldiers do to those of Pompey, to damage forever the beauty of which
+he was so proud.
+
+In addition to this, D’Artagnan possessed that invincible stock of
+resolution which the counsels of his father had implanted in his heart:
+“Endure nothing from anyone but the king, the cardinal, and Monsieur de
+Tréville.” He flew, then, rather than walked, toward the convent of the
+Carmes Déchaussés, or rather Deschaux, as it was called at that period,
+a sort of building without a window, surrounded by barren fields—an
+accessory to the Preaux-Clercs, and which was generally employed as the
+place for the duels of men who had no time to lose.
+
+When D’Artagnan arrived in sight of the bare spot of ground which
+extended along the foot of the monastery, Athos had been waiting about
+five minutes, and twelve o’clock was striking. He was, then, as
+punctual as the Samaritan woman, and the most rigorous casuist with
+regard to duels could have nothing to say.
+
+Athos, who still suffered grievously from his wound, though it had been
+dressed anew by M. de Tréville’s surgeon, was seated on a post and
+waiting for his adversary with hat in hand, his feather even touching
+the ground.
+
+“Monsieur,” said Athos, “I have engaged two of my friends as seconds;
+but these two friends are not yet come, at which I am astonished, as it
+is not at all their custom.”
+
+“I have no seconds on my part, monsieur,” said D’Artagnan; “for having
+only arrived yesterday in Paris, I as yet know no one but Monsieur de
+Tréville, to whom I was recommended by my father, who has the honor to
+be, in some degree, one of his friends.”
+
+Athos reflected for an instant. “You know no one but Monsieur de
+Tréville?” he asked.
+
+“Yes, monsieur, I know only him.”
+
+“Well, but then,” continued Athos, speaking half to himself, “if I kill
+you, I shall have the air of a boy-slayer.”
+
+“Not too much so,” replied D’Artagnan, with a bow that was not
+deficient in dignity, “since you do me the honor to draw a sword with
+me while suffering from a wound which is very inconvenient.”
+
+“Very inconvenient, upon my word; and you hurt me devilishly, I can
+tell you. But I will take the left hand—it is my custom in such
+circumstances. Do not fancy that I do you a favor; I use either hand
+easily. And it will be even a disadvantage to you; a left-handed man is
+very troublesome to people who are not prepared for it. I regret I did
+not inform you sooner of this circumstance.”
+
+“You have truly, monsieur,” said D’Artagnan, bowing again, “a courtesy,
+for which, I assure you, I am very grateful.”
+
+“You confuse me,” replied Athos, with his gentlemanly air; “let us talk
+of something else, if you please. Ah, s’blood, how you have hurt me! My
+shoulder quite burns.”
+
+“If you would permit me—” said D’Artagnan, with timidity.
+
+“What, monsieur?”
+
+“I have a miraculous balsam for wounds—a balsam given to me by my
+mother and of which I have made a trial upon myself.”
+
+“Well?”
+
+“Well, I am sure that in less than three days this balsam would cure
+you; and at the end of three days, when you would be cured—well, sir,
+it would still do me a great honor to be your man.”
+
+D’Artagnan spoke these words with a simplicity that did honor to his
+courtesy, without throwing the least doubt upon his courage.
+
+“_Pardieu_, monsieur!” said Athos, “that’s a proposition that pleases
+me; not that I can accept it, but a league off it savors of the
+gentleman. Thus spoke and acted the gallant knights of the time of
+Charlemagne, in whom every cavalier ought to seek his model.
+Unfortunately, we do not live in the times of the great emperor, we
+live in the times of the cardinal; and three days hence, however well
+the secret might be guarded, it would be known, I say, that we were to
+fight, and our combat would be prevented. I think these fellows will
+never come.”
+
+“If you are in haste, monsieur,” said D’Artagnan, with the same
+simplicity with which a moment before he had proposed to him to put off
+the duel for three days, “and if it be your will to dispatch me at
+once, do not inconvenience yourself, I pray you.”
+
+“There is another word which pleases me,” cried Athos, with a gracious
+nod to D’Artagnan. “That did not come from a man without a heart.
+Monsieur, I love men of your kidney; and I foresee plainly that if we
+don’t kill each other, I shall hereafter have much pleasure in your
+conversation. We will wait for these gentlemen, so please you; I have
+plenty of time, and it will be more correct. Ah, here is one of them, I
+believe.”
+
+In fact, at the end of the Rue Vaugirard the gigantic Porthos appeared.
+
+“What!” cried D’Artagnan, “is your first witness Monsieur Porthos?”
+
+“Yes, that disturbs you?”
+
+“By no means.”
+
+“And here is the second.”
+
+D’Artagnan turned in the direction pointed to by Athos, and perceived
+Aramis.
+
+“What!” cried he, in an accent of greater astonishment than before,
+“your second witness is Monsieur Aramis?”
+
+“Doubtless! Are you not aware that we are never seen one without the
+others, and that we are called among the Musketeers and the Guards, at
+court and in the city, Athos, Porthos, and Aramis, or the Three
+Inseparables? And yet, as you come from Dax or Pau—”
+
+“From Tarbes,” said D’Artagnan.
+
+“It is probable you are ignorant of this little fact,” said Athos.
+
+“My faith!” replied D’Artagnan, “you are well named, gentlemen; and my
+adventure, if it should make any noise, will prove at least that your
+union is not founded upon contrasts.”
+
+In the meantime, Porthos had come up, waved his hand to Athos, and then
+turning toward D’Artagnan, stood quite astonished.
+
+Let us say in passing that he had changed his baldric and relinquished
+his cloak.
+
+“Ah, ah!” said he, “what does this mean?”
+
+“This is the gentleman I am going to fight with,” said Athos, pointing
+to D’Artagnan with his hand and saluting him with the same gesture.
+
+“Why, it is with him I am also going to fight,” said Porthos.
+
+“But not before one o’clock,” replied D’Artagnan.
+
+“And I also am to fight with this gentleman,” said Aramis, coming in
+his turn onto the place.
+
+“But not until two o’clock,” said D’Artagnan, with the same calmness.
+
+“But what are you going to fight about, Athos?” asked Aramis.
+
+“Faith! I don’t very well know. He hurt my shoulder. And you, Porthos?”
+
+“Faith! I am going to fight—because I am going to fight,” answered
+Porthos, reddening.
+
+Athos, whose keen eye lost nothing, perceived a faintly sly smile pass
+over the lips of the young Gascon as he replied, “We had a short
+discussion upon dress.”
+
+“And you, Aramis?” asked Athos.
+
+“Oh, ours is a theological quarrel,” replied Aramis, making a sign to
+D’Artagnan to keep secret the cause of their duel.
+
+Athos indeed saw a second smile on the lips of D’Artagnan.
+
+“Indeed?” said Athos.
+
+“Yes; a passage of St. Augustine, upon which we could not agree,” said
+the Gascon.
+
+“Decidedly, this is a clever fellow,” murmured Athos.
+
+“And now you are assembled, gentlemen,” said D’Artagnan, “permit me to
+offer you my apologies.”
+
+At this word _apologies_, a cloud passed over the brow of Athos, a
+haughty smile curled the lip of Porthos, and a negative sign was the
+reply of Aramis.
+
+“You do not understand me, gentlemen,” said D’Artagnan, throwing up his
+head, the sharp and bold lines of which were at the moment gilded by a
+bright ray of the sun. “I asked to be excused in case I should not be
+able to discharge my debt to all three; for Monsieur Athos has the
+right to kill me first, which must much diminish the face-value of your
+bill, Monsieur Porthos, and render yours almost null, Monsieur Aramis.
+And now, gentlemen, I repeat, excuse me, but on that account only,
+and—on guard!”
+
+At these words, with the most gallant air possible, D’Artagnan drew his
+sword.
+
+The blood had mounted to the head of D’Artagnan, and at that moment he
+would have drawn his sword against all the Musketeers in the kingdom as
+willingly as he now did against Athos, Porthos, and Aramis.
+
+It was a quarter past midday. The sun was in its zenith, and the spot
+chosen for the scene of the duel was exposed to its full ardor.
+
+“It is very hot,” said Athos, drawing his sword in its turn, “and yet I
+cannot take off my doublet; for I just now felt my wound begin to bleed
+again, and I should not like to annoy Monsieur with the sight of blood
+which he has not drawn from me himself.”
+
+“That is true, Monsieur,” replied D’Artagnan, “and whether drawn by
+myself or another, I assure you I shall always view with regret the
+blood of so brave a gentleman. I will therefore fight in my doublet,
+like yourself.”
+
+“Come, come, enough of such compliments!” cried Porthos. “Remember, we
+are waiting for our turns.”
+
+“Speak for yourself when you are inclined to utter such incongruities,”
+interrupted Aramis. “For my part, I think what they say is very well
+said, and quite worthy of two gentlemen.”
+
+“When you please, monsieur,” said Athos, putting himself on guard.
+
+“I waited your orders,” said D’Artagnan, crossing swords.
+
+But scarcely had the two rapiers clashed, when a company of the Guards
+of his Eminence, commanded by M. de Jussac, turned the corner of the
+convent.
+
+“The cardinal’s Guards!” cried Aramis and Porthos at the same time.
+“Sheathe your swords, gentlemen, sheathe your swords!”
+
+But it was too late. The two combatants had been seen in a position
+which left no doubt of their intentions.
+
+“Halloo!” cried Jussac, advancing toward them and making a sign to his
+men to do so likewise, “halloo, Musketeers? Fighting here, are you? And
+the edicts? What is become of them?”
+
+“You are very generous, gentlemen of the Guards,” said Athos, full of
+rancor, for Jussac was one of the aggressors of the preceding day. “If
+we were to see you fighting, I can assure you that we would make no
+effort to prevent you. Leave us alone, then, and you will enjoy a
+little amusement without cost to yourselves.”
+
+“Gentlemen,” said Jussac, “it is with great regret that I pronounce the
+thing impossible. Duty before everything. Sheathe, then, if you please,
+and follow us.”
+
+“Monsieur,” said Aramis, parodying Jussac, “it would afford us great
+pleasure to obey your polite invitation if it depended upon ourselves;
+but unfortunately the thing is impossible—Monsieur de Tréville has
+forbidden it. Pass on your way, then; it is the best thing to do.”
+
+This raillery exasperated Jussac. “We will charge upon you, then,” said
+he, “if you disobey.”
+
+“There are five of them,” said Athos, half aloud, “and we are but
+three; we shall be beaten again, and must die on the spot, for, on my
+part, I declare I will never appear again before the captain as a
+conquered man.”
+
+Athos, Porthos, and Aramis instantly drew near one another, while
+Jussac drew up his soldiers.
+
+This short interval was sufficient to determine D’Artagnan on the part
+he was to take. It was one of those events which decide the life of a
+man; it was a choice between the king and the cardinal—the choice made,
+it must be persisted in. To fight, that was to disobey the law, that
+was to risk his head, that was to make at one blow an enemy of a
+minister more powerful than the king himself. All this the young man
+perceived, and yet, to his praise we speak it, he did not hesitate a
+second. Turning towards Athos and his friends, “Gentlemen,” said he,
+“allow me to correct your words, if you please. You said you were but
+three, but it appears to me we are four.”
+
+“But you are not one of us,” said Porthos.
+
+“That’s true,” replied D’Artagnan; “I have not the uniform, but I have
+the spirit. My heart is that of a Musketeer; I feel it, monsieur, and
+that impels me on.”
+
+“Withdraw, young man,” cried Jussac, who doubtless, by his gestures and
+the expression of his countenance, had guessed D’Artagnan’s design.
+“You may retire; we consent to that. Save your skin; begone quickly.”
+
+D’Artagnan did not budge.
+
+“Decidedly, you are a brave fellow,” said Athos, pressing the young
+man’s hand.
+
+“Come, come, choose your part,” replied Jussac.
+
+“Well,” said Porthos to Aramis, “we must do something.”
+
+“Monsieur is full of generosity,” said Athos.
+
+But all three reflected upon the youth of D’Artagnan, and dreaded his
+inexperience.
+
+“We should only be three, one of whom is wounded, with the addition of
+a boy,” resumed Athos; “and yet it will not be the less said we were
+four men.”
+
+“Yes, but to yield!” said Porthos.
+
+“That _is_ difficult,” replied Athos.
+
+D’Artagnan comprehended their irresolution.
+
+“Try me, gentlemen,” said he, “and I swear to you by my honor that I
+will not go hence if we are conquered.”
+
+“What is your name, my brave fellow?” said Athos.
+
+“D’Artagnan, monsieur.”
+
+“Well, then, Athos, Porthos, Aramis, and D’Artagnan, forward!” cried
+Athos.
+
+“Come, gentlemen, have you decided?” cried Jussac for the third time.
+
+“It is done, gentlemen,” said Athos.
+
+“And what is your choice?” asked Jussac.
+
+“We are about to have the honor of charging you,” replied Aramis,
+lifting his hat with one hand and drawing his sword with the other.
+
+“Ah! You resist, do you?” cried Jussac.
+
+“S’blood; does that astonish you?”
+
+And the nine combatants rushed upon each other with a fury which
+however did not exclude a certain degree of method.
+
+Athos fixed upon a certain Cahusac, a favorite of the cardinal’s.
+Porthos had Bicarat, and Aramis found himself opposed to two
+adversaries. As to D’Artagnan, he sprang toward Jussac himself.
+
+The heart of the young Gascon beat as if it would burst through his
+side—not from fear, God be thanked, he had not the shade of it, but
+with emulation; he fought like a furious tiger, turning ten times round
+his adversary, and changing his ground and his guard twenty times.
+Jussac was, as was then said, a fine blade, and had had much practice;
+nevertheless it required all his skill to defend himself against an
+adversary who, active and energetic, departed every instant from
+received rules, attacking him on all sides at once, and yet parrying
+like a man who had the greatest respect for his own epidermis.
+
+This contest at length exhausted Jussac’s patience. Furious at being
+held in check by one whom he had considered a boy, he became warm and
+began to make mistakes. D’Artagnan, who though wanting in practice had
+a sound theory, redoubled his agility. Jussac, anxious to put an end to
+this, springing forward, aimed a terrible thrust at his adversary, but
+the latter parried it; and while Jussac was recovering himself, glided
+like a serpent beneath his blade, and passed his sword through his
+body. Jussac fell like a dead mass.
+
+D’Artagnan then cast an anxious and rapid glance over the field of
+battle.
+
+Aramis had killed one of his adversaries, but the other pressed him
+warmly. Nevertheless, Aramis was in a good situation, and able to
+defend himself.
+
+Bicarat and Porthos had just made counterhits. Porthos had received a
+thrust through his arm, and Bicarat one through his thigh. But neither
+of these two wounds was serious, and they only fought more earnestly.
+
+Athos, wounded anew by Cahusac, became evidently paler, but did not
+give way a foot. He only changed his sword hand, and fought with his
+left hand.
+
+According to the laws of dueling at that period, D’Artagnan was at
+liberty to assist whom he pleased. While he was endeavoring to find out
+which of his companions stood in greatest need, he caught a glance from
+Athos. The glance was of sublime eloquence. Athos would have died
+rather than appeal for help; but he could look, and with that look ask
+assistance. D’Artagnan interpreted it; with a terrible bound he sprang
+to the side of Cahusac, crying, “To me, Monsieur Guardsman; I will slay
+you!”
+
+Cahusac turned. It was time; for Athos, whose great courage alone
+supported him, sank upon his knee.
+
+“S’blood!” cried he to D’Artagnan, “do not kill him, young man, I beg
+of you. I have an old affair to settle with him when I am cured and
+sound again. Disarm him only—make sure of his sword. That’s it! Very
+well done!”
+
+The exclamation was drawn from Athos by seeing the sword of Cahusac fly
+twenty paces from him. D’Artagnan and Cahusac sprang forward at the
+same instant, the one to recover, the other to obtain, the sword; but
+D’Artagnan, being the more active, reached it first and placed his foot
+upon it.
+
+Cahusac immediately ran to the Guardsman whom Aramis had killed, seized
+his rapier, and returned toward D’Artagnan; but on his way he met
+Athos, who during his relief which D’Artagnan had procured him had
+recovered his breath, and who, for fear that D’Artagnan would kill his
+enemy, wished to resume the fight.
+
+D’Artagnan perceived that it would be disobliging Athos not to leave
+him alone; and in a few minutes Cahusac fell, with a sword thrust
+through his throat.
+
+At the same instant Aramis placed his sword point on the breast of his
+fallen enemy, and forced him to ask for mercy.
+
+There only then remained Porthos and Bicarat. Porthos made a thousand
+flourishes, asking Bicarat what o’clock it could be, and offering him
+his compliments upon his brother’s having just obtained a company in
+the regiment of Navarre; but, jest as he might, he gained nothing.
+Bicarat was one of those iron men who never fell dead.
+
+Nevertheless, it was necessary to finish. The watch might come up and
+take all the combatants, wounded or not, royalists or cardinalists.
+Athos, Aramis, and D’Artagnan surrounded Bicarat, and required him to
+surrender. Though alone against all and with a wound in his thigh,
+Bicarat wished to hold out; but Jussac, who had risen upon his elbow,
+cried out to him to yield. Bicarat was a Gascon, as D’Artagnan was; he
+turned a deaf ear, and contented himself with laughing, and between two
+parries finding time to point to a spot of earth with his sword,
+“Here,” cried he, parodying a verse of the Bible, “here will Bicarat
+die; for I only am left, and they seek my life.”
+
+“But there are four against you; leave off, I command you.”
+
+“Ah, if you command me, that’s another thing,” said Bicarat. “As you
+are my commander, it is my duty to obey.” And springing backward, he
+broke his sword across his knee to avoid the necessity of surrendering
+it, threw the pieces over the convent wall, and crossed his arms,
+whistling a cardinalist air.
+
+Bravery is always respected, even in an enemy. The Musketeers saluted
+Bicarat with their swords, and returned them to their sheaths.
+D’Artagnan did the same. Then, assisted by Bicarat, the only one left
+standing, they bore Jussac, Cahusac, and one of Aramis’s adversaries
+who was only wounded, under the porch of the convent. The fourth, as we
+have said, was dead. They then rang the bell, and carrying away four
+swords out of five, they took their road, intoxicated with joy, toward
+the hôtel of M. de Tréville.
+
+They walked arm in arm, occupying the whole width of the street and
+taking in every Musketeer they met, so that in the end it became a
+triumphal march. The heart of D’Artagnan swam in delirium; he marched
+between Athos and Porthos, pressing them tenderly.
+
+“If I am not yet a Musketeer,” said he to his new friends, as he passed
+through the gateway of M. de Tréville’s hôtel, “at least I have entered
+upon my apprenticeship, haven’t I?”
+
+
+
+
+Chapter VI.
+HIS MAJESTY KING LOUIS XIII.
+
+
+This affair made a great noise. M. de Tréville scolded his Musketeers
+in public, and congratulated them in private; but as no time was to be
+lost in gaining the king, M. de Tréville hastened to report himself at
+the Louvre. It was already too late. The king was closeted with the
+cardinal, and M. de Tréville was informed that the king was busy and
+could not receive him at that moment. In the evening M. de Tréville
+attended the king’s gaming table. The king was winning; and as he was
+very avaricious, he was in an excellent humor. Perceiving M. de
+Tréville at a distance—
+
+“Come here, Monsieur Captain,” said he, “come here, that I may growl at
+you. Do you know that his Eminence has been making fresh complaints
+against your Musketeers, and that with so much emotion, that this
+evening his Eminence is indisposed? Ah, these Musketeers of yours are
+very devils—fellows to be hanged.”
+
+“No, sire,” replied Tréville, who saw at the first glance how things
+would go, “on the contrary, they are good creatures, as meek as lambs,
+and have but one desire, I’ll be their warranty. And that is that their
+swords may never leave their scabbards but in your majesty’s service.
+But what are they to do? The Guards of Monsieur the Cardinal are
+forever seeking quarrels with them, and for the honor of the corps
+even, the poor young men are obliged to defend themselves.”
+
+“Listen to Monsieur de Tréville,” said the king; “listen to him! Would
+not one say he was speaking of a religious community? In truth, my dear
+Captain, I have a great mind to take away your commission and give it
+to Mademoiselle de Chemerault, to whom I promised an abbey. But don’t
+fancy that I am going to take you on your bare word. I am called Louis
+the Just, Monsieur de Tréville, and by and by, by and by we will see.”
+
+“Ah, sire; it is because I confide in that justice that I shall wait
+patiently and quietly the good pleasure of your Majesty.”
+
+“Wait, then, monsieur, wait,” said the king; “I will not detain you
+long.”
+
+In fact, fortune changed; and as the king began to lose what he had
+won, he was not sorry to find an excuse for playing Charlemagne—if we
+may use a gaming phrase of whose origin we confess our ignorance. The
+king therefore arose a minute after, and putting the money which lay
+before him into his pocket, the major part of which arose from his
+winnings, “La Vieuville,” said he, “take my place; I must speak to
+Monsieur de Tréville on an affair of importance. Ah, I had eighty louis
+before me; put down the same sum, so that they who have lost may have
+nothing to complain of. Justice before everything.”
+
+Then turning toward M. de Tréville and walking with him toward the
+embrasure of a window, “Well, monsieur,” continued he, “you say it is
+his Eminence’s Guards who have sought a quarrel with your Musketeers?”
+
+“Yes, sire, as they always do.”
+
+“And how did the thing happen? Let us see, for you know, my dear
+Captain, a judge must hear both sides.”
+
+“Good Lord! In the most simple and natural manner possible. Three of my
+best soldiers, whom your Majesty knows by name, and whose devotedness
+you have more than once appreciated, and who have, I dare affirm to the
+king, his service much at heart—three of my best soldiers, I say,
+Athos, Porthos, and Aramis, had made a party of pleasure with a young
+fellow from Gascony, whom I had introduced to them the same morning.
+The party was to take place at St. Germain, I believe, and they had
+appointed to meet at the Carmes-Deschaux, when they were disturbed by
+de Jussac, Cahusac, Bicarat, and two other Guardsmen, who certainly did
+not go there in such a numerous company without some ill intention
+against the edicts.”
+
+“Ah, ah! You incline me to think so,” said the king. “There is no doubt
+they went thither to fight themselves.”
+
+“I do not accuse them, sire; but I leave your Majesty to judge what
+five armed men could possibly be going to do in such a deserted place
+as the neighborhood of the Convent des Carmes.”
+
+“Yes, you are right, Tréville, you are right!”
+
+“Then, upon seeing my Musketeers they changed their minds, and forgot
+their private hatred for partisan hatred; for your Majesty cannot be
+ignorant that the Musketeers, who belong to the king and nobody but the
+king, are the natural enemies of the Guardsmen, who belong to the
+cardinal.”
+
+“Yes, Tréville, yes,” said the king, in a melancholy tone; “and it is
+very sad, believe me, to see thus two parties in France, two heads to
+royalty. But all this will come to an end, Tréville, will come to an
+end. You say, then, that the Guardsmen sought a quarrel with the
+Musketeers?”
+
+“I say that it is probable that things have fallen out so, but I will
+not swear to it, sire. You know how difficult it is to discover the
+truth; and unless a man be endowed with that admirable instinct which
+causes Louis XIII. to be named the Just—”
+
+“You are right, Tréville; but they were not alone, your Musketeers.
+They had a youth with them?”
+
+“Yes, sire, and one wounded man; so that three of the king’s
+Musketeers—one of whom was wounded—and a youth not only maintained
+their ground against five of the most terrible of the cardinal’s
+Guardsmen, but absolutely brought four of them to earth.”
+
+“Why, this is a victory!” cried the king, all radiant, “a complete
+victory!”
+
+“Yes, sire; as complete as that of the Bridge of Ce.”
+
+“Four men, one of them wounded, and a youth, say you?”
+
+“One hardly a young man; but who, however, behaved himself so admirably
+on this occasion that I will take the liberty of recommending him to
+your Majesty.”
+
+“How does he call himself?”
+
+“D’Artagnan, sire; he is the son of one of my oldest friends—the son of
+a man who served under the king your father, of glorious memory, in the
+civil war.”
+
+“And you say this young man behaved himself well? Tell me how,
+Tréville—you know how I delight in accounts of war and fighting.”
+
+And Louis XIII. twisted his mustache proudly, placing his hand upon his
+hip.
+
+“Sire,” resumed Tréville, “as I told you, Monsieur d’Artagnan is little
+more than a boy; and as he has not the honor of being a Musketeer, he
+was dressed as a citizen. The Guards of the cardinal, perceiving his
+youth and that he did not belong to the corps, invited him to retire
+before they attacked.”
+
+“So you may plainly see, Tréville,” interrupted the king, “it was they
+who attacked?”
+
+“That is true, sire; there can be no more doubt on that head. They
+called upon him then to retire; but he answered that he was a Musketeer
+at heart, entirely devoted to your Majesty, and that therefore he would
+remain with Messieurs the Musketeers.”
+
+“Brave young man!” murmured the king.
+
+“Well, he did remain with them; and your Majesty has in him so firm a
+champion that it was he who gave Jussac the terrible sword thrust which
+has made the cardinal so angry.”
+
+“He who wounded Jussac!” cried the king, “he, a boy! Tréville, that’s
+impossible!”
+
+“It is as I have the honor to relate it to your Majesty.”
+
+“Jussac, one of the first swordsmen in the kingdom?”
+
+“Well, sire, for once he found his master.”
+
+“I will see this young man, Tréville—I will see him; and if anything
+can be done—well, we will make it our business.”
+
+“When will your Majesty deign to receive him?”
+
+“Tomorrow, at midday, Tréville.”
+
+“Shall I bring him alone?”
+
+“No, bring me all four together. I wish to thank them all at once.
+Devoted men are so rare, Tréville, by the back staircase. It is useless
+to let the cardinal know.”
+
+“Yes, sire.”
+
+“You understand, Tréville—an edict is still an edict, it is forbidden
+to fight, after all.”
+
+“But this encounter, sire, is quite out of the ordinary conditions of a
+duel. It is a brawl; and the proof is that there were five of the
+cardinal’s Guardsmen against my three Musketeers and Monsieur
+d’Artagnan.”
+
+“That is true,” said the king; “but never mind, Tréville, come still by
+the back staircase.”
+
+Tréville smiled; but as it was indeed something to have prevailed upon
+this child to rebel against his master, he saluted the king
+respectfully, and with this agreement, took leave of him.
+
+That evening the three Musketeers were informed of the honor accorded
+them. As they had long been acquainted with the king, they were not
+much excited; but D’Artagnan, with his Gascon imagination, saw in it
+his future fortune, and passed the night in golden dreams. By eight
+o’clock in the morning he was at the apartment of Athos.
+
+D’Artagnan found the Musketeer dressed and ready to go out. As the hour
+to wait upon the king was not till twelve, he had made a party with
+Porthos and Aramis to play a game at tennis in a tennis court situated
+near the stables of the Luxembourg. Athos invited D’Artagnan to follow
+them; and although ignorant of the game, which he had never played, he
+accepted, not knowing what to do with his time from nine o’clock in the
+morning, as it then scarcely was, till twelve.
+
+The two Musketeers were already there, and were playing together.
+Athos, who was very expert in all bodily exercises, passed with
+D’Artagnan to the opposite side and challenged them; but at the first
+effort he made, although he played with his left hand, he found that
+his wound was yet too recent to allow of such exertion. D’Artagnan
+remained, therefore, alone; and as he declared he was too ignorant of
+the game to play it regularly they only continued giving balls to one
+another without counting. But one of these balls, launched by Porthos’
+herculean hand, passed so close to D’Artagnan’s face that he thought
+that if, instead of passing near, it had hit him, his audience would
+have been probably lost, as it would have been impossible for him to
+present himself before the king. Now, as upon this audience, in his
+Gascon imagination, depended his future life, he saluted Aramis and
+Porthos politely, declaring that he would not resume the game until he
+should be prepared to play with them on more equal terms, and went and
+took his place near the cord and in the gallery.
+
+Unfortunately for D’Artagnan, among the spectators was one of his
+Eminence’s Guardsmen, who, still irritated by the defeat of his
+companions, which had happened only the day before, had promised
+himself to seize the first opportunity of avenging it. He believed this
+opportunity was now come and addressed his neighbor: “It is not
+astonishing that that young man should be afraid of a ball, for he is
+doubtless a Musketeer apprentice.”
+
+D’Artagnan turned round as if a serpent had stung him, and fixed his
+eyes intensely upon the Guardsman who had just made this insolent
+speech.
+
+“_Pardieu_,” resumed the latter, twisting his mustache, “look at me as
+long as you like, my little gentleman! I have said what I have said.”
+
+“And as since that which you have said is too clear to require any
+explanation,” replied D’Artagnan, in a low voice, “I beg you to follow
+me.”
+
+“And when?” asked the Guardsman, with the same jeering air.
+
+“At once, if you please.”
+
+“And you know who I am, without doubt?”
+
+“I? I am completely ignorant; nor does it much disquiet me.”
+
+“You’re in the wrong there; for if you knew my name, perhaps you would
+not be so pressing.”
+
+“What is your name?”
+
+“Bernajoux, at your service.”
+
+“Well, then, Monsieur Bernajoux,” said D’Artagnan, tranquilly, “I will
+wait for you at the door.”
+
+“Go, monsieur, I will follow you.”
+
+“Do not hurry yourself, monsieur, lest it be observed that we go out
+together. You must be aware that for our undertaking, company would be
+in the way.”
+
+“That’s true,” said the Guardsman, astonished that his name had not
+produced more effect upon the young man.
+
+Indeed, the name of Bernajoux was known to all the world, D’Artagnan
+alone excepted, perhaps; for it was one of those which figured most
+frequently in the daily brawls which all the edicts of the cardinal
+could not repress.
+
+Porthos and Aramis were so engaged with their game, and Athos was
+watching them with so much attention, that they did not even perceive
+their young companion go out, who, as he had told the Guardsman of his
+Eminence, stopped outside the door. An instant after, the Guardsman
+descended in his turn. As D’Artagnan had no time to lose, on account of
+the audience of the king, which was fixed for midday, he cast his eyes
+around, and seeing that the street was empty, said to his adversary,
+“My faith! It is fortunate for you, although your name is Bernajoux, to
+have only to deal with an apprentice Musketeer. Never mind; be content,
+I will do my best. On guard!”
+
+“But,” said he whom D’Artagnan thus provoked, “it appears to me that
+this place is badly chosen, and that we should be better behind the
+Abbey St. Germain or in the Pré-aux-Clercs.”
+
+“What you say is full of sense,” replied D’Artagnan; “but unfortunately
+I have very little time to spare, having an appointment at twelve
+precisely. On guard, then, monsieur, on guard!”
+
+Bernajoux was not a man to have such a compliment paid to him twice. In
+an instant his sword glittered in his hand, and he sprang upon his
+adversary, whom, thanks to his great youthfulness, he hoped to
+intimidate.
+
+But D’Artagnan had on the preceding day served his apprenticeship.
+Fresh sharpened by his victory, full of hopes of future favor, he was
+resolved not to recoil a step. So the two swords were crossed close to
+the hilts, and as D’Artagnan stood firm, it was his adversary who made
+the retreating step; but D’Artagnan seized the moment at which, in this
+movement, the sword of Bernajoux deviated from the line. He freed his
+weapon, made a lunge, and touched his adversary on the shoulder.
+D’Artagnan immediately made a step backward and raised his sword; but
+Bernajoux cried out that it was nothing, and rushing blindly upon him,
+absolutely spitted himself upon D’Artagnan’s sword. As, however, he did
+not fall, as he did not declare himself conquered, but only broke away
+toward the hôtel of M. de la Trémouille, in whose service he had a
+relative, D’Artagnan was ignorant of the seriousness of the last wound
+his adversary had received, and pressing him warmly, without doubt
+would soon have completed his work with a third blow, when the noise
+which arose from the street being heard in the tennis court, two of the
+friends of the Guardsman, who had seen him go out after exchanging some
+words with D’Artagnan, rushed, sword in hand, from the court, and fell
+upon the conqueror. But Athos, Porthos, and Aramis quickly appeared in
+their turn, and the moment the two Guardsmen attacked their young
+companion, drove them back. Bernajoux now fell, and as the Guardsmen
+were only two against four, they began to cry, “To the rescue! The
+Hôtel de la Trémouille!” At these cries, all who were in the hôtel
+rushed out and fell upon the four companions, who on their side cried
+aloud, “To the rescue, Musketeers!”
+
+This cry was generally heeded; for the Musketeers were known to be
+enemies of the cardinal, and were beloved on account of the hatred they
+bore to his Eminence. Thus the soldiers of other companies than those
+which belonged to the Red Duke, as Aramis had called him, often took
+part with the king’s Musketeers in these quarrels. Of three Guardsmen
+of the company of M. Dessessart who were passing, two came to the
+assistance of the four companions, while the other ran toward the hôtel
+of M. de Tréville, crying, “To the rescue, Musketeers! To the rescue!”
+As usual, this hôtel was full of soldiers of this company, who hastened
+to the succor of their comrades. The _mêlée_ became general, but
+strength was on the side of the Musketeers. The cardinal’s Guards and
+M. de la Trémouille’s people retreated into the hôtel, the doors of
+which they closed just in time to prevent their enemies from entering
+with them. As to the wounded man, he had been taken in at once, and, as
+we have said, in a very bad state.
+
+Excitement was at its height among the Musketeers and their allies, and
+they even began to deliberate whether they should not set fire to the
+hôtel to punish the insolence of M. de la Trémouille’s domestics in
+daring to make a _sortie_ upon the king’s Musketeers. The proposition
+had been made, and received with enthusiasm, when fortunately eleven
+o’clock struck. D’Artagnan and his companions remembered their
+audience, and as they would very much have regretted that such an
+opportunity should be lost, they succeeded in calming their friends,
+who contented themselves with hurling some paving stones against the
+gates; but the gates were too strong. They soon tired of the sport.
+Besides, those who must be considered the leaders of the enterprise had
+quit the group and were making their way toward the hôtel of M. de
+Tréville, who was waiting for them, already informed of this fresh
+disturbance.
+
+“Quick to the Louvre,” said he, “to the Louvre without losing an
+instant, and let us endeavor to see the king before he is prejudiced by
+the cardinal. We will describe the thing to him as a consequence of the
+affair of yesterday, and the two will pass off together.”
+
+M. de Tréville, accompanied by the four young fellows, directed his
+course toward the Louvre; but to the great astonishment of the captain
+of the Musketeers, he was informed that the king had gone stag hunting
+in the forest of St. Germain. M. de Tréville required this intelligence
+to be repeated to him twice, and each time his companions saw his brow
+become darker.
+
+“Had his Majesty,” asked he, “any intention of holding this hunting
+party yesterday?”
+
+“No, your Excellency,” replied the valet de chambre, “the Master of the
+Hounds came this morning to inform him that he had marked down a stag.
+At first the king answered that he would not go; but he could not
+resist his love of sport, and set out after dinner.”
+
+“And the king has seen the cardinal?” asked M. de Tréville.
+
+“In all probability he has,” replied the valet, “for I saw the horses
+harnessed to his Eminence’s carriage this morning, and when I asked
+where he was going, they told me, ‘To St. Germain.’”
+
+“He is beforehand with us,” said M. de Tréville. “Gentlemen, I will see
+the king this evening; but as to you, I do not advise you to risk doing
+so.”
+
+This advice was too reasonable, and moreover came from a man who knew
+the king too well, to allow the four young men to dispute it. M. de
+Tréville recommended everyone to return home and wait for news.
+
+On entering his hôtel, M. de Tréville thought it best to be first in
+making the complaint. He sent one of his servants to M. de la
+Trémouille with a letter in which he begged of him to eject the
+cardinal’s Guardsmen from his house, and to reprimand his people for
+their audacity in making _sortie_ against the king’s Musketeers. But M.
+de la Trémouille—already prejudiced by his esquire, whose relative, as
+we already know, Bernajoux was—replied that it was neither for M. de
+Tréville nor the Musketeers to complain, but, on the contrary, for him,
+whose people the Musketeers had assaulted and whose hôtel they had
+endeavored to burn. Now, as the debate between these two nobles might
+last a long time, each becoming, naturally, more firm in his own
+opinion, M. de Tréville thought of an expedient which might terminate
+it quietly. This was to go himself to M. de la Trémouille.
+
+He repaired, therefore, immediately to his hôtel, and caused himself to
+be announced.
+
+The two nobles saluted each other politely, for if no friendship
+existed between them, there was at least esteem. Both were men of
+courage and honor; and as M. de la Trémouille—a Protestant, and seeing
+the king seldom—was of no party, he did not, in general, carry any bias
+into his social relations. This time, however, his address, although
+polite, was cooler than usual.
+
+“Monsieur,” said M. de Tréville, “we fancy that we have each cause to
+complain of the other, and I am come to endeavor to clear up this
+affair.”
+
+“I have no objection,” replied M. de la Trémouille, “but I warn you
+that I am well informed, and all the fault is with your Musketeers.”
+
+“You are too just and reasonable a man, monsieur!” said Tréville, “not
+to accept the proposal I am about to make to you.”
+
+“Make it, monsieur, I listen.”
+
+“How is Monsieur Bernajoux, your esquire’s relative?”
+
+“Why, monsieur, very ill indeed! In addition to the sword thrust in his
+arm, which is not dangerous, he has received another right through his
+lungs, of which the doctor says bad things.”
+
+“But has the wounded man retained his senses?”
+
+“Perfectly.”
+
+“Does he talk?”
+
+“With difficulty, but he can speak.”
+
+“Well, monsieur, let us go to him. Let us adjure him, in the name of
+the God before whom he must perhaps appear, to speak the truth. I will
+take him for judge in his own cause, monsieur, and will believe what he
+will say.”
+
+M. de la Trémouille reflected for an instant; then as it was difficult
+to suggest a more reasonable proposal, he agreed to it.
+
+Both descended to the chamber in which the wounded man lay. The latter,
+on seeing these two noble lords who came to visit him, endeavored to
+raise himself up in his bed; but he was too weak, and exhausted by the
+effort, he fell back again almost senseless.
+
+M. de la Trémouille approached him, and made him inhale some salts,
+which recalled him to life. Then M. de Tréville, unwilling that it
+should be thought that he had influenced the wounded man, requested M.
+de la Trémouille to interrogate him himself.
+
+That happened which M. de Tréville had foreseen. Placed between life
+and death, as Bernajoux was, he had no idea for a moment of concealing
+the truth; and he described to the two nobles the affair exactly as it
+had passed.
+
+This was all that M. de Tréville wanted. He wished Bernajoux a speedy
+convalescence, took leave of M. de la Trémouille, returned to his
+hôtel, and immediately sent word to the four friends that he awaited
+their company at dinner.
+
+M. de Tréville entertained good company, wholly anticardinalist,
+though. It may easily be understood, therefore, that the conversation
+during the whole of dinner turned upon the two checks that his
+Eminence’s Guardsmen had received. Now, as D’Artagnan had been the hero
+of these two fights, it was upon him that all the felicitations fell,
+which Athos, Porthos, and Aramis abandoned to him, not only as good
+comrades, but as men who had so often had their turn that they could
+very well afford him his.
+
+Toward six o’clock M. de Tréville announced that it was time to go to
+the Louvre; but as the hour of audience granted by his Majesty was
+past, instead of claiming the _entrée_ by the back stairs, he placed
+himself with the four young men in the antechamber. The king had not
+yet returned from hunting. Our young men had been waiting about half an
+hour, amid a crowd of courtiers, when all the doors were thrown open,
+and his Majesty was announced.
+
+At his announcement D’Artagnan felt himself tremble to the very marrow
+of his bones. The coming instant would in all probability decide the
+rest of his life. His eyes therefore were fixed in a sort of agony upon
+the door through which the king must enter.
+
+Louis XIII. appeared, walking fast. He was in hunting costume covered
+with dust, wearing large boots, and holding a whip in his hand. At the
+first glance, D’Artagnan judged that the mind of the king was stormy.
+
+This disposition, visible as it was in his Majesty, did not prevent the
+courtiers from ranging themselves along his pathway. In royal
+antechambers it is worth more to be viewed with an angry eye than not
+to be seen at all. The three Musketeers therefore did not hesitate to
+make a step forward. D’Artagnan on the contrary remained concealed
+behind them; but although the king knew Athos, Porthos, and Aramis
+personally, he passed before them without speaking or looking—indeed,
+as if he had never seen them before. As for M. de Tréville, when the
+eyes of the king fell upon him, he sustained the look with so much
+firmness that it was the king who dropped his eyes; after which his
+Majesty, grumbling, entered his apartment.
+
+“Matters go but badly,” said Athos, smiling; “and we shall not be made
+Chevaliers of the Order this time.”
+
+“Wait here ten minutes,” said M. de Tréville; “and if at the expiration
+of ten minutes you do not see me come out, return to my hôtel, for it
+will be useless for you to wait for me longer.”
+
+The four young men waited ten minutes, a quarter of an hour, twenty
+minutes; and seeing that M. de Tréville did not return, went away very
+uneasy as to what was going to happen.
+
+M. de Tréville entered the king’s cabinet boldly, and found his Majesty
+in a very ill humor, seated on an armchair, beating his boot with the
+handle of his whip. This, however, did not prevent his asking, with the
+greatest coolness, after his Majesty’s health.
+
+“Bad, monsieur, bad!” replied the king; “I am bored.”
+
+This was, in fact, the worst complaint of Louis XIII., who would
+sometimes take one of his courtiers to a window and say, “Monsieur
+So-and-so, let us weary ourselves together.”
+
+“How! Your Majesty is bored? Have you not enjoyed the pleasures of the
+chase today?”
+
+“A fine pleasure, indeed, monsieur! Upon my soul, everything
+degenerates; and I don’t know whether it is the game which leaves no
+scent, or the dogs that have no noses. We started a stag of ten
+branches. We chased him for six hours, and when he was near being
+taken—when St. Simon was already putting his horn to his mouth to sound
+the _halali_—crack, all the pack takes the wrong scent and sets off
+after a two-year-older. I shall be obliged to give up hunting, as I
+have given up hawking. Ah, I am an unfortunate king, Monsieur de
+Tréville! I had but one gerfalcon, and he died day before yesterday.”
+
+“Indeed, sire, I wholly comprehend your disappointment. The misfortune
+is great; but I think you have still a good number of falcons, sparrow
+hawks, and tiercels.”
+
+“And not a man to instruct them. Falconers are declining. I know no one
+but myself who is acquainted with the noble art of venery. After me it
+will all be over, and people will hunt with gins, snares, and traps. If
+I had but the time to train pupils! But there is the cardinal always at
+hand, who does not leave me a moment’s repose; who talks to me about
+Spain, who talks to me about Austria, who talks to me about England!
+Ah! _à propos_ of the cardinal, Monsieur de Tréville, I am vexed with
+you!”
+
+This was the chance at which M. de Tréville waited for the king. He
+knew the king of old, and he knew that all these complaints were but a
+preface—a sort of excitation to encourage himself—and that he had now
+come to his point at last.
+
+“And in what have I been so unfortunate as to displease your Majesty?”
+asked M. de Tréville, feigning the most profound astonishment.
+
+“Is it thus you perform your charge, monsieur?” continued the king,
+without directly replying to de Tréville’s question. “Is it for this I
+name you captain of my Musketeers, that they should assassinate a man,
+disturb a whole quarter, and endeavor to set fire to Paris, without
+your saying a word? But yet,” continued the king, “undoubtedly my haste
+accuses you wrongfully; without doubt the rioters are in prison, and
+you come to tell me justice is done.”
+
+“Sire,” replied M. de Tréville, calmly, “on the contrary, I come to
+demand it of you.”
+
+“And against whom?” cried the king.
+
+“Against calumniators,” said M. de Tréville.
+
+“Ah! This is something new,” replied the king. “Will you tell me that
+your three damned Musketeers, Athos, Porthos, and Aramis, and your
+youngster from Béarn, have not fallen, like so many furies, upon poor
+Bernajoux, and have not maltreated him in such a fashion that probably
+by this time he is dead? Will you tell me that they did not lay siege
+to the hôtel of the Duc de la Trémouille, and that they did not
+endeavor to burn it?—which would not, perhaps, have been a great
+misfortune in time of war, seeing that it is nothing but a nest of
+Huguenots, but which is, in time of peace, a frightful example. Tell
+me, now, can you deny all this?”
+
+“And who told you this fine story, sire?” asked Tréville, quietly.
+
+“Who has told me this fine story, monsieur? Who should it be but he who
+watches while I sleep, who labors while I amuse myself, who conducts
+everything at home and abroad—in France as in Europe?”
+
+“Your Majesty probably refers to God,” said M. de Tréville; “for I know
+no one except God who can be so far above your Majesty.”
+
+“No, monsieur; I speak of the prop of the state, of my only servant, of
+my only friend—of the cardinal.”
+
+“His Eminence is not his holiness, sire.”
+
+“What do you mean by that, monsieur?”
+
+“That it is only the Pope who is infallible, and that this
+infallibility does not extend to cardinals.”
+
+“You mean to say that he deceives me; you mean to say that he betrays
+me? You accuse him, then? Come, speak; avow freely that you accuse
+him!”
+
+“No, sire, but I say that he deceives himself. I say that he is
+ill-informed. I say that he has hastily accused your Majesty’s
+Musketeers, toward whom he is unjust, and that he has not obtained his
+information from good sources.”
+
+“The accusation comes from Monsieur de la Trémouille, from the duke
+himself. What do you say to that?”
+
+“I might answer, sire, that he is too deeply interested in the question
+to be a very impartial witness; but so far from that, sire, I know the
+duke to be a royal gentleman, and I refer the matter to him—but upon
+one condition, sire.”
+
+“What?”
+
+“It is that your Majesty will make him come here, will interrogate him
+yourself, _tête-à-tête_, without witnesses, and that I shall see your
+Majesty as soon as you have seen the duke.”
+
+“What, then! You will bind yourself,” cried the king, “by what Monsieur
+de la Trémouille shall say?”
+
+“Yes, sire.”
+
+“You will accept his judgment?”
+
+“Undoubtedly.”
+
+“And you will submit to the reparation he may require?”
+
+“Certainly.”
+
+“La Chesnaye,” said the king. “La Chesnaye!”
+
+Louis XIII.’s confidential valet, who never left the door, entered in
+reply to the call.
+
+“La Chesnaye,” said the king, “let someone go instantly and find
+Monsieur de la Trémouille; I wish to speak with him this evening.”
+
+“Your Majesty gives me your word that you will not see anyone between
+Monsieur de la Trémouille and myself?”
+
+“Nobody, by the faith of a gentleman.”
+
+“Tomorrow, then, sire?”
+
+“Tomorrow, monsieur.”
+
+“At what o’clock, please your Majesty?”
+
+“At any hour you will.”
+
+“But in coming too early I should be afraid of awakening your Majesty.”
+
+“Awaken me! Do you think I ever sleep, then? I sleep no longer,
+monsieur. I sometimes dream, that’s all. Come, then, as early as you
+like—at seven o’clock; but beware, if you and your Musketeers are
+guilty.”
+
+“If my Musketeers are guilty, sire, the guilty shall be placed in your
+Majesty’s hands, who will dispose of them at your good pleasure. Does
+your Majesty require anything further? Speak, I am ready to obey.”
+
+“No, monsieur, no; I am not called Louis the Just without reason.
+Tomorrow, then, monsieur—tomorrow.”
+
+“Till then, God preserve your Majesty!”
+
+However ill the king might sleep, M. de Tréville slept still worse. He
+had ordered his three Musketeers and their companion to be with him at
+half past six in the morning. He took them with him, without
+encouraging them or promising them anything, and without concealing
+from them that their luck, and even his own, depended upon the cast of
+the dice.
+
+Arrived at the foot of the back stairs, he desired them to wait. If the
+king was still irritated against them, they would depart without being
+seen; if the king consented to see them, they would only have to be
+called.
+
+On arriving at the king’s private antechamber, M. de Tréville found La
+Chesnaye, who informed him that they had not been able to find M. de la
+Trémouille on the preceding evening at his hôtel, that he returned too
+late to present himself at the Louvre, that he had only that moment
+arrived and that he was at that very hour with the king.
+
+This circumstance pleased M. de Tréville much, as he thus became
+certain that no foreign suggestion could insinuate itself between M. de
+la Trémouille’s testimony and himself.
+
+In fact, ten minutes had scarcely passed away when the door of the
+king’s closet opened, and M. de Tréville saw M. de la Trémouille come
+out. The duke came straight up to him, and said: “Monsieur de Tréville,
+his Majesty has just sent for me in order to inquire respecting the
+circumstances which took place yesterday at my hôtel. I have told him
+the truth; that is to say, that the fault lay with my people, and that
+I was ready to offer you my excuses. Since I have the good fortune to
+meet you, I beg you to receive them, and to hold me always as one of
+your friends.”
+
+“Monsieur the Duke,” said M. de Tréville, “I was so confident of your
+loyalty that I required no other defender before his Majesty than
+yourself. I find that I have not been mistaken, and I thank you that
+there is still one man in France of whom may be said, without
+disappointment, what I have said of you.”
+
+“That’s well said,” cried the king, who had heard all these compliments
+through the open door; “only tell him, Tréville, since he wishes to be
+considered your friend, that I also wish to be one of his, but he
+neglects me; that it is nearly three years since I have seen him, and
+that I never do see him unless I send for him. Tell him all this for
+me, for these are things which a king cannot say for himself.”
+
+“Thanks, sire, thanks,” said the duke; “but your Majesty may be assured
+that it is not those—I do not speak of Monsieur de Tréville—whom your
+Majesty sees at all hours of the day that are most devoted to you.”
+
+“Ah! You have heard what I said? So much the better, Duke, so much the
+better,” said the king, advancing toward the door. “Ah! It is you,
+Tréville. Where are your Musketeers? I told you the day before
+yesterday to bring them with you; why have you not done so?”
+
+“They are below, sire, and with your permission La Chesnaye will bid
+them come up.”
+
+“Yes, yes, let them come up immediately. It is nearly eight o’clock,
+and at nine I expect a visit. Go, Monsieur Duke, and return often. Come
+in, Tréville.”
+
+The Duke saluted and retired. At the moment he opened the door, the
+three Musketeers and D’Artagnan, conducted by La Chesnaye, appeared at
+the top of the staircase.
+
+“Come in, my braves,” said the king, “come in; I am going to scold
+you.”
+
+The Musketeers advanced, bowing, D’Artagnan following closely behind
+them.
+
+“What the devil!” continued the king. “Seven of his Eminence’s Guards
+placed _hors de combat_ by you four in two days! That’s too many,
+gentlemen, too many! If you go on so, his Eminence will be forced to
+renew his company in three weeks, and I to put the edicts in force in
+all their rigor. One now and then I don’t say much about; but seven in
+two days, I repeat, it is too many, it is far too many!”
+
+“Therefore, sire, your Majesty sees that they are come, quite contrite
+and repentant, to offer you their excuses.”
+
+“Quite contrite and repentant! Hem!” said the king. “I place no
+confidence in their hypocritical faces. In particular, there is one
+yonder of a Gascon look. Come hither, monsieur.”
+
+D’Artagnan, who understood that it was to him this compliment was
+addressed, approached, assuming a most deprecating air.
+
+“Why, you told me he was a young man? This is a boy, Tréville, a mere
+boy! Do you mean to say that it was he who bestowed that severe thrust
+at Jussac?”
+
+“And those two equally fine thrusts at Bernajoux.”
+
+“Truly!”
+
+“Without reckoning,” said Athos, “that if he had not rescued me from
+the hands of Cahusac, I should not now have the honor of making my very
+humble reverence to your Majesty.”
+
+“Why he is a very devil, this Béarnais! _Ventre-saint-gris_, Monsieur
+de Tréville, as the king my father would have said. But at this sort of
+work, many doublets must be slashed and many swords broken. Now,
+Gascons are always poor, are they not?”
+
+“Sire, I can assert that they have hitherto discovered no gold mines in
+their mountains; though the Lord owes them this miracle in recompense
+for the manner in which they supported the pretensions of the king your
+father.”
+
+“Which is to say that the Gascons made a king of me, myself, seeing
+that I am my father’s son, is it not, Tréville? Well, happily, I don’t
+say nay to it. La Chesnaye, go and see if by rummaging all my pockets
+you can find forty pistoles; and if you can find them, bring them to
+me. And now let us see, young man, with your hand upon your conscience,
+how did all this come to pass?”
+
+D’Artagnan related the adventure of the preceding day in all its
+details; how, not having been able to sleep for the joy he felt in the
+expectation of seeing his Majesty, he had gone to his three friends
+three hours before the hour of audience; how they had gone together to
+the tennis court, and how, upon the fear he had manifested lest he
+receive a ball in the face, he had been jeered at by Bernajoux, who had
+nearly paid for his jeer with his life, and M. de la Trémouille, who
+had nothing to do with the matter, with the loss of his hôtel.
+
+“This is all very well,” murmured the king, “yes, this is just the
+account the duke gave me of the affair. Poor cardinal! Seven men in two
+days, and those of his very best! But that’s quite enough, gentlemen;
+please to understand, that’s enough. You have taken your revenge for
+the Rue Férou, and even exceeded it; you ought to be satisfied.”
+
+“If your Majesty is so,” said Tréville, “we are.”
+
+“Oh, yes; I am,” added the king, taking a handful of gold from La
+Chesnaye, and putting it into the hand of D’Artagnan. “Here,” said he,
+“is a proof of my satisfaction.”
+
+At this epoch, the ideas of pride which are in fashion in our days did
+not prevail. A gentleman received, from hand to hand, money from the
+king, and was not the least in the world humiliated. D’Artagnan put his
+forty pistoles into his pocket without any scruple—on the contrary,
+thanking his Majesty greatly.
+
+“There,” said the king, looking at a clock, “there, now, as it is half
+past eight, you may retire; for as I told you, I expect someone at
+nine. Thanks for your devotedness, gentlemen. I may continue to rely
+upon it, may I not?”
+
+“Oh, sire!” cried the four companions, with one voice, “we would allow
+ourselves to be cut to pieces in your Majesty’s service.”
+
+“Well, well, but keep whole; that will be better, and you will be more
+useful to me. Tréville,” added the king, in a low voice, as the others
+were retiring, “as you have no room in the Musketeers, and as we have
+besides decided that a novitiate is necessary before entering that
+corps, place this young man in the company of the Guards of Monsieur
+Dessessart, your brother-in-law. Ah, _pardieu_, Tréville! I enjoy
+beforehand the face the cardinal will make. He will be furious; but I
+don’t care. I am doing what is right.”
+
+The king waved his hand to Tréville, who left him and rejoined the
+Musketeers, whom he found sharing the forty pistoles with D’Artagnan.
+
+The cardinal, as his Majesty had said, was really furious, so furious
+that during eight days he absented himself from the king’s gaming
+table. This did not prevent the king from being as complacent to him as
+possible whenever he met him, or from asking in the kindest tone,
+“Well, Monsieur Cardinal, how fares it with that poor Jussac and that
+poor Bernajoux of yours?”
+
+
+
+
+Chapter VII.
+THE INTERIOR OF THE MUSKETEERS
+
+
+When D’Artagnan was out of the Louvre, and consulted his friends upon
+the use he had best make of his share of the forty pistoles, Athos
+advised him to order a good repast at the Pomme-de-Pin, Porthos to
+engage a lackey, and Aramis to provide himself with a suitable
+mistress.
+
+The repast was carried into effect that very day, and the lackey waited
+at table. The repast had been ordered by Athos, and the lackey
+furnished by Porthos. He was a Picard, whom the glorious Musketeer had
+picked up on the Bridge Tournelle, making rings and plashing in the
+water.
+
+Porthos pretended that this occupation was proof of a reflective and
+contemplative organization, and he had brought him away without any
+other recommendation. The noble carriage of this gentleman, for whom he
+believed himself to be engaged, had won Planchet—that was the name of
+the Picard. He felt a slight disappointment, however, when he saw that
+this place was already taken by a compeer named Mousqueton, and when
+Porthos signified to him that the state of his household, though great,
+would not support two servants, and that he must enter into the service
+of D’Artagnan. Nevertheless, when he waited at the dinner given by his
+master, and saw him take out a handful of gold to pay for it, he
+believed his fortune made, and returned thanks to heaven for having
+thrown him into the service of such a Crœsus. He preserved this
+opinion even after the feast, with the remnants of which he repaired
+his own long abstinence; but when in the evening he made his master’s
+bed, the chimeras of Planchet faded away. The bed was the only one in
+the apartment, which consisted of an antechamber and a bedroom.
+Planchet slept in the antechamber upon a coverlet taken from the bed of
+D’Artagnan, and which D’Artagnan from that time made shift to do
+without.
+
+Athos, on his part, had a valet whom he had trained in his service in a
+thoroughly peculiar fashion, and who was named Grimaud. He was very
+taciturn, this worthy signor. Be it understood we are speaking of
+Athos. During the five or six years that he had lived in the strictest
+intimacy with his companions, Porthos and Aramis, they could remember
+having often seen him smile, but had never heard him laugh. His words
+were brief and expressive, conveying all that was meant, and no more;
+no embellishments, no embroidery, no arabesques. His conversation was a
+matter of fact, without a single romance.
+
+Although Athos was scarcely thirty years old, and was of great personal
+beauty and intelligence of mind, no one knew whether he had ever had a
+mistress. He never spoke of women. He certainly did not prevent others
+from speaking of them before him, although it was easy to perceive that
+this kind of conversation, in which he only mingled by bitter words and
+misanthropic remarks, was very disagreeable to him. His reserve, his
+roughness, and his silence made almost an old man of him. He had, then,
+in order not to disturb his habits, accustomed Grimaud to obey him upon
+a simple gesture or upon a simple movement of his lips. He never spoke
+to him, except under the most extraordinary occasions.
+
+Sometimes, Grimaud, who feared his master as he did fire, while
+entertaining a strong attachment to his person and a great veneration
+for his talents, believed he perfectly understood what he wanted, flew
+to execute the order received, and did precisely the contrary. Athos
+then shrugged his shoulders, and, without putting himself in a passion,
+thrashed Grimaud. On these days he spoke a little.
+
+Porthos, as we have seen, had a character exactly opposite to that of
+Athos. He not only talked much, but he talked loudly, little caring, we
+must render him that justice, whether anybody listened to him or not.
+He talked for the pleasure of talking and for the pleasure of hearing
+himself talk. He spoke upon all subjects except the sciences, alleging
+in this respect the inveterate hatred he had borne to scholars from his
+childhood. He had not so noble an air as Athos, and the commencement of
+their intimacy often rendered him unjust toward that gentleman, whom he
+endeavored to eclipse by his splendid dress. But with his simple
+Musketeer’s uniform and nothing but the manner in which he threw back
+his head and advanced his foot, Athos instantly took the place which
+was his due and consigned the ostentatious Porthos to the second rank.
+Porthos consoled himself by filling the antechamber of M. de Tréville
+and the guardroom of the Louvre with the accounts of his love scrapes,
+after having passed from professional ladies to military ladies, from
+the lawyer’s dame to the baroness, there was question of nothing less
+with Porthos than a foreign princess, who was enormously fond of him.
+
+An old proverb says, “Like master, like man.” Let us pass, then, from
+the valet of Athos to the valet of Porthos, from Grimaud to Mousqueton.
+
+Mousqueton was a Norman, whose pacific name of Boniface his master had
+changed into the infinitely more sonorous name of Mousqueton. He had
+entered the service of Porthos upon condition that he should only be
+clothed and lodged, though in a handsome manner; but he claimed two
+hours a day to himself, consecrated to an employment which would
+provide for his other wants. Porthos agreed to the bargain; the thing
+suited him wonderfully well. He had doublets cut out of his old clothes
+and cast-off cloaks for Mousqueton, and thanks to a very intelligent
+tailor, who made his clothes look as good as new by turning them, and
+whose wife was suspected of wishing to make Porthos descend from his
+aristocratic habits, Mousqueton made a very good figure when attending
+on his master.
+
+As for Aramis, of whom we believe we have sufficiently explained the
+character—a character which, like that of his companions, we shall be
+able to follow in its development—his lackey was called Bazin. Thanks
+to the hopes which his master entertained of someday entering into
+orders, he was always clothed in black, as became the servant of a
+churchman. He was a Berrichon, thirty-five or forty years old, mild,
+peaceable, sleek, employing the leisure his master left him in the
+perusal of pious works, providing rigorously for two a dinner of few
+dishes, but excellent. For the rest, he was dumb, blind, and deaf, and
+of unimpeachable fidelity.
+
+And now that we are acquainted, superficially at least, with the
+masters and the valets, let us pass on to the dwellings occupied by
+each of them.
+
+Athos dwelt in the Rue Férou, within two steps of the Luxembourg. His
+apartment consisted of two small chambers, very nicely fitted up, in a
+furnished house, the hostess of which, still young and still really
+handsome, cast tender glances uselessly at him. Some fragments of past
+splendor appeared here and there upon the walls of this modest lodging;
+a sword, for example, richly embossed, which belonged by its make to
+the times of Francis I, the hilt of which alone, encrusted with
+precious stones, might be worth two hundred pistoles, and which,
+nevertheless, in his moments of greatest distress Athos had never
+pledged or offered for sale. It had long been an object of ambition for
+Porthos. Porthos would have given ten years of his life to possess this
+sword.
+
+One day, when he had an appointment with a duchess, he endeavored even
+to borrow it of Athos. Athos, without saying anything, emptied his
+pockets, got together all his jewels, purses, aiguillettes, and gold
+chains, and offered them all to Porthos; but as to the sword, he said
+it was sealed to its place and should never quit it until its master
+should himself quit his lodgings. In addition to the sword, there was a
+portrait representing a nobleman of the time of Henry III., dressed with
+the greatest elegance, and who wore the Order of the Holy Ghost; and
+this portrait had certain resemblances of lines with Athos, certain
+family likenesses which indicated that this great noble, a knight of
+the Order of the King, was his ancestor.
+
+Besides these, a casket of magnificent goldwork, with the same arms as
+the sword and the portrait, formed a middle ornament to the
+mantelpiece, and assorted badly with the rest of the furniture. Athos
+always carried the key of this coffer about him; but he one day opened
+it before Porthos, and Porthos was convinced that this coffer contained
+nothing but letters and papers—love letters and family papers, no
+doubt.
+
+Porthos lived in an apartment, large in size and of very sumptuous
+appearance, in the Rue du Vieux-Colombier. Every time he passed with a
+friend before his windows, at one of which Mousqueton was sure to be
+placed in full livery, Porthos raised his head and his hand, and said,
+“That is my abode!” But he was never to be found at home; he never
+invited anybody to go up with him, and no one could form an idea of
+what his sumptuous apartment contained in the shape of real riches.
+
+As to Aramis, he dwelt in a little lodging composed of a boudoir, an
+eating room, and a bedroom, which room, situated, as the others were,
+on the ground floor, looked out upon a little fresh green garden, shady
+and impenetrable to the eyes of his neighbors.
+
+With regard to D’Artagnan, we know how he was lodged, and we have
+already made acquaintance with his lackey, Master Planchet.
+
+D’Artagnan, who was by nature very curious—as people generally are who
+possess the genius of intrigue—did all he could to make out who Athos,
+Porthos, and Aramis really were (for under these pseudonyms each of
+these young men concealed his family name)—Athos in particular, who, a
+league away, savored of nobility. He addressed himself then to Porthos
+to gain information respecting Athos and Aramis, and to Aramis in order
+to learn something of Porthos.
+
+Unfortunately Porthos knew nothing of the life of his silent companion
+but what revealed itself. It was said Athos had met with great crosses
+in love, and that a frightful treachery had forever poisoned the life
+of this gallant man. What could this treachery be? All the world was
+ignorant of it.
+
+As to Porthos, except his real name (as was the case with those of his
+two comrades), his life was very easily known. Vain and indiscreet, it
+was as easy to see through him as through a crystal. The only thing to
+mislead the investigator would have been belief in all the good things
+he said of himself.
+
+With respect to Aramis, though having the air of having nothing secret
+about him, he was a young fellow made up of mysteries, answering little
+to questions put to him about others, and having learned from him the
+report which prevailed concerning the success of the Musketeer with a
+princess, wished to gain a little insight into the amorous adventures
+of his interlocutor. “And you, my dear companion,” said he, “you speak
+of the baronesses, countesses, and princesses of others?”
+
+“_Pardieu!_ I spoke of them because Porthos talked of them himself,
+because he had paraded all these fine things before me. But be assured,
+my dear Monsieur d’Artagnan, that if I had obtained them from any other
+source, or if they had been confided to me, there exists no confessor
+more discreet than myself.”
+
+“Oh, I don’t doubt that,” replied D’Artagnan; “but it seems to me that
+you are tolerably familiar with coats of arms—a certain embroidered
+handkerchief, for instance, to which I owe the honor of your
+acquaintance?”
+
+This time Aramis was not angry, but assumed the most modest air and
+replied in a friendly tone, “My dear friend, do not forget that I wish
+to belong to the Church, and that I avoid all mundane opportunities.
+The handkerchief you saw had not been given to me, but it had been
+forgotten and left at my house by one of my friends. I was obliged to
+pick it up in order not to compromise him and the lady he loves. As for
+myself, I neither have, nor desire to have, a mistress, following in
+that respect the very judicious example of Athos, who has none any more
+than I have.”
+
+“But what the devil! You are not a priest, you are a Musketeer!”
+
+“A Musketeer for a time, my friend, as the cardinal says, a Musketeer
+against my will, but a churchman at heart, believe me. Athos and
+Porthos dragged me into this to occupy me. I had, at the moment of
+being ordained, a little difficulty with—But that would not interest
+you, and I am taking up your valuable time.”
+
+“Not at all; it interests me very much,” cried D’Artagnan; “and at this
+moment I have absolutely nothing to do.”
+
+“Yes, but I have my breviary to repeat,” answered Aramis; “then some
+verses to compose, which Madame d’Aiguillon begged of me. Then I must
+go to the Rue St. Honoré in order to purchase some rouge for Madame de
+Chevreuse. So you see, my dear friend, that if you are not in a hurry,
+I am very much in a hurry.”
+
+Aramis held out his hand in a cordial manner to his young companion,
+and took leave of him.
+
+Notwithstanding all the pains he took, D’Artagnan was unable to learn
+any more concerning his three new-made friends. He formed, therefore,
+the resolution of believing for the present all that was said of their
+past, hoping for more certain and extended revelations in the future.
+In the meanwhile, he looked upon Athos as an Achilles, Porthos as an
+Ajax, and Aramis as a Joseph.
+
+As to the rest, the life of the four young friends was joyous enough.
+Athos played, and that as a rule unfortunately. Nevertheless, he never
+borrowed a sou of his companions, although his purse was ever at their
+service; and when he had played upon honor, he always awakened his
+creditor by six o’clock the next morning to pay the debt of the
+preceding evening.
+
+Porthos had his fits. On the days when he won he was insolent and
+ostentatious; if he lost, he disappeared completely for several days,
+after which he reappeared with a pale face and thinner person, but with
+money in his purse.
+
+As to Aramis, he never played. He was the worst Musketeer and the most
+unconvivial companion imaginable. He had always something or other to
+do. Sometimes in the midst of dinner, when everyone, under the
+attraction of wine and in the warmth of conversation, believed they had
+two or three hours longer to enjoy themselves at table, Aramis looked
+at his watch, arose with a bland smile, and took leave of the company,
+to go, as he said, to consult a casuist with whom he had an
+appointment. At other times he would return home to write a treatise,
+and requested his friends not to disturb him.
+
+At this Athos would smile, with his charming, melancholy smile, which
+so became his noble countenance, and Porthos would drink, swearing that
+Aramis would never be anything but a village _curé_.
+
+Planchet, D’Artagnan’s valet, supported his good fortune nobly. He
+received thirty sous per day, and for a month he returned to his
+lodgings gay as a chaffinch, and affable toward his master. When the
+wind of adversity began to blow upon the housekeeping of the Rue des
+Fossoyeurs—that is to say, when the forty pistoles of King Louis XIII.
+were consumed or nearly so—he commenced complaints which Athos thought
+nauseous, Porthos indecent, and Aramis ridiculous. Athos counseled
+D’Artagnan to dismiss the fellow; Porthos was of the opinion that he
+should give him a good thrashing first; and Aramis contended that a
+master should never attend to anything but the civilities paid to him.
+
+“This is all very easy for you to say,” replied D’Artagnan, “for you,
+Athos, who live like a dumb man with Grimaud, who forbid him to speak,
+and consequently never exchange ill words with him; for you, Porthos,
+who carry matters in such a magnificent style, and are a god to your
+valet, Mousqueton; and for you, Aramis, who, always abstracted by your
+theological studies, inspire your servant, Bazin, a mild, religious
+man, with a profound respect; but for me, who am without any settled
+means and without resources—for me, who am neither a Musketeer nor even
+a Guardsman, what am I to do to inspire either the affection, the
+terror, or the respect in Planchet?”
+
+“This is serious,” answered the three friends; “it is a family affair.
+It is with valets as with wives, they must be placed at once upon the
+footing in which you wish them to remain. Reflect upon it.”
+
+D’Artagnan did reflect, and resolved to thrash Planchet provisionally;
+which he did with the conscientiousness that D’Artagnan carried into
+everything. After having well beaten him, he forbade him to leave his
+service without his permission. “For,” added he, “the future cannot
+fail to mend; I inevitably look for better times. Your fortune is
+therefore made if you remain with me, and I am too good a master to
+allow you to miss such a chance by granting you the dismissal you
+require.”
+
+This manner of acting roused much respect for D’Artagnan’s policy among
+the Musketeers. Planchet was equally seized with admiration, and said
+no more about going away.
+
+The life of the four young men had become fraternal. D’Artagnan, who
+had no settled habits of his own, as he came from his province into the
+midst of a world quite new to him, fell easily into the habits of his
+friends.
+
+They rose about eight o’clock in the winter, about six in summer, and
+went to take the countersign and see how things went on at M. de
+Tréville’s. D’Artagnan, although he was not a Musketeer, performed the
+duty of one with remarkable punctuality. He went on guard because he
+always kept company with whoever of his friends was on duty. He was
+well known at the Hôtel of the Musketeers, where everyone considered
+him a good comrade. M. de Tréville, who had appreciated him at the
+first glance and who bore him a real affection, never ceased
+recommending him to the king.
+
+On their side, the three Musketeers were much attached to their young
+comrade. The friendship which united these four men, and the need they
+felt of seeing another three or four times a day, whether for dueling,
+business, or pleasure, caused them to be continually running after one
+another like shadows; and the Inseparables were constantly to be met
+with seeking one another, from the Luxembourg to the Place St. Sulpice,
+or from the Rue du Vieux-Colombier to the Luxembourg.
+
+In the meanwhile the promises of M. de Tréville went on prosperously.
+One fine morning the king commanded M. de Chevalier Dessessart to admit
+D’Artagnan as a cadet in his company of Guards. D’Artagnan, with a
+sigh, donned his uniform, which he would have exchanged for that of a
+Musketeer at the expense of ten years of his existence. But M. de
+Tréville promised this favor after a novitiate of two years—a novitiate
+which might besides be abridged if an opportunity should present itself
+for D’Artagnan to render the king any signal service, or to distinguish
+himself by some brilliant action. Upon this promise D’Artagnan
+withdrew, and the next day he began service.
+
+Then it became the turn of Athos, Porthos, and Aramis to mount guard
+with D’Artagnan when he was on duty. The company of M. le Chevalier
+Dessessart thus received four instead of one when it admitted
+D’Artagnan.
+
+
+
+
+Chapter VIII.
+CONCERNING A COURT INTRIGUE
+
+
+In the meantime, the forty pistoles of King Louis XIII., like all other
+things of this world, after having had a beginning had an end, and
+after this end our four companions began to be somewhat embarrassed. At
+first, Athos supported the association for a time with his own means.
+
+Porthos succeeded him; and thanks to one of those disappearances to
+which he was accustomed, he was able to provide for the wants of all
+for a fortnight. At last it became Aramis’s turn, who performed it with
+a good grace and who succeeded—as he said, by selling some theological
+books—in procuring a few pistoles.
+
+Then, as they had been accustomed to do, they had recourse to M. de
+Tréville, who made some advances on their pay; but these advances could
+not go far with three Musketeers who were already much in arrears and a
+Guardsman who as yet had no pay at all.
+
+At length when they found they were likely to be really in want, they
+got together, as a last effort, eight or ten pistoles, with which
+Porthos went to the gaming table. Unfortunately he was in a bad vein;
+he lost all, together with twenty-five pistoles for which he had given
+his word.
+
+Then the inconvenience became distress. The hungry friends, followed by
+their lackeys, were seen haunting the quays and Guard rooms, picking up
+among their friends abroad all the dinners they could meet with; for
+according to the advice of Aramis, it was prudent to sow repasts right
+and left in prosperity, in order to reap a few in time of need.
+
+Athos was invited four times, and each time took his friends and their
+lackeys with him. Porthos had six occasions, and contrived in the same
+manner that his friends should partake of them; Aramis had eight of
+them. He was a man, as must have been already perceived, who made but
+little noise, and yet was much sought after.
+
+As to D’Artagnan, who as yet knew nobody in the capital, he only found
+one chocolate breakfast at the house of a priest of his own province,
+and one dinner at the house of a cornet of the Guards. He took his army
+to the priest’s, where they devoured as much provision as would have
+lasted him for two months, and to the cornet’s, who performed wonders;
+but as Planchet said, “People do not eat at once for all time, even
+when they eat a good deal.”
+
+D’Artagnan thus felt himself humiliated in having only procured one
+meal and a half for his companions—as the breakfast at the priest’s
+could only be counted as half a repast—in return for the feasts which
+Athos, Porthos, and Aramis had procured him. He fancied himself a
+burden to the society, forgetting in his perfectly juvenile good faith
+that he had fed this society for a month; and he set his mind actively
+to work. He reflected that this coalition of four young, brave,
+enterprising, and active men ought to have some other object than
+swaggering walks, fencing lessons, and practical jokes, more or less
+witty.
+
+In fact, four men such as they were—four men devoted to one another,
+from their purses to their lives; four men always supporting one
+another, never yielding, executing singly or together the resolutions
+formed in common; four arms threatening the four cardinal points, or
+turning toward a single point—must inevitably, either subterraneously,
+in open day, by mining, in the trench, by cunning, or by force, open
+themselves a way toward the object they wished to attain, however well
+it might be defended, or however distant it may seem. The only thing
+that astonished D’Artagnan was that his friends had never thought of
+this.
+
+He was thinking by himself, and even seriously racking his brain to
+find a direction for this single force four times multiplied, with
+which he did not doubt, as with the lever for which Archimedes sought,
+they should succeed in moving the world, when someone tapped gently at
+his door. D’Artagnan awakened Planchet and ordered him to open it.
+
+From this phrase, “D’Artagnan awakened Planchet,” the reader must not
+suppose it was night, or that day was hardly come. No, it had just
+struck four. Planchet, two hours before, had asked his master for some
+dinner, and he had answered him with the proverb, “He who sleeps,
+dines.” And Planchet dined by sleeping.
+
+A man was introduced of simple mien, who had the appearance of a
+tradesman. Planchet, by way of dessert, would have liked to hear the
+conversation; but the citizen declared to D’Artagnan that, what he had
+to say being important and confidential, he desired to be left alone
+with him.
+
+D’Artagnan dismissed Planchet, and requested his visitor to be seated.
+There was a moment of silence, during which the two men looked at each
+other, as if to make a preliminary acquaintance, after which D’Artagnan
+bowed, as a sign that he listened.
+
+“I have heard Monsieur d’Artagnan spoken of as a very brave young man,”
+said the citizen; “and this reputation which he justly enjoys had
+decided me to confide a secret to him.”
+
+“Speak, monsieur, speak,” said D’Artagnan, who instinctively scented
+something advantageous.
+
+The citizen made a fresh pause and continued, “I have a wife who is
+seamstress to the queen, monsieur, and who is not deficient in either
+virtue or beauty. I was induced to marry her about three years ago,
+although she had but very little dowry, because Monsieur Laporte, the
+queen’s cloak bearer, is her godfather, and befriends her.”
+
+“Well, monsieur?” asked D’Artagnan.
+
+“Well!” resumed the citizen, “well, monsieur, my wife was abducted
+yesterday morning, as she was coming out of her workroom.”
+
+“And by whom was your wife abducted?”
+
+“I know nothing surely, monsieur, but I suspect someone.”
+
+“And who is the person whom you suspect?”
+
+“A man who has pursued her a long time.”
+
+“The devil!”
+
+“But allow me to tell you, monsieur,” continued the citizen, “that I am
+convinced that there is less love than politics in all this.”
+
+“Less love than politics,” replied D’Artagnan, with a reflective air;
+“and what do you suspect?”
+
+“I do not know whether I ought to tell you what I suspect.”
+
+“Monsieur, I beg you to observe that I ask you absolutely nothing. It
+is you who have come to me. It is you who have told me that you had a
+secret to confide in me. Act, then, as you think proper; there is still
+time to withdraw.”
+
+“No, monsieur, no; you appear to be an honest young man, and I will
+have confidence in you. I believe, then, that it is not on account of
+any intrigues of her own that my wife has been arrested, but because of
+those of a lady much greater than herself.”
+
+“Ah, ah! Can it be on account of the amours of Madame de Bois-Tracy?”
+said D’Artagnan, wishing to have the air, in the eyes of the citizen,
+of being posted as to court affairs.
+
+“Higher, monsieur, higher.”
+
+“Of Madame d’Aiguillon?”
+
+“Still higher.”
+
+“Of Madame de Chevreuse?”
+
+“Higher, much higher.”
+
+“Of the—” D’Artagnan checked himself.
+
+“Yes, monsieur,” replied the terrified citizen, in a tone so low that
+he was scarcely audible.
+
+“And with whom?”
+
+“With whom can it be, if not the Duke of—”
+
+“The Duke of—”
+
+“Yes, monsieur,” replied the citizen, giving a still fainter intonation
+to his voice.
+
+“But how do you know all this?”
+
+“How do I know it?”
+
+“Yes, how do you know it? No half-confidence, or—you understand!”
+
+“I know it from my wife, monsieur—from my wife herself.”
+
+“Who learns it from whom?”
+
+“From Monsieur Laporte. Did I not tell you that she was the goddaughter
+of Monsieur Laporte, the confidential man of the queen? Well, Monsieur
+Laporte placed her near her Majesty in order that our poor queen might
+at least have someone in whom she could place confidence, abandoned as
+she is by the king, watched as she is by the cardinal, betrayed as she
+is by everybody.”
+
+“Ah, ah! It begins to develop itself,” said D’Artagnan.
+
+“Now, my wife came home four days ago, monsieur. One of her conditions
+was that she should come and see me twice a week; for, as I had the
+honor to tell you, my wife loves me dearly—my wife, then, came and
+confided to me that the queen at that very moment entertained great
+fears.”
+
+“Truly!”
+
+“Yes. The cardinal, as it appears, pursues her and persecutes her more
+than ever. He cannot pardon her the history of the Saraband. You know
+the history of the Saraband?”
+
+“_Pardieu!_ Know it!” replied D’Artagnan, who knew nothing about it,
+but who wished to appear to know everything that was going on.
+
+“So that now it is no longer hatred, but vengeance.”
+
+“Indeed!”
+
+“And the queen believes—”
+
+“Well, what does the queen believe?”
+
+“She believes that someone has written to the Duke of Buckingham in her
+name.”
+
+“In the queen’s name?”
+
+“Yes, to make him come to Paris; and when once come to Paris, to draw
+him into some snare.”
+
+“The devil! But your wife, monsieur, what has she to do with all this?”
+
+“Her devotion to the queen is known; and they wish either to remove her
+from her mistress, or to intimidate her, in order to obtain her
+Majesty’s secrets, or to seduce her and make use of her as a spy.”
+
+“That is likely,” said D’Artagnan; “but the man who has abducted her—do
+you know him?”
+
+“I have told you that I believe I know him.”
+
+“His name?”
+
+“I do not know that; what I do know is that he is a creature of the
+cardinal, his evil genius.”
+
+“But you have seen him?”
+
+“Yes, my wife pointed him out to me one day.”
+
+“Has he anything remarkable about him by which one may recognize him?”
+
+“Oh, certainly; he is a noble of very lofty carriage, black hair,
+swarthy complexion, piercing eye, white teeth, and has a scar on his
+temple.”
+
+“A scar on his temple!” cried D’Artagnan; “and with that, white teeth,
+a piercing eye, dark complexion, black hair, and haughty carriage—why,
+that’s my man of Meung.”
+
+“He is your man, do you say?”
+
+“Yes, yes; but that has nothing to do with it. No, I am wrong. On the
+contrary, that simplifies the matter greatly. If your man is mine, with
+one blow I shall obtain two revenges, that’s all; but where to find
+this man?”
+
+“I know not.”
+
+“Have you no information as to his abiding place?”
+
+“None. One day, as I was conveying my wife back to the Louvre, he was
+coming out as she was going in, and she showed him to me.”
+
+“The devil! The devil!” murmured D’Artagnan; “all this is vague enough.
+From whom have you learned of the abduction of your wife?”
+
+“From Monsieur Laporte.”
+
+“Did he give you any details?”
+
+“He knew none himself.”
+
+“And you have learned nothing from any other quarter?”
+
+“Yes, I have received—”
+
+“What?”
+
+“I fear I am committing a great imprudence.”
+
+“You always come back to that; but I must make you see this time that
+it is too late to retreat.”
+
+“I do not retreat, _mordieu!_” cried the citizen, swearing in order to
+rouse his courage. “Besides, by the faith of Bonacieux—”
+
+“You call yourself Bonacieux?” interrupted D’Artagnan.
+
+“Yes, that is my name.”
+
+“You said, then, by the word of Bonacieux. Pardon me for interrupting
+you, but it appears to me that that name is familiar to me.”
+
+“Possibly, monsieur. I am your landlord.”
+
+“Ah, ah!” said D’Artagnan, half rising and bowing; “you are my
+landlord?”
+
+“Yes, monsieur, yes. And as it is three months since you have been
+here, and though, distracted as you must be in your important
+occupations, you have forgotten to pay me my rent—as, I say, I have not
+tormented you a single instant, I thought you would appreciate my
+delicacy.”
+
+“How can it be otherwise, my dear Bonacieux?” replied D’Artagnan;
+“trust me, I am fully grateful for such unparalleled conduct, and if,
+as I told you, I can be of any service to you—”
+
+“I believe you, monsieur, I believe you; and as I was about to say, by
+the word of Bonacieux, I have confidence in you.”
+
+“Finish, then, what you were about to say.”
+
+The citizen took a paper from his pocket, and presented it to
+D’Artagnan.
+
+“A letter?” said the young man.
+
+“Which I received this morning.”
+
+D’Artagnan opened it, and as the day was beginning to decline, he
+approached the window to read it. The citizen followed him.
+
+“‘Do not seek your wife,’” read D’Artagnan; “‘she will be restored to
+you when there is no longer occasion for her. If you make a single step
+to find her you are lost.’
+
+“That’s pretty positive,” continued D’Artagnan; “but after all, it is
+but a menace.”
+
+“Yes; but that menace terrifies me. I am not a fighting man at all,
+monsieur, and I am afraid of the Bastille.”
+
+“Hum!” said D’Artagnan. “I have no greater regard for the Bastille than
+you. If it were nothing but a sword thrust, why then—”
+
+“I have counted upon you on this occasion, monsieur.”
+
+“Yes?”
+
+“Seeing you constantly surrounded by Musketeers of a very superb
+appearance, and knowing that these Musketeers belong to Monsieur de
+Tréville, and were consequently enemies of the cardinal, I thought that
+you and your friends, while rendering justice to your poor queen, would
+be pleased to play his Eminence an ill turn.”
+
+“Without doubt.”
+
+“And then I have thought that considering three months’ lodging, about
+which I have said nothing—”
+
+“Yes, yes; you have already given me that reason, and I find it
+excellent.”
+
+“Reckoning still further, that as long as you do me the honor to remain
+in my house I shall never speak to you about rent—”
+
+“Very kind!”
+
+“And adding to this, if there be need of it, meaning to offer you fifty
+pistoles, if, against all probability, you should be short at the
+present moment.”
+
+“Admirable! You are rich then, my dear Monsieur Bonacieux?”
+
+“I am comfortably off, monsieur, that’s all; I have scraped together
+some such things as an income of two or three thousand crowns in the
+haberdashery business, but more particularly in venturing some funds in
+the last voyage of the celebrated navigator Jean Moquet; so that you
+understand, monsieur—But!—” cried the citizen.
+
+“What!” demanded D’Artagnan.
+
+“Whom do I see yonder?”
+
+“Where?”
+
+“In the street, facing your window, in the embrasure of that door—a man
+wrapped in a cloak.”
+
+“It is he!” cried D’Artagnan and the citizen at the same time, each
+having recognized his man.
+
+“Ah, this time,” cried D’Artagnan, springing to his sword, “this time
+he will not escape me!”
+
+Drawing his sword from its scabbard, he rushed out of the apartment. On
+the staircase he met Athos and Porthos, who were coming to see him.
+They separated, and D’Artagnan rushed between them like a dart.
+
+“Pah! Where are you going?” cried the two Musketeers in a breath.
+
+“The man of Meung!” replied D’Artagnan, and disappeared.
+
+D’Artagnan had more than once related to his friends his adventure with
+the stranger, as well as the apparition of the beautiful foreigner, to
+whom this man had confided some important missive.
+
+The opinion of Athos was that D’Artagnan had lost his letter in the
+skirmish. A gentleman, in his opinion—and according to D’Artagnan’s
+portrait of him, the stranger must be a gentleman—would be incapable of
+the baseness of stealing a letter.
+
+Porthos saw nothing in all this but a love meeting, given by a lady to
+a cavalier, or by a cavalier to a lady, which had been disturbed by the
+presence of D’Artagnan and his yellow horse.
+
+Aramis said that as these sorts of affairs were mysterious, it was
+better not to fathom them.
+
+They understood, then, from the few words which escaped from
+D’Artagnan, what affair was in hand, and as they thought that
+overtaking his man, or losing sight of him, D’Artagnan would return to
+his rooms, they kept on their way.
+
+When they entered D’Artagnan’s chamber, it was empty; the landlord,
+dreading the consequences of the encounter which was doubtless about to
+take place between the young man and the stranger, had, consistent with
+the character he had given himself, judged it prudent to decamp.
+
+
+
+
+Chapter IX.
+D’ARTAGNAN SHOWS HIMSELF
+
+
+As Athos and Porthos had foreseen, at the expiration of a half hour,
+D’Artagnan returned. He had again missed his man, who had disappeared
+as if by enchantment. D’Artagnan had run, sword in hand, through all
+the neighboring streets, but had found nobody resembling the man he
+sought for. Then he came back to the point where, perhaps, he ought to
+have begun, and that was to knock at the door against which the
+stranger had leaned; but this proved useless—for though he knocked ten
+or twelve times in succession, no one answered, and some of the
+neighbors, who put their noses out of their windows or were brought to
+their doors by the noise, had assured him that that house, all the
+openings of which were tightly closed, had not been inhabited for six
+months.
+
+While D’Artagnan was running through the streets and knocking at doors,
+Aramis had joined his companions; so that on returning home D’Artagnan
+found the reunion complete.
+
+“Well!” cried the three Musketeers all together, on seeing D’Artagnan
+enter with his brow covered with perspiration and his countenance upset
+with anger.
+
+“Well!” cried he, throwing his sword upon the bed, “this man must be
+the devil in person; he has disappeared like a phantom, like a shade,
+like a specter.”
+
+“Do you believe in apparitions?” asked Athos of Porthos.
+
+“I never believe in anything I have not seen, and as I never have seen
+apparitions, I don’t believe in them.”
+
+“The Bible,” said Aramis, “makes our belief in them a law; the ghost of
+Samuel appeared to Saul, and it is an article of faith that I should be
+very sorry to see any doubt thrown upon, Porthos.”
+
+“At all events, man or devil, body or shadow, illusion or reality, this
+man is born for my damnation; for his flight has caused us to miss a
+glorious affair, gentlemen—an affair by which there were a hundred
+pistoles, and perhaps more, to be gained.”
+
+“How is that?” cried Porthos and Aramis in a breath.
+
+As to Athos, faithful to his system of reticence, he contented himself
+with interrogating D’Artagnan by a look.
+
+“Planchet,” said D’Artagnan to his domestic, who just then insinuated
+his head through the half-open door in order to catch some fragments of
+the conversation, “go down to my landlord, Monsieur Bonacieux, and ask
+him to send me half a dozen bottles of Beaugency wine; I prefer that.”
+
+“Ah, ah! You have credit with your landlord, then?” asked Porthos.
+
+“Yes,” replied D’Artagnan, “from this very day; and mind, if the wine
+is bad, we will send him to find better.”
+
+“We must use, and not abuse,” said Aramis, sententiously.
+
+“I always said that D’Artagnan had the longest head of the four,” said
+Athos, who, having uttered his opinion, to which D’Artagnan replied
+with a bow, immediately resumed his accustomed silence.
+
+“But come, what is this about?” asked Porthos.
+
+“Yes,” said Aramis, “impart it to us, my dear friend, unless the honor
+of any lady be hazarded by this confidence; in that case you would do
+better to keep it to yourself.”
+
+“Be satisfied,” replied D’Artagnan; “the honor of no one will have
+cause to complain of what I have to tell.”
+
+He then related to his friends, word for word, all that had passed
+between him and his host, and how the man who had abducted the wife of
+his worthy landlord was the same with whom he had had the difference at
+the hostelry of the Jolly Miller.
+
+“Your affair is not bad,” said Athos, after having tasted like a
+connoisseur and indicated by a nod of his head that he thought the wine
+good; “and one may draw fifty or sixty pistoles from this good man.
+Then there only remains to ascertain whether these fifty or sixty
+pistoles are worth the risk of four heads.”
+
+“But observe,” cried D’Artagnan, “that there is a woman in the affair—a
+woman carried off, a woman who is doubtless threatened, tortured
+perhaps, and all because she is faithful to her mistress.”
+
+“Beware, D’Artagnan, beware,” said Aramis. “You grow a little too warm,
+in my opinion, about the fate of Madame Bonacieux. Woman was created
+for our destruction, and it is from her we inherit all our miseries.”
+
+At this speech of Aramis, the brow of Athos became clouded and he bit
+his lips.
+
+“It is not Madame Bonacieux about whom I am anxious,” cried D’Artagnan,
+“but the queen, whom the king abandons, whom the cardinal persecutes,
+and who sees the heads of all her friends fall, one after the other.”
+
+“Why does she love what we hate most in the world, the Spaniards and
+the English?”
+
+“Spain is her country,” replied D’Artagnan; “and it is very natural
+that she should love the Spanish, who are the children of the same soil
+as herself. As to the second reproach, I have heard it said that she
+does not love the English, but an Englishman.”
+
+“Well, and by my faith,” said Athos, “it must be acknowledged that this
+Englishman is worthy of being loved. I never saw a man with a nobler
+air than his.”
+
+“Without reckoning that he dresses as nobody else can,” said Porthos.
+“I was at the Louvre on the day when he scattered his pearls; and,
+_pardieu_, I picked up two that I sold for ten pistoles each. Do you
+know him, Aramis?”
+
+“As well as you do, gentlemen; for I was among those who seized him in
+the garden at Amiens, into which Monsieur Putange, the queen’s equerry,
+introduced me. I was at school at the time, and the adventure appeared
+to me to be cruel for the king.”
+
+“Which would not prevent me,” said D’Artagnan, “if I knew where the
+Duke of Buckingham was, from taking him by the hand and conducting him
+to the queen, were it only to enrage the cardinal, and if we could find
+means to play him a sharp turn, I vow that I would voluntarily risk my
+head in doing it.”
+
+“And did the mercer*,” rejoined Athos, “tell you, D’Artagnan, that the
+queen thought that Buckingham had been brought over by a forged
+letter?”
+
+* Haberdasher
+
+
+“She is afraid so.”
+
+“Wait a minute, then,” said Aramis.
+
+“What for?” demanded Porthos.
+
+“Go on, while I endeavor to recall circumstances.”
+
+“And now I am convinced,” said D’Artagnan, “that this abduction of the
+queen’s woman is connected with the events of which we are speaking,
+and perhaps with the presence of Buckingham in Paris.”
+
+“The Gascon is full of ideas,” said Porthos, with admiration.
+
+“I like to hear him talk,” said Athos; “his dialect amuses me.”
+
+“Gentlemen,” cried Aramis, “listen to this.”
+
+“Listen to Aramis,” said his three friends.
+
+“Yesterday I was at the house of a doctor of theology, whom I sometimes
+consult about my studies.”
+
+Athos smiled.
+
+“He resides in a quiet quarter,” continued Aramis; “his tastes and his
+profession require it. Now, at the moment when I left his house—”
+
+Here Aramis paused.
+
+“Well,” cried his auditors; “at the moment you left his house?”
+
+Aramis appeared to make a strong inward effort, like a man who, in the
+full relation of a falsehood, finds himself stopped by some unforeseen
+obstacle; but the eyes of his three companions were fixed upon him,
+their ears were wide open, and there were no means of retreat.
+
+“This doctor has a niece,” continued Aramis.
+
+“Ah, he has a niece!” interrupted Porthos.
+
+“A very respectable lady,” said Aramis.
+
+The three friends burst into laughter.
+
+“Ah, if you laugh, if you doubt me,” replied Aramis, “you shall know
+nothing.”
+
+“We believe like Mohammedans, and are as mute as tombstones,” said
+Athos.
+
+“I will continue, then,” resumed Aramis. “This niece comes sometimes to
+see her uncle; and by chance was there yesterday at the same time that
+I was, and it was my duty to offer to conduct her to her carriage.”
+
+“Ah! She has a carriage, then, this niece of the doctor?” interrupted
+Porthos, one of whose faults was a great looseness of tongue. “A nice
+acquaintance, my friend!”
+
+“Porthos,” replied Aramis, “I have had the occasion to observe to you
+more than once that you are very indiscreet; and that is injurious to
+you among the women.”
+
+“Gentlemen, gentlemen,” cried D’Artagnan, who began to get a glimpse of
+the result of the adventure, “the thing is serious. Let us try not to
+jest, if we can. Go on Aramis, go on.”
+
+“All at once, a tall, dark gentleman—just like yours, D’Artagnan.”
+
+“The same, perhaps,” said he.
+
+“Possibly,” continued Aramis, “came toward me, accompanied by five or
+six men who followed about ten paces behind him; and in the politest
+tone, ‘Monsieur Duke,’ said he to me, ‘and you madame,’ continued he,
+addressing the lady on my arm—”
+
+“The doctor’s niece?”
+
+“Hold your tongue, Porthos,” said Athos; “you are insupportable.”
+
+“‘—will you enter this carriage, and that without offering the least
+resistance, without making the least noise?’”
+
+“He took you for Buckingham!” cried D’Artagnan.
+
+“I believe so,” replied Aramis.
+
+“But the lady?” asked Porthos.
+
+“He took her for the queen!” said D’Artagnan.
+
+“Just so,” replied Aramis.
+
+“The Gascon is the devil!” cried Athos; “nothing escapes him.”
+
+“The fact is,” said Porthos, “Aramis is of the same height, and
+something of the shape of the duke; but it nevertheless appears to me
+that the dress of a Musketeer—”
+
+“I wore an enormous cloak,” said Aramis.
+
+“In the month of July? The devil!” said Porthos. “Is the doctor afraid
+that you may be recognized?”
+
+“I can comprehend that the spy may have been deceived by the person;
+but the face—”
+
+“I had a large hat,” said Aramis.
+
+“Oh, good lord,” cried Porthos, “what precautions for the study of
+theology!”
+
+“Gentlemen, gentlemen,” said D’Artagnan, “do not let us lose our time
+in jesting. Let us separate, and let us seek the mercer’s wife—that is
+the key of the intrigue.”
+
+“A woman of such inferior condition! Can you believe so?” said Porthos,
+protruding his lips with contempt.
+
+“She is goddaughter to Laporte, the confidential valet of the queen.
+Have I not told you so, gentlemen? Besides, it has perhaps been her
+Majesty’s calculation to seek on this occasion for support so lowly.
+High heads expose themselves from afar, and the cardinal is
+longsighted.”
+
+“Well,” said Porthos, “in the first place make a bargain with the
+mercer, and a good bargain.”
+
+“That’s useless,” said D’Artagnan; “for I believe if he does not pay
+us, we shall be well enough paid by another party.”
+
+At this moment a sudden noise of footsteps was heard upon the stairs;
+the door was thrown violently open, and the unfortunate mercer rushed
+into the chamber in which the council was held.
+
+“Save me, gentlemen, for the love of heaven, save me!” cried he. “There
+are four men come to arrest me. Save me! Save me!”
+
+Porthos and Aramis arose.
+
+“A moment,” cried D’Artagnan, making them a sign to replace in the
+scabbard their half-drawn swords. “It is not courage that is needed; it
+is prudence.”
+
+“And yet,” cried Porthos, “we will not leave—”
+
+“You will leave D’Artagnan to act as he thinks proper,” said Athos. “He
+has, I repeat, the longest head of the four, and for my part I declare
+that I will obey him. Do as you think best, D’Artagnan.”
+
+At this moment the four Guards appeared at the door of the antechamber,
+but seeing four Musketeers standing, and their swords by their sides,
+they hesitated about going farther.
+
+“Come in, gentlemen, come in,” called D’Artagnan; “you are here in my
+apartment, and we are all faithful servants of the king and cardinal.”
+
+“Then, gentlemen, you will not oppose our executing the orders we have
+received?” asked one who appeared to be the leader of the party.
+
+“On the contrary, gentlemen, we would assist you if it were necessary.”
+
+“What does he say?” grumbled Porthos.
+
+“You are a simpleton,” said Athos. “Silence!”
+
+“But you promised me—” whispered the poor mercer.
+
+“We can only save you by being free ourselves,” replied D’Artagnan, in
+a rapid, low tone; “and if we appear inclined to defend you, they will
+arrest us with you.”
+
+“It seems, nevertheless—”
+
+“Come, gentlemen, come!” said D’Artagnan, aloud; “I have no motive for
+defending Monsieur. I saw him today for the first time, and he can tell
+you on what occasion; he came to demand the rent of my lodging. Is that
+not true, Monsieur Bonacieux? Answer!”
+
+“That is the very truth,” cried the mercer; “but Monsieur does not tell
+you—”
+
+“Silence, with respect to me, silence, with respect to my friends;
+silence about the queen, above all, or you will ruin everybody without
+saving yourself! Come, come, gentlemen, remove the fellow.” And
+D’Artagnan pushed the half-stupefied mercer among the Guards, saying to
+him, “You are a shabby old fellow, my dear. You come to demand money of
+me—of a Musketeer! To prison with him! Gentlemen, once more, take him
+to prison, and keep him under key as long as possible; that will give
+me time to pay him.”
+
+The officers were full of thanks, and took away their prey. As they
+were going down D’Artagnan laid his hand on the shoulder of their
+leader.
+
+“May I not drink to your health, and you to mine?” said D’Artagnan,
+filling two glasses with the Beaugency wine which he had obtained from
+the liberality of M. Bonacieux.
+
+“That will do me great honor,” said the leader of the posse, “and I
+accept thankfully.”
+
+“Then to yours, monsieur—what is your name?”
+
+“Boisrenard.”
+
+“Monsieur Boisrenard.”
+
+“To yours, my gentlemen! What is your name, in your turn, if you
+please?”
+
+“D’Artagnan.”
+
+“To yours, monsieur.”
+
+“And above all others,” cried D’Artagnan, as if carried away by his
+enthusiasm, “to that of the king and the cardinal.”
+
+The leader of the posse would perhaps have doubted the sincerity of
+D’Artagnan if the wine had been bad; but the wine was good, and he was
+convinced.
+
+“What diabolical villainy you have performed here,” said Porthos, when
+the officer had rejoined his companions and the four friends found
+themselves alone. “Shame, shame, for four Musketeers to allow an
+unfortunate fellow who cried for help to be arrested in their midst!
+And a gentleman to hobnob with a bailiff!”
+
+“Porthos,” said Aramis, “Athos has already told you that you are a
+simpleton, and I am quite of his opinion. D’Artagnan, you are a great
+man; and when you occupy Monsieur de Tréville’s place, I will come and
+ask your influence to secure me an abbey.”
+
+“Well, I am in a maze,” said Porthos; “do _you_ approve of what
+D’Artagnan has done?”
+
+“_Parbleu!_ Indeed I do,” said Athos; “I not only approve of what he
+has done, but I congratulate him upon it.”
+
+“And now, gentlemen,” said D’Artagnan, without stopping to explain his
+conduct to Porthos, “All for one, one for all—that is our motto, is it
+not?”
+
+“And yet—” said Porthos.
+
+“Hold out your hand and swear!” cried Athos and Aramis at once.
+
+Overcome by example, grumbling to himself, nevertheless, Porthos
+stretched out his hand, and the four friends repeated with one voice
+the formula dictated by D’Artagnan:
+
+“All for one, one for all.”
+
+“That’s well! Now let us everyone retire to his own home,” said
+D’Artagnan, as if he had done nothing but command all his life; “and
+attention! For from this moment we are at feud with the cardinal.”
+
+
+
+
+Chapter X.
+A MOUSETRAP IN THE SEVENTEENTH CENTURY
+
+
+The invention of the mousetrap does not date from our days; as soon as
+societies, in forming, had invented any kind of police, that police
+invented mousetraps.
+
+As perhaps our readers are not familiar with the slang of the Rue de
+Jerusalem, and as it is fifteen years since we applied this word for
+the first time to this thing, allow us to explain to them what is a
+mousetrap.
+
+When in a house, of whatever kind it may be, an individual suspected of
+any crime is arrested, the arrest is held secret. Four or five men are
+placed in ambuscade in the first room. The door is opened to all who
+knock. It is closed after them, and they are arrested; so that at the
+end of two or three days they have in their power almost all the
+_habitués_ of the establishment. And that is a mousetrap.
+
+The apartment of M. Bonacieux, then, became a mousetrap; and whoever
+appeared there was taken and interrogated by the cardinal’s people. It
+must be observed that as a separate passage led to the first floor, in
+which D’Artagnan lodged, those who called on him were exempted from
+this detention.
+
+Besides, nobody came thither but the three Musketeers; they had all
+been engaged in earnest search and inquiries, but had discovered
+nothing. Athos had even gone so far as to question M. de Tréville—a
+thing which, considering the habitual reticence of the worthy
+Musketeer, had very much astonished his captain. But M. de Tréville
+knew nothing, except that the last time he had seen the cardinal, the
+king, and the queen, the cardinal looked very thoughtful, the king
+uneasy, and the redness of the queen’s eyes donated that she had been
+sleepless or tearful. But this last circumstance was not striking, as
+the queen since her marriage had slept badly and wept much.
+
+M. de Tréville requested Athos, whatever might happen, to be observant
+of his duty to the king, but particularly to the queen, begging him to
+convey his desires to his comrades.
+
+As to D’Artagnan, he did not budge from his apartment. He converted his
+chamber into an observatory. From his windows he saw all the visitors
+who were caught. Then, having removed a plank from his floor, and
+nothing remaining but a simple ceiling between him and the room
+beneath, in which the interrogatories were made, he heard all that
+passed between the inquisitors and the accused.
+
+The interrogatories, preceded by a minute search operated upon the
+persons arrested, were almost always framed thus: “Has Madame Bonacieux
+sent anything to you for her husband, or any other person? Has Monsieur
+Bonacieux sent anything to you for his wife, or for any other person?
+Has either of them confided anything to you by word of mouth?”
+
+“If they knew anything, they would not question people in this manner,”
+said D’Artagnan to himself. “Now, what is it they want to know? Why,
+they want to know if the Duke of Buckingham is in Paris, and if he has
+had, or is likely to have, an interview with the queen.”
+
+D’Artagnan held onto this idea, which, from what he had heard, was not
+wanting in probability.
+
+In the meantime, the mousetrap continued in operation, and likewise
+D’Artagnan’s vigilance.
+
+On the evening of the day after the arrest of poor Bonacieux, as Athos
+had just left D’Artagnan to report at M. de Tréville’s, as nine o’clock
+had just struck, and as Planchet, who had not yet made the bed, was
+beginning his task, a knocking was heard at the street door. The door
+was instantly opened and shut; someone was taken in the mousetrap.
+
+D’Artagnan flew to his hole, laid himself down on the floor at full
+length, and listened.
+
+Cries were soon heard, and then moans, which someone appeared to be
+endeavoring to stifle. There were no questions.
+
+“The devil!” said D’Artagnan to himself. “It seems like a woman! They
+search her; she resists; they use force—the scoundrels!”
+
+In spite of his prudence, D’Artagnan restrained himself with great
+difficulty from taking a part in the scene that was going on below.
+
+“But I tell you that I am the mistress of the house, gentlemen! I tell
+you I am Madame Bonacieux; I tell you I belong to the queen!” cried the
+unfortunate woman.
+
+“Madame Bonacieux!” murmured D’Artagnan. “Can I be so lucky as to find
+what everybody is seeking for?”
+
+The voice became more and more indistinct; a tumultuous movement shook
+the partition. The victim resisted as much as a woman could resist four
+men.
+
+“Pardon, gentlemen—par—” murmured the voice, which could now only be
+heard in inarticulate sounds.
+
+“They are binding her; they are going to drag her away,” cried
+D’Artagnan to himself, springing up from the floor. “My sword! Good, it
+is by my side! Planchet!”
+
+“Monsieur.”
+
+“Run and seek Athos, Porthos and Aramis. One of the three will
+certainly be at home, perhaps all three. Tell them to take arms, to
+come here, and to run! Ah, I remember, Athos is at Monsieur de
+Tréville’s.”
+
+“But where are you going, monsieur, where are you going?”
+
+“I am going down by the window, in order to be there the sooner,” cried
+D’Artagnan. “You put back the boards, sweep the floor, go out at the
+door, and run as I told you.”
+
+“Oh, monsieur! Monsieur! You will kill yourself,” cried Planchet.
+
+“Hold your tongue, stupid fellow,” said D’Artagnan; and laying hold of
+the casement, he let himself gently down from the first story, which
+fortunately was not very elevated, without doing himself the slightest
+injury.
+
+He then went straight to the door and knocked, murmuring, “I will go
+myself and be caught in the mousetrap, but woe be to the cats that
+shall pounce upon such a mouse!”
+
+The knocker had scarcely sounded under the hand of the young man before
+the tumult ceased, steps approached, the door was opened, and
+D’Artagnan, sword in hand, rushed into the rooms of M. Bonacieux, the
+door of which, doubtless acted upon by a spring, closed after him.
+
+Then those who dwelt in Bonacieux’s unfortunate house, together with
+the nearest neighbors, heard loud cries, stamping of feet, clashing of
+swords, and breaking of furniture. A moment after, those who, surprised
+by this tumult, had gone to their windows to learn the cause of it, saw
+the door open, and four men, clothed in black, not _come_ out of it,
+but _fly_, like so many frightened crows, leaving on the ground and on
+the corners of the furniture, feathers from their wings; that is to
+say, patches of their clothes and fragments of their cloaks.
+
+D’Artagnan was conqueror—without much effort, it must be confessed, for
+only one of the officers was armed, and even he defended himself for
+form’s sake. It is true that the three others had endeavored to knock
+the young man down with chairs, stools, and crockery; but two or three
+scratches made by the Gascon’s blade terrified them. Ten minutes
+sufficed for their defeat, and D’Artagnan remained master of the field
+of battle.
+
+The neighbors who had opened their windows, with the coolness peculiar
+to the inhabitants of Paris in these times of perpetual riots and
+disturbances, closed them again as soon as they saw the four men in
+black flee—their instinct telling them that for the time all was over.
+Besides, it began to grow late, and then, as today, people went to bed
+early in the quarter of the Luxembourg.
+
+On being left alone with Mme. Bonacieux, D’Artagnan turned toward her;
+the poor woman reclined where she had been left, half-fainting upon an
+armchair. D’Artagnan examined her with a rapid glance.
+
+She was a charming woman of twenty-five or twenty-six years, with dark
+hair, blue eyes, and a nose slightly turned up, admirable teeth, and a
+complexion marbled with rose and opal. There, however, ended the signs
+which might have confounded her with a lady of rank. The hands were
+white, but without delicacy; the feet did not bespeak the woman of
+quality. Happily, D’Artagnan was not yet acquainted with such niceties.
+
+While D’Artagnan was examining Mme. Bonacieux, and was, as we have
+said, close to her, he saw on the ground a fine cambric handkerchief,
+which he picked up, as was his habit, and at the corner of which he
+recognized the same cipher he had seen on the handkerchief which had
+nearly caused him and Aramis to cut each other’s throat.
+
+From that time, D’Artagnan had been cautious with respect to
+handkerchiefs with arms on them, and he therefore placed in the pocket
+of Mme. Bonacieux the one he had just picked up.
+
+At that moment Mme. Bonacieux recovered her senses. She opened her
+eyes, looked around her with terror, saw that the apartment was empty
+and that she was alone with her liberator. She extended her hands to
+him with a smile. Mme. Bonacieux had the sweetest smile in the world.
+
+“Ah, monsieur!” said she, “you have saved me; permit me to thank you.”
+
+“Madame,” said D’Artagnan, “I have only done what every gentleman would
+have done in my place; you owe me no thanks.”
+
+“Oh, yes, monsieur, oh, yes; and I hope to prove to you that you have
+not served an ingrate. But what could these men, whom I at first took
+for robbers, want with me, and why is Monsieur Bonacieux not here?”
+
+“Madame, those men were more dangerous than any robbers could have
+been, for they are the agents of the cardinal; and as to your husband,
+Monsieur Bonacieux, he is not here because he was yesterday evening
+conducted to the Bastille.”
+
+“My husband in the Bastille!” cried Mme. Bonacieux. “Oh, my God! What
+has he done? Poor dear man, he is innocence itself!”
+
+And something like a faint smile lighted the still-terrified features
+of the young woman.
+
+“What has he done, madame?” said D’Artagnan. “I believe that his only
+crime is to have at the same time the good fortune and the misfortune
+to be your husband.”
+
+“But, monsieur, you know then—”
+
+“I know that you have been abducted, madame.”
+
+“And by whom? Do you know him? Oh, if you know him, tell me!”
+
+“By a man of from forty to forty-five years, with black hair, a dark
+complexion, and a scar on his left temple.”
+
+“That is he, that is he; but his name?”
+
+“Ah, his name? I do not know that.”
+
+“And did my husband know I had been carried off?”
+
+“He was informed of it by a letter, written to him by the abductor
+himself.”
+
+“And does he suspect,” said Mme. Bonacieux, with some embarrassment,
+“the cause of this event?”
+
+“He attributed it, I believe, to a political cause.”
+
+“I doubted from the first; and now I think entirely as he does. Then my
+dear Monsieur Bonacieux has not suspected me a single instant?”
+
+“So far from it, madame, he was too proud of your prudence, and above
+all, of your love.”
+
+A second smile, almost imperceptible, stole over the rosy lips of the
+pretty young woman.
+
+“But,” continued D’Artagnan, “how did you escape?”
+
+“I took advantage of a moment when they left me alone; and as I had
+known since morning the reason of my abduction, with the help of the
+sheets I let myself down from the window. Then, as I believed my
+husband would be at home, I hastened hither.”
+
+“To place yourself under his protection?”
+
+“Oh, no, poor dear man! I knew very well that he was incapable of
+defending me; but as he could serve us in other ways, I wished to
+inform him.”
+
+“Of what?”
+
+“Oh, that is not my secret; I must not, therefore, tell you.”
+
+“Besides,” said D’Artagnan, “pardon me, madame, if, guardsman as I am,
+I remind you of prudence—besides, I believe we are not here in a very
+proper place for imparting confidences. The men I have put to flight
+will return reinforced; if they find us here, we are lost. I have sent
+for three of my friends, but who knows whether they were at home?”
+
+“Yes, yes! You are right,” cried the affrighted Mme. Bonacieux; “let us
+fly! Let us save ourselves.”
+
+At these words she passed her arm under that of D’Artagnan, and urged
+him forward eagerly.
+
+“But whither shall we fly—whither escape?”
+
+“Let us first withdraw from this house; afterward we shall see.”
+
+The young woman and the young man, without taking the trouble to shut
+the door after them, descended the Rue des Fossoyeurs rapidly, turned
+into the Rue des Fossés-Monsieur-le-Prince, and did not stop till they
+came to the Place St. Sulpice.
+
+“And now what are we to do, and where do you wish me to conduct you?”
+asked D’Artagnan.
+
+“I am at quite a loss how to answer you, I admit,” said Mme. Bonacieux.
+“My intention was to inform Monsieur Laporte, through my husband, in
+order that Monsieur Laporte might tell us precisely what had taken
+place at the Louvre in the last three days, and whether there is any
+danger in presenting myself there.”
+
+“But I,” said D’Artagnan, “can go and inform Monsieur Laporte.”
+
+“No doubt you could, only there is one misfortune, and that is that
+Monsieur Bonacieux is known at the Louvre, and would be allowed to
+pass; whereas you are not known there, and the gate would be closed
+against you.”
+
+“Ah, bah!” said D’Artagnan; “you have at some wicket of the Louvre a
+_concierge_ who is devoted to you, and who, thanks to a password,
+would—”
+
+Mme. Bonacieux looked earnestly at the young man.
+
+“And if I give you this password,” said she, “would you forget it as
+soon as you used it?”
+
+“By my honor, by the faith of a gentleman!” said D’Artagnan, with an
+accent so truthful that no one could mistake it.
+
+“Then I believe you. You appear to be a brave young man; besides, your
+fortune may perhaps be the result of your devotedness.”
+
+“I will do, without a promise and voluntarily, all that I can do to
+serve the king and be agreeable to the queen. Dispose of me, then, as a
+friend.”
+
+“But I—where shall I go meanwhile?”
+
+“Is there nobody from whose house Monsieur Laporte can come and fetch
+you?”
+
+“No, I can trust nobody.”
+
+“Stop,” said D’Artagnan; “we are near Athos’s door. Yes, here it is.”
+
+“Who is this Athos?”
+
+“One of my friends.”
+
+“But if he should be at home and see me?”
+
+“He is not at home, and I will carry away the key, after having placed
+you in his apartment.”
+
+“But if he should return?”
+
+“Oh, he won’t return; and if he should, he will be told that I have
+brought a woman with me, and that woman is in his apartment.”
+
+“But that will compromise me sadly, you know.”
+
+“Of what consequence? Nobody knows you. Besides, we are in a situation
+to overlook ceremony.”
+
+“Come, then, let us go to your friend’s house. Where does he live?”
+
+“Rue Férou, two steps from here.”
+
+“Let us go!”
+
+Both resumed their way. As D’Artagnan had foreseen, Athos was not
+within. He took the key, which was customarily given him as one of the
+family, ascended the stairs, and introduced Mme. Bonacieux into the
+little apartment of which we have given a description.
+
+“You are at home,” said he. “Remain here, fasten the door inside, and
+open it to nobody unless you hear three taps like this;” and he tapped
+thrice—two taps close together and pretty hard, the other after an
+interval, and lighter.
+
+“That is well,” said Mme. Bonacieux. “Now, in my turn, let me give you
+my instructions.”
+
+“I am all attention.”
+
+“Present yourself at the wicket of the Louvre, on the side of the Rue
+de l’Echelle, and ask for Germain.”
+
+“Well, and then?”
+
+“He will ask you what you want, and you will answer by these two words,
+‘Tours’ and ‘Bruxelles.’ He will at once put himself at your orders.”
+
+“And what shall I command him?”
+
+“To go and fetch Monsieur Laporte, the queen’s _valet de chambre_.”
+
+“And when he shall have informed him, and Monsieur Laporte is come?”
+
+“You will send him to me.”
+
+“That is well; but where and how shall I see you again?”
+
+“Do you wish to see me again?”
+
+“Certainly.”
+
+“Well, let that care be mine, and be at ease.”
+
+“I depend upon your word.”
+
+“You may.”
+
+D’Artagnan bowed to Mme. Bonacieux, darting at her the most loving
+glance that he could possibly concentrate upon her charming little
+person; and while he descended the stairs, he heard the door closed and
+double-locked. In two bounds he was at the Louvre; as he entered the
+wicket of L’Echelle, ten o’clock struck. All the events we have
+described had taken place within a half hour.
+
+Everything fell out as Mme. Bonacieux prophesied. On hearing the
+password, Germain bowed. In a few minutes, Laporte was at the lodge; in
+two words D’Artagnan informed him where Mme. Bonacieux was. Laporte
+assured himself, by having it twice repeated, of the accurate address,
+and set off at a run. Hardly, however, had he taken ten steps before he
+returned.
+
+“Young man,” said he to D’Artagnan, “a suggestion.”
+
+“What?”
+
+“You may get into trouble by what has taken place.”
+
+“You believe so?”
+
+“Yes. Have you any friend whose clock is too slow?”
+
+“Well?”
+
+“Go and call upon him, in order that he may give evidence of your
+having been with him at half past nine. In a court of justice that is
+called an alibi.”
+
+D’Artagnan found his advice prudent. He took to his heels, and was soon
+at M. de Tréville’s; but instead of going into the saloon with the rest
+of the crowd, he asked to be introduced to M. de Tréville’s office. As
+D’Artagnan so constantly frequented the hôtel, no difficulty was made
+in complying with his request, and a servant went to inform M. de
+Tréville that his young compatriot, having something important to
+communicate, solicited a private audience. Five minutes after, M. de
+Tréville was asking D’Artagnan what he could do to serve him, and what
+caused his visit at so late an hour.
+
+“Pardon me, monsieur,” said D’Artagnan, who had profited by the moment
+he had been left alone to put back M. de Tréville’s clock
+three-quarters of an hour, “but I thought, as it was yet only
+twenty-five minutes past nine, it was not too late to wait upon you.”
+
+“Twenty-five minutes past nine!” cried M. de Tréville, looking at the
+clock; “why, that’s impossible!”
+
+“Look, rather, monsieur,” said D’Artagnan, “the clock shows it.”
+
+“That’s true,” said M. de Tréville; “I believed it later. But what can
+I do for you?”
+
+Then D’Artagnan told M. de Tréville a long history about the queen. He
+expressed to him the fears he entertained with respect to her Majesty;
+he related to him what he had heard of the projects of the cardinal
+with regard to Buckingham, and all with a tranquillity and candor of
+which M. de Tréville was the more the dupe, from having himself, as we
+have said, observed something fresh between the cardinal, the king, and
+the queen.
+
+As ten o’clock was striking, D’Artagnan left M. de Tréville, who
+thanked him for his information, recommended him to have the service of
+the king and queen always at heart, and returned to the saloon; but at
+the foot of the stairs, D’Artagnan remembered he had forgotten his
+cane. He consequently sprang up again, re-entered the office, with a
+turn of his finger set the clock right again, that it might not be
+perceived the next day that it had been put wrong, and certain from
+that time that he had a witness to prove his alibi, he ran downstairs
+and soon found himself in the street.
+
+
+
+
+Chapter XI.
+IN WHICH THE PLOT THICKENS
+
+
+His visit to M. de Tréville being paid, the pensive D’Artagnan took the
+longest way homeward.
+
+On what was D’Artagnan thinking, that he strayed thus from his path,
+gazing at the stars of heaven, and sometimes sighing, sometimes
+smiling?
+
+He was thinking of Mme. Bonacieux. For an apprentice Musketeer the
+young woman was almost an ideal of love. Pretty, mysterious, initiated
+in almost all the secrets of the court, which reflected such a charming
+gravity over her pleasing features, it might be surmised that she was
+not wholly unmoved; and this is an irresistible charm to novices in
+love. Moreover, D’Artagnan had delivered her from the hands of the
+demons who wished to search and ill treat her; and this important
+service had established between them one of those sentiments of
+gratitude which so easily assume a more tender character.
+
+D’Artagnan already fancied himself, so rapid is the flight of our
+dreams upon the wings of imagination, accosted by a messenger from the
+young woman, who brought him some billet appointing a meeting, a gold
+chain, or a diamond. We have observed that young cavaliers received
+presents from their king without shame. Let us add that in these times
+of lax morality they had no more delicacy with respect to the
+mistresses; and that the latter almost always left them valuable and
+durable remembrances, as if they essayed to conquer the fragility of
+their sentiments by the solidity of their gifts.
+
+Without a blush, men made their way in the world by the means of women
+blushing. Such as were only beautiful gave their beauty, whence,
+without doubt, comes the proverb, “The most beautiful girl in the world
+can only give what she has.” Such as were rich gave in addition a part
+of their money; and a vast number of heroes of that gallant period may
+be cited who would neither have won their spurs in the first place, nor
+their battles afterward, without the purse, more or less furnished,
+which their mistress fastened to the saddle bow.
+
+D’Artagnan owned nothing. Provincial diffidence, that slight varnish,
+the ephemeral flower, that down of the peach, had evaporated to the
+winds through the little orthodox counsels which the three Musketeers
+gave their friend. D’Artagnan, following the strange custom of the
+times, considered himself at Paris as on a campaign, neither more nor
+less than if he had been in Flanders—Spain yonder, woman here. In each
+there was an enemy to contend with, and contributions to be levied.
+
+But, we must say, at the present moment D’Artagnan was ruled by a
+feeling much more noble and disinterested. The mercer had said that he
+was rich; the young man might easily guess that with so weak a man as
+M. Bonacieux; and interest was almost foreign to this commencement of
+love, which had been the consequence of it. We say _almost_, for the
+idea that a young, handsome, kind, and witty woman is at the same time
+rich takes nothing from the beginning of love, but on the contrary
+strengthens it.
+
+There are in affluence a crowd of aristocratic cares and caprices which
+are highly becoming to beauty. A fine and white stocking, a silken
+robe, a lace kerchief, a pretty slipper on the foot, a tasty ribbon on
+the head do not make an ugly woman pretty, but they make a pretty woman
+beautiful, without reckoning the hands, which gain by all this; the
+hands, among women particularly, to be beautiful must be idle.
+
+Then D’Artagnan, as the reader, from whom we have not concealed the
+state of his fortune, very well knows—D’Artagnan was not a millionaire;
+he hoped to become one someday, but the time which in his own mind he
+fixed upon for this happy change was still far distant. In the
+meanwhile, how disheartening to see the woman one loves long for those
+thousands of nothings which constitute a woman’s happiness, and be
+unable to give her those thousands of nothings. At least, when the
+woman is rich and the lover is not, that which he cannot offer she
+offers to herself; and although it is generally with her husband’s
+money that she procures herself this indulgence, the gratitude for it
+seldom reverts to him.
+
+Then D’Artagnan, disposed to become the most tender of lovers, was at
+the same time a very devoted friend. In the midst of his amorous
+projects for the mercer’s wife, he did not forget his friends. The
+pretty Mme. Bonacieux was just the woman to walk with in the Plain St.
+Denis or in the fair of St. Germain, in company with Athos, Porthos,
+and Aramis, to whom D’Artagnan had often remarked this. Then one could
+enjoy charming little dinners, where one touches on one side the hand
+of a friend, and on the other the foot of a mistress. Besides, on
+pressing occasions, in extreme difficulties, D’Artagnan would become
+the preserver of his friends.
+
+And M. Bonacieux, whom D’Artagnan had pushed into the hands of the
+officers, denying him aloud although he had promised in a whisper to
+save him? We are compelled to admit to our readers that D’Artagnan
+thought nothing about him in any way; or that if he did think of him,
+it was only to say to himself that he was very well where he was,
+wherever it might be. Love is the most selfish of all the passions.
+
+Let our readers reassure themselves. If D’Artagnan forgets his host, or
+appears to forget him, under the pretense of not knowing where he has
+been carried, we will not forget him, and we know where he is. But for
+the moment, let us do as did the amorous Gascon; we will see after the
+worthy mercer later.
+
+D’Artagnan, reflecting on his future amours, addressing himself to the
+beautiful night, and smiling at the stars, ascended the Rue
+Cherish-Midi, or Chase-Midi, as it was then called. As he found himself
+in the quarter in which Aramis lived, he took it into his head to pay
+his friend a visit in order to explain the motives which had led him to
+send Planchet with a request that he would come instantly to the
+mousetrap. Now, if Aramis had been at home when Planchet came to his
+abode, he had doubtless hastened to the Rue des Fossoyeurs, and finding
+nobody there but his other two companions perhaps, they would not be
+able to conceive what all this meant. This mystery required an
+explanation; at least, so D’Artagnan declared to himself.
+
+He likewise thought this was an opportunity for talking about pretty
+little Mme. Bonacieux, of whom his head, if not his heart, was already
+full. We must never look for discretion in first love. First love is
+accompanied by such excessive joy that unless the joy be allowed to
+overflow, it will stifle you.
+
+Paris for two hours past had been dark, and seemed a desert. Eleven
+o’clock sounded from all the clocks of the Faubourg St. Germain. It was
+delightful weather. D’Artagnan was passing along a lane on the spot
+where the Rue d’Assas is now situated, breathing the balmy emanations
+which were borne upon the wind from the Rue de Vaugirard, and which
+arose from the gardens refreshed by the dews of evening and the breeze
+of night. From a distance resounded, deadened, however, by good
+shutters, the songs of the tipplers, enjoying themselves in the
+cabarets scattered along the plain. Arrived at the end of the lane,
+D’Artagnan turned to the left. The house in which Aramis dwelt was
+situated between the Rue Cassette and the Rue Servandoni.
+
+D’Artagnan had just passed the Rue Cassette, and already perceived the
+door of his friend’s house, shaded by a mass of sycamores and clematis
+which formed a vast arch opposite the front of it, when he perceived
+something like a shadow issuing from the Rue Servandoni. This something
+was enveloped in a cloak, and D’Artagnan at first believed it was a
+man; but by the smallness of the form, the hesitation of the walk, and
+the indecision of the step, he soon discovered that it was a woman.
+Further, this woman, as if not certain of the house she was seeking,
+lifted up her eyes to look around her, stopped, went backward, and then
+returned again. D’Artagnan was perplexed.
+
+“Shall I go and offer her my services?” thought he. “By her step she
+must be young; perhaps she is pretty. Oh, yes! But a woman who wanders
+in the streets at this hour only ventures out to meet her lover. If I
+should disturb a rendezvous, that would not be the best means of
+commencing an acquaintance.”
+
+Meantime the young woman continued to advance, counting the houses and
+windows. This was neither long nor difficult. There were but three
+hôtels in this part of the street; and only two windows looking toward
+the road, one of which was in a pavilion parallel to that which Aramis
+occupied, the other belonging to Aramis himself.
+
+“_Pardieu!_” said D’Artagnan to himself, to whose mind the niece of the
+theologian reverted, “_pardieu_, it would be droll if this belated dove
+should be in search of our friend’s house. But on my soul, it looks so.
+Ah, my dear Aramis, this time I shall find you out.” And D’Artagnan,
+making himself as small as he could, concealed himself in the darkest
+side of the street near a stone bench placed at the back of a niche.
+
+The young woman continued to advance; and in addition to the lightness
+of her step, which had betrayed her, she emitted a little cough which
+denoted a sweet voice. D’Artagnan believed this cough to be a signal.
+
+Nevertheless, whether the cough had been answered by a similar signal
+which had fixed the irresolution of the nocturnal seeker, or whether
+without this aid she saw that she had arrived at the end of her
+journey, she resolutely drew near to Aramis’s shutter, and tapped, at
+three equal intervals, with her bent finger.
+
+“This is all very fine, dear Aramis,” murmured D’Artagnan. “Ah,
+Monsieur Hypocrite, I understand how you study theology.”
+
+The three blows were scarcely struck, when the inside blind was opened
+and a light appeared through the panes of the outside shutter.
+
+“Ah, ah!” said the listener, “not through doors, but through windows!
+Ah, this visit was expected. We shall see the windows open, and the
+lady enter by escalade. Very pretty!”
+
+But to the great astonishment of D’Artagnan, the shutter remained
+closed. Still more, the light which had shone for an instant
+disappeared, and all was again in obscurity.
+
+D’Artagnan thought this could not last long, and continued to look with
+all his eyes and listen with all his ears.
+
+He was right; at the end of some seconds two sharp taps were heard
+inside. The young woman in the street replied by a single tap, and the
+shutter was opened a little way.
+
+It may be judged whether D’Artagnan looked or listened with avidity.
+Unfortunately the light had been removed into another chamber; but the
+eyes of the young man were accustomed to the night. Besides, the eyes
+of the Gascons have, as it is asserted, like those of cats, the faculty
+of seeing in the dark.
+
+D’Artagnan then saw that the young woman took from her pocket a white
+object, which she unfolded quickly, and which took the form of a
+handkerchief. She made her interlocutor observe the corner of this
+unfolded object.
+
+This immediately recalled to D’Artagnan’s mind the handkerchief which
+he had found at the feet of Mme. Bonacieux, which had reminded him of
+that which he had dragged from under the feet of Aramis.
+
+“What the devil could that handkerchief signify?”
+
+Placed where he was, D’Artagnan could not perceive the face of Aramis.
+We say Aramis, because the young man entertained no doubt that it was
+his friend who held this dialogue from the interior with the lady of
+the exterior. Curiosity prevailed over prudence; and profiting by the
+preoccupation into which the sight of the handkerchief appeared to have
+plunged the two personages now on the scene, he stole from his hiding
+place, and quick as lightning, but stepping with utmost caution, he ran
+and placed himself close to the angle of the wall, from which his eye
+could pierce the interior of Aramis’s room.
+
+Upon gaining this advantage D’Artagnan was near uttering a cry of
+surprise; it was not Aramis who was conversing with the nocturnal
+visitor, it was a woman! D’Artagnan, however, could only see enough to
+recognize the form of her vestments, not enough to distinguish her
+features.
+
+At the same instant the woman inside drew a second handkerchief from
+her pocket, and exchanged it for that which had just been shown to her.
+Then some words were spoken by the two women. At length the shutter
+closed. The woman who was outside the window turned round, and passed
+within four steps of D’Artagnan, pulling down the hood of her mantle;
+but the precaution was too late, D’Artagnan had already recognized Mme.
+Bonacieux.
+
+Mme. Bonacieux! The suspicion that it was she had crossed the mind of
+D’Artagnan when she drew the handkerchief from her pocket; but what
+probability was there that Mme. Bonacieux, who had sent for M. Laporte
+in order to be reconducted to the Louvre, should be running about the
+streets of Paris at half past eleven at night, at the risk of being
+abducted a second time?
+
+This must be, then, an affair of importance; and what is the most
+important affair to a woman of twenty-five! Love.
+
+But was it on her own account, or on account of another, that she
+exposed herself to such hazards? This was a question the young man
+asked himself, whom the demon of jealousy already gnawed, being in
+heart neither more nor less than an accepted lover.
+
+There was a very simple means of satisfying himself whither Mme.
+Bonacieux was going; that was to follow her. This method was so simple
+that D’Artagnan employed it quite naturally and instinctively.
+
+But at the sight of the young man, who detached himself from the wall
+like a statue walking from its niche, and at the noise of the steps
+which she heard resound behind her, Mme. Bonacieux uttered a little cry
+and fled.
+
+D’Artagnan ran after her. It was not difficult for him to overtake a
+woman embarrassed with her cloak. He came up with her before she had
+traversed a third of the street. The unfortunate woman was exhausted,
+not by fatigue, but by terror, and when D’Artagnan placed his hand upon
+her shoulder, she sank upon one knee, crying in a choking voice, “Kill
+me, if you please, you shall know nothing!”
+
+D’Artagnan raised her by passing his arm round her waist; but as he
+felt by her weight she was on the point of fainting, he made haste to
+reassure her by protestations of devotedness. These protestations were
+nothing for Mme. Bonacieux, for such protestations may be made with the
+worst intentions in the world; but the voice was all. Mme. Bonacieux
+thought she recognized the sound of that voice; she reopened her eyes,
+cast a quick glance upon the man who had terrified her so, and at once
+perceiving it was D’Artagnan, she uttered a cry of joy, “Oh, it is you,
+it is you! Thank God, thank God!”
+
+“Yes, it is I,” said D’Artagnan, “it is I, whom God has sent to watch
+over you.”
+
+“Was it with that intention you followed me?” asked the young woman,
+with a coquettish smile, whose somewhat bantering character resumed its
+influence, and with whom all fear had disappeared from the moment in
+which she recognized a friend in one she had taken for an enemy.
+
+“No,” said D’Artagnan; “no, I confess it. It was chance that threw me
+in your way; I saw a woman knocking at the window of one of my
+friends.”
+
+“One of your friends?” interrupted Mme. Bonacieux.
+
+“Without doubt; Aramis is one of my best friends.”
+
+“Aramis! Who is he?”
+
+“Come, come, you won’t tell me you don’t know Aramis?”
+
+“This is the first time I ever heard his name pronounced.”
+
+“It is the first time, then, that you ever went to that house?”
+
+“Undoubtedly.”
+
+“And you did not know that it was inhabited by a young man?”
+
+“No.”
+
+“By a Musketeer?”
+
+“No, indeed!”
+
+“It was not he, then, you came to seek?”
+
+“Not the least in the world. Besides, you must have seen that the
+person to whom I spoke was a woman.”
+
+“That is true; but this woman is a friend of Aramis—”
+
+“I know nothing of that.”
+
+“—since she lodges with him.”
+
+“That does not concern me.”
+
+“But who is she?”
+
+“Oh, that is not my secret.”
+
+“My dear Madame Bonacieux, you are charming; but at the same time you
+are one of the most mysterious women.”
+
+“Do I lose by that?”
+
+“No; you are, on the contrary, adorable.”
+
+“Give me your arm, then.”
+
+“Most willingly. And now?”
+
+“Now escort me.”
+
+“Where?”
+
+“Where I am going.”
+
+“But where are you going?”
+
+“You will see, because you will leave me at the door.”
+
+“Shall I wait for you?”
+
+“That will be useless.”
+
+“You will return alone, then?”
+
+“Perhaps yes, perhaps no.”
+
+“But will the person who shall accompany you afterward be a man or a
+woman?”
+
+“I don’t know yet.”
+
+“But I will know it!”
+
+“How so?”
+
+“I will wait until you come out.”
+
+“In that case, adieu.”
+
+“Why so?”
+
+“I do not want you.”
+
+“But you have claimed—”
+
+“The aid of a gentleman, not the watchfulness of a spy.”
+
+“The word is rather hard.”
+
+“How are they called who follow others in spite of them?”
+
+“They are indiscreet.”
+
+“The word is too mild.”
+
+“Well, madame, I perceive I must do as you wish.”
+
+“Why did you deprive yourself of the merit of doing so at once?”
+
+“Is there no merit in repentance?”
+
+“And do you really repent?”
+
+“I know nothing about it myself. But what I know is that I promise to
+do all you wish if you allow me to accompany you where you are going.”
+
+“And you will leave me then?”
+
+“Yes.”
+
+“Without waiting for my coming out again?”
+
+“Yes.”
+
+“Word of honor?”
+
+“By the faith of a gentleman. Take my arm, and let us go.”
+
+D’Artagnan offered his arm to Mme. Bonacieux, who willingly took it,
+half laughing, half trembling, and both gained the top of Rue de la
+Harpe. Arriving there, the young woman seemed to hesitate, as she had
+before done in the Rue Vaugirard. She seemed, however, by certain
+signs, to recognize a door, and approaching that door, “And now,
+monsieur,” said she, “it is here I have business; a thousand thanks for
+your honorable company, which has saved me from all the dangers to
+which, alone, I was exposed. But the moment is come to keep your word;
+I have reached my destination.”
+
+“And you will have nothing to fear on your return?”
+
+“I shall have nothing to fear but robbers.”
+
+“And that is nothing?”
+
+“What could they take from me? I have not a penny about me.”
+
+“You forget that beautiful handkerchief with the coat of arms.”
+
+“Which?”
+
+“That which I found at your feet, and replaced in your pocket.”
+
+“Hold your tongue, imprudent man! Do you wish to destroy me?”
+
+“You see very plainly that there is still danger for you, since a
+single word makes you tremble; and you confess that if that word were
+heard you would be ruined. Come, come, madame!” cried D’Artagnan,
+seizing her hands, and surveying her with an ardent glance, “come, be
+more generous. Confide in me. Have you not read in my eyes that there
+is nothing but devotion and sympathy in my heart?”
+
+“Yes,” replied Mme. Bonacieux; “therefore, ask my own secrets, and I
+will reveal them to you; but those of others—that is quite another
+thing.”
+
+“Very well,” said D’Artagnan, “I shall discover them; as these secrets
+may have an influence over your life, these secrets must become mine.”
+
+“Beware of what you do!” cried the young woman, in a manner so serious
+as to make D’Artagnan start in spite of himself. “Oh, meddle in nothing
+which concerns me. Do not seek to assist me in that which I am
+accomplishing. This I ask of you in the name of the interest with which
+I inspire you, in the name of the service you have rendered me and
+which I never shall forget while I have life. Rather, place faith in
+what I tell you. Have no more concern about me; I exist no longer for
+you, any more than if you had never seen me.”
+
+“Must Aramis do as much as I, madame?” said D’Artagnan, deeply piqued.
+
+“This is the second or third time, monsieur, that you have repeated
+that name, and yet I have told you that I do not know him.”
+
+“You do not know the man at whose shutter you have just knocked?
+Indeed, madame, you believe me too credulous!”
+
+“Confess that it is for the sake of making me talk that you invent this
+story and create this personage.”
+
+“I invent nothing, madame; I create nothing. I only speak that exact
+truth.”
+
+“And you say that one of your friends lives in that house?”
+
+“I say so, and I repeat it for the third time; that house is one
+inhabited by my friend, and that friend is Aramis.”
+
+“All this will be cleared up at a later period,” murmured the young
+woman; “no, monsieur, be silent.”
+
+“If you could see my heart,” said D’Artagnan, “you would there read so
+much curiosity that you would pity me and so much love that you would
+instantly satisfy my curiosity. We have nothing to fear from those who
+love us.”
+
+“You speak very suddenly of love, monsieur,” said the young woman,
+shaking her head.
+
+“That is because love has come suddenly upon me, and for the first
+time; and because I am only twenty.”
+
+The young woman looked at him furtively.
+
+“Listen; I am already upon the scent,” resumed D’Artagnan. “About three
+months ago I was near having a duel with Aramis concerning a
+handkerchief resembling the one you showed to the woman in his
+house—for a handkerchief marked in the same manner, I am sure.”
+
+“Monsieur,” said the young woman, “you weary me very much, I assure
+you, with your questions.”
+
+“But you, madame, prudent as you are, think, if you were to be arrested
+with that handkerchief, and that handkerchief were to be seized, would
+you not be compromised?”
+
+“In what way? The initials are only mine—C. B., Constance Bonacieux.”
+
+“Or Camille de Bois-Tracy.”
+
+“Silence, monsieur! Once again, silence! Ah, since the dangers I incur
+on my own account cannot stop you, think of those you may yourself
+run!”
+
+“Me?”
+
+“Yes; there is peril of imprisonment, risk of life in knowing me.”
+
+“Then I will not leave you.”
+
+“Monsieur!” said the young woman, supplicating him and clasping her
+hands together, “monsieur, in the name of heaven, by the honor of a
+soldier, by the courtesy of a gentleman, depart! There, there midnight
+sounds! That is the hour when I am expected.”
+
+“Madame,” said the young man, bowing; “I can refuse nothing asked of me
+thus. Be content; I will depart.”
+
+“But you will not follow me; you will not watch me?”
+
+“I will return home instantly.”
+
+“Ah, I was quite sure you were a good and brave young man,” said Mme.
+Bonacieux, holding out her hand to him, and placing the other upon the
+knocker of a little door almost hidden in the wall.
+
+D’Artagnan seized the hand held out to him, and kissed it ardently.
+
+“Ah! I wish I had never seen you!” cried D’Artagnan, with that
+ingenuous roughness which women often prefer to the affectations of
+politeness, because it betrays the depths of the thought and proves
+that feeling prevails over reason.
+
+“Well!” resumed Mme. Bonacieux, in a voice almost caressing, and
+pressing the hand of D’Artagnan, who had not relinquished hers, “well:
+I will not say as much as you do; what is lost for today may not be
+lost forever. Who knows, when I shall be at liberty, that I may not
+satisfy your curiosity?”
+
+“And will you make the same promise to my love?” cried D’Artagnan,
+beside himself with joy.
+
+“Oh, as to that, I do not engage myself. That depends upon the
+sentiments with which you may inspire me.”
+
+“Then today, madame—”
+
+“Oh, today, I am no further than gratitude.”
+
+“Ah! You are too charming,” said D’Artagnan, sorrowfully; “and you
+abuse my love.”
+
+“No, I use your generosity, that’s all. But be of good cheer; with
+certain people, everything comes round.”
+
+“Oh, you render me the happiest of men! Do not forget this evening—do
+not forget that promise.”
+
+“Be satisfied. In the proper time and place I will remember everything.
+Now then, go, go, in the name of heaven! I was expected at sharp
+midnight, and I am late.”
+
+“By five minutes.”
+
+“Yes; but in certain circumstances five minutes are five ages.”
+
+“When one loves.”
+
+“Well! And who told you I had no affair with a lover?”
+
+“It is a man, then, who expects you?” cried D’Artagnan. “A man!”
+
+“The discussion is going to begin again!” said Mme. Bonacieux, with a
+half-smile which was not exempt from a tinge of impatience.
+
+“No, no; I go, I depart! I believe in you, and I would have all the
+merit of my devotion, even if that devotion were stupidity. Adieu,
+madame, adieu!”
+
+And as if he only felt strength to detach himself by a violent effort
+from the hand he held, he sprang away, running, while Mme. Bonacieux
+knocked, as at the shutter, three light and regular taps. When he had
+gained the angle of the street, he turned. The door had been opened,
+and shut again; the mercer’s pretty wife had disappeared.
+
+D’Artagnan pursued his way. He had given his word not to watch Mme.
+Bonacieux, and if his life had depended upon the spot to which she was
+going or upon the person who should accompany her, D’Artagnan would
+have returned home, since he had so promised. Five minutes later he was
+in the Rue des Fossoyeurs.
+
+“Poor Athos!” said he; “he will never guess what all this means. He
+will have fallen asleep waiting for me, or else he will have returned
+home, where he will have learned that a woman had been there. A woman
+with Athos! After all,” continued D’Artagnan, “there was certainly one
+with Aramis. All this is very strange; and I am curious to know how it
+will end.”
+
+“Badly, monsieur, badly!” replied a voice which the young man
+recognized as that of Planchet; for, soliloquizing aloud, as very
+preoccupied people do, he had entered the alley, at the end of which
+were the stairs which led to his chamber.
+
+“How, badly? What do you mean by that, you idiot?” asked D’Artagnan.
+“What has happened?”
+
+“All sorts of misfortunes.”
+
+“What?”
+
+“In the first place, Monsieur Athos is arrested.”
+
+“Arrested! Athos arrested! What for?”
+
+“He was found in your lodging; they took him for you.”
+
+“And by whom was he arrested?”
+
+“By Guards brought by the men in black whom you put to flight.”
+
+“Why did he not tell them his name? Why did he not tell them he knew
+nothing about this affair?”
+
+“He took care not to do so, monsieur; on the contrary, he came up to me
+and said, ‘It is your master that needs his liberty at this moment and
+not I, since he knows everything and I know nothing. They will believe
+he is arrested, and that will give him time; in three days I will tell
+them who I am, and they cannot fail to let me go.’”
+
+“Bravo, Athos! Noble heart!” murmured D’Artagnan. “I know him well
+there! And what did the officers do?”
+
+“Four conveyed him away, I don’t know where—to the Bastille or Fort
+l’Evêque. Two remained with the men in black, who rummaged every place
+and took all the papers. The last two mounted guard at the door during
+this examination; then, when all was over, they went away, leaving the
+house empty and exposed.”
+
+“And Porthos and Aramis?”
+
+“I could not find them; they did not come.”
+
+“But they may come any moment, for you left word that I awaited them?”
+
+“Yes, monsieur.”
+
+“Well, don’t budge, then; if they come, tell them what has happened.
+Let them wait for me at the Pomme-de-Pin. Here it would be dangerous;
+the house may be watched. I will run to Monsieur de Tréville to tell
+them all this, and will meet them there.”
+
+“Very well, monsieur,” said Planchet.
+
+“But you will remain; you are not afraid?” said D’Artagnan, coming back
+to recommend courage to his lackey.
+
+“Be easy, monsieur,” said Planchet; “you do not know me yet. I am brave
+when I set about it. It is all in beginning. Besides, I am a Picard.”
+
+“Then it is understood,” said D’Artagnan; “you would rather be killed
+than desert your post?”
+
+“Yes, monsieur; and there is nothing I would not do to prove to
+Monsieur that I am attached to him.”
+
+“Good!” said D’Artagnan to himself. “It appears that the method I have
+adopted with this boy is decidedly the best. I shall use it again upon
+occasion.”
+
+And with all the swiftness of his legs, already a little fatigued,
+however, with the perambulations of the day, D’Artagnan directed his
+course toward M. de Tréville’s.
+
+M. de Tréville was not at his hôtel. His company was on guard at the
+Louvre; he was at the Louvre with his company.
+
+It was necessary to reach M. de Tréville; it was important that he
+should be informed of what was passing. D’Artagnan resolved to try and
+enter the Louvre. His costume of Guardsman in the company of M.
+Dessessart ought to be his passport.
+
+He therefore went down the Rue des Petits Augustins, and came up to the
+quay, in order to take the New Bridge. He had at first an idea of
+crossing by the ferry; but on gaining the riverside, he had
+mechanically put his hand into his pocket, and perceived that he had
+not wherewithal to pay his passage.
+
+As he gained the top of the Rue Guénegaud, he saw two persons coming
+out of the Rue Dauphine whose appearance very much struck him. Of the
+two persons who composed this group, one was a man and the other a
+woman. The woman had the outline of Mme. Bonacieux; the man resembled
+Aramis so much as to be mistaken for him.
+
+Besides, the woman wore that black mantle which D’Artagnan could still
+see outlined on the shutter of the Rue de Vaugirard and on the door of
+the Rue de la Harpe; still further, the man wore the uniform of a
+Musketeer.
+
+The woman’s hood was pulled down, and the man held a handkerchief to
+his face. Both, as this double precaution indicated, had an interest in
+not being recognized.
+
+They took the bridge. That was D’Artagnan’s road, as he was going to
+the Louvre. D’Artagnan followed them.
+
+He had not gone twenty steps before he became convinced that the woman
+was really Mme. Bonacieux and that the man was Aramis.
+
+He felt at that instant all the suspicions of jealousy agitating his
+heart. He felt himself doubly betrayed, by his friend and by her whom
+he already loved like a mistress. Mme. Bonacieux had declared to him,
+by all the gods, that she did not know Aramis; and a quarter of an hour
+after having made this assertion, he found her hanging on the arm of
+Aramis.
+
+D’Artagnan did not reflect that he had only known the mercer’s pretty
+wife for three hours; that she owed him nothing but a little gratitude
+for having delivered her from the men in black, who wished to carry her
+off, and that she had promised him nothing. He considered himself an
+outraged, betrayed, and ridiculed lover. Blood and anger mounted to his
+face; he was resolved to unravel the mystery.
+
+The young man and young woman perceived they were watched, and
+redoubled their speed. D’Artagnan determined upon his course. He passed
+them, then returned so as to meet them exactly before the Samaritaine,
+which was illuminated by a lamp which threw its light over all that
+part of the bridge.
+
+D’Artagnan stopped before them, and they stopped before him.
+
+“What do you want, monsieur?” demanded the Musketeer, recoiling a step,
+and with a foreign accent, which proved to D’Artagnan that he was
+deceived in one of his conjectures.
+
+“It is not Aramis!” cried he.
+
+“No, monsieur, it is not Aramis; and by your exclamation I perceive you
+have mistaken me for another, and pardon you.”
+
+“You pardon me?” cried D’Artagnan.
+
+“Yes,” replied the stranger. “Allow me, then, to pass on, since it is
+not with me you have anything to do.”
+
+“You are right, monsieur, it is not with you that I have anything to
+do; it is with Madame.”
+
+“With Madame! You do not know her,” replied the stranger.
+
+“You are deceived, monsieur; I know her very well.”
+
+“Ah,” said Mme. Bonacieux; in a tone of reproach, “ah, monsieur, I had
+your promise as a soldier and your word as a gentleman. I hoped to be
+able to rely upon that.”
+
+“And I, madame!” said D’Artagnan, embarrassed; “you promised me—”
+
+“Take my arm, madame,” said the stranger, “and let us continue our
+way.”
+
+D’Artagnan, however, stupefied, cast down, annihilated by all that
+happened, stood, with crossed arms, before the Musketeer and Mme.
+Bonacieux.
+
+The Musketeer advanced two steps, and pushed D’Artagnan aside with his
+hand. D’Artagnan made a spring backward and drew his sword. At the same
+time, and with the rapidity of lightning, the stranger drew his.
+
+“In the name of heaven, my Lord!” cried Mme. Bonacieux, throwing
+herself between the combatants and seizing the swords with her hands.
+
+“My Lord!” cried D’Artagnan, enlightened by a sudden idea, “my Lord!
+Pardon me, monsieur, but you are not—”
+
+“My Lord the Duke of Buckingham,” said Mme. Bonacieux, in an undertone;
+“and now you may ruin us all.”
+
+“My Lord, Madame, I ask a hundred pardons! But I love her, my Lord, and
+was jealous. You know what it is to love, my Lord. Pardon me, and then
+tell me how I can risk my life to serve your Grace?”
+
+“You are a brave young man,” said Buckingham, holding out his hand to
+D’Artagnan, who pressed it respectfully. “You offer me your services;
+with the same frankness I accept them. Follow us at a distance of
+twenty paces, as far as the Louvre, and if anyone watches us, slay
+him!”
+
+D’Artagnan placed his naked sword under his arm, allowed the duke and
+Mme. Bonacieux to take twenty steps ahead, and then followed them,
+ready to execute the instructions of the noble and elegant minister of
+Charles I.
+
+Fortunately, he had no opportunity to give the duke this proof of his
+devotion, and the young woman and the handsome Musketeer entered the
+Louvre by the wicket of the Echelle without any interference.
+
+As for D’Artagnan, he immediately repaired to the cabaret of the
+Pomme-de-Pin, where he found Porthos and Aramis awaiting him. Without
+giving them any explanation of the alarm and inconvenience he had
+caused them, he told them that he had terminated the affair alone in
+which he had for a moment believed he should need their assistance.
+
+Meanwhile, carried away as we are by our narrative, we must leave our
+three friends to themselves, and follow the Duke of Buckingham and his
+guide through the labyrinths of the Louvre.
+
+
+
+
+Chapter XII.
+GEORGE VILLIERS, DUKE OF BUCKINGHAM
+
+
+Mme. Bonacieux and the duke entered the Louvre without difficulty. Mme.
+Bonacieux was known to belong to the queen; the duke wore the uniform
+of the Musketeers of M. de Tréville, who, as we have said, were that
+evening on guard. Besides, Germain was in the interests of the queen;
+and if anything should happen, Mme. Bonacieux would be accused of
+having introduced her lover into the Louvre, that was all. She took the
+risk upon herself. Her reputation would be lost, it is true; but of
+what value in the world was the reputation of the little wife of a
+mercer?
+
+Once within the interior of the court, the duke and the young woman
+followed the wall for the space of about twenty-five steps. This space
+passed, Mme. Bonacieux pushed a little servants’ door, open by day but
+generally closed at night. The door yielded. Both entered, and found
+themselves in darkness; but Mme. Bonacieux was acquainted with all the
+turnings and windings of this part of the Louvre, appropriated for the
+people of the household. She closed the door after her, took the duke
+by the hand, and after a few experimental steps, grasped a balustrade,
+put her foot upon the bottom step, and began to ascend the staircase.
+The duke counted two stories. She then turned to the right, followed
+the course of a long corridor, descended a flight, went a few steps
+farther, introduced a key into a lock, opened a door, and pushed the
+duke into an apartment lighted only by a lamp, saying, “Remain here, my
+Lord Duke; someone will come.” She then went out by the same door,
+which she locked, so that the duke found himself literally a prisoner.
+
+Nevertheless, isolated as he was, we must say that the Duke of
+Buckingham did not experience an instant of fear. One of the salient
+points of his character was the search for adventures and a love of
+romance. Brave, rash, and enterprising, this was not the first time he
+had risked his life in such attempts. He had learned that the pretended
+message from Anne of Austria, upon the faith of which he had come to
+Paris, was a snare; but instead of regaining England, he had, abusing
+the position in which he had been placed, declared to the queen that he
+would not depart without seeing her. The queen had at first positively
+refused; but at length became afraid that the duke, if exasperated,
+would commit some folly. She had already decided upon seeing him and
+urging his immediate departure, when, on the very evening of coming to
+this decision, Mme. Bonacieux, who was charged with going to fetch the
+duke and conducting him to the Louvre, was abducted. For two days no
+one knew what had become of her, and everything remained in suspense;
+but once free, and placed in communication with Laporte, matters
+resumed their course, and she accomplished the perilous enterprise
+which, but for her arrest, would have been executed three days earlier.
+
+Buckingham, left alone, walked toward a mirror. His Musketeer’s uniform
+became him marvelously.
+
+At thirty-five, which was then his age, he passed, with just title, for
+the handsomest gentleman and the most elegant cavalier of France or
+England.
+
+The favorite of two kings, immensely rich, all-powerful in a kingdom
+which he disordered at his fancy and calmed again at his caprice,
+George Villiers, Duke of Buckingham, had lived one of those fabulous
+existences which survive, in the course of centuries, to astonish
+posterity.
+
+Sure of himself, convinced of his own power, certain that the laws
+which rule other men could not reach him, he went straight to the
+object he aimed at, even were this object so elevated and so dazzling
+that it would have been madness for any other even to have contemplated
+it. It was thus he had succeeded in approaching several times the
+beautiful and proud Anne of Austria, and in making himself loved by
+dazzling her.
+
+George Villiers placed himself before the glass, as we have said,
+restored the undulations to his beautiful hair, which the weight of his
+hat had disordered, twisted his mustache, and, his heart swelling with
+joy, happy and proud at being near the moment he had so long sighed
+for, he smiled upon himself with pride and hope.
+
+At this moment a door concealed in the tapestry opened, and a woman
+appeared. Buckingham saw this apparition in the glass; he uttered a
+cry. It was the queen!
+
+Anne of Austria was then twenty-six or twenty-seven years of age; that
+is to say, she was in the full splendor of her beauty.
+
+Her carriage was that of a queen or a goddess; her eyes, which cast the
+brilliancy of emeralds, were perfectly beautiful, and yet were at the
+same time full of sweetness and majesty.
+
+Her mouth was small and rosy; and although her underlip, like that of
+all princes of the House of Austria, protruded slightly beyond the
+other, it was eminently lovely in its smile, but as profoundly
+disdainful in its contempt.
+
+Her skin was admired for its velvety softness; her hands and arms were
+of surpassing beauty, all the poets of the time singing them as
+incomparable.
+
+Lastly, her hair, which, from being light in her youth, had become
+chestnut, and which she wore curled very plainly, and with much powder,
+admirably set off her face, in which the most rigid critic could only
+have desired a little less rouge, and the most fastidious sculptor a
+little more fineness in the nose.
+
+Buckingham remained for a moment dazzled. Never had Anne of Austria
+appeared to him so beautiful, amid balls, fêtes, or carousals, as she
+appeared to him at this moment, dressed in a simple robe of white
+satin, and accompanied by Donna Estafania—the only one of her Spanish
+women who had not been driven from her by the jealousy of the king or
+by the persecutions of Richelieu.
+
+Anne of Austria took two steps forward. Buckingham threw himself at her
+feet, and before the queen could prevent him, kissed the hem of her
+robe.
+
+“Duke, you already know that it is not I who caused you to be written
+to.”
+
+“Yes, yes, madame! Yes, your Majesty!” cried the duke. “I know that I
+must have been mad, senseless, to believe that snow would become
+animated or marble warm; but what then! They who love believe easily in
+love. Besides, I have lost nothing by this journey because I see you.”
+
+“Yes,” replied Anne, “but you know why and how I see you; because,
+insensible to all my sufferings, you persist in remaining in a city
+where, by remaining, you run the risk of your life, and make me run the
+risk of my honor. I see you to tell you that everything separates
+us—the depths of the sea, the enmity of kingdoms, the sanctity of vows.
+It is sacrilege to struggle against so many things, my Lord. In short,
+I see you to tell you that we must never see each other again.”
+
+“Speak on, madame, speak on, Queen,” said Buckingham; “the sweetness of
+your voice covers the harshness of your words. You talk of sacrilege!
+Why, the sacrilege is the separation of two hearts formed by God for
+each other.”
+
+“My Lord,” cried the queen, “you forget that I have never said that I
+love you.”
+
+“But you have never told me that you did not love me; and truly, to
+speak such words to me would be, on the part of your Majesty, too great
+an ingratitude. For tell me, where can you find a love like mine—a love
+which neither time, nor absence, nor despair can extinguish, a love
+which contents itself with a lost ribbon, a stray look, or a chance
+word? It is now three years, madame, since I saw you for the first
+time, and during those three years I have loved you thus. Shall I tell
+you each ornament of your toilet? Mark! I see you now. You were seated
+upon cushions in the Spanish fashion; you wore a robe of green satin
+embroidered with gold and silver, hanging sleeves knotted upon your
+beautiful arms—those lovely arms—with large diamonds. You wore a close
+ruff, a small cap upon your head of the same color as your robe, and in
+that cap a heron’s feather. Hold! Hold! I shut my eyes, and I can see
+you as you then were; I open them again, and I see what you are now—a
+hundred times more beautiful!”
+
+“What folly,” murmured Anne of Austria, who had not the courage to find
+fault with the duke for having so well preserved her portrait in his
+heart, “what folly to feed a useless passion with such remembrances!”
+
+“And upon what then must I live? I have nothing but memory. It is my
+happiness, my treasure, my hope. Every time I see you is a fresh
+diamond which I enclose in the casket of my heart. This is the fourth
+which you have let fall and I have picked up; for in three years,
+madame, I have only seen you four times—the first, which I have
+described to you; the second, at the mansion of Madame de Chevreuse;
+the third, in the gardens of Amiens.”
+
+“Duke,” said the queen, blushing, “never speak of that evening.”
+
+“Oh, let us speak of it; on the contrary, let us speak of it! That is
+the most happy and brilliant evening of my life! You remember what a
+beautiful night it was? How soft and perfumed was the air; how lovely
+the blue heavens and star-enameled sky! Ah, then, madame, I was able
+for one instant to be alone with you. Then you were about to tell me
+all—the isolation of your life, the griefs of your heart. You leaned
+upon my arm—upon this, madame! I felt, in bending my head toward you,
+your beautiful hair touch my cheek; and every time that it touched me I
+trembled from head to foot. Oh, Queen! Queen! You do not know what
+felicity from heaven, what joys from paradise, are comprised in a
+moment like that. Take my wealth, my fortune, my glory, all the days I
+have to live, for such an instant, for a night like that. For that
+night, madame, that night you loved me, I will swear it.”
+
+“My Lord, yes; it is possible that the influence of the place, the
+charm of the beautiful evening, the fascination of your look—the
+thousand circumstances, in short, which sometimes unite to destroy a
+woman—were grouped around me on that fatal evening; but, my Lord, you
+saw the queen come to the aid of the woman who faltered. At the first
+word you dared to utter, at the first freedom to which I had to reply,
+I called for help.”
+
+“Yes, yes, that is true. And any other love but mine would have sunk
+beneath this ordeal; but my love came out from it more ardent and more
+eternal. You believed that you would fly from me by returning to Paris;
+you believed that I would not dare to quit the treasure over which my
+master had charged me to watch. What to me were all the treasures in
+the world, or all the kings of the earth! Eight days after, I was back
+again, madame. That time you had nothing to say to me; I had risked my
+life and favor to see you but for a second. I did not even touch your
+hand, and you pardoned me on seeing me so submissive and so repentant.”
+
+“Yes, but calumny seized upon all those follies in which I took no
+part, as you well know, my Lord. The king, excited by the cardinal,
+made a terrible clamor. Madame de Vernet was driven from me, Putange
+was exiled, Madame de Chevreuse fell into disgrace, and when you wished
+to come back as ambassador to France, the king himself—remember, my
+lord—the king himself opposed it.”
+
+“Yes, and France is about to pay for her king’s refusal with a war. I
+am not allowed to see you, madame, but you shall every day hear of me.
+What object, think you, have this expedition to Ré and this league with
+the Protestants of La Rochelle which I am projecting? The pleasure of
+seeing you. I have no hope of penetrating, sword in hand, to Paris, I
+know that well. But this war may bring round a peace; this peace will
+require a negotiator; that negotiator will be me. They will not dare to
+refuse me then; and I will return to Paris, and will see you again, and
+will be happy for an instant. Thousands of men, it is true, will have
+to pay for my happiness with their lives; but what is that to me,
+provided I see you again! All this is perhaps folly—perhaps insanity;
+but tell me what woman has a lover more truly in love; what queen a
+servant more ardent?”
+
+“My Lord, my Lord, you invoke in your defense things which accuse you
+more strongly. All these proofs of love which you would give me are
+almost crimes.”
+
+“Because you do not love me, madame! If you loved me, you would view
+all this otherwise. If you loved me, oh, if you loved me, that would be
+too great happiness, and I should run mad. Ah, Madame de Chevreuse was
+less cruel than you. Holland loved her, and she responded to his love.”
+
+“Madame de Chevreuse was not queen,” murmured Anne of Austria,
+overcome, in spite of herself, by the expression of so profound a
+passion.
+
+“You would love me, then, if you were not queen! Madame, say that you
+would love me then! I can believe that it is the dignity of your rank
+alone which makes you cruel to me; I can believe that, had you been
+Madame de Chevreuse, poor Buckingham might have hoped. Thanks for those
+sweet words! Oh, my beautiful sovereign, a hundred times, thanks!”
+
+“Oh, my Lord! You have ill understood, wrongly interpreted; I did not
+mean to say—”
+
+“Silence, silence!” cried the duke. “If I am happy in an error, do not
+have the cruelty to lift me from it. You have told me yourself, madame,
+that I have been drawn into a snare; I, perhaps, may leave my life in
+it—for, although it may be strange, I have for some time had a
+presentiment that I should shortly die.” And the duke smiled, with a
+smile at once sad and charming.
+
+“Oh, my God!” cried Anne of Austria, with an accent of terror which
+proved how much greater an interest she took in the duke than she
+ventured to tell.
+
+“I do not tell you this, madame, to terrify you; no, it is even
+ridiculous for me to name it to you, and, believe me, I take no heed of
+such dreams. But the words you have just spoken, the hope you have
+almost given me, will have richly paid all—were it my life.”
+
+“Oh, but I,” said Anne, “I also, duke, have had presentiments; I also
+have had dreams. I dreamed that I saw you lying bleeding, wounded.”
+
+“In the left side, was it not, and with a knife?” interrupted
+Buckingham.
+
+“Yes, it was so, my Lord, it was so—in the left side, and with a knife.
+Who can possibly have told you I had had that dream? I have imparted it
+to no one but my God, and that in my prayers.”
+
+“I ask for no more. You love me, madame; it is enough.”
+
+“I love you, I?”
+
+“Yes, yes. Would God send the same dreams to you as to me if you did
+not love me? Should we have the same presentiments if our existences
+did not touch at the heart? You love me, my beautiful queen, and you
+will weep for me?”
+
+“Oh, my God, my God!” cried Anne of Austria, “this is more than I can
+bear. In the name of heaven, Duke, leave me, go! I do not know whether
+I love you or love you not; but what I know is that I will not be
+perjured. Take pity on me, then, and go! Oh, if you are struck in
+France, if you die in France, if I could imagine that your love for me
+was the cause of your death, I could not console myself; I should run
+mad. Depart then, depart, I implore you!”
+
+“Oh, how beautiful you are thus! Oh, how I love you!” said Buckingham.
+
+“Go, go, I implore you, and return hereafter! Come back as ambassador,
+come back as minister, come back surrounded with guards who will defend
+you, with servants who will watch over you, and then I shall no longer
+fear for your days, and I shall be happy in seeing you.”
+
+“Oh, is this true what you say?”
+
+“Yes.”
+
+“Oh, then, some pledge of your indulgence, some object which came from
+you, and may remind me that I have not been dreaming; something you
+have worn, and that I may wear in my turn—a ring, a necklace, a chain.”
+
+“Will you depart—will you depart, if I give you that you demand?”
+
+“Yes.”
+
+“This very instant?”
+
+“Yes.”
+
+“You will leave France, you will return to England?”
+
+“I will, I swear to you.”
+
+“Wait, then, wait.”
+
+Anne of Austria re-entered her apartment, and came out again almost
+immediately, holding a rosewood casket in her hand, with her cipher
+encrusted with gold.
+
+“Here, my Lord, here,” said she, “keep this in memory of me.”
+
+Buckingham took the casket, and fell a second time on his knees.
+
+“You have promised me to go,” said the queen.
+
+“And I keep my word. Your hand, madame, your hand, and I depart!”
+
+Anne of Austria stretched forth her hand, closing her eyes, and leaning
+with the other upon Estafania, for she felt that her strength was about
+to fail her.
+
+Buckingham pressed his lips passionately to that beautiful hand, and
+then rising, said, “Within six months, if I am not dead, I shall have
+seen you again, madame—even if I have to overturn the world.” And
+faithful to the promise he had made, he rushed out of the apartment.
+
+In the corridor he met Mme. Bonacieux, who waited for him, and who,
+with the same precautions and the same good luck, conducted him out of
+the Louvre.
+
+
+
+
+Chapter XIII.
+MONSIEUR BONACIEUX
+
+
+There was in all this, as may have been observed, one personage
+concerned, of whom, notwithstanding his precarious position, we have
+appeared to take but very little notice. This personage was M.
+Bonacieux, the respectable martyr of the political and amorous
+intrigues which entangled themselves so nicely together at this gallant
+and chivalric period.
+
+Fortunately, the reader may remember, or may not remember—fortunately
+we have promised not to lose sight of him.
+
+The officers who arrested him conducted him straight to the Bastille,
+where he passed trembling before a party of soldiers who were loading
+their muskets. Thence, introduced into a half-subterranean gallery, he
+became, on the part of those who had brought him, the object of the
+grossest insults and the harshest treatment. The officers perceived
+that they had not to deal with a gentleman, and they treated him like a
+very peasant.
+
+At the end of half an hour or thereabouts, a clerk came to put an end
+to his tortures, but not to his anxiety, by giving the order to conduct
+M. Bonacieux to the Chamber of Examination. Ordinarily, prisoners were
+interrogated in their cells; but they did not do so with M. Bonacieux.
+
+Two guards attended the mercer who made him traverse a court and enter
+a corridor in which were three sentinels, opened a door and pushed him
+unceremoniously into a low room, where the only furniture was a table,
+a chair, and a commissary. The commissary was seated in the chair, and
+was writing at the table.
+
+The two guards led the prisoner toward the table, and upon a sign from
+the commissary drew back so far as to be unable to hear anything.
+
+The commissary, who had till this time held his head down over his
+papers, looked up to see what sort of person he had to do with. This
+commissary was a man of very repulsive mien, with a pointed nose, with
+yellow and salient cheek bones, with eyes small but keen and
+penetrating, and an expression of countenance resembling at once the
+polecat and the fox. His head, supported by a long and flexible neck,
+issued from his large black robe, balancing itself with a motion very
+much like that of the tortoise thrusting his head out of his shell. He
+began by asking M. Bonacieux his name, age, condition, and abode.
+
+The accused replied that his name was Jacques Michel Bonacieux, that he
+was fifty-one years old, a retired mercer, and lived Rue des
+Fossoyeurs, No. 14.
+
+The commissary then, instead of continuing to interrogate him, made him
+a long speech upon the danger there is for an obscure citizen to meddle
+with public matters. He complicated this exordium by an exposition in
+which he painted the power and the deeds of the cardinal, that
+incomparable minister, that conqueror of past ministers, that example
+for ministers to come—deeds and power which none could thwart with
+impunity.
+
+After this second part of his discourse, fixing his hawk’s eye upon
+poor Bonacieux, he bade him reflect upon the gravity of his situation.
+
+The reflections of the mercer were already made; he cursed the instant
+when M. Laporte formed the idea of marrying him to his goddaughter, and
+particularly the moment when that goddaughter had been received as Lady
+of the Linen to her Majesty.
+
+At bottom the character of M. Bonacieux was one of profound selfishness
+mixed with sordid avarice, the whole seasoned with extreme cowardice.
+The love with which his young wife had inspired him was a secondary
+sentiment, and was not strong enough to contend with the primitive
+feelings we have just enumerated. Bonacieux indeed reflected on what
+had just been said to him.
+
+“But, Monsieur Commissary,” said he, calmly, “believe that I know and
+appreciate, more than anybody, the merit of the incomparable eminence
+by whom we have the honor to be governed.”
+
+“Indeed?” asked the commissary, with an air of doubt. “If that is
+really so, how came you in the Bastille?”
+
+“How I came there, or rather why I am there,” replied Bonacieux, “that
+is entirely impossible for me to tell you, because I don’t know myself;
+but to a certainty it is not for having, knowingly at least, disobliged
+Monsieur the Cardinal.”
+
+“You must, nevertheless, have committed a crime, since you are here and
+are accused of high treason.”
+
+“Of high treason!” cried Bonacieux, terrified; “of high treason! How is
+it possible for a poor mercer, who detests Huguenots and who abhors
+Spaniards, to be accused of high treason? Consider, monsieur, the thing
+is absolutely impossible.”
+
+“Monsieur Bonacieux,” said the commissary, looking at the accused as if
+his little eyes had the faculty of reading to the very depths of
+hearts, “you have a wife?”
+
+“Yes, monsieur,” replied the mercer, in a tremble, feeling that it was
+at this point affairs were likely to become perplexing; “that is to
+say, I _had_ one.”
+
+“What, you ‘_had_ one’? What have you done with her, then, if you have
+her no longer?”
+
+“They have abducted her, monsieur.”
+
+“They have abducted her? Ah!”
+
+Bonacieux inferred from this “Ah” that the affair grew more and more
+intricate.
+
+“They have abducted her,” added the commissary; “and do you know the
+man who has committed this deed?”
+
+“I think I know him.”
+
+“Who is he?”
+
+“Remember that I affirm nothing, Monsieur the Commissary, and that I
+only suspect.”
+
+“Whom do you suspect? Come, answer freely.”
+
+M. Bonacieux was in the greatest perplexity possible. Had he better
+deny everything or tell everything? By denying all, it might be
+suspected that he must know too much to avow; by confessing all he
+might prove his good will. He decided, then, to tell all.
+
+“I suspect,” said he, “a tall, dark man, of lofty carriage, who has the
+air of a great lord. He has followed us several times, as I think, when
+I have waited for my wife at the wicket of the Louvre to escort her
+home.”
+
+The commissary now appeared to experience a little uneasiness.
+
+“And his name?” said he.
+
+“Oh, as to his name, I know nothing about it; but if I were ever to
+meet him, I should recognize him in an instant, I will answer for it,
+were he among a thousand persons.”
+
+The face of the commissary grew still darker.
+
+“You should recognize him among a thousand, say you?” continued he.
+
+“That is to say,” cried Bonacieux, who saw he had taken a false step,
+“that is to say—”
+
+“You have answered that you should recognize him,” said the commissary.
+“That is all very well, and enough for today; before we proceed
+further, someone must be informed that you know the ravisher of your
+wife.”
+
+“But I have not told you that I know him!” cried Bonacieux, in despair.
+“I told you, on the contrary—”
+
+“Take away the prisoner,” said the commissary to the two guards.
+
+“Where must we place him?” demanded the chief.
+
+“In a dungeon.”
+
+“Which?”
+
+“Good Lord! In the first one handy, provided it is safe,” said the
+commissary, with an indifference which penetrated poor Bonacieux with
+horror.
+
+“Alas, alas!” said he to himself, “misfortune is over my head; my wife
+must have committed some frightful crime. They believe me her
+accomplice, and will punish me with her. She must have spoken; she must
+have confessed everything—a woman is so weak! A dungeon! The first he
+comes to! That’s it! A night is soon passed; and tomorrow to the wheel,
+to the gallows! Oh, my God, my God, have pity on me!”
+
+Without listening the least in the world to the lamentations of M.
+Bonacieux—lamentations to which, besides, they must have been pretty
+well accustomed—the two guards took the prisoner each by an arm, and
+led him away, while the commissary wrote a letter in haste and
+dispatched it by an officer in waiting.
+
+Bonacieux could not close his eyes; not because his dungeon was so very
+disagreeable, but because his uneasiness was so great. He sat all night
+on his stool, starting at the least noise; and when the first rays of
+the sun penetrated into his chamber, the dawn itself appeared to him to
+have taken funereal tints.
+
+All at once he heard his bolts drawn, and made a terrified bound. He
+believed they were come to conduct him to the scaffold; so that when he
+saw merely and simply, instead of the executioner he expected, only his
+commissary of the preceding evening, attended by his clerk, he was
+ready to embrace them both.
+
+“Your affair has become more complicated since yesterday evening, my
+good man, and I advise you to tell the whole truth; for your repentance
+alone can remove the anger of the cardinal.”
+
+“Why, I am ready to tell everything,” cried Bonacieux, “at least, all
+that I know. Interrogate me, I entreat you!”
+
+“Where is your wife, in the first place?”
+
+“Why, did not I tell you she had been stolen from me?”
+
+“Yes, but yesterday at five o’clock in the afternoon, thanks to you,
+she escaped.”
+
+“My wife escaped!” cried Bonacieux. “Oh, unfortunate creature!
+Monsieur, if she has escaped, it is not my fault, I swear.”
+
+“What business had you, then, to go into the chamber of Monsieur
+d’Artagnan, your neighbor, with whom you had a long conference during
+the day?”
+
+“Ah, yes, Monsieur Commissary; yes, that is true, and I confess that I
+was in the wrong. I did go to Monsieur d’Artagnan’s.”
+
+“What was the aim of that visit?”
+
+“To beg him to assist me in finding my wife. I believed I had a right
+to endeavor to find her. I was deceived, as it appears, and I ask your
+pardon.”
+
+“And what did Monsieur d’Artagnan reply?”
+
+“Monsieur d’Artagnan promised me his assistance; but I soon found out
+that he was betraying me.”
+
+“You impose upon justice. Monsieur d’Artagnan made a compact with you;
+and in virtue of that compact put to flight the police who had arrested
+your wife, and has placed her beyond reach.”
+
+“M. d’Artagnan has abducted my wife! Come now, what are you telling
+me?”
+
+“Fortunately, Monsieur d’Artagnan is in our hands, and you shall be
+confronted with him.”
+
+“By my faith, I ask no better,” cried Bonacieux; “I shall not be sorry
+to see the face of an acquaintance.”
+
+“Bring in the Monsieur d’Artagnan,” said the commissary to the guards.
+The two guards led in Athos.
+
+“Monsieur d’Artagnan,” said the commissary, addressing Athos, “declare
+all that passed yesterday between you and Monsieur.”
+
+“But,” cried Bonacieux, “this is not Monsieur d’Artagnan whom you show
+me.”
+
+“What! Not Monsieur d’Artagnan?” exclaimed the commissary.
+
+“Not the least in the world,” replied Bonacieux.
+
+“What is this gentleman’s name?” asked the commissary.
+
+“I cannot tell you; I don’t know him.”
+
+“How! You don’t know him?”
+
+“No.”
+
+“Did you never see him?”
+
+“Yes, I have seen him, but I don’t know what he calls himself.”
+
+“Your name?” replied the commissary.
+
+“Athos,” replied the Musketeer.
+
+“But that is not a man’s name; that is the name of a mountain,” cried
+the poor questioner, who began to lose his head.
+
+“That is my name,” said Athos, quietly.
+
+“But you said that your name was D’Artagnan.”
+
+“Who, I?”
+
+“Yes, you.”
+
+“Somebody said to me, ‘You are Monsieur d’Artagnan?’ I answered, ‘You
+think so?’ My guards exclaimed that they were sure of it. I did not
+wish to contradict them; besides, I might be deceived.”
+
+“Monsieur, you insult the majesty of justice.”
+
+“Not at all,” said Athos, calmly.
+
+“You are Monsieur d’Artagnan.”
+
+“You see, monsieur, that you say it again.”
+
+“But I tell you, Monsieur Commissary,” cried Bonacieux, in his turn,
+“there is not the least doubt about the matter. Monsieur d’Artagnan is
+my tenant, although he does not pay me my rent—and even better on that
+account ought I to know him. Monsieur d’Artagnan is a young man,
+scarcely nineteen or twenty, and this gentleman must be thirty at
+least. Monsieur d’Artagnan is in Monsieur Dessessart’s Guards, and this
+gentleman is in the company of Monsieur de Tréville’s Musketeers. Look
+at his uniform, Monsieur Commissary, look at his uniform!”
+
+“That’s true,” murmured the commissary; “_pardieu_, that’s true.”
+
+At this moment the door was opened quickly, and a messenger, introduced
+by one of the gatekeepers of the Bastille, gave a letter to the
+commissary.
+
+“Oh, unhappy woman!” cried the commissary.
+
+“How? What do you say? Of whom do you speak? It is not of my wife, I
+hope!”
+
+“On the contrary, it is of her. Yours is a pretty business.”
+
+“But,” said the agitated mercer, “do me the pleasure, monsieur, to tell
+me how my own proper affair can become worse by anything my wife does
+while I am in prison?”
+
+“Because that which she does is part of a plan concerted between you—of
+an infernal plan.”
+
+“I swear to you, Monsieur Commissary, that you are in the profoundest
+error, that I know nothing in the world about what my wife had to do,
+that I am entirely a stranger to what she has done; and that if she has
+committed any follies, I renounce her, I abjure her, I curse her!”
+
+“Bah!” said Athos to the commissary, “if you have no more need of me,
+send me somewhere. Your Monsieur Bonacieux is very tiresome.”
+
+The commissary designated by the same gesture Athos and Bonacieux, “Let
+them be guarded more closely than ever.”
+
+“And yet,” said Athos, with his habitual calmness, “if it be Monsieur
+d’Artagnan who is concerned in this matter, I do not perceive how I can
+take his place.”
+
+“Do as I bade you,” cried the commissary, “and preserve absolute
+secrecy. You understand!”
+
+Athos shrugged his shoulders, and followed his guards silently, while
+M. Bonacieux uttered lamentations enough to break the heart of a tiger.
+
+They locked the mercer in the same dungeon where he had passed the
+night, and left him to himself during the day. Bonacieux wept all day,
+like a true mercer, not being at all a military man, as he himself
+informed us. In the evening, about nine o’clock, at the moment he had
+made up his mind to go to bed, he heard steps in his corridor. These
+steps drew near to his dungeon, the door was thrown open, and the
+guards appeared.
+
+“Follow me,” said an officer, who came up behind the guards.
+
+“Follow you!” cried Bonacieux, “follow you at this hour! Where, my
+God?”
+
+“Where we have orders to lead you.”
+
+“But that is not an answer.”
+
+“It is, nevertheless, the only one we can give.”
+
+“Ah, my God, my God!” murmured the poor mercer, “now, indeed, I am
+lost!” And he followed the guards who came for him, mechanically and
+without resistance.
+
+He passed along the same corridor as before, crossed one court, then a
+second side of a building; at length, at the gate of the entrance court
+he found a carriage surrounded by four guards on horseback. They made
+him enter this carriage, the officer placed himself by his side, the
+door was locked, and they were left in a rolling prison. The carriage
+was put in motion as slowly as a funeral car. Through the closely
+fastened windows the prisoner could perceive the houses and the
+pavement, that was all; but, true Parisian as he was, Bonacieux could
+recognize every street by the milestones, the signs, and the lamps. At
+the moment of arriving at St. Paul—the spot where such as were
+condemned at the Bastille were executed—he was near fainting and
+crossed himself twice. He thought the carriage was about to stop there.
+The carriage, however, passed on.
+
+Farther on, a still greater terror seized him on passing by the
+cemetery of St. Jean, where state criminals were buried. One thing,
+however, reassured him; he remembered that before they were buried
+their heads were generally cut off, and he felt that his head was still
+on his shoulders. But when he saw the carriage take the way to La
+Grêve, when he perceived the pointed roof of the Hôtel de Ville, and
+the carriage passed under the arcade, he believed it was over with him.
+He wished to confess to the officer, and upon his refusal, uttered such
+pitiable cries that the officer told him that if he continued to deafen
+him thus, he should put a gag in his mouth.
+
+This measure somewhat reassured Bonacieux. If they meant to execute him
+at La Grêve, it could scarcely be worth while to gag him, as they had
+nearly reached the place of execution. Indeed, the carriage crossed the
+fatal spot without stopping. There remained, then, no other place to
+fear but the Traitor’s Cross; the carriage was taking the direct road
+to it.
+
+This time there was no longer any doubt; it was at the Traitor’s Cross
+that lesser criminals were executed. Bonacieux had flattered himself in
+believing himself worthy of St. Paul or of the Place de Grêve; it was
+at the Traitor’s Cross that his journey and his destiny were about to
+end! He could not yet see that dreadful cross, but he felt somehow as
+if it were coming to meet him. When he was within twenty paces of it,
+he heard a noise of people and the carriage stopped. This was more than
+poor Bonacieux could endure, depressed as he was by the successive
+emotions which he had experienced; he uttered a feeble groan which
+might have been taken for the last sigh of a dying man, and fainted.
+
+
+
+
+Chapter XIV.
+THE MAN OF MEUNG
+
+
+The crowd was caused, not by the expectation of a man to be hanged, but
+by the contemplation of a man who was hanged.
+
+The carriage, which had been stopped for a minute, resumed its way,
+passed through the crowd, threaded the Rue St. Honoré, turned into the
+Rue des Bons Enfants, and stopped before a low door.
+
+The door opened; two guards received Bonacieux in their arms from the
+officer who supported him. They carried him through an alley, up a
+flight of stairs, and deposited him in an antechamber.
+
+All these movements had been effected mechanically, as far as he was
+concerned. He had walked as one walks in a dream; he had a glimpse of
+objects as through a fog. His ears had perceived sounds without
+comprehending them; he might have been executed at that moment without
+his making a single gesture in his own defense or uttering a cry to
+implore mercy.
+
+He remained on the bench, with his back leaning against the wall and
+his hands hanging down, exactly on the spot where the guards placed
+him.
+
+On looking around him, however, as he could perceive no threatening
+object, as nothing indicated that he ran any real danger, as the bench
+was comfortably covered with a well-stuffed cushion, as the wall was
+ornamented with a beautiful Cordova leather, and as large red damask
+curtains, fastened back by gold clasps, floated before the window, he
+perceived by degrees that his fear was exaggerated, and he began to
+turn his head to the right and the left, upward and downward.
+
+At this movement, which nobody opposed, he resumed a little courage,
+and ventured to draw up one leg and then the other. At length, with the
+help of his two hands he lifted himself from the bench, and found
+himself on his feet.
+
+At this moment an officer with a pleasant face opened a door, continued
+to exchange some words with a person in the next chamber and then came
+up to the prisoner. “Is your name Bonacieux?” said he.
+
+“Yes, Monsieur Officer,” stammered the mercer, more dead than alive,
+“at your service.”
+
+“Come in,” said the officer.
+
+And he moved out of the way to let the mercer pass. The latter obeyed
+without reply, and entered the chamber, where he appeared to be
+expected.
+
+It was a large cabinet, close and stifling, with the walls furnished
+with arms offensive and defensive, and in which there was already a
+fire, although it was scarcely the end of the month of September. A
+square table, covered with books and papers, upon which was unrolled an
+immense plan of the city of La Rochelle, occupied the center of the
+room.
+
+Standing before the chimney was a man of middle height, of a haughty,
+proud mien; with piercing eyes, a large brow, and a thin face, which
+was made still longer by a _royal_ (or _imperial_, as it is now
+called), surmounted by a pair of mustaches. Although this man was
+scarcely thirty-six or thirty-seven years of age, hair, mustaches, and
+royal, all began to be gray. This man, except a sword, had all the
+appearance of a soldier; and his buff boots, still slightly covered
+with dust, indicated that he had been on horseback in the course of the
+day.
+
+This man was Armand Jean Duplessis, Cardinal de Richelieu; not such as
+he is now represented—broken down like an old man, suffering like a
+martyr, his body bent, his voice failing, buried in a large armchair as
+in an anticipated tomb; no longer living but by the strength of his
+genius, and no longer maintaining the struggle with Europe but by the
+eternal application of his thoughts—but such as he really was at this
+period; that is to say, an active and gallant cavalier, already weak of
+body, but sustained by that moral power which made of him one of the
+most extraordinary men that ever lived, preparing, after having
+supported the Duc de Nevers in his duchy of Mantua, after having taken
+Nîmes, Castres, and Uzes, to drive the English from the Isle of Ré and
+lay siege to La Rochelle.
+
+At first sight, nothing denoted the cardinal; and it was impossible for
+those who did not know his face to guess in whose presence they were.
+
+The poor mercer remained standing at the door, while the eyes of the
+personage we have just described were fixed upon him, and appeared to
+wish to penetrate even into the depths of the past.
+
+“Is this that Bonacieux?” asked he, after a moment of silence.
+
+“Yes, monseigneur,” replied the officer.
+
+“That’s well. Give me those papers, and leave us.”
+
+The officer took from the table the papers pointed out, gave them to
+him who asked for them, bowed to the ground, and retired.
+
+Bonacieux recognized in these papers his interrogatories of the
+Bastille. From time to time the man by the chimney raised his eyes from
+the writings, and plunged them like poniards into the heart of the poor
+mercer.
+
+At the end of ten minutes of reading and ten seconds of examination,
+the cardinal was satisfied.
+
+“That head has never conspired,” murmured he, “but it matters not; we
+will see.”
+
+“You are accused of high treason,” said the cardinal, slowly.
+
+“So I have been told already, monseigneur,” cried Bonacieux, giving his
+interrogator the title he had heard the officer give him, “but I swear
+to you that I know nothing about it.”
+
+The cardinal repressed a smile.
+
+“You have conspired with your wife, with Madame de Chevreuse, and with
+my Lord Duke of Buckingham.”
+
+“Indeed, monseigneur,” responded the mercer, “I have heard her
+pronounce all those names.”
+
+“And on what occasion?”
+
+“She said that the Cardinal de Richelieu had drawn the Duke of
+Buckingham to Paris to ruin him and to ruin the queen.”
+
+“She said that?” cried the cardinal, with violence.
+
+“Yes, monseigneur, but I told her she was wrong to talk about such
+things; and that his Eminence was incapable—”
+
+“Hold your tongue! You are stupid,” replied the cardinal.
+
+“That’s exactly what my wife said, monseigneur.”
+
+“Do you know who carried off your wife?”
+
+“No, monseigneur.”
+
+“You have suspicions, nevertheless?”
+
+“Yes, monseigneur; but these suspicions appeared to be disagreeable to
+Monsieur the Commissary, and I no longer have them.”
+
+“Your wife has escaped. Did you know that?”
+
+“No, monseigneur. I learned it since I have been in prison, and that
+from the conversation of Monsieur the Commissary—an amiable man.”
+
+The cardinal repressed another smile.
+
+“Then you are ignorant of what has become of your wife since her
+flight.”
+
+“Absolutely, monseigneur; but she has most likely returned to the
+Louvre.”
+
+“At one o’clock this morning she had not returned.”
+
+“My God! What can have become of her, then?”
+
+“We shall know, be assured. Nothing is concealed from the cardinal; the
+cardinal knows everything.”
+
+“In that case, monseigneur, do you believe the cardinal will be so kind
+as to tell me what has become of my wife?”
+
+“Perhaps he may; but you must, in the first place, reveal to the
+cardinal all you know of your wife’s relations with Madame de
+Chevreuse.”
+
+“But, monseigneur, I know nothing about them; I have never seen her.”
+
+“When you went to fetch your wife from the Louvre, did you always
+return directly home?”
+
+“Scarcely ever; she had business to transact with linen drapers, to
+whose houses I conducted her.”
+
+“And how many were there of these linen drapers?”
+
+“Two, monseigneur.”
+
+“And where did they live?”
+
+“One in Rue de Vaugirard, the other Rue de la Harpe.”
+
+“Did you go into these houses with her?”
+
+“Never, monseigneur; I waited at the door.”
+
+“And what excuse did she give you for entering all alone?”
+
+“She gave me none; she told me to wait, and I waited.”
+
+“You are a very complacent husband, my dear Monsieur Bonacieux,” said
+the cardinal.
+
+“He calls me his dear Monsieur,” said the mercer to himself. “_Peste!_
+Matters are going all right.”
+
+“Should you know those doors again?”
+
+“Yes.”
+
+“Do you know the numbers?”
+
+“Yes.”
+
+“What are they?”
+
+“No. 25 in the Rue de Vaugirard; 75 in the Rue de la Harpe.”
+
+“That’s well,” said the cardinal.
+
+At these words he took up a silver bell, and rang it; the officer
+entered.
+
+“Go,” said he, in a subdued voice, “and find Rochefort. Tell him to
+come to me immediately, if he has returned.”
+
+“The count is here,” said the officer, “and requests to speak with your
+Eminence instantly.”
+
+“Let him come in, then!” said the cardinal, quickly.
+
+The officer sprang out of the apartment with that alacrity which all
+the servants of the cardinal displayed in obeying him.
+
+“To your Eminence!” murmured Bonacieux, rolling his eyes round in
+astonishment.
+
+Five seconds has scarcely elapsed after the disappearance of the
+officer, when the door opened, and a new personage entered.
+
+“It is he!” cried Bonacieux.
+
+“He! What he?” asked the cardinal.
+
+“The man who abducted my wife.”
+
+The cardinal rang a second time. The officer reappeared.
+
+“Place this man in the care of his guards again, and let him wait till
+I send for him.”
+
+“No, monseigneur, no, it is not he!” cried Bonacieux; “no, I was
+deceived. This is quite another man, and does not resemble him at all.
+Monsieur is, I am sure, an honest man.”
+
+“Take away that fool!” said the cardinal.
+
+The officer took Bonacieux by the arm, and led him into the
+antechamber, where he found his two guards.
+
+The newly introduced personage followed Bonacieux impatiently with his
+eyes till he had gone out; and the moment the door closed, “They have
+seen each other;” said he, approaching the cardinal eagerly.
+
+“Who?” asked his Eminence.
+
+“He and she.”
+
+“The queen and the duke?” cried Richelieu.
+
+“Yes.”
+
+“Where?”
+
+“At the Louvre.”
+
+“Are you sure of it?”
+
+“Perfectly sure.”
+
+“Who told you of it?”
+
+“Madame de Lannoy, who is devoted to your Eminence, as you know.”
+
+“Why did she not let me know sooner?”
+
+“Whether by chance or mistrust, the queen made Madame de Surgis sleep
+in her chamber, and detained her all day.”
+
+“Well, we are beaten! Now let us try to take our revenge.”
+
+“I will assist you with all my heart, monseigneur; be assured of that.”
+
+“How did it come about?”
+
+“At half past twelve the queen was with her women—”
+
+“Where?”
+
+“In her bedchamber—”
+
+“Go on.”
+
+“When someone came and brought her a handkerchief from her laundress.”
+
+“And then?”
+
+“The queen immediately exhibited strong emotion; and despite the rouge
+with which her face was covered evidently turned pale—”
+
+“And then, and then?”
+
+“She then arose, and with altered voice, ‘Ladies,’ said she, ‘wait for
+me ten minutes, I shall soon return.’ She then opened the door of her
+alcove, and went out.”
+
+“Why did not Madame de Lannoy come and inform you instantly?”
+
+“Nothing was certain; besides, her Majesty had said, ‘Ladies, wait for
+me,’ and she did not dare to disobey the queen.”
+
+“How long did the queen remain out of the chamber?”
+
+“Three-quarters of an hour.”
+
+“None of her women accompanied her?”
+
+“Only Donna Estafania.”
+
+“Did she afterward return?”
+
+“Yes; but only to take a little rosewood casket, with her cipher upon
+it, and went out again immediately.”
+
+“And when she finally returned, did she bring that casket with her?”
+
+“No.”
+
+“Does Madame de Lannoy know what was in that casket?”
+
+“Yes; the diamond studs which his Majesty gave the queen.”
+
+“And she came back without this casket?”
+
+“Yes.”
+
+“Madame de Lannoy, then, is of opinion that she gave them to
+Buckingham?”
+
+“She is sure of it.”
+
+“How can she be so?”
+
+“In the course of the day Madame de Lannoy, in her quality of
+tire-woman of the queen, looked for this casket, appeared uneasy at not
+finding it, and at length asked information of the queen.”
+
+“And then the queen?”
+
+“The queen became exceedingly red, and replied that having in the
+evening broken one of those studs, she had sent it to her goldsmith to
+be repaired.”
+
+“He must be called upon, and so ascertain if the thing be true or not.”
+
+“I have just been with him.”
+
+“And the goldsmith?”
+
+“The goldsmith has heard nothing of it.”
+
+“Well, well! Rochefort, all is not lost; and perhaps—perhaps everything
+is for the best.”
+
+“The fact is that I do not doubt your Eminence’s genius—”
+
+“Will repair the blunders of his agent—is that it?”
+
+“That is exactly what I was going to say, if your Eminence had let me
+finish my sentence.”
+
+“Meanwhile, do you know where the Duchesse de Chevreuse and the Duke of
+Buckingham are now concealed?”
+
+“No, monseigneur; my people could tell me nothing on that head.”
+
+“But I know.”
+
+“You, monseigneur?”
+
+“Yes; or at least I guess. They were, one in the Rue de Vaugirard, No.
+25; the other in the Rue de la Harpe, No. 75.”
+
+“Does your Eminence command that they both be instantly arrested?”
+
+“It will be too late; they will be gone.”
+
+“But still, we can make sure that they are so.”
+
+“Take ten men of my Guardsmen, and search the two houses thoroughly.”
+
+“Instantly, monseigneur.” And Rochefort went hastily out of the
+apartment.
+
+The cardinal, being left alone, reflected for an instant and then rang
+the bell a third time. The same officer appeared.
+
+“Bring the prisoner in again,” said the cardinal.
+
+M. Bonacieux was introduced afresh, and upon a sign from the cardinal,
+the officer retired.
+
+“You have deceived me!” said the cardinal, sternly.
+
+“I,” cried Bonacieux, “I deceive your Eminence!”
+
+“Your wife, in going to Rue de Vaugirard and Rue de la Harpe, did not
+go to find linen drapers.”
+
+“Then why did she go, just God?”
+
+“She went to meet the Duchesse de Chevreuse and the Duke of
+Buckingham.”
+
+“Yes,” cried Bonacieux, recalling all his remembrances of the
+circumstances, “yes, that’s it. Your Eminence is right. I told my wife
+several times that it was surprising that linen drapers should live in
+such houses as those, in houses that had no signs; but she always
+laughed at me. Ah, monseigneur!” continued Bonacieux, throwing himself
+at his Eminence’s feet, “ah, how truly you are the cardinal, the great
+cardinal, the man of genius whom all the world reveres!”
+
+The cardinal, however contemptible might be the triumph gained over so
+vulgar a being as Bonacieux, did not the less enjoy it for an instant;
+then, almost immediately, as if a fresh thought has occurred, a smile
+played upon his lips, and he said, offering his hand to the mercer,
+“Rise, my friend, you are a worthy man.”
+
+“The cardinal has touched me with his hand! I have touched the hand of
+the great man!” cried Bonacieux. “The great man has called me his
+friend!”
+
+“Yes, my friend, yes,” said the cardinal, with that paternal tone which
+he sometimes knew how to assume, but which deceived none who knew him;
+“and as you have been unjustly suspected, well, you must be
+indemnified. Here, take this purse of a hundred pistoles, and pardon
+me.”
+
+“I pardon you, monseigneur!” said Bonacieux, hesitating to take the
+purse, fearing, doubtless, that this pretended gift was but a
+pleasantry. “But you are able to have me arrested, you are able to have
+me tortured, you are able to have me hanged; you are the master, and I
+could not have the least word to say. Pardon you, monseigneur! You
+cannot mean that!”
+
+“Ah, my dear Monsieur Bonacieux, you are generous in this matter. I see
+it and I thank you for it. Thus, then, you will take this bag, and you
+will go away without being too malcontent.”
+
+“I go away enchanted.”
+
+“Farewell, then, or rather, _au revoir_, for I hope we shall meet
+again.”
+
+“Whenever Monseigneur wishes, I am always at at his Eminence’s orders.”
+
+“That will be frequently, I assure you, for I have found something
+extremely agreeable in your conversation.”
+
+“Oh! Monseigneur!”
+
+“_Au revoir_, Monsieur Bonacieux, _au revoir!_”
+
+And the cardinal made him a sign with his hand, to which Bonacieux
+replied by bowing to the ground. He then went out backward, and when he
+was in the antechamber the cardinal heard him, in his enthusiasm,
+crying aloud, “Long life to the Monseigneur! Long life to his Eminence!
+Long life to the great cardinal!” The cardinal listened with a smile to
+this vociferous manifestation of the feelings of M. Bonacieux; and
+then, when Bonacieux’s cries were no longer audible, “Good!” said he,
+“that man would henceforward lay down his life for me.” And the
+cardinal began to examine with the greatest attention the map of La
+Rochelle, which, as we have said, lay open on the desk, tracing with a
+pencil the line in which the famous dyke was to pass which, eighteen
+months later, shut up the port of the besieged city. As he was in the
+deepest of his strategic meditations, the door opened, and Rochefort
+returned.
+
+“Well?” said the cardinal, eagerly, rising with a promptitude which
+proved the degree of importance he attached to the commission with
+which he had charged the count.
+
+“Well,” said the latter, “a young woman of about twenty-six or
+twenty-eight years of age, and a man of from thirty-five to forty, have
+indeed lodged at the two houses pointed out by your Eminence; but the
+woman left last night, and the man this morning.”
+
+“It was they!” cried the cardinal, looking at the clock; “and now it is
+too late to have them pursued. The duchess is at Tours, and the duke at
+Boulogne. It is in London they must be found.”
+
+“What are your Eminence’s orders?”
+
+“Not a word of what has passed. Let the queen remain in perfect
+security; let her be ignorant that we know her secret. Let her believe
+that we are in search of some conspiracy or other. Send me the keeper
+of the seals, Séguier.”
+
+“And that man, what has your Eminence done with him?”
+
+“What man?” asked the cardinal.
+
+“That Bonacieux.”
+
+“I have done with him all that could be done. I have made him a spy
+upon his wife.”
+
+The Comte de Rochefort bowed like a man who acknowledges the
+superiority of the master as great, and retired.
+
+Left alone, the cardinal seated himself again and wrote a letter, which
+he secured with his special seal. Then he rang. The officer entered for
+the fourth time.
+
+“Tell Vitray to come to me,” said he, “and tell him to get ready for a
+journey.”
+
+An instant after, the man he asked for was before him, booted and
+spurred.
+
+“Vitray,” said he, “you will go with all speed to London. You must not
+stop an instant on the way. You will deliver this letter to Milady.
+Here is an order for two hundred pistoles; call upon my treasurer and
+get the money. You shall have as much again if you are back within six
+days, and have executed your commission well.”
+
+The messenger, without replying a single word, bowed, took the letter,
+with the order for the two hundred pistoles, and retired.
+
+Here is what the letter contained:
+
+MILADY, Be at the first ball at which the Duke of Buckingham shall be
+present. He will wear on his doublet twelve diamond studs; get as near
+to him as you can, and cut off two.
+
+As soon as these studs shall be in your possession, inform me.
+
+
+
+
+Chapter XV.
+MEN OF THE ROBE AND MEN OF THE SWORD
+
+
+On the day after these events had taken place, Athos not having
+reappeared, M. de Tréville was informed by D’Artagnan and Porthos of
+the circumstance. As to Aramis, he had asked for leave of absence for
+five days, and was gone, it was said, to Rouen on family business.
+
+M. de Tréville was the father of his soldiers. The lowest or the least
+known of them, as soon as he assumed the uniform of the company, was as
+sure of his aid and support as if he had been his own brother.
+
+He repaired, then, instantly to the office of the
+_lieutenant-criminel_. The officer who commanded the post of the Red
+Cross was sent for, and by successive inquiries they learned that Athos
+was then lodged in Fort l’Evêque.
+
+Athos had passed through all the examinations we have seen Bonacieux
+undergo.
+
+We were present at the scene in which the two captives were confronted
+with each other. Athos, who had till that time said nothing for fear
+that D’Artagnan, interrupted in his turn, should not have the time
+necessary, from this moment declared that his name was Athos, and not
+D’Artagnan. He added that he did not know either M. or Mme. Bonacieux;
+that he had never spoken to the one or the other; that he had come, at
+about ten o’clock in the evening, to pay a visit to his friend M.
+d’Artagnan, but that till that hour he had been at M. de Tréville’s,
+where he had dined. “Twenty witnesses,” added he, “could attest the
+fact”; and he named several distinguished gentlemen, and among them was
+M. le Duc de la Trémouille.
+
+The second commissary was as much bewildered as the first had been by
+the simple and firm declaration of the Musketeer, upon whom he was
+anxious to take the revenge which men of the robe like at all times to
+gain over men of the sword; but the name of M. de Tréville, and that of
+M. de la Trémouille, commanded a little reflection.
+
+Athos was then sent to the cardinal; but unfortunately the cardinal was
+at the Louvre with the king.
+
+It was precisely at this moment that M. de Tréville, on leaving the
+residence of the _lieutenant-criminel_ and the governor of Fort
+l’Evêque without being able to find Athos, arrived at the palace.
+
+As captain of the Musketeers, M. de Tréville had the right of entry at
+all times.
+
+It is well known how violent the king’s prejudices were against the
+queen, and how carefully these prejudices were kept up by the cardinal,
+who in affairs of intrigue mistrusted women infinitely more than men.
+One of the grand causes of this prejudice was the friendship of Anne of
+Austria for Mme. de Chevreuse. These two women gave him more uneasiness
+than the war with Spain, the quarrel with England, or the embarrassment
+of the finances. In his eyes and to his conviction, Mme. de Chevreuse
+not only served the queen in her political intrigues, but, what
+tormented him still more, in her amorous intrigues.
+
+At the first word the cardinal spoke of Mme. de Chevreuse—who, though
+exiled to Tours and believed to be in that city, had come to Paris,
+remained there five days, and outwitted the police—the king flew into a
+furious passion. Capricious and unfaithful, the king wished to be
+called Louis the Just and Louis the Chaste. Posterity will find a
+difficulty in understanding this character, which history explains only
+by facts and never by reason.
+
+But when the cardinal added that not only Mme. de Chevreuse had been in
+Paris, but still further, that the queen had renewed with her one of
+those mysterious correspondences which at that time was named a
+_cabal;_ when he affirmed that he, the cardinal, was about to unravel
+the most closely twisted thread of this intrigue; that at the moment of
+arresting in the very act, with all the proofs about her, the queen’s
+emissary to the exiled duchess, a Musketeer had dared to interrupt the
+course of justice violently, by falling sword in hand upon the honest
+men of the law, charged with investigating impartially the whole affair
+in order to place it before the eyes of the king—Louis XIII. could not
+contain himself, and he made a step toward the queen’s apartment with
+that pale and mute indignation which, when it broke out, led this
+prince to the commission of the most pitiless cruelty. And yet, in all
+this, the cardinal had not yet said a word about the Duke of
+Buckingham.
+
+At this instant M. de Tréville entered, cool, polite, and in
+irreproachable costume.
+
+Informed of what had passed by the presence of the cardinal and the
+alteration in the king’s countenance, M. de Tréville felt himself
+something like Samson before the Philistines.
+
+Louis XIII. had already placed his hand on the knob of the door; at the
+noise of M. de Tréville’s entrance he turned round. “You arrive in good
+time, monsieur,” said the king, who, when his passions were raised to a
+certain point, could not dissemble; “I have learned some fine things
+concerning your Musketeers.”
+
+“And I,” said Tréville, coldly, “I have some pretty things to tell your
+Majesty concerning these gownsmen.”
+
+“What?” said the king, with hauteur.
+
+“I have the honor to inform your Majesty,” continued M. de Tréville, in
+the same tone, “that a party of _procureurs_, commissaries, and men of
+the police—very estimable people, but very inveterate, as it appears,
+against the uniform—have taken upon themselves to arrest in a house, to
+lead away through the open street, and throw into Fort l’Evêque, all
+upon an order which they have refused to show me, one of my, or rather
+your Musketeers, sire, of irreproachable conduct, of an almost
+illustrious reputation, and whom your Majesty knows favorably, Monsieur
+Athos.”
+
+“Athos,” said the king, mechanically; “yes, certainly I know that
+name.”
+
+“Let your Majesty remember,” said Tréville, “that Monsieur Athos is the
+Musketeer who, in the annoying duel which you are acquainted with, had
+the misfortune to wound Monsieur de Cahusac so seriously. _A propos_,
+monseigneur,” continued Tréville, addressing the cardinal, “Monsieur de
+Cahusac is quite recovered, is he not?”
+
+“Thank you,” said the cardinal, biting his lips with anger.
+
+“Athos, then, went to pay a visit to one of his friends absent at the
+time,” continued Tréville, “to a young Béarnais, a cadet in his
+Majesty’s Guards, the company of Monsieur Dessessart, but scarcely had
+he arrived at his friend’s and taken up a book, while waiting his
+return, when a mixed crowd of bailiffs and soldiers came and laid siege
+to the house, broke open several doors—”
+
+The cardinal made the king a sign, which signified, “That was on
+account of the affair about which I spoke to you.”
+
+“We all know that,” interrupted the king; “for all that was done for
+our service.”
+
+“Then,” said Tréville, “it was also for your Majesty’s service that one
+of my Musketeers, who was innocent, has been seized, that he has been
+placed between two guards like a malefactor, and that this gallant man,
+who has ten times shed his blood in your Majesty’s service and is ready
+to shed it again, has been paraded through the midst of an insolent
+populace?”
+
+“Bah!” said the king, who began to be shaken, “was it so managed?”
+
+“Monsieur de Tréville,” said the cardinal, with the greatest phlegm,
+“does not tell your Majesty that this innocent Musketeer, this gallant
+man, had only an hour before attacked, sword in hand, four commissaries
+of inquiry, who were delegated by myself to examine into an affair of
+the highest importance.”
+
+“I defy your Eminence to prove it,” cried Tréville, with his Gascon
+freedom and military frankness; “for one hour before, Monsieur Athos,
+who, I will confide it to your Majesty, is really a man of the highest
+quality, did me the honor after having dined with me to be conversing
+in the saloon of my hôtel, with the Duc de la Trémouille and the Comte
+de Châlus, who happened to be there.”
+
+The king looked at the cardinal.
+
+“A written examination attests it,” said the cardinal, replying aloud
+to the mute interrogation of his Majesty; “and the ill-treated people
+have drawn up the following, which I have the honor to present to your
+Majesty.”
+
+“And is the written report of the gownsmen to be placed in comparison
+with the word of honor of a swordsman?” replied Tréville haughtily.
+
+“Come, come, Tréville, hold your tongue,” said the king.
+
+“If his Eminence entertains any suspicion against one of my
+Musketeers,” said Tréville, “the justice of Monsieur the Cardinal is so
+well known that I demand an inquiry.”
+
+“In the house in which the judicial inquiry was made,” continued the
+impassive cardinal, “there lodges, I believe, a young Béarnais, a
+friend of the Musketeer.”
+
+“Your Eminence means Monsieur d’Artagnan.”
+
+“I mean a young man whom you patronize, Monsieur de Tréville.”
+
+“Yes, your Eminence, it is the same.”
+
+“Do you not suspect this young man of having given bad counsel?”
+
+“To Athos, to a man double his age?” interrupted Tréville. “No,
+monseigneur. Besides, D’Artagnan passed the evening with me.”
+
+“Well,” said the cardinal, “everybody seems to have passed the evening
+with you.”
+
+“Does your Eminence doubt my word?” said Tréville, with a brow flushed
+with anger.
+
+“No, God forbid,” said the cardinal; “only, at what hour was he with
+you?”
+
+“Oh, as to that I can speak positively, your Eminence; for as he came
+in I remarked that it was but half past nine by the clock, although I
+had believed it to be later.”
+
+“At what hour did he leave your hôtel?”
+
+“At half past ten—an hour after the event.”
+
+“Well,” replied the cardinal, who could not for an instant suspect the
+loyalty of Tréville, and who felt that the victory was escaping him,
+“well, but Athos _was_ taken in the house in the Rue des Fossoyeurs.”
+
+“Is one friend forbidden to visit another, or a Musketeer of my company
+to fraternize with a Guard of Dessessart’s company?”
+
+“Yes, when the house where he fraternizes is suspected.”
+
+“That house is suspected, Tréville,” said the king; “perhaps you did
+not know it?”
+
+“Indeed, sire, I did not. The house may be suspected; but I deny that
+it is so in the part of it inhabited by Monsieur d’Artagnan, for I can
+affirm, sire, if I can believe what he says, that there does not exist
+a more devoted servant of your Majesty, or a more profound admirer of
+Monsieur the Cardinal.”
+
+“Was it not this D’Artagnan who wounded Jussac one day, in that
+unfortunate encounter which took place near the Convent of the
+Carmes-Déchaussés?” asked the king, looking at the cardinal, who
+colored with vexation.
+
+“And the next day, Bernajoux. Yes, sire, yes, it is the same; and your
+Majesty has a good memory.”
+
+“Come, how shall we decide?” said the king.
+
+“That concerns your Majesty more than me,” said the cardinal. “I should
+affirm the culpability.”
+
+“And I deny it,” said Tréville. “But his Majesty has judges, and these
+judges will decide.”
+
+“That is best,” said the king. “Send the case before the judges; it is
+their business to judge, and they shall judge.”
+
+“Only,” replied Tréville, “it is a sad thing that in the unfortunate
+times in which we live, the purest life, the most incontestable virtue,
+cannot exempt a man from infamy and persecution. The army, I will
+answer for it, will be but little pleased at being exposed to rigorous
+treatment on account of police affairs.”
+
+The expression was imprudent; but M. de Tréville launched it with
+knowledge of his cause. He was desirous of an explosion, because in
+that case the mine throws forth fire, and fire enlightens.
+
+“Police affairs!” cried the king, taking up Tréville’s words, “police
+affairs! And what do you know about them, Monsieur? Meddle with your
+Musketeers, and do not annoy me in this way. It appears, according to
+your account, that if by mischance a Musketeer is arrested, France is
+in danger. What a noise about a Musketeer! I would arrest ten of them,
+_ventrebleu_, a hundred, even, all the company, and I would not allow a
+whisper.”
+
+“From the moment they are suspected by your Majesty,” said Tréville,
+“the Musketeers are guilty; therefore, you see me prepared to surrender
+my sword—for after having accused my soldiers, there can be no doubt
+that Monsieur the Cardinal will end by accusing me. It is best to
+constitute myself at once a prisoner with Athos, who is already
+arrested, and with D’Artagnan, who most probably will be.”
+
+“Gascon-headed man, will you have done?” said the king.
+
+“Sire,” replied Tréville, without lowering his voice in the least,
+“either order my Musketeer to be restored to me, or let him be tried.”
+
+“He shall be tried,” said the cardinal.
+
+“Well, so much the better; for in that case I shall demand of his
+Majesty permission to plead for him.”
+
+The king feared an outbreak.
+
+“If his Eminence,” said he, “did not have personal motives—”
+
+The cardinal saw what the king was about to say and interrupted him:
+
+“Pardon me,” said he; “but the instant your Majesty considers me a
+prejudiced judge, I withdraw.”
+
+“Come,” said the king, “will you swear, by my father, that Athos was at
+your residence during the event and that he took no part in it?”
+
+“By your glorious father, and by yourself, whom I love and venerate
+above all the world, I swear it.”
+
+“Be so kind as to reflect, sire,” said the cardinal. “If we release the
+prisoner thus, we shall never know the truth.”
+
+“Athos may always be found,” replied Tréville, “ready to answer, when
+it shall please the gownsmen to interrogate him. He will not desert,
+Monsieur the Cardinal, be assured of that; I will answer for him.”
+
+“No, he will not desert,” said the king; “he can always be found, as
+Tréville says. Besides,” added he, lowering his voice and looking with
+a suppliant air at the cardinal, “let us give them apparent security;
+that is policy.”
+
+This policy of Louis XIII. made Richelieu smile.
+
+“Order it as you please, sire; you possess the right of pardon.”
+
+“The right of pardoning only applies to the guilty,” said Tréville, who
+was determined to have the last word, “and my Musketeer is innocent. It
+is not mercy, then, that you are about to accord, sire, it is justice.”
+
+“And he is in the Fort l’Evêque?” said the king.
+
+“Yes, sire, in solitary confinement, in a dungeon, like the lowest
+criminal.”
+
+“The devil!” murmured the king; “what must be done?”
+
+“Sign an order for his release, and all will be said,” replied the
+cardinal. “I believe with your Majesty that Monsieur de Tréville’s
+guarantee is more than sufficient.”
+
+Tréville bowed very respectfully, with a joy that was not unmixed with
+fear; he would have preferred an obstinate resistance on the part of
+the cardinal to this sudden yielding.
+
+The king signed the order for release, and Tréville carried it away
+without delay. As he was about to leave the presence, the cardinal gave
+him a friendly smile, and said, “A perfect harmony reigns, sire,
+between the leaders and the soldiers of your Musketeers, which must be
+profitable for the service and honorable to all.”
+
+“He will play me some dog’s trick or other, and that immediately,” said
+Tréville. “One has never the last word with such a man. But let us be
+quick—the king may change his mind in an hour; and at all events it is
+more difficult to replace a man in the Fort l’Evêque or the Bastille
+who has got out, than to keep a prisoner there who is in.”
+
+M. de Tréville made his entrance triumphantly into the Fort l’Evêque,
+whence he delivered the Musketeer, whose peaceful indifference had not
+for a moment abandoned him.
+
+The first time he saw D’Artagnan, “You have come off well,” said he to
+him; “there is your Jussac thrust paid for. There still remains that of
+Bernajoux, but you must not be too confident.”
+
+As to the rest, M. de Tréville had good reason to mistrust the cardinal
+and to think that all was not over, for scarcely had the captain of the
+Musketeers closed the door after him, than his Eminence said to the
+king, “Now that we are at length by ourselves, we will, if your Majesty
+pleases, converse seriously. Sire, Buckingham has been in Paris five
+days, and only left this morning.”
+
+
+
+
+Chapter XVI.
+IN WHICH M. SÉGUIER, KEEPER OF THE SEALS, LOOKS MORE THAN ONCE FOR THE
+BELL
+
+
+It is impossible to form an idea of the impression these few words made
+upon Louis XIII. He grew pale and red alternately; and the cardinal saw
+at once that he had recovered by a single blow all the ground he had
+lost.
+
+“Buckingham in Paris!” cried he, “and why does he come?”
+
+“To conspire, no doubt, with your enemies, the Huguenots and the
+Spaniards.”
+
+“No, _pardieu_, no! To conspire against my honor with Madame de
+Chevreuse, Madame de Longueville, and the Condés.”
+
+“Oh, sire, what an idea! The queen is too virtuous; and besides, loves
+your Majesty too well.”
+
+“Woman is weak, Monsieur Cardinal,” said the king; “and as to loving me
+much, I have my own opinion as to that love.”
+
+“I not the less maintain,” said the cardinal, “that the Duke of
+Buckingham came to Paris for a project wholly political.”
+
+“And I am sure that he came for quite another purpose, Monsieur
+Cardinal; but if the queen be guilty, let her tremble!”
+
+“Indeed,” said the cardinal, “whatever repugnance I may have to
+directing my mind to such a treason, your Majesty compels me to think
+of it. Madame de Lannoy, whom, according to your Majesty’s command, I
+have frequently interrogated, told me this morning that the night
+before last her Majesty sat up very late, that this morning she wept
+much, and that she was writing all day.”
+
+“That’s it!” cried the king; “to him, no doubt. Cardinal, I must have
+the queen’s papers.”
+
+“But how to take them, sire? It seems to me that it is neither your
+Majesty nor myself who can charge himself with such a mission.”
+
+“How did they act with regard to the Maréchale d’Ancre?” cried the
+king, in the highest state of choler; “first her closets were
+thoroughly searched, and then she herself.”
+
+“The Maréchale d’Ancre was no more than the Maréchale d’Ancre. A
+Florentine adventurer, sire, and that was all; while the august spouse
+of your Majesty is Anne of Austria, Queen of France—that is to say, one
+of the greatest princesses in the world.”
+
+“She is not the less guilty, Monsieur Duke! The more she has forgotten
+the high position in which she was placed, the more degrading is her
+fall. Besides, I long ago determined to put an end to all these petty
+intrigues of policy and love. She has near her a certain Laporte.”
+
+“Who, I believe, is the mainspring of all this, I confess,” said the
+cardinal.
+
+“You think then, as I do, that she deceives me?” said the king.
+
+“I believe, and I repeat it to your Majesty, that the queen conspires
+against the power of the king, but I have not said against his honor.”
+
+“And I—I tell you against both. I tell you the queen does not love me;
+I tell you she loves another; I tell you she loves that infamous
+Buckingham! Why did you not have him arrested while in Paris?”
+
+“Arrest the Duke! Arrest the prime minister of King Charles I.! Think
+of it, sire! What a scandal! And if the suspicions of your Majesty,
+which I still continue to doubt, should prove to have any foundation,
+what a terrible disclosure, what a fearful scandal!”
+
+“But as he exposed himself like a vagabond or a thief, he should have
+been—”
+
+Louis XIII. stopped, terrified at what he was about to say, while
+Richelieu, stretching out his neck, waited uselessly for the word which
+had died on the lips of the king.
+
+“He should have been—?”
+
+“Nothing,” said the king, “nothing. But all the time he was in Paris,
+you, of course, did not lose sight of him?”
+
+“No, sire.”
+
+“Where did he lodge?”
+
+“Rue de la Harpe. No. 75.”
+
+“Where is that?”
+
+“By the side of the Luxembourg.”
+
+“And you are certain that the queen and he did not see each other?”
+
+“I believe the queen to have too high a sense of her duty, sire.”
+
+“But they have corresponded; it is to him that the queen has been
+writing all the day. Monsieur Duke, I must have those letters!”
+
+“Sire, notwithstanding—”
+
+“Monsieur Duke, at whatever price it may be, I will have them.”
+
+“I would, however, beg your Majesty to observe—”
+
+“Do you, then, also join in betraying me, Monsieur Cardinal, by thus
+always opposing my will? Are you also in accord with Spain and England,
+with Madame de Chevreuse and the queen?”
+
+“Sire,” replied the cardinal, sighing, “I believed myself secure from
+such a suspicion.”
+
+“Monsieur Cardinal, you have heard me; I will have those letters.”
+
+“There is but one way.”
+
+“What is that?”
+
+“That would be to charge Monsieur de Séguier, the keeper of the seals,
+with this mission. The matter enters completely into the duties of the
+post.”
+
+“Let him be sent for instantly.”
+
+“He is most likely at my hôtel. I requested him to call, and when I
+came to the Louvre I left orders if he came, to desire him to wait.”
+
+“Let him be sent for instantly.”
+
+“Your Majesty’s orders shall be executed; but—”
+
+“But what?”
+
+“But the queen will perhaps refuse to obey.”
+
+“My orders?”
+
+“Yes, if she is ignorant that these orders come from the king.”
+
+“Well, that she may have no doubt on that head, I will go and inform
+her myself.”
+
+“Your Majesty will not forget that I have done everything in my power
+to prevent a rupture.”
+
+“Yes, Duke, yes, I know you are very indulgent toward the queen, too
+indulgent, perhaps; we shall have occasion, I warn you, at some future
+period to speak of that.”
+
+“Whenever it shall please your Majesty; but I shall be always happy and
+proud, sire, to sacrifice myself to the harmony which I desire to see
+reign between you and the Queen of France.”
+
+“Very well, Cardinal, very well; but, meantime, send for Monsieur the
+Keeper of the Seals. I will go to the queen.”
+
+And Louis XIII., opening the door of communication, passed into the
+corridor which led from his apartments to those of Anne of Austria.
+
+The queen was in the midst of her women—Mme. de Guitaut, Mme. de Sable,
+Mme. de Montbazon, and Mme. de Guémené. In a corner was the Spanish
+companion, Donna Estafania, who had followed her from Madrid. Mme.
+Guémené was reading aloud, and everybody was listening to her with
+attention with the exception of the queen, who had, on the contrary,
+desired this reading in order that she might be able, while feigning to
+listen, to pursue the thread of her own thoughts.
+
+These thoughts, gilded as they were by a last reflection of love, were
+not the less sad. Anne of Austria, deprived of the confidence of her
+husband, pursued by the hatred of the cardinal, who could not pardon
+her for having repulsed a more tender feeling, having before her eyes
+the example of the queen-mother whom that hatred had tormented all her
+life—though Marie de Médicis, if the memoirs of the time are to be
+believed, had begun by according to the cardinal that sentiment which
+Anne of Austria always refused him—Anne of Austria had seen her most
+devoted servants fall around her, her most intimate confidants, her
+dearest favorites. Like those unfortunate persons endowed with a fatal
+gift, she brought misfortune upon everything she touched. Her
+friendship was a fatal sign which called down persecution. Mme. de
+Chevreuse and Mme. de Bernet were exiled, and Laporte did not conceal
+from his mistress that he expected to be arrested every instant.
+
+It was at the moment when she was plunged in the deepest and darkest of
+these reflections that the door of the chamber opened, and the king
+entered.
+
+The reader hushed herself instantly. All the ladies rose, and there was
+a profound silence. As to the king, he made no demonstration of
+politeness, only stopping before the queen. “Madame,” said he, “you are
+about to receive a visit from the chancellor, who will communicate
+certain matters to you with which I have charged him.”
+
+The unfortunate queen, who was constantly threatened with divorce,
+exile, and trial even, turned pale under her rouge, and could not
+refrain from saying, “But why this visit, sire? What can the chancellor
+have to say to me that your Majesty could not say yourself?”
+
+The king turned upon his heel without reply, and almost at the same
+instant the captain of the Guards, M. de Guitant, announced the visit
+of the chancellor.
+
+When the chancellor appeared, the king had already gone out by another
+door.
+
+The chancellor entered, half smiling, half blushing. As we shall
+probably meet with him again in the course of our history, it may be
+well for our readers to be made at once acquainted with him.
+
+This chancellor was a pleasant man. He was Des Roches le Masle, canon
+of Notre Dame, who had formerly been valet of a bishop, who introduced
+him to his Eminence as a perfectly devout man. The cardinal trusted
+him, and therein found his advantage.
+
+There are many stories related of him, and among them this. After a
+wild youth, he had retired into a convent, there to expiate, at least
+for some time, the follies of adolescence. On entering this holy place,
+the poor penitent was unable to shut the door so close as to prevent
+the passions he fled from entering with him. He was incessantly
+attacked by them, and the superior, to whom he had confided this
+misfortune, wishing as much as in him lay to free him from them, had
+advised him, in order to conjure away the tempting demon, to have
+recourse to the bell rope, and ring with all his might. At the
+denunciating sound, the monks would be rendered aware that temptation
+was besieging a brother, and all the community would go to prayers.
+
+This advice appeared good to the future chancellor. He conjured the
+evil spirit with abundance of prayers offered up by the monks. But the
+devil does not suffer himself to be easily dispossessed from a place in
+which he has fixed his garrison. In proportion as they redoubled the
+exorcisms he redoubled the temptations; so that day and night the bell
+was ringing full swing, announcing the extreme desire for mortification
+which the penitent experienced.
+
+The monks had no longer an instant of repose. By day they did nothing
+but ascend and descend the steps which led to the chapel; at night, in
+addition to complines and matins, they were further obliged to leap
+twenty times out of their beds and prostrate themselves on the floor of
+their cells.
+
+It is not known whether it was the devil who gave way, or the monks who
+grew tired; but within three months the penitent reappeared in the
+world with the reputation of being the most terrible _possessed_ that
+ever existed.
+
+On leaving the convent he entered into the magistracy, became president
+on the place of his uncle, embraced the cardinal’s party, which did not
+prove want of sagacity, became chancellor, served his Eminence with
+zeal in his hatred against the queen-mother and his vengeance against
+Anne of Austria, stimulated the judges in the affair of Calais,
+encouraged the attempts of M. de Laffemas, chief gamekeeper of France;
+then, at length, invested with the entire confidence of the cardinal—a
+confidence which he had so well earned—he received the singular
+commission for the execution of which he presented himself in the
+queen’s apartments.
+
+The queen was still standing when he entered; but scarcely had she
+perceived him then she reseated herself in her armchair, and made a
+sign to her women to resume their cushions and stools, and with an air
+of supreme hauteur, said, “What do you desire, monsieur, and with what
+object do you present yourself here?”
+
+“To make, madame, in the name of the king, and without prejudice to the
+respect which I have the honor to owe to your Majesty a close
+examination into all your papers.”
+
+“How, monsieur, an investigation of my papers—mine! Truly, this is an
+indignity!”
+
+“Be kind enough to pardon me, madame; but in this circumstance I am but
+the instrument which the king employs. Has not his Majesty just left
+you, and has he not himself asked you to prepare for this visit?”
+
+“Search, then, monsieur! I am a criminal, as it appears. Estafania,
+give up the keys of my drawers and my desks.”
+
+For form’s sake the chancellor paid a visit to the pieces of furniture
+named; but he well knew that it was not in a piece of furniture that
+the queen would place the important letter she had written that day.
+
+When the chancellor had opened and shut twenty times the drawers of the
+secretaries, it became necessary, whatever hesitation he might
+experience—it became necessary, I say, to come to the conclusion of the
+affair; that is to say, to search the queen herself. The chancellor
+advanced, therefore, toward Anne of Austria, and said with a very
+perplexed and embarrassed air, “And now it remains for me to make the
+principal examination.”
+
+“What is that?” asked the queen, who did not understand, or rather was
+not willing to understand.
+
+“His majesty is certain that a letter has been written by you during
+the day; he knows that it has not yet been sent to its address. This
+letter is not in your table nor in your secretary; and yet this letter
+must be somewhere.”
+
+“Would you dare to lift your hand to your queen?” said Anne of Austria,
+drawing herself up to her full height, and fixing her eyes upon the
+chancellor with an expression almost threatening.
+
+“I am a faithful subject of the king, madame, and all that his Majesty
+commands I shall do.”
+
+“Well, it is true!” said Anne of Austria; “and the spies of the
+cardinal have served him faithfully. I have written a letter today;
+that letter is not yet gone. The letter is here.” And the queen laid
+her beautiful hand on her bosom.
+
+“Then give me that letter, madame,” said the chancellor.
+
+“I will give it to none but the king, monsieur,” said Anne.
+
+“If the king had desired that the letter should be given to him,
+madame, he would have demanded it of you himself. But I repeat to you,
+I am charged with reclaiming it; and if you do not give it up—”
+
+“Well?”
+
+“He has, then, charged me to take it from you.”
+
+“How! What do you say?”
+
+“That my orders go far, madame; and that I am authorized to seek for
+the suspected paper, even on the person of your Majesty.”
+
+“What horror!” cried the queen.
+
+“Be kind enough, then, madame, to act more compliantly.”
+
+“The conduct is infamously violent! Do you know that, monsieur?”
+
+“The king commands it, madame; excuse me.”
+
+“I will not suffer it! No, no, I would rather die!” cried the queen, in
+whom the imperious blood of Spain and Austria began to rise.
+
+The chancellor made a profound reverence. Then, with the intention
+quite patent of not drawing back a foot from the accomplishment of the
+commission with which he was charged, and as the attendant of an
+executioner might have done in the chamber of torture, he approached
+Anne of Austria, from whose eyes at the same instant sprang tears of
+rage.
+
+The queen was, as we have said, of great beauty. The commission might
+well be called delicate; and the king had reached, in his jealousy of
+Buckingham, the point of not being jealous of anyone else.
+
+Without doubt the chancellor Séguier looked about at that moment for
+the rope of the famous bell; but not finding it he summoned his
+resolution, and stretched forth his hands toward the place where the
+queen had acknowledged the paper was to be found.
+
+Anne of Austria took one step backward, became so pale that it might be
+said she was dying, and leaning with her left hand upon a table behind
+her to keep herself from falling, she with her right hand drew the
+paper from her bosom and held it out to the keeper of the seals.
+
+“There, monsieur, there is that letter!” cried the queen, with a broken
+and trembling voice; “take it, and deliver me from your odious
+presence.”
+
+The chancellor, who, on his part, trembled with an emotion easily to be
+conceived, took the letter, bowed to the ground, and retired. The door
+was scarcely closed upon him, when the queen sank, half fainting, into
+the arms of her women.
+
+The chancellor carried the letter to the king without having read a
+single word of it. The king took it with a trembling hand, looked for
+the address, which was wanting, became very pale, opened it slowly,
+then seeing by the first words that it was addressed to the King of
+Spain, he read it rapidly.
+
+It was nothing but a plan of attack against the cardinal. The queen
+pressed her brother and the Emperor of Austria to appear to be wounded,
+as they really were, by the policy of Richelieu—the eternal object of
+which was the abasement of the house of Austria—to declare war against
+France, and as a condition of peace, to insist upon the dismissal of
+the cardinal; but as to love, there was not a single word about it in
+all the letter.
+
+The king, quite delighted, inquired if the cardinal was still at the
+Louvre; he was told that his Eminence awaited the orders of his Majesty
+in the business cabinet.
+
+The king went straight to him.
+
+“There, Duke,” said he, “you were right and I was wrong. The whole
+intrigue is political, and there is not the least question of love in
+this letter; but, on the other hand, there is abundant question of
+you.”
+
+The cardinal took the letter, and read it with the greatest attention;
+then, when he had arrived at the end of it, he read it a second time.
+“Well, your Majesty,” said he, “you see how far my enemies go; they
+menace you with two wars if you do not dismiss me. In your place, in
+truth, sire, I should yield to such powerful instance; and on my part,
+it would be a real happiness to withdraw from public affairs.”
+
+“What say you, Duke?”
+
+“I say, sire, that my health is sinking under these excessive struggles
+and these never-ending labors. I say that according to all probability
+I shall not be able to undergo the fatigues of the siege of La
+Rochelle, and that it would be far better that you should appoint there
+either Monsieur de Condé, Monsieur de Bassopierre, or some valiant
+gentleman whose business is war, and not me, who am a churchman, and
+who am constantly turned aside for my real vocation to look after
+matters for which I have no aptitude. You would be the happier for it
+at home, sire, and I do not doubt you would be the greater for it
+abroad.”
+
+“Monsieur Duke,” said the king, “I understand you. Be satisfied, all
+who are named in that letter shall be punished as they deserve, even
+the queen herself.”
+
+“What do you say, sire? God forbid that the queen should suffer the
+least inconvenience or uneasiness on my account! She has always
+believed me, sire, to be her enemy; although your Majesty can bear
+witness that I have always taken her part warmly, even against you. Oh,
+if she betrayed your Majesty on the side of your honor, it would be
+quite another thing, and I should be the first to say, ‘No grace,
+sire—no grace for the guilty!’ Happily, there is nothing of the kind,
+and your Majesty has just acquired a new proof of it.”
+
+“That is true, Monsieur Cardinal,” said the king, “and you were right,
+as you always are; but the queen, not the less, deserves all my anger.”
+
+“It is you, sire, who have now incurred hers. And even if she were to
+be seriously offended, I could well understand it; your Majesty has
+treated her with a severity—”
+
+“It is thus I will always treat my enemies and yours, Duke, however
+high they may be placed, and whatever peril I may incur in acting
+severely toward them.”
+
+“The queen is my enemy, but is not yours, sire; on the contrary, she is
+a devoted, submissive, and irreproachable wife. Allow me, then, sire,
+to intercede for her with your Majesty.”
+
+“Let her humble herself, then, and come to me first.”
+
+“On the contrary, sire, set the example. You have committed the first
+wrong, since it was you who suspected the queen.”
+
+“What! I make the first advances?” said the king. “Never!”
+
+“Sire, I entreat you to do so.”
+
+“Besides, in what manner can I make advances first?”
+
+“By doing a thing which you know will be agreeable to her.”
+
+“What is that?”
+
+“Give a ball; you know how much the queen loves dancing. I will answer
+for it, her resentment will not hold out against such an attention.”
+
+“Monsieur Cardinal, you know that I do not like worldly pleasures.”
+
+“The queen will only be the more grateful to you, as she knows your
+antipathy for that amusement; besides, it will be an opportunity for
+her to wear those beautiful diamonds which you gave her recently on her
+birthday and with which she has since had no occasion to adorn
+herself.”
+
+“We shall see, Monsieur Cardinal, we shall see,” said the king, who, in
+his joy at finding the queen guilty of a crime which he cared little
+about, and innocent of a fault of which he had great dread, was ready
+to make up all differences with her, “we shall see, but upon my honor,
+you are too indulgent toward her.”
+
+“Sire,” said the cardinal, “leave severity to your ministers. Clemency
+is a royal virtue; employ it, and you will find that you derive
+advantage therein.”
+
+Thereupon the cardinal, hearing the clock strike eleven, bowed low,
+asking permission of the king to retire, and supplicating him to come
+to a good understanding with the queen.
+
+Anne of Austria, who, in consequence of the seizure of her letter,
+expected reproaches, was much astonished the next day to see the king
+make some attempts at reconciliation with her. Her first movement was
+repellent. Her womanly pride and her queenly dignity had both been so
+cruelly offended that she could not come round at the first advance;
+but, overpersuaded by the advice of her women, she at last had the
+appearance of beginning to forget. The king took advantage of this
+favorable moment to tell her that he had the intention of shortly
+giving a fête.
+
+A fête was so rare a thing for poor Anne of Austria that at this
+announcement, as the cardinal had predicted, the last trace of her
+resentment disappeared, if not from her heart, at least from her
+countenance. She asked upon what day this fête would take place, but
+the king replied that he must consult the cardinal upon that head.
+
+Indeed, every day the king asked the cardinal when this fête should
+take place; and every day the cardinal, under some pretext, deferred
+fixing it. Ten days passed away thus.
+
+On the eighth day after the scene we have described, the cardinal
+received a letter with the London stamp which only contained these
+lines: “I have them; but I am unable to leave London for want of money.
+Send me five hundred pistoles, and four or five days after I have
+received them I shall be in Paris.”
+
+On the same day the cardinal received this letter the king put his
+customary question to him.
+
+Richelieu counted on his fingers, and said to himself, “She will
+arrive, she says, four or five days after having received the money. It
+will require four or five days for the transmission of the money, four
+or five days for her to return; that makes ten days. Now, allowing for
+contrary winds, accidents, and a woman’s weakness, there are twelve
+days.”
+
+“Well, Monsieur Duke,” said the king, “have you made your
+calculations?”
+
+“Yes, sire. Today is the twentieth of September. The aldermen of the
+city give a fête on the third of October. That will fall in wonderfully
+well; you will not appear to have gone out of your way to please the
+queen.”
+
+Then the cardinal added, “_A propos_, sire, do not forget to tell her
+Majesty the evening before the fête that you should like to see how her
+diamond studs become her.”
+
+
+
+
+Chapter XVII.
+BONACIEUX AT HOME
+
+
+It was the second time the cardinal had mentioned these diamond studs
+to the king. Louis XIII. was struck with this insistence, and began to
+fancy that this recommendation concealed some mystery.
+
+More than once the king had been humiliated by the cardinal, whose
+police, without having yet attained the perfection of the modern
+police, were excellent, being better informed than himself, even upon
+what was going on in his own household. He hoped, then, in a
+conversation with Anne of Austria, to obtain some information from that
+conversation, and afterward to come upon his Eminence with some secret
+which the cardinal either knew or did not know, but which, in either
+case, would raise him infinitely in the eyes of his minister.
+
+He went then to the queen, and according to custom accosted her with
+fresh menaces against those who surrounded her. Anne of Austria lowered
+her head, allowed the torrent to flow on without replying, hoping that
+it would cease of itself; but this was not what Louis XIII. meant. Louis
+XIII. wanted a discussion from which some light or other might break,
+convinced as he was that the cardinal had some afterthought and was
+preparing for him one of those terrible surprises which his Eminence
+was so skillful in getting up. He arrived at this end by his
+persistence in accusation.
+
+“But,” cried Anne of Austria, tired of these vague attacks, “but, sire,
+you do not tell me all that you have in your heart. What have I done,
+then? Let me know what crime I have committed. It is impossible that
+your Majesty can make all this ado about a letter written to my
+brother.”
+
+The king, attacked in a manner so direct, did not know what to answer;
+and he thought that this was the moment for expressing the desire which
+he was not going to have made until the evening before the fête.
+
+“Madame,” said he, with dignity, “there will shortly be a ball at the
+Hôtel de Ville. I wish, in order to honor our worthy aldermen, you
+should appear in ceremonial costume, and above all, ornamented with the
+diamond studs which I gave you on your birthday. That is my answer.”
+
+The answer was terrible. Anne of Austria believed that Louis XIII. knew
+all, and that the cardinal had persuaded him to employ this long
+dissimulation of seven or eight days, which, likewise, was
+characteristic. She became excessively pale, leaned her beautiful hand
+upon a _console_, which hand appeared then like one of wax, and looking
+at the king with terror in her eyes, she was unable to reply by a
+single syllable.
+
+“You hear, madame,” said the king, who enjoyed the embarrassment to its
+full extent, but without guessing the cause. “You hear, madame?”
+
+“Yes, sire, I hear,” stammered the queen.
+
+“You will appear at this ball?”
+
+“Yes.”
+
+“With those studs?”
+
+“Yes.”
+
+The queen’s paleness, if possible, increased; the king perceived it,
+and enjoyed it with that cold cruelty which was one of the worst sides
+of his character.
+
+“Then that is agreed,” said the king, “and that is all I had to say to
+you.”
+
+“But on what day will this ball take place?” asked Anne of Austria.
+
+Louis XIII. felt instinctively that he ought not to reply to this
+question, the queen having put it in an almost dying voice.
+
+“Oh, very shortly, madame,” said he; “but I do not precisely recollect
+the date of the day. I will ask the cardinal.”
+
+“It was the cardinal, then, who informed you of this fête?”
+
+“Yes, madame,” replied the astonished king; “but why do you ask that?”
+
+“It was he who told you to invite me to appear with these studs?”
+
+“That is to say, madame—”
+
+“It was he, sire, it was he!”
+
+“Well, and what does it signify whether it was he or I? Is there any
+crime in this request?”
+
+“No, sire.”
+
+“Then you will appear?”
+
+“Yes, sire.”
+
+“That is well,” said the king, retiring, “that is well; I count upon
+it.”
+
+The queen made a curtsy, less from etiquette than because her knees
+were sinking under her. The king went away enchanted.
+
+“I am lost,” murmured the queen, “lost!—for the cardinal knows all, and
+it is he who urges on the king, who as yet knows nothing but will soon
+know everything. I am lost! My God, my God, my God!”
+
+She knelt upon a cushion and prayed, with her head buried between her
+palpitating arms.
+
+In fact, her position was terrible. Buckingham had returned to London;
+Mme. de Chevreuse was at Tours. More closely watched than ever, the
+queen felt certain, without knowing how to tell which, that one of her
+women had betrayed her. Laporte could not leave the Louvre; she had not
+a soul in the world in whom she could confide. Thus, while
+contemplating the misfortune which threatened her and the abandonment
+in which she was left, she broke out into sobs and tears.
+
+“Can I be of service to your Majesty?” said all at once a voice full of
+sweetness and pity.
+
+The queen turned sharply round, for there could be no deception in the
+expression of that voice; it was a friend who spoke thus.
+
+In fact, at one of the doors which opened into the queen’s apartment
+appeared the pretty Mme. Bonacieux. She had been engaged in arranging
+the dresses and linen in a closet when the king entered; she could not
+get out and had heard all.
+
+The queen uttered a piercing cry at finding herself surprised—for in
+her trouble she did not at first recognize the young woman who had been
+given to her by Laporte.
+
+“Oh, fear nothing, madame!” said the young woman, clasping her hands
+and weeping herself at the queen’s sorrows; “I am your Majesty’s, body
+and soul, and however far I may be from you, however inferior may be my
+position, I believe I have discovered a means of extricating your
+Majesty from your trouble.”
+
+“You, oh, heaven, you!” cried the queen; “but look me in the face. I am
+betrayed on all sides. Can I trust in you?”
+
+“Oh, madame!” cried the young woman, falling on her knees; “upon my
+soul, I am ready to die for your Majesty!”
+
+This expression sprang from the very bottom of the heart, and, like the
+first, there was no mistaking it.
+
+“Yes,” continued Mme. Bonacieux, “yes, there are traitors here; but by
+the holy name of the Virgin, I swear that no one is more devoted to
+your Majesty than I am. Those studs which the king speaks of, you gave
+them to the Duke of Buckingham, did you not? Those studs were enclosed
+in a little rosewood box which he held under his arm? Am I deceived? Is
+it not so, madame?”
+
+“Oh, my God, my God!” murmured the queen, whose teeth chattered with
+fright.
+
+“Well, those studs,” continued Mme. Bonacieux, “we must have them back
+again.”
+
+“Yes, without doubt, it is necessary,” cried the queen; “but how am I
+to act? How can it be effected?”
+
+“Someone must be sent to the duke.”
+
+“But who, who? In whom can I trust?”
+
+“Place confidence in me, madame; do me that honor, my queen, and I will
+find a messenger.”
+
+“But I must write.”
+
+“Oh, yes; that is indispensable. Two words from the hand of your
+Majesty and your private seal.”
+
+“But these two words would bring about my condemnation, divorce,
+exile!”
+
+“Yes, if they fell into infamous hands. But I will answer for these two
+words being delivered to their address.”
+
+“Oh, my God! I must then place my life, my honor, my reputation, in
+your hands?”
+
+“Yes, yes, madame, you must; and I will save them all.”
+
+“But how? Tell me at least the means.”
+
+“My husband had been at liberty these two or three days. I have not yet
+had time to see him again. He is a worthy, honest man who entertains
+neither love nor hatred for anybody. He will do anything I wish. He
+will set out upon receiving an order from me, without knowing what he
+carries, and he will carry your Majesty’s letter, without even knowing
+it is from your Majesty, to the address which is on it.”
+
+The queen took the two hands of the young woman with a burst of
+emotion, gazed at her as if to read her very heart, and, seeing nothing
+but sincerity in her beautiful eyes, embraced her tenderly.
+
+“Do that,” cried she, “and you will have saved my life, you will have
+saved my honor!”
+
+“Do not exaggerate the service I have the happiness to render your
+Majesty. I have nothing to save for your Majesty; you are only the
+victim of perfidious plots.”
+
+“That is true, that is true, my child,” said the queen, “you are
+right.”
+
+“Give me then, that letter, madame; time presses.”
+
+The queen ran to a little table, on which were ink, paper, and pens.
+She wrote two lines, sealed the letter with her private seal, and gave
+it to Mme. Bonacieux.
+
+“And now,” said the queen, “we are forgetting one very necessary
+thing.”
+
+“What is that, madame?”
+
+“Money.”
+
+Mme. Bonacieux blushed.
+
+“Yes, that is true,” said she, “and I will confess to your Majesty that
+my husband—”
+
+“Your husband has none. Is that what you would say?”
+
+“He has some, but he is very avaricious; that is his fault.
+Nevertheless, let not your Majesty be uneasy, we will find means.”
+
+“And I have none, either,” said the queen. Those who have read the
+_Memoirs_ of Mme. de Motteville will not be astonished at this reply.
+“But wait a minute.”
+
+Anne of Austria ran to her jewel case.
+
+“Here,” said she, “here is a ring of great value, as I have been
+assured. It came from my brother, the King of Spain. It is mine, and I
+am at liberty to dispose of it. Take this ring; raise money with it,
+and let your husband set out.”
+
+“In an hour you shall be obeyed.”
+
+“You see the address,” said the queen, speaking so low that Mme.
+Bonacieux could hardly hear what she said, “To my Lord Duke of
+Buckingham, London.”
+
+“The letter shall be given to himself.”
+
+“Generous girl!” cried Anne of Austria.
+
+Mme. Bonacieux kissed the hands of the queen, concealed the paper in
+the bosom of her dress, and disappeared with the lightness of a bird.
+
+Ten minutes afterward she was at home. As she told the queen, she had
+not seen her husband since his liberation; she was ignorant of the
+change that had taken place in him with respect to the cardinal—a
+change which had since been strengthened by two or three visits from
+the Comte de Rochefort, who had become the best friend of Bonacieux,
+and had persuaded him, without much trouble, that no culpable
+sentiments had prompted the abduction of his wife, but that it was only
+a political precaution.
+
+She found M. Bonacieux alone; the poor man was recovering with
+difficulty the order in his house, in which he had found most of the
+furniture broken and the closets nearly emptied—justice not being one
+of the three things which King Solomon names as leaving no traces of
+their passage. As to the servant, she had run away at the moment of her
+master’s arrest. Terror had had such an effect upon the poor girl that
+she had never ceased walking from Paris till she reached Burgundy, her
+native place.
+
+The worthy mercer had, immediately upon re-entering his house, informed
+his wife of his happy return, and his wife had replied by
+congratulating him, and telling him that the first moment she could
+steal from her duties should be devoted to paying him a visit.
+
+This first moment had been delayed five days, which, under any other
+circumstances, might have appeared rather long to M. Bonacieux; but he
+had, in the visit he had made to the cardinal and in the visits
+Rochefort had made him, ample subjects for reflection, and as everybody
+knows, nothing makes time pass more quickly than reflection.
+
+This was the more so because Bonacieux’s reflections were all
+rose-colored. Rochefort called him his friend, his dear Bonacieux, and
+never ceased telling him that the cardinal had a great respect for him.
+The mercer fancied himself already on the high road to honors and
+fortune.
+
+On her side Mme. Bonacieux had also reflected; but, it must be
+admitted, upon something widely different from ambition. In spite of
+herself her thoughts constantly reverted to that handsome young man who
+was so brave and appeared to be so much in love. Married at eighteen to
+M. Bonacieux, having always lived among her husband’s friends—people
+little capable of inspiring any sentiment whatever in a young woman
+whose heart was above her position—Mme. Bonacieux had remained
+insensible to vulgar seductions; but at this period the title of
+gentleman had great influence with the citizen class, and D’Artagnan
+was a gentleman. Besides, he wore the uniform of the Guards, which,
+next to that of the Musketeers, was most admired by the ladies. He was,
+we repeat, handsome, young, and bold; he spoke of love like a man who
+did love and was anxious to be loved in return. There was certainly
+enough in all this to turn a head only twenty-three years old, and Mme.
+Bonacieux had just attained that happy period of life.
+
+The couple, then, although they had not seen each other for eight days,
+and during that time serious events had taken place in which both were
+concerned, accosted each other with a degree of preoccupation.
+Nevertheless, Bonacieux manifested real joy, and advanced toward his
+wife with open arms. Madame Bonacieux presented her cheek to him.
+
+“Let us talk a little,” said she.
+
+“How!” said Bonacieux, astonished.
+
+“Yes, I have something of the highest importance to tell you.”
+
+“True,” said he, “and I have some questions sufficiently serious to put
+to you. Describe to me your abduction, I pray you.”
+
+“Oh, that’s of no consequence just now,” said Mme. Bonacieux.
+
+“And what does it concern, then—my captivity?”
+
+“I heard of it the day it happened; but as you were not guilty of any
+crime, as you were not guilty of any intrigue, as you, in short, knew
+nothing that could compromise yourself or anybody else, I attached no
+more importance to that event than it merited.”
+
+“You speak very much at your ease, madame,” said Bonacieux, hurt at the
+little interest his wife showed in him. “Do you know that I was plunged
+during a day and night in a dungeon of the Bastille?”
+
+“Oh, a day and night soon pass away. Let us return to the object that
+brings me here.”
+
+“What, that which brings you home to me? Is it not the desire of seeing
+a husband again from whom you have been separated for a week?” asked
+the mercer, piqued to the quick.
+
+“Yes, that first, and other things afterward.”
+
+“Speak.”
+
+“It is a thing of the highest interest, and upon which our future
+fortune perhaps depends.”
+
+“The complexion of our fortune has changed very much since I saw you,
+Madame Bonacieux, and I should not be astonished if in the course of a
+few months it were to excite the envy of many folks.”
+
+“Yes, particularly if you follow the instructions I am about to give
+you.”
+
+“Me?”
+
+“Yes, you. There is good and holy action to be performed, monsieur, and
+much money to be gained at the same time.”
+
+Mme. Bonacieux knew that in talking of money to her husband, she took
+him on his weak side. But a man, were he even a mercer, when he had
+talked for ten minutes with Cardinal Richelieu, is no longer the same
+man.
+
+“Much money to be gained?” said Bonacieux, protruding his lip.
+
+“Yes, much.”
+
+“About how much?”
+
+“A thousand pistoles, perhaps.”
+
+“What you demand of me is serious, then?”
+
+“It is indeed.”
+
+“What must be done?”
+
+“You must go away immediately. I will give you a paper which you must
+not part with on any account, and which you will deliver into the
+proper hands.”
+
+“And whither am I to go?”
+
+“To London.”
+
+“I go to London? Go to! You jest! I have no business in London.”
+
+“But others wish that you should go there.”
+
+“But who are those others? I warn you that I will never again work in
+the dark, and that I will know not only to what I expose myself, but
+for whom I expose myself.”
+
+“An illustrious person sends you; an illustrious person awaits you. The
+recompense will exceed your expectations; that is all I promise you.”
+
+“More intrigues! Nothing but intrigues! Thank you, madame, I am aware
+of them now; Monsieur Cardinal has enlightened me on that head.”
+
+“The cardinal?” cried Mme. Bonacieux. “Have you seen the cardinal?”
+
+“He sent for me,” answered the mercer, proudly.
+
+“And you responded to his bidding, you imprudent man?”
+
+“Well, I can’t say I had much choice of going or not going, for I was
+taken to him between two guards. It is true also, that as I did not
+then know his Eminence, if I had been able to dispense with the visit,
+I should have been enchanted.”
+
+“He ill-treated you, then; he threatened you?”
+
+“He gave me his hand, and called me his friend. His friend! Do you hear
+that, madame? I am the friend of the great cardinal!”
+
+“Of the great cardinal!”
+
+“Perhaps you would contest his right to that title, madame?”
+
+“I would contest nothing; but I tell you that the favor of a minister
+is ephemeral, and that a man must be mad to attach himself to a
+minister. There are powers above his which do not depend upon a man or
+the issue of an event; it is to these powers we should rally.”
+
+“I am sorry for it, madame, but I acknowledge no other power but that
+of the great man whom I have the honor to serve.”
+
+“You serve the cardinal?”
+
+“Yes, madame; and as his servant, I will not allow you to be concerned
+in plots against the safety of the state, or to serve the intrigues of
+a woman who is not French and who has a Spanish heart. Fortunately we
+have the great cardinal; his vigilant eye watches over and penetrates
+to the bottom of the heart.”
+
+Bonacieux was repeating, word for word, a sentence which he had heard
+from the Comte de Rochefort; but the poor wife, who had reckoned on her
+husband, and who, in that hope, had answered for him to the queen, did
+not tremble the less, both at the danger into which she had nearly cast
+herself and at the helpless state to which she was reduced.
+Nevertheless, knowing the weakness of her husband, and more
+particularly his cupidity, she did not despair of bringing him round to
+her purpose.
+
+“Ah, you are a cardinalist, then, monsieur, are you?” cried she; “and
+you serve the party of those who maltreat your wife and insult your
+queen?”
+
+“Private interests are as nothing before the interests of all. I am for
+those who save the state,” said Bonacieux, emphatically.
+
+“And what do you know about the state you talk of?” said Mme.
+Bonacieux, shrugging her shoulders. “Be satisfied with being a plain,
+straightforward citizen, and turn to that side which offers the most
+advantages.”
+
+“Eh, eh!” said Bonacieux, slapping a plump, round bag, which returned
+of sound a money; “what do you think of this, Madame Preacher?”
+
+“Whence comes that money?”
+
+“You do not guess?”
+
+“From the cardinal?”
+
+“From him, and from my friend the Comte de Rochefort.”
+
+“The Comte de Rochefort! Why, it was he who carried me off!”
+
+“That may be, madame!”
+
+“And you receive silver from that man?”
+
+“Have you not said that that abduction was entirely political?”
+
+“Yes; but that abduction had for its object the betrayal of my
+mistress, to draw from me by torture confessions that might compromise
+the honor, and perhaps the life, of my august mistress.”
+
+“Madame,” replied Bonacieux, “your august mistress is a perfidious
+Spaniard, and what the cardinal does is well done.”
+
+“Monsieur,” said the young woman, “I know you to be cowardly,
+avaricious, and foolish, but I never till now believed you infamous!”
+
+“Madame,” said Bonacieux, who had never seen his wife in a passion, and
+who recoiled before this conjugal anger, “madame, what do you say?”
+
+“I say you are a miserable creature!” continued Mme. Bonacieux, who saw
+she was regaining some little influence over her husband. “You meddle
+with politics, do you—and still more, with cardinalist politics? Why,
+you sell yourself, body and soul, to the demon, the devil, for money!”
+
+“No, to the cardinal.”
+
+“It’s the same thing,” cried the young woman. “Who calls Richelieu
+calls Satan.”
+
+“Hold your tongue, hold your tongue, madame! You may be overheard.”
+
+“Yes, you are right; I should be ashamed for anyone to know your
+baseness.”
+
+“But what do you require of me, then? Let us see.”
+
+“I have told you. You must depart instantly, monsieur. You must
+accomplish loyally the commission with which I deign to charge you, and
+on that condition I pardon everything, I forget everything; and what is
+more,” and she held out her hand to him, “I restore my love.”
+
+Bonacieux was cowardly and avaricious, but he loved his wife. He was
+softened. A man of fifty cannot long bear malice with a wife of
+twenty-three. Mme. Bonacieux saw that he hesitated.
+
+“Come! Have you decided?” said she.
+
+“But, my dear love, reflect a little upon what you require of me.
+London is far from Paris, very far, and perhaps the commission with
+which you charge me is not without dangers?”
+
+“What matters it, if you avoid them?”
+
+“Hold, Madame Bonacieux,” said the mercer, “hold! I positively refuse;
+intrigues terrify me. I have seen the Bastille. My! Whew! That’s a
+frightful place, that Bastille! Only to think of it makes my flesh
+crawl. They threatened me with torture. Do you know what torture is?
+Wooden points that they stick in between your legs till your bones
+stick out! No, positively I will not go. And, _morbleu_, why do you not
+go yourself? For in truth, I think I have hitherto been deceived in
+you. I really believe you are a man, and a violent one, too.”
+
+“And you, you are a woman—a miserable woman, stupid and brutal. You are
+afraid, are you? Well, if you do not go this very instant, I will have
+you arrested by the queen’s orders, and I will have you placed in the
+Bastille which you dread so much.”
+
+Bonacieux fell into a profound reflection. He weighed the two angers in
+his brain—that of the cardinal and that of the queen; that of the
+cardinal predominated enormously.
+
+“Have me arrested on the part of the queen,” said he, “and I—I will
+appeal to his Eminence.”
+
+At once Mme. Bonacieux saw that she had gone too far, and she was
+terrified at having communicated so much. She for a moment contemplated
+with fright that stupid countenance, impressed with the invincible
+resolution of a fool that is overcome by fear.
+
+“Well, be it so!” said she. “Perhaps, when all is considered, you are
+right. In the long run, a man knows more about politics than a woman,
+particularly such as, like you, Monsieur Bonacieux, have conversed with
+the cardinal. And yet it is very hard,” added she, “that a man upon
+whose affection I thought I might depend, treats me thus unkindly and
+will not comply with any of my fancies.”
+
+“That is because your fancies go too far,” replied the triumphant
+Bonacieux, “and I mistrust them.”
+
+“Well, I will give it up, then,” said the young woman, sighing. “It is
+well as it is; say no more about it.”
+
+“At least you should tell me what I should have to do in London,”
+replied Bonacieux, who remembered a little too late that Rochefort had
+desired him to endeavor to obtain his wife’s secrets.
+
+“It is of no use for you to know anything about it,” said the young
+woman, whom an instinctive mistrust now impelled to draw back. “It was
+about one of those purchases that interest women—a purchase by which
+much might have been gained.”
+
+But the more the young woman excused herself, the more important
+Bonacieux thought the secret which she declined to confide to him. He
+resolved then to hasten immediately to the residence of the Comte de
+Rochefort, and tell him that the queen was seeking for a messenger to
+send to London.
+
+“Pardon me for quitting you, my dear Madame Bonacieux,” said he; “but,
+not knowing you would come to see me, I had made an engagement with a
+friend. I shall soon return; and if you will wait only a few minutes
+for me, as soon as I have concluded my business with that friend, as it
+is growing late, I will come back and reconduct you to the Louvre.”
+
+“Thank you, monsieur, you are not brave enough to be of any use to me
+whatever,” replied Mme. Bonacieux. “I shall return very safely to the
+Louvre all alone.”
+
+“As you please, Madame Bonacieux,” said the ex-mercer. “Shall I see you
+again soon?”
+
+“Next week I hope my duties will afford me a little liberty, and I will
+take advantage of it to come and put things in order here, as they must
+necessarily be much deranged.”
+
+“Very well; I shall expect you. You are not angry with me?”
+
+“Not the least in the world.”
+
+“Till then, then?”
+
+“Till then.”
+
+Bonacieux kissed his wife’s hand, and set off at a quick pace.
+
+“Well,” said Mme. Bonacieux, when her husband had shut the street door
+and she found herself alone; “that imbecile lacked but one thing: to
+become a cardinalist. And I, who have answered for him to the queen—I,
+who have promised my poor mistress—ah, my God, my God! She will take me
+for one of those wretches with whom the palace swarms and who are
+placed about her as spies! Ah, Monsieur Bonacieux, I never did love you
+much, but now it is worse than ever. I hate you, and on my word you
+shall pay for this!”
+
+At the moment she spoke these words a rap on the ceiling made her raise
+her head, and a voice which reached her through the ceiling cried,
+“Dear Madame Bonacieux, open for me the little door on the alley, and I
+will come down to you.”
+
+
+
+
+Chapter XVIII.
+LOVER AND HUSBAND
+
+
+Ah, Madame,” said D’Artagnan, entering by the door which the young
+woman opened for him, “allow me to tell you that you have a bad sort of
+a husband.”
+
+“You have, then, overheard our conversation?” asked Mme. Bonacieux,
+eagerly, and looking at D’Artagnan with disquiet.
+
+“The whole.”
+
+“But how, my God?”
+
+“By a mode of proceeding known to myself, and by which I likewise
+overheard the more animated conversation which he had with the
+cardinal’s police.”
+
+“And what did you understand by what we said?”
+
+“A thousand things. In the first place, that, unfortunately, your
+husband is a simpleton and a fool; in the next place, you are in
+trouble, of which I am very glad, as it gives me an opportunity of
+placing myself at your service, and God knows I am ready to throw
+myself into the fire for you; finally, that the queen wants a brave,
+intelligent, devoted man to make a journey to London for her. I have at
+least two of the three qualities you stand in need of, and here I am.”
+
+Mme. Bonacieux made no reply; but her heart beat with joy and secret
+hope shone in her eyes.
+
+“And what guarantee will you give me,” asked she, “if I consent to
+confide this message to you?”
+
+“My love for you. Speak! Command! What is to be done?”
+
+“My God, my God!” murmured the young woman, “ought I to confide such a
+secret to you, monsieur? You are almost a boy.”
+
+“I see that you require someone to answer for me?”
+
+“I admit that would reassure me greatly.”
+
+“Do you know Athos?”
+
+“No.”
+
+“Porthos?”
+
+“No.”
+
+“Aramis?”
+
+“No. Who are these gentleman?”
+
+“Three of the king’s Musketeers. Do you know Monsieur de Tréville,
+their captain?”
+
+“Oh, yes, him! I know him; not personally, but from having heard the
+queen speak of him more than once as a brave and loyal gentleman.”
+
+“You do not fear lest he should betray you to the cardinal?”
+
+“Oh, no, certainly not!”
+
+“Well, reveal your secret to him, and ask him whether, however
+important, however valuable, however terrible it may be, you may not
+confide it to me.”
+
+“But this secret is not mine, and I cannot reveal it in this manner.”
+
+“You were about to confide it to Monsieur Bonacieux,” said D’Artagnan,
+with chagrin.
+
+“As one confides a letter to the hollow of a tree, to the wing of a
+pigeon, to the collar of a dog.”
+
+“And yet, me—you see plainly that I love you.”
+
+“You say so.”
+
+“I am an honorable man.”
+
+“You say so.”
+
+“I am a gallant fellow.”
+
+“I believe it.”
+
+“I am brave.”
+
+“Oh, I am sure of that!”
+
+“Then, put me to the proof.”
+
+Mme. Bonacieux looked at the young man, restrained for a minute by a
+last hesitation; but there was such an ardor in his eyes, such
+persuasion in his voice, that she felt herself constrained to confide
+in him. Besides, she found herself in circumstances where everything
+must be risked for the sake of everything. The queen might be as much
+injured by too much reticence as by too much confidence; and—let us
+admit it—the involuntary sentiment which she felt for her young
+protector decided her to speak.
+
+“Listen,” said she; “I yield to your protestations, I yield to your
+assurances. But I swear to you, before God who hears us, that if you
+betray me, and my enemies pardon me, I will kill myself, while accusing
+you of my death.”
+
+“And I—I swear to you before God, madame,” said D’Artagnan, “that if I
+am taken while accomplishing the orders you give me, I will die sooner
+than do anything that may compromise anyone.”
+
+Then the young woman confided in him the terrible secret of which
+chance had already communicated to him a part in front of the
+Samaritaine. This was their mutual declaration of love.
+
+D’Artagnan was radiant with joy and pride. This secret which he
+possessed, this woman whom he loved! Confidence and love made him a
+giant.
+
+“I go,” said he; “I go at once.”
+
+“How, you will go!” said Mme. Bonacieux; “and your regiment, your
+captain?”
+
+“By my soul, you had made me forget all that, dear Constance! Yes, you
+are right; a furlough is needful.”
+
+“Still another obstacle,” murmured Mme. Bonacieux, sorrowfully.
+
+“As to that,” cried D’Artagnan, after a moment of reflection, “I shall
+surmount it, be assured.”
+
+“How so?”
+
+“I will go this very evening to Tréville, whom I will request to ask
+this favor for me of his brother-in-law, Monsieur Dessessart.”
+
+“But another thing.”
+
+“What?” asked D’Artagnan, seeing that Mme. Bonacieux hesitated to
+continue.
+
+“You have, perhaps, no money?”
+
+“_Perhaps_ is too much,” said D’Artagnan, smiling.
+
+“Then,” replied Mme. Bonacieux, opening a cupboard and taking from it
+the very bag which a half hour before her husband had caressed so
+affectionately, “take this bag.”
+
+“The cardinal’s?” cried D’Artagnan, breaking into a loud laugh, he
+having heard, as may be remembered, thanks to the broken boards, every
+syllable of the conversation between the mercer and his wife.
+
+“The cardinal’s,” replied Mme. Bonacieux. “You see it makes a very
+respectable appearance.”
+
+“_Pardieu_,” cried D’Artagnan, “it will be a double amusing affair to
+save the queen with the cardinal’s money!”
+
+“You are an amiable and charming young man,” said Mme. Bonacieux. “Be
+assured you will not find her Majesty ungrateful.”
+
+“Oh, I am already grandly recompensed!” cried D’Artagnan. “I love you;
+you permit me to tell you that I do—that is already more happiness than
+I dared to hope.”
+
+“Silence!” said Mme. Bonacieux, starting.
+
+“What!”
+
+“Someone is talking in the street.”
+
+“It is the voice of—”
+
+“Of my husband! Yes, I recognize it!”
+
+D’Artagnan ran to the door and pushed the bolt.
+
+“He shall not come in before I am gone,” said he; “and when I am gone,
+you can open to him.”
+
+“But I ought to be gone, too. And the disappearance of his money; how
+am I to justify it if I am here?”
+
+“You are right; we must go out.”
+
+“Go out? How? He will see us if we go out.”
+
+“Then you must come up into my room.”
+
+“Ah,” said Mme. Bonacieux, “you speak that in a tone that frightens
+me!”
+
+Mme. Bonacieux pronounced these words with tears in her eyes.
+D’Artagnan saw those tears, and much disturbed, softened, he threw
+himself at her feet.
+
+“With me you will be as safe as in a temple; I give you my word of a
+gentleman.”
+
+“Let us go,” said she, “I place full confidence in you, my friend!”
+
+D’Artagnan drew back the bolt with precaution, and both, light as
+shadows, glided through the interior door into the passage, ascended
+the stairs as quietly as possible, and entered D’Artagnan’s chambers.
+
+Once there, for greater security, the young man barricaded the door.
+They both approached the window, and through a slit in the shutter they
+saw Bonacieux talking with a man in a cloak.
+
+At sight of this man, D’Artagnan started, and half drawing his sword,
+sprang toward the door.
+
+It was the man of Meung.
+
+“What are you going to do?” cried Mme. Bonacieux; “you will ruin us
+all!”
+
+“But I have sworn to kill that man!” said D’Artagnan.
+
+“Your life is devoted from this moment, and does not belong to you. In
+the name of the queen I forbid you to throw yourself into any peril
+which is foreign to that of your journey.”
+
+“And do you command nothing in your own name?”
+
+“In my name,” said Mme. Bonacieux, with great emotion, “in my name I
+beg you! But listen; they appear to be speaking of me.”
+
+D’Artagnan drew near the window, and lent his ear.
+
+M. Bonacieux had opened his door, and seeing the apartment, had
+returned to the man in the cloak, whom he had left alone for an
+instant.
+
+“She is gone,” said he; “she must have returned to the Louvre.”
+
+“You are sure,” replied the stranger, “that she did not suspect the
+intentions with which you went out?”
+
+“No,” replied Bonacieux, with a self-sufficient air, “she is too
+superficial a woman.”
+
+“Is the young Guardsman at home?”
+
+“I do not think he is; as you see, his shutter is closed, and you can
+see no light shine through the chinks of the shutters.”
+
+“All the same, it is well to be certain.”
+
+“How so?”
+
+“By knocking at his door. Go.”
+
+“I will ask his servant.”
+
+Bonacieux re-entered the house, passed through the same door that had
+afforded a passage for the two fugitives, went up to D’Artagnan’s door,
+and knocked.
+
+No one answered. Porthos, in order to make a greater display, had that
+evening borrowed Planchet. As to D’Artagnan, he took care not to give
+the least sign of existence.
+
+The moment the hand of Bonacieux sounded on the door, the two young
+people felt their hearts bound within them.
+
+“There is nobody within,” said Bonacieux.
+
+“Never mind. Let us return to your apartment. We shall be safer there
+than in the doorway.”
+
+“Ah, my God!” whispered Mme. Bonacieux, “we shall hear no more.”
+
+“On the contrary,” said D’Artagnan, “we shall hear better.”
+
+D’Artagnan raised the three or four boards which made his chamber
+another ear of Dionysius, spread a carpet on the floor, went upon his
+knees, and made a sign to Mme. Bonacieux to stoop as he did toward the
+opening.
+
+“You are sure there is nobody there?” said the stranger.
+
+“I will answer for it,” said Bonacieux.
+
+“And you think that your wife—”
+
+“Has returned to the Louvre.”
+
+“Without speaking to anyone but yourself?”
+
+“I am sure of it.”
+
+“That is an important point, do you understand?”
+
+“Then the news I brought you is of value?”
+
+“The greatest, my dear Bonacieux; I don’t conceal this from you.”
+
+“Then the cardinal will be pleased with me?”
+
+“I have no doubt of it.”
+
+“The great cardinal!”
+
+“Are you sure, in her conversation with you, that your wife mentioned
+no names?”
+
+“I think not.”
+
+“She did not name Madame de Chevreuse, the Duke of Buckingham, or
+Madame de Vernet?”
+
+“No; she only told me she wished to send me to London to serve the
+interests of an illustrious personage.”
+
+“The traitor!” murmured Mme. Bonacieux.
+
+“Silence!” said D’Artagnan, taking her hand, which, without thinking of
+it, she abandoned to him.
+
+“Never mind,” continued the man in the cloak; “you were a fool not to
+have pretended to accept the mission. You would then be in present
+possession of the letter. The state, which is now threatened, would be
+safe, and you—”
+
+“And I?”
+
+“Well you—the cardinal would have given you letters of nobility.”
+
+“Did he tell you so?”
+
+“Yes, I know that he meant to afford you that agreeable surprise.”
+
+“Be satisfied,” replied Bonacieux; “my wife adores me, and there is yet
+time.”
+
+“The ninny!” murmured Mme. Bonacieux.
+
+“Silence!” said D’Artagnan, pressing her hand more closely.
+
+“How is there still time?” asked the man in the cloak.
+
+“I go to the Louvre; I ask for Mme. Bonacieux; I say that I have
+reflected; I renew the affair; I obtain the letter, and I run directly
+to the cardinal.”
+
+“Well, go quickly! I will return soon to learn the result of your
+trip.”
+
+The stranger went out.
+
+“Infamous!” said Mme. Bonacieux, addressing this epithet to her
+husband.
+
+“Silence!” said D’Artagnan, pressing her hand still more warmly.
+
+A terrible howling interrupted these reflections of D’Artagnan and Mme.
+Bonacieux. It was her husband, who had discovered the disappearance of
+the moneybag, and was crying “Thieves!”
+
+“Oh, my God!” cried Mme. Bonacieux, “he will rouse the whole quarter.”
+
+Bonacieux called a long time; but as such cries, on account of their
+frequency, brought nobody in the Rue des Fossoyeurs, and as lately the
+mercer’s house had a bad name, finding that nobody came, he went out
+continuing to call, his voice being heard fainter and fainter as he
+went in the direction of the Rue du Bac.
+
+“Now he is gone, it is your turn to get out,” said Mme. Bonacieux.
+“Courage, my friend, but above all, prudence, and think what you owe to
+the queen.”
+
+“To her and to you!” cried D’Artagnan. “Be satisfied, beautiful
+Constance. I shall become worthy of her gratitude; but shall I likewise
+return worthy of your love?”
+
+The young woman only replied by the beautiful glow which mounted to her
+cheeks. A few seconds afterward D’Artagnan also went out enveloped in a
+large cloak, which ill-concealed the sheath of a long sword.
+
+Mme. Bonacieux followed him with her eyes, with that long, fond look
+with which he had turned the angle of the street, she fell on her
+knees, and clasping her hands, “Oh, my God,” cried she, “protect the
+queen, protect me!”
+
+
+
+
+Chapter XIX.
+PLAN OF CAMPAIGN
+
+
+D’Artagnan went straight to M. de Tréville’s. He had reflected that in
+a few minutes the cardinal would be warned by this cursed stranger, who
+appeared to be his agent, and he judged, with reason, he had not a
+moment to lose.
+
+The heart of the young man overflowed with joy. An opportunity
+presented itself to him in which there would be at the same time glory
+to be acquired, and money to be gained; and as a far higher
+encouragement, it brought him into close intimacy with a woman he
+adored. This chance did, then, for him at once more than he would have
+dared to ask of Providence.
+
+M. de Tréville was in his saloon with his habitual court of gentlemen.
+D’Artagnan, who was known as a familiar of the house, went straight to
+his office, and sent word that he wished to see him on something of
+importance.
+
+D’Artagnan had been there scarcely five minutes when M. de Tréville
+entered. At the first glance, and by the joy which was painted on his
+countenance, the worthy captain plainly perceived that something new
+was on foot.
+
+All the way along D’Artagnan had been consulting with himself whether
+he should place confidence in M. de Tréville, or whether he should only
+ask him to give him _carte blanche_ for some secret affair. But M. de
+Tréville had always been so thoroughly his friend, had always been so
+devoted to the king and queen, and hated the cardinal so cordially,
+that the young man resolved to tell him everything.
+
+“Did you ask for me, my good friend?” said M. de Tréville.
+
+“Yes, monsieur,” said D’Artagnan, lowering his voice, “and you will
+pardon me, I hope, for having disturbed you when you know the
+importance of my business.”
+
+“Speak, then, I am all attention.”
+
+“It concerns nothing less,” said D’Artagnan, “than the honor, perhaps
+the life of the queen.”
+
+“What did you say?” asked M. de Tréville, glancing round to see if they
+were surely alone, and then fixing his questioning look upon
+D’Artagnan.
+
+“I say, monsieur, that chance has rendered me master of a secret—”
+
+“Which you will guard, I hope, young man, as your life.”
+
+“But which I must impart to you, monsieur, for you alone can assist me
+in the mission I have just received from her Majesty.”
+
+“Is this secret your own?”
+
+“No, monsieur; it is her Majesty’s.”
+
+“Are you authorized by her Majesty to communicate it to me?”
+
+“No, monsieur, for, on the contrary, I am desired to preserve the
+profoundest mystery.”
+
+“Why, then, are you about to betray it to me?”
+
+“Because, as I said, without you I can do nothing; and I am afraid you
+will refuse me the favor I come to ask if you do not know to what end I
+ask it.”
+
+“Keep your secret, young man, and tell me what you wish.”
+
+“I wish you to obtain for me, from Monsieur Dessessart, leave of
+absence for fifteen days.”
+
+“When?”
+
+“This very night.”
+
+“You leave Paris?”
+
+“I am going on a mission.”
+
+“May you tell me whither?”
+
+“To London.”
+
+“Has anyone an interest in preventing your arrival there?”
+
+“The cardinal, I believe, would give the world to prevent my success.”
+
+“And you are going alone?”
+
+“I am going alone.”
+
+“In that case you will not get beyond Bondy. I tell you so, by the
+faith of de Tréville.”
+
+“How so?”
+
+“You will be assassinated.”
+
+“And I shall die in the performance of my duty.”
+
+“But your mission will not be accomplished.”
+
+“That is true,” replied D’Artagnan.
+
+“Believe me,” continued Tréville, “in enterprises of this kind, in
+order that one may arrive, four must set out.”
+
+“Ah, you are right, monsieur,” said D’Artagnan; “but you know Athos,
+Porthos, and Aramis, and you know if I can dispose of them.”
+
+“Without confiding to them the secret which I am not willing to know?”
+
+“We are sworn, once for all, to implicit confidence and devotedness
+against all proof. Besides, you can tell them that you have full
+confidence in me, and they will not be more incredulous than you.”
+
+“I can send to each of them leave of absence for fifteen days, that is
+all—to Athos, whose wound still makes him suffer, to go to the waters
+of Forges; to Porthos and Aramis to accompany their friend, whom they
+are not willing to abandon in such a painful condition. Sending their
+leave of absence will be proof enough that I authorize their journey.”
+
+“Thanks, monsieur. You are a hundred times too good.”
+
+“Begone, then, find them instantly, and let all be done tonight! Ha!
+But first write your request to Dessessart. Perhaps you had a spy at
+your heels; and your visit, if it should ever be known to the cardinal,
+will thus seem legitimate.”
+
+D’Artagnan drew up his request, and M. de Tréville, on receiving it,
+assured him that by two o’clock in the morning the four leaves of
+absence should be at the respective domiciles of the travelers.
+
+“Have the goodness to send mine to Athos’s residence. I should dread
+some disagreeable encounter if I were to go home.”
+
+“Be easy. Adieu, and a prosperous voyage. _A propos_,” said M. de
+Tréville, calling him back.
+
+D’Artagnan returned.
+
+“Have you any money?”
+
+D’Artagnan tapped the bag he had in his pocket.
+
+“Enough?” asked M. de Tréville.
+
+“Three hundred pistoles.”
+
+“Oh, plenty! That would carry you to the end of the world. Begone,
+then!”
+
+D’Artagnan saluted M. de Tréville, who held out his hand to him;
+D’Artagnan pressed it with a respect mixed with gratitude. Since his
+first arrival at Paris, he had had constant occasion to honor this
+excellent man, whom he had always found worthy, loyal, and great.
+
+His first visit was to Aramis, at whose residence he had not been since
+the famous evening on which he had followed Mme. Bonacieux. Still
+further, he had seldom seen the young Musketeer; but every time he had
+seen him, he had remarked a deep sadness imprinted on his countenance.
+
+This evening, especially, Aramis was melancholy and thoughtful.
+D’Artagnan asked some questions about this prolonged melancholy. Aramis
+pleaded as his excuse a commentary upon the eighteenth chapter of St.
+Augustine, which he was forced to write in Latin for the following
+week, and which preoccupied him a good deal.
+
+After the two friends had been chatting a few moments, a servant from
+M. de Tréville entered, bringing a sealed packet.
+
+“What is that?” asked Aramis.
+
+“The leave of absence Monsieur has asked for,” replied the lackey.
+
+“For me! I have asked for no leave of absence.”
+
+“Hold your tongue and take it!” said D’Artagnan. “And you, my friend,
+there is a demipistole for your trouble; you will tell Monsieur de
+Tréville that Monsieur Aramis is very much obliged to him. Go.”
+
+The lackey bowed to the ground and departed.
+
+“What does all this mean?” asked Aramis.
+
+“Pack up all you want for a journey of a fortnight, and follow me.”
+
+“But I cannot leave Paris just now without knowing—”
+
+Aramis stopped.
+
+“What is become of her? I suppose you mean—” continued D’Artagnan.
+
+“Become of whom?” replied Aramis.
+
+“The woman who was here—the woman with the embroidered handkerchief.”
+
+“Who told you there was a woman here?” replied Aramis, becoming as pale
+as death.
+
+“I saw her.”
+
+“And you know who she is?”
+
+“I believe I can guess, at least.”
+
+“Listen!” said Aramis. “Since you appear to know so many things, can
+you tell me what is become of that woman?”
+
+“I presume that she has returned to Tours.”
+
+“To Tours? Yes, that may be. You evidently know her. But why did she
+return to Tours without telling me anything?”
+
+“Because she was in fear of being arrested.”
+
+“Why has she not written to me, then?”
+
+“Because she was afraid of compromising you.”
+
+“D’Artagnan, you restore me to life!” cried Aramis. “I fancied myself
+despised, betrayed. I was so delighted to see her again! I could not
+have believed she would risk her liberty for me, and yet for what other
+cause could she have returned to Paris?”
+
+“For the cause which today takes us to England.”
+
+“And what is this cause?” demanded Aramis.
+
+“Oh, you’ll know it someday, Aramis; but at present I must imitate the
+discretion of ‘the doctor’s niece.’”
+
+Aramis smiled, as he remembered the tale he had told his friends on a
+certain evening. “Well, then, since she has left Paris, and you are
+sure of it, D’Artagnan, nothing prevents me, and I am ready to follow
+you. You say we are going—”
+
+“To see Athos now, and if you will come thither, I beg you to make
+haste, for we have lost much time already. _A propos_, inform Bazin.”
+
+“Will Bazin go with us?” asked Aramis.
+
+“Perhaps so. At all events, it is best that he should follow us to
+Athos’s.”
+
+Aramis called Bazin, and, after having ordered him to join them at
+Athos’s residence, said “Let us go then,” at the same time taking his
+cloak, sword, and three pistols, opening uselessly two or three drawers
+to see if he could not find stray coin. When well assured this search
+was superfluous, he followed D’Artagnan, wondering to himself how this
+young Guardsman should know so well who the lady was to whom he had
+given hospitality, and that he should know better than himself what had
+become of her.
+
+Only as they went out Aramis placed his hand upon the arm of
+D’Artagnan, and looking at him earnestly, “You have not spoken of this
+lady?” said he.
+
+“To nobody in the world.”
+
+“Not even to Athos or Porthos?”
+
+“I have not breathed a syllable to them.”
+
+“Good enough!”
+
+Tranquil on this important point, Aramis continued his way with
+D’Artagnan, and both soon arrived at Athos’s dwelling. They found him
+holding his leave of absence in one hand, and M. de Tréville’s note in
+the other.
+
+“Can you explain to me what signify this leave of absence and this
+letter, which I have just received?” said the astonished Athos.
+
+MY DEAR ATHOS,
+    I wish, as your health absolutely requires it, that you should rest
+    for a fortnight. Go, then, and take the waters of Forges, or any
+    that may be more agreeable to you, and recuperate yourself as
+    quickly as possible.
+
+
+Yours affectionate,
+DE TRÉVILLE
+
+
+“Well, this leave of absence and that letter mean that you must follow
+me, Athos.”
+
+“To the waters of Forges?”
+
+“There or elsewhere.”
+
+“In the king’s service?”
+
+“Either the king’s or the queen’s. Are we not their Majesties’
+servants?”
+
+At that moment Porthos entered. “_Pardieu!_” said he, “here is a
+strange thing! Since when, I wonder, in the Musketeers, did they grant
+men leave of absence without their asking for it?”
+
+“Since,” said D’Artagnan, “they have friends who ask it for them.”
+
+“Ah, ah!” said Porthos, “it appears there’s something fresh here.”
+
+“Yes, we are going—” said Aramis.
+
+“To what country?” demanded Porthos.
+
+“My faith! I don’t know much about it,” said Athos. “Ask D’Artagnan.”
+
+“To London, gentlemen,” said D’Artagnan.
+
+“To London!” cried Porthos; “and what the devil are we going to do in
+London?”
+
+“That is what I am not at liberty to tell you, gentlemen; you must
+trust to me.”
+
+“But in order to go to London,” added Porthos, “money is needed, and I
+have none.”
+
+“Nor I,” said Aramis.
+
+“Nor I,” said Athos.
+
+“I have,” replied D’Artagnan, pulling out his treasure from his pocket,
+and placing it on the table. “There are in this bag three hundred
+pistoles. Let each take seventy-five; that is enough to take us to
+London and back. Besides, make yourselves easy; we shall not all arrive
+at London.”
+
+“Why so?”
+
+“Because, in all probability, some one of us will be left on the road.”
+
+“Is this, then, a campaign upon which we are now entering?”
+
+“One of a most dangerous kind, I give you notice.”
+
+“Ah! But if we do risk being killed,” said Porthos, “at least I should
+like to know what for.”
+
+“You would be all the wiser,” said Athos.
+
+“And yet,” said Aramis, “I am somewhat of Porthos’s opinion.”
+
+“Is the king accustomed to give you such reasons? No. He says to you
+jauntily, ‘Gentlemen, there is fighting going on in Gascony or in
+Flanders; go and fight,’ and you go there. Why? You need give
+yourselves no more uneasiness about this.”
+
+“D’Artagnan is right,” said Athos; “here are our three leaves of
+absence which came from Monsieur de Tréville, and here are three
+hundred pistoles which came from I don’t know where. So let us go and
+get killed where we are told to go. Is life worth the trouble of so
+many questions? D’Artagnan, I am ready to follow you.”
+
+“And I also,” said Porthos.
+
+“And I also,” said Aramis. “And, indeed, I am not sorry to quit Paris;
+I had need of distraction.”
+
+“Well, you will have distractions enough, gentlemen, be assured,” said
+D’Artagnan.
+
+“And, now, when are we to go?” asked Athos.
+
+“Immediately,” replied D’Artagnan; “we have not a minute to lose.”
+
+“Hello, Grimaud! Planchet! Mousqueton! Bazin!” cried the four young
+men, calling their lackeys, “clean my boots, and fetch the horses from
+the hôtel.”
+
+Each Musketeer was accustomed to leave at the general hôtel, as at a
+barrack, his own horse and that of his lackey. Planchet, Grimaud,
+Mousqueton, and Bazin set off at full speed.
+
+“Now let us lay down the plan of campaign,” said Porthos. “Where do we
+go first?”
+
+“To Calais,” said D’Artagnan; “that is the most direct line to London.”
+
+“Well,” said Porthos, “this is my advice—”
+
+“Speak!”
+
+“Four men traveling together would be suspected. D’Artagnan will give
+each of us his instructions. I will go by the way of Boulogne to clear
+the way; Athos will set out two hours after, by that of Amiens; Aramis
+will follow us by that of Noyon; as to D’Artagnan, he will go by what
+route he thinks is best, in Planchet’s clothes, while Planchet will
+follow us like D’Artagnan, in the uniform of the Guards.”
+
+“Gentlemen,” said Athos, “my opinion is that it is not proper to allow
+lackeys to have anything to do in such an affair. A secret may, by
+chance, be betrayed by gentlemen; but it is almost always sold by
+lackeys.”
+
+“Porthos’s plan appears to me to be impracticable,” said D’Artagnan,
+“inasmuch as I am myself ignorant of what instructions I can give you.
+I am the bearer of a letter, that is all. I have not, and I cannot make
+three copies of that letter, because it is sealed. We must, then, as it
+appears to me, travel in company. This letter is here, in this pocket,”
+and he pointed to the pocket which contained the letter. “If I should
+be killed, one of you must take it, and continue the route; if he be
+killed, it will be another’s turn, and so on—provided a single one
+arrives, that is all that is required.”
+
+“Bravo, D’Artagnan, your opinion is mine,” cried Athos, “Besides, we
+must be consistent; I am going to take the waters, you will accompany
+me. Instead of taking the waters of Forges, I go and take sea waters; I
+am free to do so. If anyone wishes to stop us, I will show Monsieur de
+Tréville’s letter, and you will show your leaves of absence. If we are
+attacked, we will defend ourselves; if we are tried, we will stoutly
+maintain that we were only anxious to dip ourselves a certain number of
+times in the sea. They would have an easy bargain of four isolated men;
+whereas four men together make a troop. We will arm our four lackeys
+with pistols and musketoons; if they send an army out against us, we
+will give battle, and the survivor, as D’Artagnan says, will carry the
+letter.”
+
+“Well said,” cried Aramis; “you don’t often speak, Athos, but when you
+do speak, it is like St. John of the Golden Mouth. I agree to Athos’s
+plan. And you, Porthos?”
+
+“I agree to it, too,” said Porthos, “if D’Artagnan approves of it.
+D’Artagnan, being the bearer of the letter, is naturally the head of
+the enterprise; let him decide, and we will execute.”
+
+“Well,” said D’Artagnan, “I decide that we should adopt Athos’s plan,
+and that we set off in half an hour.”
+
+“Agreed!” shouted the three Musketeers in chorus.
+
+Each one, stretching out his hand to the bag, took his seventy-five
+pistoles, and made his preparations to set out at the time appointed.
+
+
+
+
+Chapter XX.
+THE JOURNEY
+
+
+At two o’clock in the morning, our four adventurers left Paris by the
+Barrière St. Denis. As long as it was dark they remained silent; in
+spite of themselves they submitted to the influence of the obscurity,
+and apprehended ambushes on every side.
+
+With the first rays of day their tongues were loosened; with the sun
+gaiety revived. It was like the eve of a battle; the heart beat, the
+eyes laughed, and they felt that the life they were perhaps going to
+lose, was, after all, a good thing.
+
+Besides, the appearance of the caravan was formidable. The black horses
+of the Musketeers, their martial carriage, with the regimental step of
+these noble companions of the soldier, would have betrayed the most
+strict incognito. The lackeys followed, armed to the teeth.
+
+All went well till they arrived at Chantilly, which they reached about
+eight o’clock in the morning. They needed breakfast, and alighted at
+the door of an _auberge_, recommended by a sign representing St. Martin
+giving half his cloak to a poor man. They ordered the lackeys not to
+unsaddle the horses, and to hold themselves in readiness to set off
+again immediately.
+
+They entered the common hall, and placed themselves at table. A
+gentleman, who had just arrived by the route of Dammartin, was seated
+at the same table, and was breakfasting. He opened the conversation
+about rain and fine weather; the travelers replied. He drank to their
+good health, and the travelers returned his politeness.
+
+But at the moment Mousqueton came to announce that the horses were
+ready, and they were arising from table, the stranger proposed to
+Porthos to drink the health of the cardinal. Porthos replied that he
+asked no better if the stranger, in his turn, would drink the health of
+the king. The stranger cried that he acknowledged no other king but his
+Eminence. Porthos called him drunk, and the stranger drew his sword.
+
+“You have committed a piece of folly,” said Athos, “but it can’t be
+helped; there is no drawing back. Kill the fellow, and rejoin us as
+soon as you can.”
+
+All three remounted their horses, and set out at a good pace, while
+Porthos was promising his adversary to perforate him with all the
+thrusts known in the fencing schools.
+
+“There goes one!” cried Athos, at the end of five hundred paces.
+
+“But why did that man attack Porthos rather than any other one of us?”
+asked Aramis.
+
+“Because, as Porthos was talking louder than the rest of us, he took
+him for the chief,” said D’Artagnan.
+
+“I always said that this cadet from Gascony was a well of wisdom,”
+murmured Athos; and the travelers continued their route.
+
+At Beauvais they stopped two hours, as well to breathe their horses a
+little as to wait for Porthos. At the end of two hours, as Porthos did
+not come, not any news of him, they resumed their journey.
+
+At a league from Beauvais, where the road was confined between two high
+banks, they fell in with eight or ten men who, taking advantage of the
+road being unpaved in this spot, appeared to be employed in digging
+holes and filling up the ruts with mud.
+
+Aramis, not liking to soil his boots with this artificial mortar,
+apostrophized them rather sharply. Athos wished to restrain him, but it
+was too late. The laborers began to jeer the travelers and by their
+insolence disturbed the equanimity even of the cool Athos, who urged on
+his horse against one of them.
+
+Then each of these men retreated as far as the ditch, from which each
+took a concealed musket; the result was that our seven travelers were
+outnumbered in weapons. Aramis received a ball which passed through his
+shoulder, and Mousqueton another ball which lodged in the fleshy part
+which prolongs the lower portion of the loins. Therefore Mousqueton
+alone fell from his horse, not because he was severely wounded, but not
+being able to see the wound, he judged it to be more serious than it
+really was.
+
+“It was an ambuscade!” shouted D’Artagnan. “Don’t waste a charge!
+Forward!”
+
+Aramis, wounded as he was, seized the mane of his horse, which carried
+him on with the others. Mousqueton’s horse rejoined them, and galloped
+by the side of his companions.
+
+“That will serve us for a relay,” said Athos.
+
+“I would rather have had a hat,” said D’Artagnan. “Mine was carried
+away by a ball. By my faith, it is very fortunate that the letter was
+not in it.”
+
+“They’ll kill poor Porthos when he comes up,” said Aramis.
+
+“If Porthos were on his legs, he would have rejoined us by this time,”
+said Athos. “My opinion is that on the ground the drunken man was not
+intoxicated.”
+
+They continued at their best speed for two hours, although the horses
+were so fatigued that it was to be feared they would soon refuse
+service.
+
+The travelers had chosen crossroads in the hope that they might meet
+with less interruption; but at Crèvecœur, Aramis declared he could
+proceed no farther. In fact, it required all the courage which he
+concealed beneath his elegant form and polished manners to bear him so
+far. He grew more pale every minute, and they were obliged to support
+him on his horse. They lifted him off at the door of a cabaret, left
+Bazin with him, who, besides, in a skirmish was more embarrassing than
+useful, and set forward again in the hope of sleeping at Amiens.
+
+“_Morbleu_,” said Athos, as soon as they were again in motion, “reduced
+to two masters and Grimaud and Planchet! _Morbleu!_ I won’t be their
+dupe, I will answer for it. I will neither open my mouth nor draw my
+sword between this and Calais. I swear by—”
+
+“Don’t waste time in swearing,” said D’Artagnan; “let us gallop, if our
+horses will consent.”
+
+And the travelers buried their rowels in their horses’ flanks, who thus
+vigorously stimulated recovered their energies. They arrived at Amiens
+at midnight, and alighted at the _auberge_ of the Golden Lily.
+
+The host had the appearance of as honest a man as any on earth. He
+received the travelers with his candlestick in one hand and his cotton
+nightcap in the other. He wished to lodge the two travelers each in a
+charming chamber; but unfortunately these charming chambers were at the
+opposite extremities of the hôtel. D’Artagnan and Athos refused them.
+The host replied that he had no other worthy of their Excellencies; but
+the travelers declared they would sleep in the common chamber, each on
+a mattress which might be thrown upon the ground. The host insisted;
+but the travelers were firm, and he was obliged to do as they wished.
+
+They had just prepared their beds and barricaded their door within,
+when someone knocked at the yard shutter; they demanded who was there,
+and recognizing the voices of their lackeys, opened the shutter. It was
+indeed Planchet and Grimaud.
+
+“Grimaud can take care of the horses,” said Planchet. “If you are
+willing, gentlemen, I will sleep across your doorway, and you will then
+be certain that nobody can reach you.”
+
+“And on what will you sleep?” said D’Artagnan.
+
+“Here is my bed,” replied Planchet, producing a bundle of straw.
+
+“Come, then,” said D’Artagnan, “you are right. Mine host’s face does
+not please me at all; it is too gracious.”
+
+“Nor me either,” said Athos.
+
+Planchet mounted by the window and installed himself across the
+doorway, while Grimaud went and shut himself up in the stable,
+undertaking that by five o’clock in the morning he and the four horses
+should be ready.
+
+The night was quiet enough. Toward two o’clock in the morning somebody
+endeavored to open the door; but as Planchet awoke in an instant and
+cried, “Who goes there?” somebody replied that he was mistaken, and
+went away.
+
+At four o’clock in the morning they heard a terrible riot in the
+stables. Grimaud had tried to waken the stable boys, and the stable
+boys had beaten him. When they opened the window, they saw the poor lad
+lying senseless, with his head split by a blow with a pitchfork.
+
+Planchet went down into the yard, and wished to saddle the horses; but
+the horses were all used up. Mousqueton’s horse which had traveled for
+five or six hours without a rider the day before, might have been able
+to pursue the journey; but by an inconceivable error the veterinary
+surgeon, who had been sent for, as it appeared, to bleed one of the
+host’s horses, had bled Mousqueton’s.
+
+This began to be annoying. All these successive accidents were perhaps
+the result of chance; but they might be the fruits of a plot. Athos and
+D’Artagnan went out, while Planchet was sent to inquire if there were
+not three horses for sale in the neighborhood. At the door stood two
+horses, fresh, strong, and fully equipped. These would just have suited
+them. He asked where their masters were, and was informed that they had
+passed the night in the inn, and were then settling their bill with the
+host.
+
+Athos went down to pay the reckoning, while D’Artagnan and Planchet
+stood at the street door. The host was in a lower and back room, to
+which Athos was requested to go.
+
+Athos entered without the least mistrust, and took out two pistoles to
+pay the bill. The host was alone, seated before his desk, one of the
+drawers of which was partly open. He took the money which Athos offered
+to him, and after turning and turning it over and over in his hands,
+suddenly cried out that it was bad, and that he would have him and his
+companions arrested as forgers.
+
+“You blackguard!” cried Athos, going toward him, “I’ll cut your ears
+off!”
+
+At the same instant, four men, armed to the teeth, entered by side
+doors, and rushed upon Athos.
+
+“I am taken!” shouted Athos, with all the power of his lungs. “Go on,
+D’Artagnan! Spur, spur!” and he fired two pistols.
+
+D’Artagnan and Planchet did not require twice bidding; they unfastened
+the two horses that were waiting at the door, leaped upon them, buried
+their spurs in their sides, and set off at full gallop.
+
+“Do you know what has become of Athos?” asked D’Artagnan of Planchet,
+as they galloped on.
+
+“Ah, monsieur,” said Planchet, “I saw one fall at each of his two
+shots, and he appeared to me, through the glass door, to be fighting
+with his sword with the others.”
+
+“Brave Athos!” murmured D’Artagnan, “and to think that we are compelled
+to leave him; maybe the same fate awaits us two paces hence. Forward,
+Planchet, forward! You are a brave fellow.”
+
+“As I told you, monsieur,” replied Planchet, “Picards are found out by
+being used. Besides, I am here in my own country, and that excites me.”
+
+And both, with free use of the spur, arrived at St. Omer without
+drawing bit. At St. Omer they breathed their horses with the bridles
+passed under their arms for fear of accident, and ate a morsel from
+their hands on the stones of the street, after they departed again.
+
+At a hundred paces from the gates of Calais, D’Artagnan’s horse gave
+out, and could not by any means be made to get up again, the blood
+flowing from his eyes and his nose. There still remained Planchet’s
+horse; but he stopped short, and could not be made to move a step.
+
+Fortunately, as we have said, they were within a hundred paces of the
+city; they left their two nags upon the high road, and ran toward the
+quay. Planchet called his master’s attention to a gentleman who had
+just arrived with his lackey, and only preceded them by about fifty
+paces. They made all speed to come up to this gentleman, who appeared
+to be in great haste. His boots were covered with dust, and he inquired
+if he could not instantly cross over to England.
+
+“Nothing would be more easy,” said the captain of a vessel ready to set
+sail, “but this morning came an order to let no one leave without
+express permission from the cardinal.”
+
+“I have that permission,” said the gentleman, drawing the paper from
+his pocket; “here it is.”
+
+“Have it examined by the governor of the port,” said the shipmaster,
+“and give me the preference.”
+
+“Where shall I find the governor?”
+
+“At his country house.”
+
+“And that is situated?”
+
+“At a quarter of a league from the city. Look, you may see it from
+here—at the foot of that little hill, that slated roof.”
+
+“Very well,” said the gentleman. And, with his lackey, he took the road
+to the governor’s country house.
+
+D’Artagnan and Planchet followed the gentleman at a distance of five
+hundred paces. Once outside the city, D’Artagnan overtook the gentleman
+as he was entering a little wood.
+
+“Monsieur, you appear to be in great haste?”
+
+“No one can be more so, monsieur.”
+
+“I am sorry for that,” said D’Artagnan; “for as I am in great haste
+likewise, I wish to beg you to render me a service.”
+
+“What?”
+
+“To let me sail first.”
+
+“That’s impossible,” said the gentleman; “I have traveled sixty leagues
+in forty hours, and by tomorrow at midday I must be in London.”
+
+“I have performed that same distance in forty hours, and by ten o’clock
+in the morning I must be in London.”
+
+“Very sorry, monsieur; but I was here first, and will not sail second.”
+
+“I am sorry, too, monsieur; but I arrived second, and must sail first.”
+
+“The king’s service!” said the gentleman.
+
+“My own service!” said D’Artagnan.
+
+“But this is a needless quarrel you seek with me, as it seems to me.”
+
+“_Parbleu!_ What do you desire it to be?”
+
+“What do you want?”
+
+“Would you like to know?”
+
+“Certainly.”
+
+“Well, then, I wish that order of which you are bearer, seeing that I
+have not one of my own and must have one.”
+
+“You jest, I presume.”
+
+“I never jest.”
+
+“Let me pass!”
+
+“You shall not pass.”
+
+“My brave young man, I will blow out your brains. _Hola_, Lubin, my
+pistols!”
+
+“Planchet,” called out D’Artagnan, “take care of the lackey; I will
+manage the master.”
+
+Planchet, emboldened by the first exploit, sprang upon Lubin; and being
+strong and vigorous, he soon got him on the broad of his back, and
+placed his knee upon his breast.
+
+“Go on with your affair, monsieur,” cried Planchet; “I have finished
+mine.”
+
+Seeing this, the gentleman drew his sword, and sprang upon D’Artagnan;
+but he had too strong an adversary. In three seconds D’Artagnan had
+wounded him three times, exclaiming at each thrust, “One for Athos, one
+for Porthos; and one for Aramis!”
+
+At the third hit the gentleman fell like a log. D’Artagnan believed him
+to be dead, or at least insensible, and went toward him for the purpose
+of taking the order; but the moment he extended his hand to search for
+it, the wounded man, who had not dropped his sword, plunged the point
+into D’Artagnan’s breast, crying, “One for you!”
+
+“And one for me—the best for last!” cried D’Artagnan, furious, nailing
+him to the earth with a fourth thrust through his body.
+
+This time the gentleman closed his eyes and fainted. D’Artagnan
+searched his pockets, and took from one of them the order for the
+passage. It was in the name of Comte de Wardes.
+
+Then, casting a glance on the handsome young man, who was scarcely
+twenty-five years of age, and whom he was leaving in his gore, deprived
+of sense and perhaps dead, he gave a sigh for that unaccountable
+destiny which leads men to destroy each other for the interests of
+people who are strangers to them and who often do not even know that
+they exist. But he was soon aroused from these reflections by Lubin,
+who uttered loud cries and screamed for help with all his might.
+
+Planchet grasped him by the throat, and pressed as hard as he could.
+“Monsieur,” said he, “as long as I hold him in this manner, he can’t
+cry, I’ll be bound; but as soon as I let go he will howl again. I know
+him for a Norman, and Normans are obstinate.”
+
+In fact, tightly held as he was, Lubin endeavored still to cry out.
+
+“Stay!” said D’Artagnan; and taking out his handkerchief, he gagged
+him.
+
+“Now,” said Planchet, “let us bind him to a tree.”
+
+This being properly done, they drew the Comte de Wardes close to his
+servant; and as night was approaching, and as the wounded man and the
+bound man were at some little distance within the wood, it was evident
+they were likely to remain there till the next day.
+
+“And now,” said D’Artagnan, “to the Governor’s.”
+
+“But you are wounded, it seems,” said Planchet.
+
+“Oh, that’s nothing! Let us attend to what is more pressing first, and
+then we will attend to my wound; besides, it does not seem very
+dangerous.”
+
+And they both set forward as fast as they could toward the country
+house of the worthy functionary.
+
+The Comte de Wardes was announced, and D’Artagnan was introduced.
+
+“You have an order signed by the cardinal?” said the governor.
+
+“Yes, monsieur,” replied D’Artagnan; “here it is.”
+
+“Ah, ah! It is quite regular and explicit,” said the governor.
+
+“Most likely,” said D’Artagnan; “I am one of his most faithful
+servants.”
+
+“It appears that his Eminence is anxious to prevent someone from
+crossing to England?”
+
+“Yes; a certain D’Artagnan, a Béarnese gentleman who left Paris in
+company with three of his friends, with the intention of going to
+London.”
+
+“Do you know him personally?” asked the governor.
+
+“Whom?”
+
+“This D’Artagnan.”
+
+“Perfectly well.”
+
+“Describe him to me, then.”
+
+“Nothing more easy.”
+
+And D’Artagnan gave, feature for feature, a description of the Comte de
+Wardes.
+
+“Is he accompanied?”
+
+“Yes; by a lackey named Lubin.”
+
+“We will keep a sharp lookout for them; and if we lay hands on them his
+Eminence may be assured they will be reconducted to Paris under a good
+escort.”
+
+“And by doing so, Monsieur the Governor,” said D’Artagnan, “you will
+deserve well of the cardinal.”
+
+“Shall you see him on your return, Monsieur Count?”
+
+“Without a doubt.”
+
+“Tell him, I beg you, that I am his humble servant.”
+
+“I will not fail.”
+
+Delighted with this assurance the governor countersigned the passport
+and delivered it to D’Artagnan. D’Artagnan lost no time in useless
+compliments. He thanked the governor, bowed, and departed. Once
+outside, he and Planchet set off as fast as they could; and by making a
+long detour avoided the wood and reentered the city by another gate.
+
+The vessel was quite ready to sail, and the captain was waiting on the
+wharf. “Well?” said he, on perceiving D’Artagnan.
+
+“Here is my pass countersigned,” said the latter.
+
+“And that other gentleman?
+
+“He will not go today,” said D’Artagnan; “but here, I’ll pay you for us
+two.”
+
+“In that case let us go,” said the shipmaster.
+
+“Let us go,” repeated D’Artagnan.
+
+He leaped with Planchet into the boat, and five minutes after they were
+on board. It was time; for they had scarcely sailed half a league, when
+D’Artagnan saw a flash and heard a detonation. It was the cannon which
+announced the closing of the port.
+
+He had now leisure to look to his wound. Fortunately, as D’Artagnan had
+thought, it was not dangerous. The point of the sword had touched a
+rib, and glanced along the bone. Still further, his shirt had stuck to
+the wound, and he had lost only a few drops of blood.
+
+D’Artagnan was worn out with fatigue. A mattress was laid upon the deck
+for him. He threw himself upon it, and fell asleep.
+
+On the morrow, at break of day, they were still three or four leagues
+from the coast of England. The breeze had been so light all night, they
+had made but little progress. At ten o’clock the vessel cast anchor in
+the harbor of Dover, and at half past ten D’Artagnan placed his foot on
+English land, crying, “Here I am at last!”
+
+But that was not all; they must get to London. In England the post was
+well served. D’Artagnan and Planchet took each a post horse, and a
+postillion rode before them. In a few hours they were in the capital.
+
+D’Artagnan did not know London; he did not know a word of English; but
+he wrote the name of Buckingham on a piece of paper, and everyone
+pointed out to him the way to the duke’s hôtel.
+
+The duke was at Windsor hunting with the king. D’Artagnan inquired for
+the confidential valet of the duke, who, having accompanied him in all
+his voyages, spoke French perfectly well; he told him that he came from
+Paris on an affair of life and death, and that he must speak with his
+master instantly.
+
+The confidence with which D’Artagnan spoke convinced Patrick, which was
+the name of this minister of the minister. He ordered two horses to be
+saddled, and himself went as guide to the young Guardsman. As for
+Planchet, he had been lifted from his horse as stiff as a rush; the
+poor lad’s strength was almost exhausted. D’Artagnan seemed iron.
+
+On their arrival at the castle they learned that Buckingham and the
+king were hawking in the marshes two or three leagues away. In twenty
+minutes they were on the spot named. Patrick soon caught the sound of
+his master’s voice calling his falcon.
+
+“Whom must I announce to my Lord Duke?” asked Patrick.
+
+“The young man who one evening sought a quarrel with him on the Pont
+Neuf, opposite the Samaritaine.”
+
+“A singular introduction!”
+
+“You will find that it is as good as another.”
+
+Patrick galloped off, reached the duke, and announced to him in the
+terms directed that a messenger awaited him.
+
+Buckingham at once remembered the circumstance, and suspecting that
+something was going on in France of which it was necessary he should be
+informed, he only took the time to inquire where the messenger was, and
+recognizing from afar the uniform of the Guards, he put his horse into
+a gallop, and rode straight up to D’Artagnan. Patrick discreetly kept
+in the background.
+
+“No misfortune has happened to the queen?” cried Buckingham, the
+instant he came up, throwing all his fear and love into the question.
+
+“I believe not; nevertheless I believe she runs some great peril from
+which your Grace alone can extricate her.”
+
+“I!” cried Buckingham. “What is it? I should be too happy to be of any
+service to her. Speak, speak!”
+
+“Take this letter,” said D’Artagnan.
+
+“This letter! From whom comes this letter?”
+
+“From her Majesty, as I think.”
+
+“From her Majesty!” said Buckingham, becoming so pale that D’Artagnan
+feared he would faint as he broke the seal.
+
+“What is this rent?” said he, showing D’Artagnan a place where it had
+been pierced through.
+
+“Ah,” said D’Artagnan, “I did not see that; it was the sword of the
+Comte de Wardes which made that hole, when he gave me a good thrust in
+the breast.”
+
+“You are wounded?” asked Buckingham, as he opened the letter.
+
+“Oh, nothing but a scratch,” said D’Artagnan.
+
+“Just heaven, what have I read?” cried the duke. “Patrick, remain here,
+or rather join the king, wherever he may be, and tell his Majesty that
+I humbly beg him to excuse me, but an affair of the greatest importance
+recalls me to London. Come, monsieur, come!” and both set off towards
+the capital at full gallop.
+
+
+
+
+Chapter XXI.
+THE COUNTESS DE WINTER
+
+
+As they rode along, the duke endeavored to draw from D’Artagnan, not
+all that had happened, but what D’Artagnan himself knew. By adding all
+that he heard from the mouth of the young man to his own remembrances,
+he was enabled to form a pretty exact idea of a position of the
+seriousness of which, for the rest, the queen’s letter, short but
+explicit, gave him the clue. But that which astonished him most was
+that the cardinal, so deeply interested in preventing this young man
+from setting his foot in England, had not succeeded in arresting him on
+the road. It was then, upon the manifestation of this astonishment,
+that D’Artagnan related to him the precaution taken, and how, thanks to
+the devotion of his three friends, whom he had left scattered and
+bleeding on the road, he had succeeded in coming off with a single
+sword thrust, which had pierced the queen’s letter and for which he had
+repaid M. de Wardes with such terrible coin. While he was listening to
+this recital, delivered with the greatest simplicity, the duke looked
+from time to time at the young man with astonishment, as if he could
+not comprehend how so much prudence, courage, and devotedness could be
+allied with a countenance which indicated not more than twenty years.
+
+The horses went like the wind, and in a few minutes they were at the
+gates of London. D’Artagnan imagined that on arriving in town the duke
+would slacken his pace, but it was not so. He kept on his way at the
+same rate, heedless about upsetting those whom he met on the road. In
+fact, in crossing the city two or three accidents of this kind
+happened; but Buckingham did not even turn his head to see what became
+of those he had knocked down. D’Artagnan followed him amid cries which
+strongly resembled curses.
+
+On entering the court of his hôtel, Buckingham sprang from his horse,
+and without thinking what became of the animal, threw the bridle on his
+neck, and sprang toward the vestibule. D’Artagnan did the same, with a
+little more concern, however, for the noble creatures, whose merits he
+fully appreciated; but he had the satisfaction of seeing three or four
+grooms run from the kitchens and the stables, and busy themselves with
+the steeds.
+
+The duke walked so fast that D’Artagnan had some trouble in keeping up
+with him. He passed through several apartments, of an elegance of which
+even the greatest nobles of France had not even an idea, and arrived at
+length in a bedchamber which was at once a miracle of taste and of
+richness. In the alcove of this chamber was a door concealed in the
+tapestry which the duke opened with a little gold key which he wore
+suspended from his neck by a chain of the same metal. With discretion
+D’Artagnan remained behind; but at the moment when Buckingham crossed
+the threshold, he turned round, and seeing the hesitation of the young
+man, “Come in!” cried he, “and if you have the good fortune to be
+admitted to her Majesty’s presence, tell her what you have seen.”
+
+Encouraged by this invitation, D’Artagnan followed the duke, who closed
+the door after them. The two found themselves in a small chapel covered
+with a tapestry of Persian silk worked with gold, and brilliantly
+lighted with a vast number of candles. Over a species of altar, and
+beneath a canopy of blue velvet, surmounted by white and red plumes,
+was a full-length portrait of Anne of Austria, so perfect in its
+resemblance that D’Artagnan uttered a cry of surprise on beholding it.
+One might believe the queen was about to speak. On the altar, and
+beneath the portrait, was the casket containing the diamond studs.
+
+The duke approached the altar, knelt as a priest might have done before
+a crucifix, and opened the casket. “There,” said he, drawing from the
+casket a large bow of blue ribbon all sparkling with diamonds, “there
+are the precious studs which I have taken an oath should be buried with
+me. The queen gave them to me, the queen requires them again. Her will
+be done, like that of God, in all things.”
+
+Then, he began to kiss, one after the other, those dear studs with
+which he was about to part. All at once he uttered a terrible cry.
+
+“What is the matter?” exclaimed D’Artagnan, anxiously; “what has
+happened to you, my Lord?”
+
+“All is lost!” cried Buckingham, becoming as pale as a corpse; “two of
+the studs are wanting, there are only ten.”
+
+“Can you have lost them, my Lord, or do you think they have been
+stolen?”
+
+“They have been stolen,” replied the duke, “and it is the cardinal who
+has dealt this blow. Hold; see! The ribbons which held them have been
+cut with scissors.”
+
+“If my Lord suspects they have been stolen, perhaps the person who
+stole them still has them in his hands.”
+
+“Wait, wait!” said the duke. “The only time I have worn these studs was
+at a ball given by the king eight days ago at Windsor. The Comtesse de
+Winter, with whom I had quarreled, became reconciled to me at that
+ball. That reconciliation was nothing but the vengeance of a jealous
+woman. I have never seen her from that day. The woman is an agent of
+the cardinal.”
+
+“He has agents, then, throughout the world?” cried D’Artagnan.
+
+“Oh, yes,” said Buckingham, grating his teeth with rage. “Yes, he is a
+terrible antagonist. But when is this ball to take place?”
+
+“Monday next.”
+
+“Monday next! Still five days before us. That’s more time than we want.
+Patrick!” cried the duke, opening the door of the chapel, “Patrick!”
+His confidential valet appeared.
+
+“My jeweler and my secretary.”
+
+The valet went out with a mute promptitude which showed him accustomed
+to obey blindly and without reply.
+
+But although the jeweler had been mentioned first, it was the secretary
+who first made his appearance. This was simply because he lived in the
+hôtel. He found Buckingham seated at a table in his bedchamber, writing
+orders with his own hand.
+
+“Mr. Jackson,” said he, “go instantly to the Lord Chancellor, and tell
+him that I charge him with the execution of these orders. I wish them
+to be promulgated immediately.”
+
+“But, my Lord, if the Lord Chancellor interrogates me upon the motives
+which may have led your Grace to adopt such an extraordinary measure,
+what shall I reply?”
+
+“That such is my pleasure, and that I answer for my will to no man.”
+
+“Will that be the answer,” replied the secretary, smiling, “which he
+must transmit to his Majesty if, by chance, his Majesty should have the
+curiosity to know why no vessel is to leave any of the ports of Great
+Britain?”
+
+“You are right, Mr. Jackson,” replied Buckingham. “He will say, in that
+case, to the king that I am determined on war, and that this measure is
+my first act of hostility against France.”
+
+The secretary bowed and retired.
+
+“We are safe on that side,” said Buckingham, turning toward D’Artagnan.
+“If the studs are not yet gone to Paris, they will not arrive till
+after you.”
+
+“How so?”
+
+“I have just placed an embargo on all vessels at present in his
+Majesty’s ports, and without particular permission, not one dare lift
+an anchor.”
+
+D’Artagnan looked with stupefaction at a man who thus employed the
+unlimited power with which he was clothed by the confidence of a king
+in the prosecution of his intrigues. Buckingham saw by the expression
+of the young man’s face what was passing in his mind, and he smiled.
+
+“Yes,” said he, “yes, Anne of Austria is my true queen. Upon a word
+from her, I would betray my country, I would betray my king, I would
+betray my God. She asked me not to send the Protestants of La Rochelle
+the assistance I promised them; I have not done so. I broke my word, it
+is true; but what signifies that? I obeyed my love; and have I not been
+richly paid for that obedience? It was to that obedience I owe her
+portrait.”
+
+D’Artagnan was amazed to note by what fragile and unknown threads the
+destinies of nations and the lives of men are suspended. He was lost in
+these reflections when the goldsmith entered. He was an Irishman—one of
+the most skillful of his craft, and who himself confessed that he
+gained a hundred thousand livres a year by the Duke of Buckingham.
+
+“Mr. O’Reilly,” said the duke, leading him into the chapel, “look at
+these diamond studs, and tell me what they are worth apiece.”
+
+The goldsmith cast a glance at the elegant manner in which they were
+set, calculated, one with another, what the diamonds were worth, and
+without hesitation said, “Fifteen hundred pistoles each, my Lord.”
+
+“How many days would it require to make two studs exactly like them?
+You see there are two wanting.”
+
+“Eight days, my Lord.”
+
+“I will give you three thousand pistoles apiece if I can have them by
+the day after tomorrow.”
+
+“My Lord, they shall be yours.”
+
+“You are a jewel of a man, Mr. O’Reilly; but that is not all. These
+studs cannot be trusted to anybody; it must be done in the palace.”
+
+“Impossible, my Lord! There is no one but myself can so execute them
+that one cannot tell the new from the old.”
+
+“Therefore, my dear Mr. O’Reilly, you are my prisoner. And if you wish
+ever to leave my palace, you cannot; so make the best of it. Name to me
+such of your workmen as you need, and point out the tools they must
+bring.”
+
+The goldsmith knew the duke. He knew all objection would be useless,
+and instantly determined how to act.
+
+“May I be permitted to inform my wife?” said he.
+
+“Oh, you may even see her if you like, my dear Mr. O’Reilly. Your
+captivity shall be mild, be assured; and as every inconvenience
+deserves its indemnification, here is, in addition to the price of the
+studs, an order for a thousand pistoles, to make you forget the
+annoyance I cause you.”
+
+D’Artagnan could not get over the surprise created in him by this
+minister, who thus open-handed, sported with men and millions.
+
+As to the goldsmith, he wrote to his wife, sending her the order for
+the thousand pistoles, and charging her to send him, in exchange, his
+most skillful apprentice, an assortment of diamonds, of which he gave
+the names and the weight, and the necessary tools.
+
+Buckingham conducted the goldsmith to the chamber destined for him, and
+which, at the end of half an hour, was transformed into a workshop.
+Then he placed a sentinel at each door, with an order to admit nobody
+upon any pretense but his _valet de chambre_, Patrick. We need not add
+that the goldsmith, O’Reilly, and his assistant, were prohibited from
+going out under any pretext. This point, settled, the duke turned to
+D’Artagnan. “Now, my young friend,” said he, “England is all our own.
+What do you wish for? What do you desire?”
+
+“A bed, my Lord,” replied D’Artagnan. “At present, I confess, that is
+the thing I stand most in need of.”
+
+Buckingham gave D’Artagnan a chamber adjoining his own. He wished to
+have the young man at hand—not that he at all mistrusted him, but for
+the sake of having someone to whom he could constantly talk of the
+queen.
+
+In one hour after, the ordinance was published in London that no vessel
+bound for France should leave port, not even the packet boat with
+letters. In the eyes of everybody this was a declaration of war between
+the two kingdoms.
+
+On the day after the morrow, by eleven o’clock, the two diamond studs
+were finished, and they were so completely imitated, so perfectly
+alike, that Buckingham could not tell the new ones from the old ones,
+and experts in such matters would have been deceived as he was. He
+immediately called D’Artagnan. “Here,” said he to him, “are the diamond
+studs that you came to bring; and be my witness that I have done all
+that human power could do.”
+
+“Be satisfied, my Lord, I will tell all that I have seen. But does your
+Grace mean to give me the studs without the casket?”
+
+“The casket would encumber you. Besides, the casket is the more
+precious from being all that is left to me. You will say that I keep
+it.”
+
+“I will perform your commission, word for word, my Lord.”
+
+“And now,” resumed Buckingham, looking earnestly at the young man, “how
+shall I ever acquit myself of the debt I owe you?”
+
+D’Artagnan blushed up to the whites of his eyes. He saw that the duke
+was searching for a means of making him accept something and the idea
+that the blood of his friends and himself was about to be paid for with
+English gold was strangely repugnant to him.
+
+“Let us understand each other, my Lord,” replied D’Artagnan, “and let
+us make things clear beforehand in order that there may be no mistake.
+I am in the service of the King and Queen of France, and form part of
+the company of Monsieur Dessessart, who, as well as his brother-in-law,
+Monsieur de Tréville, is particularly attached to their Majesties. What
+I have done, then, has been for the queen, and not at all for your
+Grace. And still further, it is very probable I should not have done
+anything of this, if it had not been to make myself agreeable to
+someone who is my lady, as the queen is yours.”
+
+“Yes,” said the duke, smiling, “and I even believe that I know that
+other person; it is—”
+
+“My Lord, I have not named her!” interrupted the young man, warmly.
+
+“That is true,” said the duke; “and it is to this person I am bound to
+discharge my debt of gratitude.”
+
+“You have said, my Lord; for truly, at this moment when there is
+question of war, I confess to you that I see nothing in your Grace but
+an Englishman, and consequently an enemy whom I should have much
+greater pleasure in meeting on the field of battle than in the park at
+Windsor or the corridors of the Louvre—all which, however, will not
+prevent me from executing to the very point my commission or from
+laying down my life, if there be need of it, to accomplish it; but I
+repeat it to your Grace, without your having personally on that account
+more to thank me for in this second interview than for what I did for
+you in the first.”
+
+“We say, ‘Proud as a Scotsman,’” murmured the Duke of Buckingham.
+
+“And we say, ‘Proud as a Gascon,’” replied D’Artagnan. “The Gascons are
+the Scots of France.”
+
+D’Artagnan bowed to the duke, and was retiring.
+
+“Well, are you going away in that manner? Where, and how?”
+
+“That’s true!”
+
+“Fore Gad, these Frenchmen have no consideration!”
+
+“I had forgotten that England was an island, and that you were the king
+of it.”
+
+“Go to the riverside, ask for the brig _Sund_, and give this letter to
+the captain; he will convey you to a little port, where certainly you
+are not expected, and which is ordinarily only frequented by
+fishermen.”
+
+“The name of that port?”
+
+“St. Valery; but listen. When you have arrived there you will go to a
+mean tavern, without a name and without a sign—a mere fisherman’s hut.
+You cannot be mistaken; there is but one.”
+
+“Afterward?”
+
+“You will ask for the host, and will repeat to him the word ‘Forward!’”
+
+“Which means?”
+
+“In French, _En avant_. It is the password. He will give you a horse
+all saddled, and will point out to you the road you ought to take. You
+will find, in the same way, four relays on your route. If you will give
+at each of these relays your address in Paris, the four horses will
+follow you thither. You already know two of them, and you appeared to
+appreciate them like a judge. They were those we rode on; and you may
+rely upon me for the others not being inferior to them. These horses
+are equipped for the field. However proud you may be, you will not
+refuse to accept one of them, and to request your three companions to
+accept the others—that is, in order to make war against us. Besides,
+the end justified the means, as you Frenchmen say, does it not?”
+
+“Yes, my Lord, I accept them,” said D’Artagnan; “and if it please God,
+we will make a good use of your presents.”
+
+“Well, now, your hand, young man. Perhaps we shall soon meet on the
+field of battle; but in the meantime we shall part good friends, I
+hope.”
+
+“Yes, my Lord; but with the hope of soon becoming enemies.”
+
+“Be satisfied; I promise you that.”
+
+“I depend upon your word, my Lord.”
+
+D’Artagnan bowed to the duke, and made his way as quickly as possible
+to the riverside. Opposite the Tower of London he found the vessel that
+had been named to him, delivered his letter to the captain, who after
+having it examined by the governor of the port made immediate
+preparations to sail.
+
+Fifty vessels were waiting to set out. Passing alongside one of them,
+D’Artagnan fancied he perceived on board it the woman of Meung—the same
+whom the unknown gentleman had called Milady, and whom D’Artagnan had
+thought so handsome; but thanks to the current of the stream and a fair
+wind, his vessel passed so quickly that he had little more than a
+glimpse of her.
+
+The next day about nine o’clock in the morning, he landed at St.
+Valery. D’Artagnan went instantly in search of the inn, and easily
+discovered it by the riotous noise which resounded from it. War between
+England and France was talked of as near and certain, and the jolly
+sailors were having a carousal.
+
+D’Artagnan made his way through the crowd, advanced toward the host,
+and pronounced the word “Forward!” The host instantly made him a sign
+to follow, went out with him by a door which opened into a yard, led
+him to the stable, where a saddled horse awaited him, and asked him if
+he stood in need of anything else.
+
+“I want to know the route I am to follow,” said D’Artagnan.
+
+“Go from hence to Blangy, and from Blangy to Neufchâtel. At Neufchâtel,
+go to the tavern of the Golden Harrow, give the password to the
+landlord, and you will find, as you have here, a horse ready saddled.”
+
+“Have I anything to pay?” demanded D’Artagnan.
+
+“Everything is paid,” replied the host, “and liberally. Begone, and may
+God guide you!”
+
+“Amen!” cried the young man, and set off at full gallop.
+
+Four hours later he was in Neufchâtel. He strictly followed the
+instructions he had received. At Neufchâtel, as at St. Valery, he found
+a horse quite ready and awaiting him. He was about to remove the
+pistols from the saddle he had quit to the one he was about to fill,
+but he found the holsters furnished with similar pistols.
+
+“Your address at Paris?”
+
+“Hôtel of the Guards, company of Dessessart.”
+
+“Enough,” replied the questioner.
+
+“Which route must I take?” demanded D’Artagnan, in his turn.
+
+“That of Rouen; but you will leave the city on your right. You must
+stop at the little village of Eccuis, in which there is but one
+tavern—the Shield of France. Don’t condemn it from appearances; you
+will find a horse in the stables quite as good as this.”
+
+“The same password?”
+
+“Exactly.”
+
+“Adieu, master!”
+
+“A good journey, gentlemen! Do you want anything?”
+
+D’Artagnan shook his head, and set off at full speed. At Eccuis, the
+same scene was repeated. He found as provident a host and a fresh
+horse. He left his address as he had done before, and set off again at
+the same pace for Pontoise. At Pontoise he changed his horse for the
+last time, and at nine o’clock galloped into the yard of Tréville’s
+hôtel. He had made nearly sixty leagues in little more than twelve
+hours.
+
+M. de Tréville received him as if he had seen him that same morning;
+only, when pressing his hand a little more warmly than usual, he
+informed him that the company of Dessessart was on duty at the Louvre,
+and that he might repair at once to his post.
+
+
+
+
+Chapter XXII.
+THE BALLET OF LA MERLAISON
+
+
+On the morrow, nothing was talked of in Paris but the ball which the
+aldermen of the city were to give to the king and queen, and in which
+their Majesties were to dance the famous La Merlaison—the favorite
+ballet of the king.
+
+Eight days had been occupied in preparations at the Hôtel de Ville for
+this important evening. The city carpenters had erected scaffolds upon
+which the invited ladies were to be placed; the city grocer had
+ornamented the chambers with two hundred _flambeaux_ of white wax, a
+piece of luxury unheard of at that period; and twenty violins were
+ordered, and the price for them fixed at double the usual rate, upon
+condition, said the report, that they should be played all night.
+
+At ten o’clock in the morning the Sieur de la Coste, ensign in the
+king’s Guards, followed by two officers and several archers of that
+body, came to the city registrar, named Clement, and demanded of him
+all the keys of the rooms and offices of the hôtel. These keys were
+given up to him instantly. Each of them had a ticket attached to it, by
+which it might be recognized; and from that moment the Sieur de la
+Coste was charged with the care of all the doors and all the avenues.
+
+At eleven o’clock came in his turn Duhallier, captain of the Guards,
+bringing with him fifty archers, who were distributed immediately
+through the Hôtel de Ville, at the doors assigned them.
+
+At three o’clock came two companies of the Guards, one French, the
+other Swiss. The company of French guards was composed of half of M.
+Duhallier’s men and half of M. Dessessart’s men.
+
+At six in the evening the guests began to come. As fast as they
+entered, they were placed in the grand saloon, on the platforms
+prepared for them.
+
+At nine o’clock Madame la Première Présidente arrived. As next to the
+queen, she was the most considerable personage of the fête, she was
+received by the city officials, and placed in a box opposite to that
+which the queen was to occupy.
+
+At ten o’clock, the king’s collation, consisting of preserves and other
+delicacies, was prepared in the little room on the side of the church
+of St. Jean, in front of the silver buffet of the city, which was
+guarded by four archers.
+
+At midnight great cries and loud acclamations were heard. It was the
+king, who was passing through the streets which led from the Louvre to
+the Hôtel de Ville, and which were all illuminated with colored
+lanterns.
+
+Immediately the aldermen, clothed in their cloth robes and preceded by
+six sergeants, each holding a _flambeau_ in his hand, went to attend
+upon the king, whom they met on the steps, where the provost of the
+merchants made him the speech of welcome—a compliment to which his
+Majesty replied with an apology for coming so late, laying the blame
+upon the cardinal, who had detained him till eleven o’clock, talking of
+affairs of state.
+
+His Majesty, in full dress, was accompanied by his royal Highness, M.
+le Comte de Soissons, by the Grand Prior, by the Duc de Longueville, by
+the Duc d’Eubœuf, by the Comte d’Harcourt, by the Comte de la
+Roche-Guyon, by M. de Liancourt, by M. de Baradas, by the Comte de
+Cramail, and by the Chevalier de Souveray. Everybody noticed that the
+king looked dull and preoccupied.
+
+A private room had been prepared for the king and another for Monsieur.
+In each of these closets were placed masquerade dresses. The same had
+been done for the queen and Madame the President. The nobles and ladies
+of their Majesties’ suites were to dress, two by two, in chambers
+prepared for the purpose. Before entering his closet the king desired
+to be informed the moment the cardinal arrived.
+
+Half an hour after the entrance of the king, fresh acclamations were
+heard; these announced the arrival of the queen. The aldermen did as
+they had done before, and preceded by their sergeants, advanced to
+receive their illustrious guest. The queen entered the great hall; and
+it was remarked that, like the king, she looked dull and even weary.
+
+At the moment she entered, the curtain of a small gallery which to that
+time had been closed, was drawn, and the pale face of the cardinal
+appeared, he being dressed as a Spanish cavalier. His eyes were fixed
+upon those of the queen, and a smile of terrible joy passed over his
+lips; the queen did not wear her diamond studs.
+
+The queen remained for a short time to receive the compliments of the
+city dignitaries and to reply to the salutations of the ladies. All at
+once the king appeared with the cardinal at one of the doors of the
+hall. The cardinal was speaking to him in a low voice, and the king was
+very pale.
+
+The king made his way through the crowd without a mask, and the ribbons
+of his doublet scarcely tied. He went straight to the queen, and in an
+altered voice said, “Why, madame, have you not thought proper to wear
+your diamond studs, when you know it would give me so much
+gratification?”
+
+The queen cast a glance around her, and saw the cardinal behind, with a
+diabolical smile on his countenance.
+
+“Sire,” replied the queen, with a faltering voice, “because, in the
+midst of such a crowd as this, I feared some accident might happen to
+them.”
+
+“And you were wrong, madame. If I made you that present it was that you
+might adorn yourself therewith. I tell you that you were wrong.”
+
+The voice of the king was tremulous with anger. Everybody looked and
+listened with astonishment, comprehending nothing of what passed.
+
+“Sire,” said the queen, “I can send for them to the Louvre, where they
+are, and thus your Majesty’s wishes will be complied with.”
+
+“Do so, madame, do so, and that at once; for within an hour the ballet
+will commence.”
+
+The queen bent in token of submission, and followed the ladies who were
+to conduct her to her room. On his part the king returned to his
+apartment.
+
+There was a moment of trouble and confusion in the assembly. Everybody
+had remarked that something had passed between the king and queen; but
+both of them had spoken so low that everybody, out of respect, withdrew
+several steps, so that nobody had heard anything. The violins began to
+sound with all their might, but nobody listened to them.
+
+The king came out first from his room. He was in a most elegant hunting
+costume; and Monsieur and the other nobles were dressed like him. This
+was the costume that best became the king. So dressed, he really
+appeared the first gentleman of his kingdom.
+
+The cardinal drew near to the king, and placed in his hand a small
+casket. The king opened it, and found in it two diamond studs.
+
+“What does this mean?” demanded he of the cardinal.
+
+“Nothing,” replied the latter; “only, if the queen has the studs, which
+I very much doubt, count them, sire, and if you only find ten, ask her
+Majesty who can have stolen from her the two studs that are here.”
+
+The king looked at the cardinal as if to interrogate him; but he had
+not time to address any question to him—a cry of admiration burst from
+every mouth. If the king appeared to be the first gentleman of his
+kingdom, the queen was without doubt the most beautiful woman in
+France.
+
+It is true that the habit of a huntress became her admirably. She wore
+a beaver hat with blue feathers, a surtout of gray-pearl velvet,
+fastened with diamond clasps, and a petticoat of blue satin,
+embroidered with silver. On her left shoulder sparkled the diamond
+studs, on a bow of the same color as the plumes and the petticoat.
+
+The king trembled with joy and the cardinal with vexation; although,
+distant as they were from the queen, they could not count the studs.
+The queen had them. The only question was, had she ten or twelve?
+
+At that moment the violins sounded the signal for the ballet. The king
+advanced toward Madame the President, with whom he was to dance, and
+his Highness Monsieur with the queen. They took their places, and the
+ballet began.
+
+The king danced facing the queen, and every time he passed by her, he
+devoured with his eyes those studs of which he could not ascertain the
+number. A cold sweat covered the brow of the cardinal.
+
+The ballet lasted an hour, and had sixteen _entrées_. The ballet ended
+amid the applause of the whole assemblage, and everyone reconducted his
+lady to her place; but the king took advantage of the privilege he had
+of leaving his lady, to advance eagerly toward the queen.
+
+“I thank you, madame,” said he, “for the deference you have shown to my
+wishes, but I think you want two of the studs, and I bring them back to
+you.”
+
+With these words he held out to the queen the two studs the cardinal
+had given him.
+
+“How, sire?” cried the young queen, affecting surprise, “you are giving
+me, then, two more: I shall have fourteen.”
+
+In fact the king counted them, and the twelve studs were all on her
+Majesty’s shoulder.
+
+The king called the cardinal.
+
+“What does this mean, Monsieur Cardinal?” asked the king in a severe
+tone.
+
+“This means, sire,” replied the cardinal, “that I was desirous of
+presenting her Majesty with these two studs, and that not daring to
+offer them myself, I adopted this means of inducing her to accept
+them.”
+
+“And I am the more grateful to your Eminence,” replied Anne of Austria,
+with a smile that proved she was not the dupe of this ingenious
+gallantry, “from being certain that these two studs alone have cost you
+as much as all the others cost his Majesty.”
+
+Then saluting the king and the cardinal, the queen resumed her way to
+the chamber in which she had dressed, and where she was to take off her
+costume.
+
+The attention which we have been obliged to give, during the
+commencement of the chapter, to the illustrious personages we have
+introduced into it, has diverted us for an instant from him to whom
+Anne of Austria owed the extraordinary triumph she had obtained over
+the cardinal; and who, confounded, unknown, lost in the crowd gathered
+at one of the doors, looked on at this scene, comprehensible only to
+four persons—the king, the queen, his Eminence, and himself.
+
+The queen had just regained her chamber, and D’Artagnan was about to
+retire, when he felt his shoulder lightly touched. He turned and saw a
+young woman, who made him a sign to follow her. The face of this young
+woman was covered with a black velvet mask; but notwithstanding this
+precaution, which was in fact taken rather against others than against
+him, he at once recognized his usual guide, the light and intelligent
+Mme. Bonacieux.
+
+On the evening before, they had scarcely seen each other for a moment
+at the apartment of the Swiss guard, Germain, whither D’Artagnan had
+sent for her. The haste which the young woman was in to convey to the
+queen the excellent news of the happy return of her messenger prevented
+the two lovers from exchanging more than a few words. D’Artagnan
+therefore followed Mme. Bonacieux moved by a double sentiment—love and
+curiosity. All the way, and in proportion as the corridors became more
+deserted, D’Artagnan wished to stop the young woman, seize her and gaze
+upon her, were it only for a minute; but quick as a bird she glided
+between his hands, and when he wished to speak to her, her finger
+placed upon her mouth, with a little imperative gesture full of grace,
+reminded him that he was under the command of a power which he must
+blindly obey, and which forbade him even to make the slightest
+complaint. At length, after winding about for a minute or two, Mme.
+Bonacieux opened the door of a closet, which was entirely dark, and led
+D’Artagnan into it. There she made a fresh sign of silence, and opened
+a second door concealed by tapestry. The opening of this door disclosed
+a brilliant light, and she disappeared.
+
+D’Artagnan remained for a moment motionless, asking himself where he
+could be; but soon a ray of light which penetrated through the chamber,
+together with the warm and perfumed air which reached him from the same
+aperture, the conversation of two of three ladies in language at once
+respectful and refined, and the word “Majesty” several times repeated,
+indicated clearly that he was in a closet attached to the queen’s
+apartment. The young man waited in comparative darkness and listened.
+
+The queen appeared cheerful and happy, which seemed to astonish the
+persons who surrounded her and who were accustomed to see her almost
+always sad and full of care. The queen attributed this joyous feeling
+to the beauty of the fête, to the pleasure she had experienced in the
+ballet; and as it is not permissible to contradict a queen, whether she
+smile or weep, everybody expatiated on the gallantry of the aldermen of
+the city of Paris.
+
+Although D’Artagnan did not at all know the queen, he soon
+distinguished her voice from the others, at first by a slightly foreign
+accent, and next by that tone of domination naturally impressed upon
+all royal words. He heard her approach and withdraw from the partially
+open door; and twice or three times he even saw the shadow of a person
+intercept the light.
+
+At length a hand and an arm, surpassingly beautiful in their form and
+whiteness, glided through the tapestry. D’Artagnan at once comprehended
+that this was his recompense. He cast himself on his knees, seized the
+hand, and touched it respectfully with his lips. Then the hand was
+withdrawn, leaving in his an object which he perceived to be a ring.
+The door immediately closed, and D’Artagnan found himself again in
+complete obscurity.
+
+D’Artagnan placed the ring on his finger, and again waited; it was
+evident that all was not yet over. After the reward of his devotion,
+that of his love was to come. Besides, although the ballet was danced,
+the evening had scarcely begun. Supper was to be served at three, and
+the clock of St. Jean had struck three quarters past two.
+
+The sound of voices diminished by degrees in the adjoining chamber. The
+company was then heard departing; then the door of the closet in which
+D’Artagnan was, was opened, and Mme. Bonacieux entered.
+
+“You at last?” cried D’Artagnan.
+
+“Silence!” said the young woman, placing her hand upon his lips;
+“silence, and go the same way you came!”
+
+“But where and when shall I see you again?” cried D’Artagnan.
+
+“A note which you will find at home will tell you. Begone, begone!”
+
+At these words she opened the door of the corridor, and pushed
+D’Artagnan out of the room. D’Artagnan obeyed like a child, without the
+least resistance or objection, which proved that he was really in love.
+
+
+
+
+Chapter XXIII.
+THE RENDEZVOUS
+
+
+D’Artagnan ran home immediately, and although it was three o’clock in
+the morning and he had some of the worst quarters of Paris to traverse,
+he met with no misadventure. Everyone knows that drunkards and lovers
+have a protecting deity.
+
+He found the door of his passage open, sprang up the stairs and knocked
+softly in a manner agreed upon between him and his lackey. Planchet*,
+whom he had sent home two hours before from the Hôtel de Ville, telling
+him to sit up for him, opened the door for him.
+
+* The reader may ask, “How came Planchet here?” when he was left “stiff
+as a rush” in London. In the intervening time Buckingham perhaps sent
+him to Paris, as he did the horses.
+
+
+“Has anyone brought a letter for me?” asked D’Artagnan, eagerly.
+
+“No one has _brought_ a letter, monsieur,” replied Planchet; “but one
+has come of itself.”
+
+“What do you mean, blockhead?”
+
+“I mean to say that when I came in, although I had the key of your
+apartment in my pocket, and that key had never quit me, I found a
+letter on the green table cover in your bedroom.”
+
+“And where is that letter?”
+
+“I left it where I found it, monsieur. It is not natural for letters to
+enter people’s houses in this manner. If the window had been open or
+even ajar, I should think nothing of it; but, no—all was hermetically
+sealed. Beware, monsieur; there is certainly some magic underneath.”
+
+Meanwhile, the young man had darted in to his chamber, and opened the
+letter. It was from Mme. Bonacieux, and was expressed in these terms:
+
+“There are many thanks to be offered to you, and to be transmitted to
+you. Be this evening about ten o’clock at St. Cloud, in front of the
+pavilion which stands at the corner of the house of M. d’Estrées.—C.B.”
+
+While reading this letter, D’Artagnan felt his heart dilated and
+compressed by that delicious spasm which tortures and caresses the
+hearts of lovers.
+
+It was the first billet he had received; it was the first rendezvous
+that had been granted him. His heart, swelled by the intoxication of
+joy, felt ready to dissolve away at the very gate of that terrestrial
+paradise called Love!
+
+“Well, monsieur,” said Planchet, who had observed his master grow red
+and pale successively, “did I not guess truly? Is it not some bad
+affair?”
+
+“You are mistaken, Planchet,” replied D’Artagnan; “and as a proof,
+there is a crown to drink my health.”
+
+“I am much obliged to Monsieur for the crown he has given me, and I
+promise him to follow his instructions exactly; but it is not the less
+true that letters which come in this way into shut-up houses—”
+
+“Fall from heaven, my friend, fall from heaven.”
+
+“Then Monsieur is satisfied?” asked Planchet.
+
+“My dear Planchet, I am the happiest of men!”
+
+“And I may profit by Monsieur’s happiness, and go to bed?”
+
+“Yes, go.”
+
+“May the blessings of heaven fall upon Monsieur! But it is not the less
+true that that letter—”
+
+And Planchet retired, shaking his head with an air of doubt, which the
+liberality of D’Artagnan had not entirely effaced.
+
+Left alone, D’Artagnan read and reread his billet. Then he kissed and
+rekissed twenty times the lines traced by the hand of his beautiful
+mistress. At length he went to bed, fell asleep, and had golden dreams.
+
+At seven o’clock in the morning he arose and called Planchet, who at
+the second summons opened the door, his countenance not yet quite freed
+from the anxiety of the preceding night.
+
+“Planchet,” said D’Artagnan, “I am going out for all day, perhaps. You
+are, therefore, your own master till seven o’clock in the evening; but
+at seven o’clock you must hold yourself in readiness with two horses.”
+
+“There!” said Planchet. “We are going again, it appears, to have our
+hides pierced in all sorts of ways.”
+
+“You will take your musketoon and your pistols.”
+
+“There, now! Didn’t I say so?” cried Planchet. “I was sure of it—the
+cursed letter!”
+
+“Don’t be afraid, you idiot; there is nothing in hand but a party of
+pleasure.”
+
+“Ah, like the charming journey the other day, when it rained bullets
+and produced a crop of steel traps!”
+
+“Well, if you are really afraid, Monsieur Planchet,” resumed
+D’Artagnan, “I will go without you. I prefer traveling alone to having
+a companion who entertains the least fear.”
+
+“Monsieur does me wrong,” said Planchet; “I thought he had seen me at
+work.”
+
+“Yes, but I thought perhaps you had worn out all your courage the first
+time.”
+
+“Monsieur shall see that upon occasion I have some left; only I beg
+Monsieur not to be too prodigal of it if he wishes it to last long.”
+
+“Do you believe you have still a certain amount of it to expend this
+evening?”
+
+“I hope so, monsieur.”
+
+“Well, then, I count on you.”
+
+“At the appointed hour I shall be ready; only I believed that Monsieur
+had but one horse in the Guard stables.”
+
+“Perhaps there is but one at this moment; but by this evening there
+will be four.”
+
+“It appears that our journey was a remounting journey, then?”
+
+“Exactly so,” said D’Artagnan; and nodding to Planchet, he went out.
+
+M. Bonacieux was at his door. D’Artagnan’s intention was to go out
+without speaking to the worthy mercer; but the latter made so polite
+and friendly a salutation that his tenant felt obliged, not only to
+stop, but to enter into conversation with him.
+
+Besides, how is it possible to avoid a little condescension toward a
+husband whose pretty wife has appointed a meeting with you that same
+evening at St. Cloud, opposite D’Estrées’s pavilion? D’Artagnan
+approached him with the most amiable air he could assume.
+
+The conversation naturally fell upon the incarceration of the poor man.
+M. Bonacieux, who was ignorant that D’Artagnan had overheard his
+conversation with the stranger of Meung, related to his young tenant
+the persecutions of that monster, M. de Laffemas, whom he never ceased
+to designate, during his account, by the title of the “cardinal’s
+executioner,” and expatiated at great length upon the Bastille, the
+bolts, the wickets, the dungeons, the gratings, the instruments of
+torture.
+
+D’Artagnan listened to him with exemplary complaisance, and when he had
+finished said, “And Madame Bonacieux, do you know who carried her
+off?—For I do not forget that I owe to that unpleasant circumstance the
+good fortune of having made your acquaintance.”
+
+“Ah!” said Bonacieux, “they took good care not to tell me that; and my
+wife, on her part, has sworn to me by all that’s sacred that she does
+not know. But you,” continued M. Bonacieux, in a tone of perfect good
+fellowship, “what has become of you all these days? I have not seen you
+nor your friends, and I don’t think you could gather all that dust that
+I saw Planchet brush off your boots yesterday from the pavement of
+Paris.”
+
+“You are right, my dear Monsieur Bonacieux, my friends and I have been
+on a little journey.”
+
+“Far from here?”
+
+“Oh, Lord, no! About forty leagues only. We went to take Monsieur Athos
+to the waters of Forges, where my friends still remain.”
+
+“And you have returned, have you not?” replied M. Bonacieux, giving to
+his countenance a most sly air. “A handsome young fellow like you does
+not obtain long leaves of absence from his mistress; and we were
+impatiently waited for at Paris, were we not?”
+
+“My faith!” said the young man, laughing, “I confess it, and so much
+more the readily, my dear Bonacieux, as I see there is no concealing
+anything from you. Yes, I was expected, and very impatiently, I
+acknowledge.”
+
+A slight shade passed over the brow of Bonacieux, but so slight that
+D’Artagnan did not perceive it.
+
+“And we are going to be recompensed for our diligence?” continued the
+mercer, with a trifling alteration in his voice—so trifling, indeed,
+that D’Artagnan did not perceive it any more than he had the momentary
+shade which, an instant before, had darkened the countenance of the
+worthy man.
+
+“Ah, may you be a true prophet!” said D’Artagnan, laughing.
+
+“No; what I say,” replied Bonacieux, “is only that I may know whether I
+am delaying you.”
+
+“Why that question, my dear host?” asked D’Artagnan. “Do you intend to
+sit up for me?”
+
+“No; but since my arrest and the robbery that was committed in my
+house, I am alarmed every time I hear a door open, particularly in the
+night. What the deuce can you expect? I am no swordsman.”
+
+“Well, don’t be alarmed if I return at one, two or three o’clock in the
+morning; indeed, do not be alarmed if I do not come at all.”
+
+This time Bonacieux became so pale that D’Artagnan could not help
+perceiving it, and asked him what was the matter.
+
+“Nothing,” replied Bonacieux, “nothing. Since my misfortunes I have
+been subject to faintnesses, which seize me all at once, and I have
+just felt a cold shiver. Pay no attention to it; you have nothing to
+occupy yourself with but being happy.”
+
+“Then I have full occupation, for I am so.”
+
+“Not yet; wait a little! This evening, you said.”
+
+“Well, this evening will come, thank God! And perhaps you look for it
+with as much impatience as I do; perhaps this evening Madame Bonacieux
+will visit the conjugal domicile.”
+
+“Madame Bonacieux is not at liberty this evening,” replied the husband,
+seriously; “she is detained at the Louvre this evening by her duties.”
+
+“So much the worse for you, my dear host, so much the worse! When I am
+happy, I wish all the world to be so; but it appears that is not
+possible.”
+
+The young man departed, laughing at the joke, which he thought he alone
+could comprehend.
+
+“Amuse yourself well!” replied Bonacieux, in a sepulchral tone.
+
+But D’Artagnan was too far off to hear him; and if he had heard him in
+the disposition of mind he then enjoyed, he certainly would not have
+remarked it.
+
+He took his way toward the hôtel of M. de Tréville; his visit of the
+day before, it is to be remembered, had been very short and very little
+explicative.
+
+He found Tréville in a joyful mood. He had thought the king and queen
+charming at the ball. It is true the cardinal had been particularly
+ill-tempered. He had retired at one o’clock under the pretense of being
+indisposed. As to their Majesties, they did not return to the Louvre
+till six o’clock in the morning.
+
+“Now,” said Tréville, lowering his voice, and looking into every corner
+of the apartment to see if they were alone, “now let us talk about
+yourself, my young friend; for it is evident that your happy return has
+something to do with the joy of the king, the triumph of the queen, and
+the humiliation of his Eminence. You must look out for yourself.”
+
+“What have I to fear,” replied D’Artagnan, “as long as I shall have the
+luck to enjoy the favor of their Majesties?”
+
+“Everything, believe me. The cardinal is not the man to forget a
+mystification until he has settled account with the mystifier; and the
+mystifier appears to me to have the air of being a certain young Gascon
+of my acquaintance.”
+
+“Do you believe that the cardinal is as well posted as yourself, and
+knows that I have been to London?”
+
+“The devil! You have been to London! Was it from London you brought
+that beautiful diamond that glitters on your finger? Beware, my dear
+D’Artagnan! A present from an enemy is not a good thing. Are there not
+some Latin verses upon that subject? Stop!”
+
+“Yes, doubtless,” replied D’Artagnan, who had never been able to cram
+the first rudiments of that language into his head, and who had by his
+ignorance driven his master to despair, “yes, doubtless there is one.”
+
+“There certainly is one,” said M. de Tréville, who had a tincture of
+literature, “and Monsieur de Benserade was quoting it to me the other
+day. Stop a minute—ah, this is it: ‘Timeo Danaos et dona ferentes,’
+which means, ‘Beware of the enemy who makes you presents.”
+
+“This diamond does not come from an enemy, monsieur,” replied
+D’Artagnan, “it comes from the queen.”
+
+“From the queen! Oh, oh!” said M. de Tréville. “Why, it is indeed a
+true royal jewel, which is worth a thousand pistoles if it is worth a
+denier. By whom did the queen send you this jewel?”
+
+“She gave it to me herself.”
+
+“Where?”
+
+“In the room adjoining the chamber in which she changed her toilet.”
+
+“How?”
+
+“Giving me her hand to kiss.”
+
+“You have kissed the queen’s hand?” said M. de Tréville, looking
+earnestly at D’Artagnan.
+
+“Her Majesty did me the honor to grant me that favor.”
+
+“And that in the presence of witnesses! Imprudent, thrice imprudent!”
+
+“No, monsieur, be satisfied; nobody saw her,” replied D’Artagnan, and
+he related to M. de Tréville how the affair came to pass.
+
+“Oh, the women, the women!” cried the old soldier. “I know them by
+their romantic imagination. Everything that savors of mystery charms
+them. So you have seen the arm, that was all. You would meet the queen,
+and she would not know who you are?”
+
+“No; but thanks to this diamond,” replied the young man.
+
+“Listen,” said M. de Tréville; “shall I give you counsel, good counsel,
+the counsel of a friend?”
+
+“You will do me honor, monsieur,” said D’Artagnan.
+
+“Well, then, off to the nearest goldsmith’s, and sell that diamond for
+the highest price you can get from him. However much of a Jew he may
+be, he will give you at least eight hundred pistoles. Pistoles have no
+name, young man, and that ring has a terrible one, which may betray him
+who wears it.”
+
+“Sell this ring, a ring which comes from my sovereign? Never!” said
+D’Artagnan.
+
+“Then, at least turn the gem inside, you silly fellow; for everybody
+must be aware that a cadet from Gascony does not find such stones in
+his mother’s jewel case.”
+
+“You think, then, I have something to dread?” asked D’Artagnan.
+
+“I mean to say, young man, that he who sleeps over a mine the match of
+which is already lighted, may consider himself in safety in comparison
+with you.”
+
+“The devil!” said D’Artagnan, whom the positive tone of M. de Tréville
+began to disquiet, “the devil! What must I do?”
+
+“Above all things be always on your guard. The cardinal has a tenacious
+memory and a long arm; you may depend upon it, he will repay you by
+some ill turn.”
+
+“But of what sort?”
+
+“Eh! How can I tell? Has he not all the tricks of a demon at his
+command? The least that can be expected is that you will be arrested.”
+
+“What! Will they dare to arrest a man in his Majesty’s service?”
+
+“_Pardieu!_ They did not scruple much in the case of Athos. At all
+events, young man, rely upon one who has been thirty years at court. Do
+not lull yourself in security, or you will be lost; but, on the
+contrary—and it is I who say it—see enemies in all directions. If
+anyone seeks a quarrel with you, shun it, were it with a child of ten
+years old. If you are attacked by day or by night, fight, but retreat,
+without shame; if you cross a bridge, feel every plank of it with your
+foot, lest one should give way beneath you; if you pass before a house
+which is being built, look up, for fear a stone should fall upon your
+head; if you stay out late, be always followed by your lackey, and let
+your lackey be armed—if, by the by, you can be sure of your lackey.
+Mistrust everybody, your friend, your brother, your mistress—your
+mistress above all.”
+
+D’Artagnan blushed.
+
+“My mistress above all,” repeated he, mechanically; “and why her rather
+than another?”
+
+“Because a mistress is one of the cardinal’s favorite means; he has not
+one that is more expeditious. A woman will sell you for ten pistoles,
+witness Delilah. You are acquainted with the Scriptures?”
+
+D’Artagnan thought of the appointment Mme. Bonacieux had made with him
+for that very evening; but we are bound to say, to the credit of our
+hero, that the bad opinion entertained by M. de Tréville of women in
+general, did not inspire him with the least suspicion of his pretty
+hostess.
+
+“But, _à propos_,” resumed M. de Tréville, “what has become of your
+three companions?”
+
+“I was about to ask you if you had heard any news of them?”
+
+“None, monsieur.”
+
+“Well, I left them on my road—Porthos at Chantilly, with a duel on his
+hands; Aramis at Crèvecœur, with a ball in his shoulder; and Athos at
+Amiens, detained by an accusation of coining.”
+
+“See there, now!” said M. de Tréville; “and how the devil did you
+escape?”
+
+“By a miracle, monsieur, I must acknowledge, with a sword thrust in my
+breast, and by nailing the Comte de Wardes on the byroad to Calais,
+like a butterfly on a tapestry.”
+
+“There again! De Wardes, one of the cardinal’s men, a cousin of
+Rochefort! Stop, my friend, I have an idea.”
+
+“Speak, monsieur.”
+
+“In your place, I would do one thing.”
+
+“What?”
+
+“While his Eminence was seeking for me in Paris, I would take, without
+sound of drum or trumpet, the road to Picardy, and would go and make
+some inquiries concerning my three companions. What the devil! They
+merit richly that piece of attention on your part.”
+
+“The advice is good, monsieur, and tomorrow I will set out.”
+
+“Tomorrow! Any why not this evening?”
+
+“This evening, monsieur, I am detained in Paris by indispensable
+business.”
+
+“Ah, young man, young man, some flirtation or other. Take care, I
+repeat to you, take care. It is woman who has ruined us, still ruins
+us, and will ruin us, as long as the world stands. Take my advice and
+set out this evening.”
+
+“Impossible, monsieur.”
+
+“You have given your word, then?”
+
+“Yes, monsieur.”
+
+“Ah, that’s quite another thing; but promise me, if you should not be
+killed tonight, that you will go tomorrow.”
+
+“I promise it.”
+
+“Do you need money?”
+
+“I have still fifty pistoles. That, I think, is as much as I shall
+want.”
+
+“But your companions?”
+
+“I don’t think they can be in need of any. We left Paris, each with
+seventy-five pistoles in his pocket.”
+
+“Shall I see you again before your departure?”
+
+“I think not, monsieur, unless something new should happen.”
+
+“Well, a pleasant journey.”
+
+“Thanks, monsieur.”
+
+D’Artagnan left M. de Tréville, touched more than ever by his paternal
+solicitude for his Musketeers.
+
+He called successively at the abodes of Athos, Porthos, and Aramis.
+Neither of them had returned. Their lackeys likewise were absent, and
+nothing had been heard of either the one or the other. He would have
+inquired after them of their mistresses, but he was neither acquainted
+with Porthos’s nor Aramis’s, and as to Athos, he had none.
+
+As he passed the Hôtel des Gardes, he took a glance into the stables.
+Three of the four horses had already arrived. Planchet, all
+astonishment, was busy grooming them, and had already finished two.
+
+“Ah, monsieur,” said Planchet, on perceiving D’Artagnan, “how glad I am
+to see you.”
+
+“Why so, Planchet?” asked the young man.
+
+“Do you place confidence in our landlord—Monsieur Bonacieux?”
+
+“I? Not the least in the world.”
+
+“Oh, you do quite right, monsieur.”
+
+“But why this question?”
+
+“Because, while you were talking with him, I watched you without
+listening to you; and, monsieur, his countenance changed color two or
+three times!”
+
+“Bah!”
+
+“Preoccupied as Monsieur was with the letter he had received, he did
+not observe that; but I, whom the strange fashion in which that letter
+came into the house had placed on my guard—I did not lose a movement of
+his features.”
+
+“And you found it?”
+
+“Traitorous, monsieur.”
+
+“Indeed!”
+
+“Still more; as soon as Monsieur had left and disappeared round the
+corner of the street, Monsieur Bonacieux took his hat, shut his door,
+and set off at a quick pace in an opposite direction.”
+
+“It seems you are right, Planchet; all this appears to be a little
+mysterious; and be assured that we will not pay him our rent until the
+matter shall be categorically explained to us.”
+
+“Monsieur jests, but Monsieur will see.”
+
+“What would you have, Planchet? What must come is written.”
+
+“Monsieur does not then renounce his excursion for this evening?”
+
+“Quite the contrary, Planchet; the more ill will I have toward Monsieur
+Bonacieux, the more punctual I shall be in keeping the appointment made
+by that letter which makes you so uneasy.”
+
+“Then that is Monsieur’s determination?”
+
+“Undeniably, my friend. At nine o’clock, then, be ready here at the
+hôtel, I will come and take you.”
+
+Planchet seeing there was no longer any hope of making his master
+renounce his project, heaved a profound sigh and set to work to groom
+the third horse.
+
+As to D’Artagnan, being at bottom a prudent youth, instead of returning
+home, went and dined with the Gascon priest, who, at the time of the
+distress of the four friends, had given them a breakfast of chocolate.
+
+
+
+
+Chapter XXIV.
+THE PAVILION
+
+
+At nine o’clock D’Artagnan was at the Hôtel des Gardes; he found
+Planchet all ready. The fourth horse had arrived.
+
+Planchet was armed with his musketoon and a pistol. D’Artagnan had his
+sword and placed two pistols in his belt; then both mounted and
+departed quietly. It was quite dark, and no one saw them go out.
+Planchet took place behind his master, and kept at a distance of ten
+paces from him.
+
+D’Artagnan crossed the quays, went out by the gate of La Conférence and
+followed the road, much more beautiful then than it is now, which leads
+to St. Cloud.
+
+As long as he was in the city, Planchet kept at the respectful distance
+he had imposed upon himself; but as soon as the road began to be more
+lonely and dark, he drew softly nearer, so that when they entered the
+Bois de Boulogne he found himself riding quite naturally side by side
+with his master. In fact, we must not dissemble that the oscillation of
+the tall trees and the reflection of the moon in the dark underwood
+gave him serious uneasiness. D’Artagnan could not help perceiving that
+something more than usual was passing in the mind of his lackey and
+said, “Well, Monsieur Planchet, what is the matter with us now?”
+
+“Don’t you think, monsieur, that woods are like churches?”
+
+“How so, Planchet?”
+
+“Because we dare not speak aloud in one or the other.”
+
+“But why did you not dare to speak aloud, Planchet—because you are
+afraid?”
+
+“Afraid of being heard? Yes, monsieur.”
+
+“Afraid of being heard! Why, there is nothing improper in our
+conversation, my dear Planchet, and no one could find fault with it.”
+
+“Ah, monsieur!” replied Planchet, recurring to his besetting idea,
+“that Monsieur Bonacieux has something vicious in his eyebrows, and
+something very unpleasant in the play of his lips.”
+
+“What the devil makes you think of Bonacieux?”
+
+“Monsieur, we think of what we can, and not of what we will.”
+
+“Because you are a coward, Planchet.”
+
+“Monsieur, we must not confound prudence with cowardice; prudence is a
+virtue.”
+
+“And you are very virtuous, are you not, Planchet?”
+
+“Monsieur, is not that the barrel of a musket which glitters yonder?
+Had we not better lower our heads?”
+
+“In truth,” murmured D’Artagnan, to whom M. de Tréville’s
+recommendation recurred, “this animal will end by making me afraid.”
+And he put his horse into a trot.
+
+Planchet followed the movements of his master as if he had been his
+shadow, and was soon trotting by his side.
+
+“Are we going to continue this pace all night?” asked Planchet.
+
+“No; you are at your journey’s end.”
+
+“How, monsieur! And you?”
+
+“I am going a few steps farther.”
+
+“And Monsieur leaves me here alone?”
+
+“You are afraid, Planchet?”
+
+“No; I only beg leave to observe to Monsieur that the night will be
+very cold, that chills bring on rheumatism, and that a lackey who has
+the rheumatism makes but a poor servant, particularly to a master as
+active as Monsieur.”
+
+“Well, if you are cold, Planchet, you can go into one of those cabarets
+that you see yonder, and be in waiting for me at the door by six
+o’clock in the morning.”
+
+“Monsieur, I have eaten and drunk respectfully the crown you gave me
+this morning, so that I have not a sou left in case I should be cold.”
+
+“Here’s half a pistole. Tomorrow morning.”
+
+D’Artagnan sprang from his horse, threw the bridle to Planchet, and
+departed at a quick pace, folding his cloak around him.
+
+“Good Lord, how cold I am!” cried Planchet, as soon as he had lost
+sight of his master; and in such haste was he to warm himself that he
+went straight to a house set out with all the attributes of a suburban
+tavern, and knocked at the door.
+
+In the meantime D’Artagnan, who had plunged into a bypath, continued
+his route and reached St. Cloud; but instead of following the main
+street he turned behind the château, reached a sort of retired lane,
+and found himself soon in front of the pavilion named. It was situated
+in a very private spot. A high wall, at the angle of which was the
+pavilion, ran along one side of this lane, and on the other was a
+little garden connected with a poor cottage which was protected by a
+hedge from passers-by.
+
+He gained the place appointed, and as no signal had been given him by
+which to announce his presence, he waited.
+
+Not the least noise was to be heard; it might be imagined that he was a
+hundred miles from the capital. D’Artagnan leaned against the hedge,
+after having cast a glance behind it. Beyond that hedge, that garden,
+and that cottage, a dark mist enveloped with its folds that immensity
+where Paris slept—a vast void from which glittered a few luminous
+points, the funeral stars of that hell!
+
+But for D’Artagnan all aspects were clothed happily, all ideas wore a
+smile, all shades were diaphanous. The appointed hour was about to
+strike. In fact, at the end of a few minutes the belfry of St. Cloud
+let fall slowly ten strokes from its sonorous jaws. There was something
+melancholy in this brazen voice pouring out its lamentations in the
+middle of the night; but each of those strokes, which made up the
+expected hour, vibrated harmoniously to the heart of the young man.
+
+His eyes were fixed upon the little pavilion situated at the angle of
+the wall, of which all the windows were closed with shutters, except
+one on the first story. Through this window shone a mild light which
+silvered the foliage of two or three linden trees which formed a group
+outside the park. There could be no doubt that behind this little
+window, which threw forth such friendly beams, the pretty Mme.
+Bonacieux expected him.
+
+Wrapped in this sweet idea, D’Artagnan waited half an hour without the
+least impatience, his eyes fixed upon that charming little abode of
+which he could perceive a part of the ceiling with its gilded moldings,
+attesting the elegance of the rest of the apartment.
+
+The belfry of St. Cloud sounded half past ten.
+
+This time, without knowing why, D’Artagnan felt a cold shiver run
+through his veins. Perhaps the cold began to affect him, and he took a
+perfectly physical sensation for a moral impression.
+
+Then the idea seized him that he had read incorrectly, and that the
+appointment was for eleven o’clock. He drew near to the window, and
+placing himself so that a ray of light should fall upon the letter as
+he held it, he drew it from his pocket and read it again; but he had
+not been mistaken, the appointment was for ten o’clock. He went and
+resumed his post, beginning to be rather uneasy at this silence and
+this solitude.
+
+Eleven o’clock sounded.
+
+D’Artagnan began now really to fear that something had happened to Mme.
+Bonacieux. He clapped his hands three times—the ordinary signal of
+lovers; but nobody replied to him, not even an echo.
+
+He then thought, with a touch of vexation, that perhaps the young woman
+had fallen asleep while waiting for him. He approached the wall, and
+tried to climb it; but the wall had been recently pointed, and
+D’Artagnan could get no hold.
+
+At that moment he thought of the trees, upon whose leaves the light
+still shone; and as one of them drooped over the road, he thought that
+from its branches he might get a glimpse of the interior of the
+pavilion.
+
+The tree was easy to climb. Besides, D’Artagnan was but twenty years
+old, and consequently had not yet forgotten his schoolboy habits. In an
+instant he was among the branches, and his keen eyes plunged through
+the transparent panes into the interior of the pavilion.
+
+It was a strange thing, and one which made D’Artagnan tremble from the
+sole of his foot to the roots of his hair, to find that this soft
+light, this calm lamp, enlightened a scene of fearful disorder. One of
+the windows was broken, the door of the chamber had been beaten in and
+hung, split in two, on its hinges. A table, which had been covered with
+an elegant supper, was overturned. The decanters broken in pieces, and
+the fruits crushed, strewed the floor. Everything in the apartment gave
+evidence of a violent and desperate struggle. D’Artagnan even fancied
+he could recognize amid this strange disorder, fragments of garments,
+and some bloody spots staining the cloth and the curtains. He hastened
+to descend into the street, with a frightful beating at his heart; he
+wished to see if he could find other traces of violence.
+
+The little soft light shone on in the calmness of the night. D’Artagnan
+then perceived a thing that he had not before remarked—for nothing had
+led him to the examination—that the ground, trampled here and
+hoofmarked there, presented confused traces of men and horses. Besides,
+the wheels of a carriage, which appeared to have come from Paris, had
+made a deep impression in the soft earth, which did not extend beyond
+the pavilion, but turned again toward Paris.
+
+At length D’Artagnan, in pursuing his researches, found near the wall a
+woman’s torn glove. This glove, wherever it had not touched the muddy
+ground, was of irreproachable odor. It was one of those perfumed gloves
+that lovers like to snatch from a pretty hand.
+
+As D’Artagnan pursued his investigations, a more abundant and more icy
+sweat rolled in large drops from his forehead; his heart was oppressed
+by a horrible anguish; his respiration was broken and short. And yet he
+said, to reassure himself, that this pavilion perhaps had nothing in
+common with Mme. Bonacieux; that the young woman had made an
+appointment with him before the pavilion, and not in the pavilion; that
+she might have been detained in Paris by her duties, or perhaps by the
+jealousy of her husband.
+
+But all these reasons were combated, destroyed, overthrown, by that
+feeling of intimate pain which, on certain occasions, takes possession
+of our being, and cries to us so as to be understood unmistakably that
+some great misfortune is hanging over us.
+
+Then D’Artagnan became almost wild. He ran along the high road, took
+the path he had before taken, and reaching the ferry, interrogated the
+boatman.
+
+About seven o’clock in the evening, the boatman had taken over a young
+woman, wrapped in a black mantle, who appeared to be very anxious not
+to be recognized; but entirely on account of her precautions, the
+boatman had paid more attention to her and discovered that she was
+young and pretty.
+
+There were then, as now, a crowd of young and pretty women who came to
+St. Cloud, and who had reasons for not being seen, and yet D’Artagnan
+did not for an instant doubt that it was Mme. Bonacieux whom the
+boatman had noticed.
+
+D’Artagnan took advantage of the lamp which burned in the cabin of the
+ferryman to read the billet of Mme. Bonacieux once again, and satisfy
+himself that he had not been mistaken, that the appointment was at St.
+Cloud and not elsewhere, before the D’Estrées’s pavilion and not in
+another street. Everything conspired to prove to D’Artagnan that his
+presentiments had not deceived him, and that a great misfortune had
+happened.
+
+He again ran back to the château. It appeared to him that something
+might have happened at the pavilion in his absence, and that fresh
+information awaited him. The lane was still deserted, and the same calm
+soft light shone through the window.
+
+D’Artagnan then thought of that cottage, silent and obscure, which had
+no doubt seen all, and could tell its tale. The gate of the enclosure
+was shut; but he leaped over the hedge, and in spite of the barking of
+a chained-up dog, went up to the cabin.
+
+No one answered to his first knocking. A silence of death reigned in
+the cabin as in the pavilion; but as the cabin was his last resource,
+he knocked again.
+
+It soon appeared to him that he heard a slight noise within—a timid
+noise which seemed to tremble lest it should be heard.
+
+Then D’Artagnan ceased knocking, and prayed with an accent so full of
+anxiety and promises, terror and cajolery, that his voice was of a
+nature to reassure the most fearful. At length an old, worm-eaten
+shutter was opened, or rather pushed ajar, but closed again as soon as
+the light from a miserable lamp which burned in the corner had shone
+upon the baldric, sword belt, and pistol pommels of D’Artagnan.
+Nevertheless, rapid as the movement had been, D’Artagnan had had time
+to get a glimpse of the head of an old man.
+
+“In the name of heaven!” cried he, “listen to me; I have been waiting
+for someone who has not come. I am dying with anxiety. Has anything
+particular happened in the neighborhood? Speak!”
+
+The window was again opened slowly, and the same face appeared, only it
+was now still more pale than before.
+
+D’Artagnan related his story simply, with the omission of names. He
+told how he had a rendezvous with a young woman before that pavilion,
+and how, not seeing her come, he had climbed the linden tree, and by
+the light of the lamp had seen the disorder of the chamber.
+
+The old man listened attentively, making a sign only that it was all
+so; and then, when D’Artagnan had ended, he shook his head with an air
+that announced nothing good.
+
+“What do you mean?” cried D’Artagnan. “In the name of heaven, explain
+yourself!”
+
+“Oh! Monsieur,” said the old man, “ask me nothing; for if I dared tell
+you what I have seen, certainly no good would befall me.”
+
+“You have, then, seen something?” replied D’Artagnan. “In that case, in
+the name of heaven,” continued he, throwing him a pistole, “tell me
+what you have seen, and I will pledge you the word of a gentleman that
+not one of your words shall escape from my heart.”
+
+The old man read so much truth and so much grief in the face of the
+young man that he made him a sign to listen, and repeated in a low
+voice: “It was scarcely nine o’clock when I heard a noise in the
+street, and was wondering what it could be, when on coming to my door,
+I found that somebody was endeavoring to open it. As I am very poor and
+am not afraid of being robbed, I went and opened the gate and saw three
+men at a few paces from it. In the shadow was a carriage with two
+horses, and some saddlehorses. These horses evidently belonged to the
+three men, who were dressed as cavaliers. ‘Ah, my worthy gentlemen,’
+cried I, ‘what do you want?’ ‘You must have a ladder?’ said he who
+appeared to be the leader of the party. ‘Yes, monsieur, the one with
+which I gather my fruit.’ ‘Lend it to us, and go into your house again;
+there is a crown for the annoyance we have caused you. Only remember
+this—if you speak a word of what you may see or what you may hear (for
+you will look and you will listen, I am quite sure, however we may
+threaten you), you are lost.’ At these words he threw me a crown, which
+I picked up, and he took the ladder. After shutting the gate behind
+them, I pretended to return to the house, but I immediately went out a
+back door, and stealing along in the shade of the hedge, I gained
+yonder clump of elder, from which I could hear and see everything. The
+three men brought the carriage up quietly, and took out of it a little
+man, stout, short, elderly, and commonly dressed in clothes of a dark
+color, who ascended the ladder very carefully, looked suspiciously in
+at the window of the pavilion, came down as quietly as he had gone up,
+and whispered, ‘It is she!’ Immediately, he who had spoken to me
+approached the door of the pavilion, opened it with a key he had in his
+hand, closed the door and disappeared, while at the same time the other
+two men ascended the ladder. The little old man remained at the coach
+door; the coachman took care of his horses, the lackey held the
+saddlehorses. All at once great cries resounded in the pavilion, and a
+woman came to the window, and opened it, as if to throw herself out of
+it; but as soon as she perceived the other two men, she fell back and
+they went into the chamber. Then I saw no more; but I heard the noise
+of breaking furniture. The woman screamed, and cried for help; but her
+cries were soon stifled. Two of the men appeared, bearing the woman in
+their arms, and carried her to the carriage, into which the little old
+man got after her. The leader closed the window, came out an instant
+after by the door, and satisfied himself that the woman was in the
+carriage. His two companions were already on horseback. He sprang into
+his saddle; the lackey took his place by the coachman; the carriage
+went off at a quick pace, escorted by the three horsemen, and all was
+over. From that moment I have neither seen nor heard anything.”
+
+D’Artagnan, entirely overcome by this terrible story, remained
+motionless and mute, while all the demons of anger and jealousy were
+howling in his heart.
+
+“But, my good gentleman,” resumed the old man, upon whom this mute
+despair certainly produced a greater effect than cries and tears would
+have done, “do not take on so; they did not kill her, and that’s a
+comfort.”
+
+“Can you guess,” said D’Artagnan, “who was the man who headed this
+infernal expedition?”
+
+“I don’t know him.”
+
+“But as you spoke to him you must have seen him.”
+
+“Oh, it’s a description you want?”
+
+“Exactly so.”
+
+“A tall, dark man, with black mustaches, dark eyes, and the air of a
+gentleman.”
+
+“That’s the man!” cried D’Artagnan, “again he, forever he! He is my
+demon, apparently. And the other?”
+
+“Which?”
+
+“The short one.”
+
+“Oh, he was not a gentleman, I’ll answer for it; besides, he did not
+wear a sword, and the others treated him with small consideration.”
+
+“Some lackey,” murmured D’Artagnan. “Poor woman, poor woman, what have
+they done with you?”
+
+“You have promised to be secret, my good monsieur?” said the old man.
+
+“And I renew my promise. Be easy, I am a gentleman. A gentleman has but
+his word, and I have given you mine.”
+
+With a heavy heart, D’Artagnan again bent his way toward the ferry.
+Sometimes he hoped it could not be Mme. Bonacieux, and that he should
+find her next day at the Louvre; sometimes he feared she had had an
+intrigue with another, who, in a jealous fit, had surprised her and
+carried her off. His mind was torn by doubt, grief, and despair.
+
+“Oh, if I had my three friends here,” cried he, “I should have, at
+least, some hopes of finding her; but who knows what has become of
+them?”
+
+It was past midnight; the next thing was to find Planchet. D’Artagnan
+went successively into all the cabarets in which there was a light, but
+could not find Planchet in any of them.
+
+At the sixth he began to reflect that the search was rather dubious.
+D’Artagnan had appointed six o’clock in the morning for his lackey, and
+wherever he might be, he was right.
+
+Besides, it came into the young man’s mind that by remaining in the
+environs of the spot on which this sad event had passed, he would,
+perhaps, have some light thrown upon the mysterious affair. At the
+sixth cabaret, then, as we said, D’Artagnan stopped, asked for a bottle
+of wine of the best quality, and placing himself in the darkest corner
+of the room, determined thus to wait till daylight; but this time again
+his hopes were disappointed, and although he listened with all his
+ears, he heard nothing, amid the oaths, coarse jokes, and abuse which
+passed between the laborers, servants, and carters who comprised the
+honorable society of which he formed a part, which could put him upon
+the least track of her who had been stolen from him. He was compelled,
+then, after having swallowed the contents of his bottle, to pass the
+time as well as to evade suspicion, to fall into the easiest position
+in his corner and to sleep, whether well or ill. D’Artagnan, be it
+remembered, was only twenty years old, and at that age sleep has its
+imprescriptible rights which it imperiously insists upon, even with the
+saddest hearts.
+
+Toward six o’clock D’Artagnan awoke with that uncomfortable feeling
+which generally accompanies the break of day after a bad night. He was
+not long in making his toilet. He examined himself to see if advantage
+had been taken of his sleep, and having found his diamond ring on his
+finger, his purse in his pocket, and his pistols in his belt, he rose,
+paid for his bottle, and went out to try if he could have any better
+luck in his search after his lackey than he had had the night before.
+The first thing he perceived through the damp gray mist was honest
+Planchet, who, with the two horses in hand, awaited him at the door of
+a little blind cabaret, before which D’Artagnan had passed without even
+a suspicion of its existence.
+
+
+
+
+Chapter XXV.
+PORTHOS
+
+
+Instead of returning directly home, D’Artagnan alighted at the door of
+M. de Tréville, and ran quickly up the stairs. This time he had decided
+to relate all that had passed. M. de Tréville would doubtless give him
+good advice as to the whole affair. Besides, as M. de Tréville saw the
+queen almost daily, he might be able to draw from her Majesty some
+intelligence of the poor young woman, whom they were doubtless making
+pay very dearly for her devotedness to her mistress.
+
+M. de Tréville listened to the young man’s account with a seriousness
+which proved that he saw something else in this adventure besides a
+love affair. When D’Artagnan had finished, he said, “Hum! All this
+savors of his Eminence, a league off.”
+
+“But what is to be done?” said D’Artagnan.
+
+“Nothing, absolutely nothing, at present, but quitting Paris, as I told
+you, as soon as possible. I will see the queen; I will relate to her
+the details of the disappearance of this poor woman, of which she is no
+doubt ignorant. These details will guide her on her part, and on your
+return, I shall perhaps have some good news to tell you. Rely on me.”
+
+D’Artagnan knew that, although a Gascon, M. de Tréville was not in the
+habit of making promises, and that when by chance he did promise, he
+more than kept his word. He bowed to him, then, full of gratitude for
+the past and for the future; and the worthy captain, who on his side
+felt a lively interest in this young man, so brave and so resolute,
+pressed his hand kindly, wishing him a pleasant journey.
+
+Determined to put the advice of M. de Tréville in practice instantly,
+D’Artagnan directed his course toward the Rue des Fossoyeurs, in order
+to superintend the packing of his valise. On approaching the house, he
+perceived M. Bonacieux in morning costume, standing at his threshold.
+All that the prudent Planchet had said to him the preceding evening
+about the sinister character of the old man recurred to the mind of
+D’Artagnan, who looked at him with more attention than he had done
+before. In fact, in addition to that yellow, sickly paleness which
+indicates the insinuation of the bile in the blood, and which might,
+besides, be accidental, D’Artagnan remarked something perfidiously
+significant in the play of the wrinkled features of his countenance. A
+rogue does not laugh in the same way that an honest man does; a
+hypocrite does not shed the tears of a man of good faith. All falsehood
+is a mask; and however well made the mask may be, with a little
+attention we may always succeed in distinguishing it from the true
+face.
+
+It appeared, then, to D’Artagnan that M. Bonacieux wore a mask, and
+likewise that that mask was most disagreeable to look upon. In
+consequence of this feeling of repugnance, he was about to pass without
+speaking to him, but, as he had done the day before, M. Bonacieux
+accosted him.
+
+“Well, young man,” said he, “we appear to pass rather gay nights! Seven
+o’clock in the morning! _Peste!_ You seem to reverse ordinary customs,
+and come home at the hour when other people are going out.”
+
+“No one can reproach you for anything of the kind, Monsieur Bonacieux,”
+said the young man; “you are a model for regular people. It is true
+that when a man possesses a young and pretty wife, he has no need to
+seek happiness elsewhere. Happiness comes to meet him, does it not,
+Monsieur Bonacieux?”
+
+Bonacieux became as pale as death, and grinned a ghastly smile.
+
+“Ah, ah!” said Bonacieux, “you are a jocular companion! But where the
+devil were you gadding last night, my young master? It does not appear
+to be very clean in the crossroads.”
+
+D’Artagnan glanced down at his boots, all covered with mud; but that
+same glance fell upon the shoes and stockings of the mercer, and it
+might have been said they had been dipped in the same mud heap. Both
+were stained with splashes of mud of the same appearance.
+
+Then a sudden idea crossed the mind of D’Artagnan. That little stout
+man, short and elderly, that sort of lackey, dressed in dark clothes,
+treated without ceremony by the men wearing swords who composed the
+escort, was Bonacieux himself. The husband had presided at the
+abduction of his wife.
+
+A terrible inclination seized D’Artagnan to grasp the mercer by the
+throat and strangle him; but, as we have said, he was a very prudent
+youth, and he restrained himself. However, the revolution which
+appeared upon his countenance was so visible that Bonacieux was
+terrified at it, and he endeavored to draw back a step or two; but as
+he was standing before the half of the door which was shut, the
+obstacle compelled him to keep his place.
+
+“Ah, but you are joking, my worthy man!” said D’Artagnan. “It appears
+to me that if my boots need a sponge, your stockings and shoes stand in
+equal need of a brush. May you not have been philandering a little
+also, Monsieur Bonacieux? Oh, the devil! That’s unpardonable in a man
+of your age, and who besides, has such a pretty wife as yours.”
+
+“Oh, Lord! no,” said Bonacieux, “but yesterday I went to St. Mandé to
+make some inquiries after a servant, as I cannot possibly do without
+one; and the roads were so bad that I brought back all this mud, which
+I have not yet had time to remove.”
+
+The place named by Bonacieux as that which had been the object of his
+journey was a fresh proof in support of the suspicions D’Artagnan had
+conceived. Bonacieux had named Mandé because Mandé was in an exactly
+opposite direction from St. Cloud. This probability afforded him his
+first consolation. If Bonacieux knew where his wife was, one might, by
+extreme means, force the mercer to open his teeth and let his secret
+escape. The question, then, was how to change this probability into a
+certainty.
+
+“Pardon, my dear Monsieur Bonacieux, if I don’t stand upon ceremony,”
+said D’Artagnan, “but nothing makes one so thirsty as want of sleep. I
+am parched with thirst. Allow me to take a glass of water in your
+apartment; you know that is never refused among neighbors.”
+
+Without waiting for the permission of his host, D’Artagnan went quickly
+into the house, and cast a rapid glance at the bed. It had not been
+used. Bonacieux had not been abed. He had only been back an hour or
+two; he had accompanied his wife to the place of her confinement, or
+else at least to the first relay.
+
+“Thanks, Monsieur Bonacieux,” said D’Artagnan, emptying his glass,
+“that is all I wanted of you. I will now go up into my apartment. I
+will make Planchet brush my boots; and when he has done, I will, if you
+like, send him to you to brush your shoes.”
+
+He left the mercer quite astonished at his singular farewell, and
+asking himself if he had not been a little inconsiderate.
+
+At the top of the stairs he found Planchet in a great fright.
+
+“Ah, monsieur!” cried Planchet, as soon as he perceived his master,
+“here is more trouble. I thought you would never come in.”
+
+“What’s the matter now, Planchet?” demanded D’Artagnan.
+
+“Oh! I give you a hundred, I give you a thousand times to guess,
+monsieur, the visit I received in your absence.”
+
+“When?”
+
+“About half an hour ago, while you were at Monsieur de Tréville’s.”
+
+“Who has been here? Come, speak.”
+
+“Monsieur de Cavois.”
+
+“Monsieur de Cavois?”
+
+“In person.”
+
+“The captain of the cardinal’s Guards?”
+
+“Himself.”
+
+“Did he come to arrest me?”
+
+“I have no doubt that he did, monsieur, for all his wheedling manner.”
+
+“Was he so sweet, then?”
+
+“Indeed, he was all honey, monsieur.”
+
+“Indeed!”
+
+“He came, he said, on the part of his Eminence, who wished you well,
+and to beg you to follow him to the Palais-Royal*.”
+
+* It was called the Palais-Cardinal before Richelieu gave it to the
+King.
+
+
+“What did you answer him?”
+
+“That the thing was impossible, seeing that you were not at home, as he
+could see.”
+
+“Well, what did he say then?”
+
+“That you must not fail to call upon him in the course of the day; and
+then he added in a low voice, ‘Tell your master that his Eminence is
+very well disposed toward him, and that his fortune perhaps depends
+upon this interview.’”
+
+“The snare is rather _maladroit_ for the cardinal,” replied the young
+man, smiling.
+
+“Oh, I saw the snare, and I answered you would be quite in despair on
+your return.
+
+“‘Where has he gone?’ asked Monsieur de Cavois.
+
+“‘To Troyes, in Champagne,’ I answered.
+
+“‘And when did he set out?’
+
+“‘Yesterday evening.’”
+
+“Planchet, my friend,” interrupted D’Artagnan, “you are really a
+precious fellow.”
+
+“You will understand, monsieur, I thought there would be still time, if
+you wish, to see Monsieur de Cavois to contradict me by saying you were
+not yet gone. The falsehood would then lie at my door, and as I am not
+a gentleman, I may be allowed to lie.”
+
+“Be of good heart, Planchet, you shall preserve your reputation as a
+veracious man. In a quarter of an hour we set off.”
+
+“That’s the advice I was about to give Monsieur; and where are we
+going, may I ask, without being too curious?”
+
+_“Pardieu!_ In the opposite direction to that which you said I was
+gone. Besides, are you not as anxious to learn news of Grimaud,
+Mousqueton, and Bazin as I am to know what has become of Athos,
+Porthos, and Aramis?”
+
+“Yes, monsieur,” said Planchet, “and I will go as soon as you please.
+Indeed, I think provincial air will suit us much better just now than
+the air of Paris. So then—”
+
+“So then, pack up our luggage, Planchet, and let us be off. On my part,
+I will go out with my hands in my pockets, that nothing may be
+suspected. You may join me at the Hôtel des Gardes. By the way,
+Planchet, I think you are right with respect to our host, and that he
+is decidedly a frightfully low wretch.”
+
+“Ah, monsieur, you may take my word when I tell you anything. I am a
+physiognomist, I assure you.”
+
+D’Artagnan went out first, as had been agreed upon. Then, in order that
+he might have nothing to reproach himself with, he directed his steps,
+for the last time, toward the residences of his three friends. No news
+had been received of them; only a letter, all perfumed and of an
+elegant writing in small characters, had come for Aramis. D’Artagnan
+took charge of it. Ten minutes afterward Planchet joined him at the
+stables of the Hôtel des Gardes. D’Artagnan, in order that there might
+be no time lost, had saddled his horse himself.
+
+“That’s well,” said he to Planchet, when the latter added the
+portmanteau to the equipment. “Now saddle the other three horses.”
+
+“Do you think, then, monsieur, that we shall travel faster with two
+horses apiece?” said Planchet, with his shrewd air.
+
+“No, Monsieur Jester,” replied D’Artagnan; “but with our four horses we
+may bring back our three friends, if we should have the good fortune to
+find them living.”
+
+“Which is a great chance,” replied Planchet, “but we must not despair
+of the mercy of God.”
+
+“Amen!” said D’Artagnan, getting into his saddle.
+
+As they went from the Hôtel des Gardes, they separated, leaving the
+street at opposite ends, one having to quit Paris by the Barrière de la
+Villette and the other by the Barrière Montmartre, to meet again beyond
+St. Denis—a strategic maneuver which, having been executed with equal
+punctuality, was crowned with the most fortunate results. D’Artagnan
+and Planchet entered Pierrefitte together.
+
+Planchet was more courageous, it must be admitted, by day than by
+night. His natural prudence, however, never forsook him for a single
+instant. He had forgotten not one of the incidents of the first
+journey, and he looked upon everybody he met on the road as an enemy.
+It followed that his hat was forever in his hand, which procured him
+some severe reprimands from D’Artagnan, who feared that his excess of
+politeness would lead people to think he was the lackey of a man of no
+consequence.
+
+Nevertheless, whether the passengers were really touched by the
+urbanity of Planchet or whether this time nobody was posted on the
+young man’s road, our two travelers arrived at Chantilly without any
+accident, and alighted at the tavern of Great St. Martin, the same at
+which they had stopped on their first journey.
+
+The host, on seeing a young man followed by a lackey with two extra
+horses, advanced respectfully to the door. Now, as they had already
+traveled eleven leagues, D’Artagnan thought it time to stop, whether
+Porthos were or were not in the inn. Perhaps it would not be prudent to
+ask at once what had become of the Musketeer. The result of these
+reflections was that D’Artagnan, without asking information of any
+kind, alighted, commended the horses to the care of his lackey, entered
+a small room destined to receive those who wished to be alone, and
+desired the host to bring him a bottle of his best wine and as good a
+breakfast as possible—a desire which further corroborated the high
+opinion the innkeeper had formed of the traveler at first sight.
+
+D’Artagnan was therefore served with miraculous celerity. The regiment
+of the Guards was recruited among the first gentlemen of the kingdom;
+and D’Artagnan, followed by a lackey, and traveling with four
+magnificent horses, despite the simplicity of his uniform, could not
+fail to make a sensation. The host desired himself to serve him; which
+D’Artagnan perceiving, ordered two glasses to be brought, and commenced
+the following conversation.
+
+“My faith, my good host,” said D’Artagnan, filling the two glasses, “I
+asked for a bottle of your best wine, and if you have deceived me, you
+will be punished in what you have sinned; for seeing that I hate
+drinking by myself, you shall drink with me. Take your glass, then, and
+let us drink. But what shall we drink to, so as to avoid wounding any
+susceptibility? Let us drink to the prosperity of your establishment.”
+
+“Your Lordship does me much honor,” said the host, “and I thank you
+sincerely for your kind wish.”
+
+“But don’t mistake,” said D’Artagnan, “there is more selfishness in my
+toast than perhaps you may think—for it is only in prosperous
+establishments that one is well received. In hôtels that do not
+flourish, everything is in confusion, and the traveler is a victim to
+the embarrassments of his host. Now, I travel a great deal,
+particularly on this road, and I wish to see all innkeepers making a
+fortune.”
+
+“It seems to me,” said the host, “that this is not the first time I
+have had the honor of seeing Monsieur.”
+
+“Bah, I have passed perhaps ten times through Chantilly, and out of the
+ten times I have stopped three or four times at your house at least.
+Why I was here only ten or twelve days ago. I was conducting some
+friends, Musketeers, one of whom, by the by, had a dispute with a
+stranger—a man who sought a quarrel with him, for I don’t know what.”
+
+“Exactly so,” said the host; “I remember it perfectly. It is not
+Monsieur Porthos that your Lordship means?”
+
+“Yes, that is my companion’s name. My God, my dear host, tell me if
+anything has happened to him?”
+
+“Your Lordship must have observed that he could not continue his
+journey.”
+
+“Why, to be sure, he promised to rejoin us, and we have seen nothing of
+him.”
+
+“He has done us the honor to remain here.”
+
+“What, he had done you the honor to remain here?”
+
+“Yes, monsieur, in this house; and we are even a little uneasy—”
+
+“On what account?”
+
+“Of certain expenses he has contracted.”
+
+“Well, but whatever expenses he may have incurred, I am sure he is in a
+condition to pay them.”
+
+“Ah, monsieur, you infuse genuine balm into my blood. We have made
+considerable advances; and this very morning the surgeon declared that
+if Monsieur Porthos did not pay him, he should look to me, as it was I
+who had sent for him.”
+
+“Porthos is wounded, then?”
+
+“I cannot tell you, monsieur.”
+
+“What! You cannot tell me? Surely you ought to be able to tell me
+better than any other person.”
+
+“Yes; but in our situation we must not say all we know—particularly as
+we have been warned that our ears should answer for our tongues.”
+
+“Well, can I see Porthos?”
+
+“Certainly, monsieur. Take the stairs on your right; go up the first
+flight and knock at Number One. Only warn him that it is you.”
+
+“Why should I do that?”
+
+“Because, monsieur, some mischief might happen to you.”
+
+“Of what kind, in the name of wonder?”
+
+“Monsieur Porthos may imagine you belong to the house, and in a fit of
+passion might run his sword through you or blow out your brains.”
+
+“What have you done to him, then?”
+
+“We have asked him for money.”
+
+“The devil! Ah, I can understand that. It is a demand that Porthos
+takes very ill when he is not in funds; but I know he must be so at
+present.”
+
+“We thought so, too, monsieur. As our house is carried on very
+regularly, and we make out our bills every week, at the end of eight
+days we presented our account; but it appeared we had chosen an unlucky
+moment, for at the first word on the subject, he sent us to all the
+devils. It is true he had been playing the day before.”
+
+“Playing the day before! And with whom?”
+
+“Lord, who can say, monsieur? With some gentleman who was traveling
+this way, to whom he proposed a game of _lansquenet_.”
+
+“That’s it, then, and the foolish fellow lost all he had?”
+
+“Even to his horse, monsieur; for when the gentleman was about to set
+out, we perceived that his lackey was saddling Monsieur Porthos’s
+horse, as well as his master’s. When we observed this to him, he told
+us all to trouble ourselves about our own business, as this horse
+belonged to him. We also informed Monsieur Porthos of what was going
+on; but he told us we were scoundrels to doubt a gentleman’s word, and
+that as he had said the horse was his, it must be so.”
+
+“That’s Porthos all over,” murmured D’Artagnan.
+
+“Then,” continued the host, “I replied that as from the moment we
+seemed not likely to come to a good understanding with respect to
+payment, I hoped that he would have at least the kindness to grant the
+favor of his custom to my brother host of the Golden Eagle; but
+Monsieur Porthos replied that, my house being the best, he should
+remain where he was. This reply was too flattering to allow me to
+insist on his departure. I confined myself then to begging him to give
+up his chamber, which is the handsomest in the hôtel, and to be
+satisfied with a pretty little room on the third floor; but to this
+Monsieur Porthos replied that as he every moment expected his mistress,
+who was one of the greatest ladies in the court, I might easily
+comprehend that the chamber he did me the honor to occupy in my house
+was itself very mean for the visit of such a personage. Nevertheless,
+while acknowledging the truth of what he said, I thought proper to
+insist; but without even giving himself the trouble to enter into any
+discussion with me, he took one of his pistols, laid it on his table,
+day and night, and said that at the first word that should be spoken to
+him about removing, either within the house or out of it, he would blow
+out the brains of the person who should be so imprudent as to meddle
+with a matter which only concerned himself. Since that time, monsieur,
+nobody entered his chamber but his servant.”
+
+“What! Mousqueton is here, then?”
+
+“Oh, yes, monsieur. Five days after your departure, he came back, and
+in a very bad condition, too. It appears that he had met with
+disagreeableness, likewise, on his journey. Unfortunately, he is more
+nimble than his master; so that for the sake of his master, he puts us
+all under his feet, and as he thinks we might refuse what he asked for,
+he takes all he wants without asking at all.”
+
+“The fact is,” said D’Artagnan, “I have always observed a great degree
+of intelligence and devotedness in Mousqueton.”
+
+“That is possible, monsieur; but suppose I should happen to be brought
+in contact, even four times a year, with such intelligence and
+devotedness—why, I should be a ruined man!”
+
+“No, for Porthos will pay you.”
+
+“Hum!” said the host, in a doubtful tone.
+
+“The favorite of a great lady will not be allowed to be inconvenienced
+for such a paltry sum as he owes you.”
+
+“If I durst say what I believe on that head—”
+
+“What you believe?”
+
+“I ought rather to say, what I know.”
+
+“What you know?”
+
+“And even what I am sure of.”
+
+“And of what are you so sure?”
+
+“I would say that I know this great lady.”
+
+“You?”
+
+“Yes; I.”
+
+“And how do you know her?”
+
+“Oh, monsieur, if I could believe I might trust in your discretion.”
+
+“Speak! By the word of a gentleman, you shall have no cause to repent
+of your confidence.”
+
+“Well, monsieur, you understand that uneasiness makes us do many
+things.”
+
+“What have you done?”
+
+“Oh, nothing which was not right in the character of a creditor.”
+
+“Well?”
+
+“Monsieur Porthos gave us a note for his duchess, ordering us to put it
+in the post. This was before his servant came. As he could not leave
+his chamber, it was necessary to charge us with this commission.”
+
+“And then?”
+
+“Instead of putting the letter in the post, which is never safe, I took
+advantage of the journey of one of my lads to Paris, and ordered him to
+convey the letter to this duchess himself. This was fulfilling the
+intentions of Monsieur Porthos, who had desired us to be so careful of
+this letter, was it not?”
+
+“Nearly so.”
+
+“Well, monsieur, do you know who this great lady is?”
+
+“No; I have heard Porthos speak of her, that’s all.”
+
+“Do you know who this pretended duchess is?
+
+“I repeat to you, I don’t know her.”
+
+“Why, she is the old wife of a procurator* of the Châtelet, monsieur,
+named Madame Coquenard, who, although she is at least fifty, still
+gives herself jealous airs. It struck me as very odd that a princess
+should live in the Rue aux Ours.”
+
+* Attorney
+
+
+“But how do you know all this?”
+
+“Because she flew into a great passion on receiving the letter, saying
+that Monsieur Porthos was a weathercock, and that she was sure it was
+for some woman he had received this wound.”
+
+“Has he been wounded, then?”
+
+“Oh, good Lord! What have I said?”
+
+“You said that Porthos had received a sword cut.”
+
+“Yes, but he has forbidden me so strictly to say so.”
+
+“And why so.”
+
+“Zounds, monsieur! Because he had boasted that he would perforate the
+stranger with whom you left him in dispute; whereas the stranger, on
+the contrary, in spite of all his rodomontades quickly threw him on his
+back. As Monsieur Porthos is a very boastful man, he insists that
+nobody shall know he has received this wound except the duchess, whom
+he endeavored to interest by an account of his adventure.”
+
+“It is a wound that confines him to his bed?”
+
+“Ah, and a master stroke, too, I assure you. Your friend’s soul must
+stick tight to his body.”
+
+“Were you there, then?”
+
+“Monsieur, I followed them from curiosity, so that I saw the combat
+without the combatants seeing me.”
+
+“And what took place?”
+
+“Oh! The affair was not long, I assure you. They placed themselves on
+guard; the stranger made a feint and a lunge, and that so rapidly that
+when Monsieur Porthos came to the _parade_, he had already three inches
+of steel in his breast. He immediately fell backward. The stranger
+placed the point of his sword at his throat; and Monsieur Porthos,
+finding himself at the mercy of his adversary, acknowledged himself
+conquered. Upon which the stranger asked his name, and learning that it
+was Porthos, and not D’Artagnan, he assisted him to rise, brought him
+back to the hôtel, mounted his horse, and disappeared.”
+
+“So it was with Monsieur d’Artagnan this stranger meant to quarrel?”
+
+“It appears so.”
+
+“And do you know what has become of him?”
+
+“No, I never saw him until that moment, and have not seen him since.”
+
+“Very well; I know all that I wish to know. Porthos’s chamber is, you
+say, on the first story, Number One?”
+
+“Yes, monsieur, the handsomest in the inn—a chamber that I could have
+let ten times over.”
+
+“Bah! Be satisfied,” said D’Artagnan, laughing, “Porthos will pay you
+with the money of the Duchess Coquenard.”
+
+“Oh, monsieur, procurator’s wife or duchess, if she will but loosen her
+pursestrings, it will be all the same; but she positively answered that
+she was tired of the exigencies and infidelities of Monsieur Porthos,
+and that she would not send him a denier.”
+
+“And did you convey this answer to your guest?”
+
+“We took good care not to do that; he would have found in what fashion
+we had executed his commission.”
+
+“So that he still expects his money?”
+
+“Oh, Lord, yes, monsieur! Yesterday he wrote again; but it was his
+servant who this time put the letter in the post.”
+
+“Do you say the procurator’s wife is old and ugly?”
+
+“Fifty at least, monsieur, and not at all handsome, according to
+Pathaud’s account.”
+
+“In that case, you may be quite at ease; she will soon be softened.
+Besides, Porthos cannot owe you much.”
+
+“How, not much! Twenty good pistoles, already, without reckoning the
+doctor. He denies himself nothing; it may easily be seen he has been
+accustomed to live well.”
+
+“Never mind; if his mistress abandons him, he will find friends, I will
+answer for it. So, my dear host, be not uneasy, and continue to take
+all the care of him that his situation requires.”
+
+“Monsieur has promised me not to open his mouth about the procurator’s
+wife, and not to say a word of the wound?”
+
+“That’s agreed; you have my word.”
+
+“Oh, he would kill me!”
+
+“Don’t be afraid; he is not so much of a devil as he appears.”
+
+Saying these words, D’Artagnan went upstairs, leaving his host a little
+better satisfied with respect to two things in which he appeared to be
+very much interested—his debt and his life.
+
+At the top of the stairs, upon the most conspicuous door of the
+corridor, was traced in black ink a gigantic number “1.” D’Artagnan
+knocked, and upon the bidding to come in which came from inside, he
+entered the chamber.
+
+Porthos was in bed, and was playing a game at _lansquenet_ with
+Mousqueton, to keep his hand in; while a spit loaded with partridges
+was turning before the fire, and on each side of a large chimneypiece,
+over two chafing dishes, were boiling two stewpans, from which exhaled
+a double odor of rabbit and fish stews, rejoicing to the smell. In
+addition to this he perceived that the top of a wardrobe and the marble
+of a commode were covered with empty bottles.
+
+At the sight of his friend, Porthos uttered a loud cry of joy; and
+Mousqueton, rising respectfully, yielded his place to him, and went to
+give an eye to the two stewpans, of which he appeared to have the
+particular inspection.
+
+“Ah, _pardieu!_ Is that you?” said Porthos to D’Artagnan. “You are
+right welcome. Excuse my not coming to meet you; but,” added he,
+looking at D’Artagnan with a certain degree of uneasiness, “you know
+what has happened to me?”
+
+“No.”
+
+“Has the host told you nothing, then?”
+
+“I asked after you, and came up as soon as I could.”
+
+Porthos seemed to breathe more freely.
+
+“And what has happened to you, my dear Porthos?” continued D’Artagnan.
+
+“Why, on making a thrust at my adversary, whom I had already hit three
+times, and whom I meant to finish with the fourth, I put my foot on a
+stone, slipped, and strained my knee.”
+
+“Truly?”
+
+“Honor! Luckily for the rascal, for I should have left him dead on the
+spot, I assure you.”
+
+“And what has became of him?”
+
+“Oh, I don’t know; he had enough, and set off without waiting for the
+rest. But you, my dear D’Artagnan, what has happened to you?”
+
+“So that this strain of the knee,” continued D’Artagnan, “my dear
+Porthos, keeps you in bed?”
+
+“My God, that’s all. I shall be about again in a few days.”
+
+“Why did you not have yourself conveyed to Paris? You must be cruelly
+bored here.”
+
+“That was my intention; but, my dear friend, I have one thing to
+confess to you.”
+
+“What’s that?”
+
+“It is that as I was cruelly bored, as you say, and as I had the
+seventy-five pistoles in my pocket which you had distributed to me, in
+order to amuse myself I invited a gentleman who was traveling this way
+to walk up, and proposed a cast of dice. He accepted my challenge, and,
+my faith, my seventy-five pistoles passed from my pocket to his,
+without reckoning my horse, which he won into the bargain. But you, my
+dear D’Artagnan?”
+
+“What can you expect, my dear Porthos; a man is not privileged in all
+ways,” said D’Artagnan. “You know the proverb ‘Unlucky at play, lucky
+in love.’ You are too fortunate in your love for play not to take its
+revenge. What consequence can the reverses of fortune be to you? Have
+you not, happy rogue that you are—have you not your duchess, who cannot
+fail to come to your aid?”
+
+“Well, you see, my dear D’Artagnan, with what ill luck I play,” replied
+Porthos, with the most careless air in the world. “I wrote to her to
+send me fifty louis or so, of which I stood absolutely in need on
+account of my accident.”
+
+“Well?”
+
+“Well, she must be at her country seat, for she has not answered me.”
+
+“Truly?”
+
+“No; so I yesterday addressed another epistle to her, still more
+pressing than the first. But you are here, my dear fellow, let us speak
+of you. I confess I began to be very uneasy on your account.”
+
+“But your host behaves very well toward you, as it appears, my dear
+Porthos,” said D’Artagnan, directing the sick man’s attention to the
+full stewpans and the empty bottles.
+
+“So, so,” replied Porthos. “Only three or four days ago the impertinent
+jackanapes gave me his bill, and I was forced to turn both him and his
+bill out of the door; so that I am here something in the fashion of a
+conqueror, holding my position, as it were, my conquest. So you see,
+being in constant fear of being forced from that position, I am armed
+to the teeth.”
+
+“And yet,” said D’Artagnan, laughing, “it appears to me that from time
+to time you must make _sorties_.” And he again pointed to the bottles
+and the stewpans.
+
+“Not I, unfortunately!” said Porthos. “This miserable strain confines
+me to my bed; but Mousqueton forages, and brings in provisions. Friend
+Mousqueton, you see that we have a reinforcement, and we must have an
+increase of supplies.”
+
+“Mousqueton,” said D’Artagnan, “you must render me a service.”
+
+“What, monsieur?”
+
+“You must give your recipe to Planchet. I may be besieged in my turn,
+and I shall not be sorry for him to be able to let me enjoy the same
+advantages with which you gratify your master.”
+
+“Lord, monsieur! There is nothing more easy,” said Mousqueton, with a
+modest air. “One only needs to be sharp, that’s all. I was brought up
+in the country, and my father in his leisure time was something of a
+poacher.”
+
+“And what did he do the rest of his time?”
+
+“Monsieur, he carried on a trade which I have always thought
+satisfactory.”
+
+“Which?”
+
+“As it was a time of war between the Catholics and the Huguenots, and
+as he saw the Catholics exterminate the Huguenots and the Huguenots
+exterminate the Catholics—all in the name of religion—he adopted a
+mixed belief which permitted him to be sometimes Catholic, sometimes a
+Huguenot. Now, he was accustomed to walk with his fowling piece on his
+shoulder, behind the hedges which border the roads, and when he saw a
+Catholic coming alone, the Protestant religion immediately prevailed in
+his mind. He lowered his gun in the direction of the traveler; then,
+when he was within ten paces of him, he commenced a conversation which
+almost always ended by the traveler’s abandoning his purse to save his
+life. It goes without saying that when he saw a Huguenot coming, he
+felt himself filled with such ardent Catholic zeal that he could not
+understand how, a quarter of an hour before, he had been able to have
+any doubts upon the superiority of our holy religion. For my part,
+monsieur, I am Catholic—my father, faithful to his principles, having
+made my elder brother a Huguenot.”
+
+“And what was the end of this worthy man?” asked D’Artagnan.
+
+“Oh, of the most unfortunate kind, monsieur. One day he was surprised
+in a lonely road between a Huguenot and a Catholic, with both of whom
+he had before had business, and who both knew him again; so they united
+against him and hanged him on a tree. Then they came and boasted of
+their fine exploit in the cabaret of the next village, where my brother
+and I were drinking.”
+
+“And what did you do?” said D’Artagnan.
+
+“We let them tell their story out,” replied Mousqueton. “Then, as in
+leaving the cabaret they took different directions, my brother went and
+hid himself on the road of the Catholic, and I on that of the Huguenot.
+Two hours after, all was over; we had done the business of both,
+admiring the foresight of our poor father, who had taken the precaution
+to bring each of us up in a different religion.”
+
+“Well, I must allow, as you say, your father was a very intelligent
+fellow. And you say in his leisure moments the worthy man was a
+poacher?”
+
+“Yes, monsieur, and it was he who taught me to lay a snare and ground a
+line. The consequence is that when I saw our laborers, which did not at
+all suit two such delicate stomachs as ours, I had recourse to a little
+of my old trade. While walking near the wood of Monsieur le Prince, I
+laid a few snares in the runs; and while reclining on the banks of his
+Highness’s pieces of water, I slipped a few lines into his fish ponds.
+So that now, thanks be to God, we do not want, as Monsieur can testify,
+for partridges, rabbits, carp or eels—all light, wholesome food,
+suitable for the sick.”
+
+“But the wine,” said D’Artagnan, “who furnishes the wine? Your host?”
+
+“That is to say, yes and no.”
+
+“How yes and no?”
+
+“He furnishes it, it is true, but he does not know that he has that
+honor.”
+
+“Explain yourself, Mousqueton; your conversation is full of instructive
+things.”
+
+“That is it, monsieur. It has so chanced that I met with a Spaniard in
+my peregrinations who had seen many countries, and among them the New
+World.”
+
+“What connection can the New World have with the bottles which are on
+the commode and the wardrobe?”
+
+“Patience, monsieur, everything will come in its turn.”
+
+“This Spaniard had in his service a lackey who had accompanied him in
+his voyage to Mexico. This lackey was my compatriot; and we became the
+more intimate from there being many resemblances of character between
+us. We loved sporting of all kinds better than anything; so that he
+related to me how in the plains of the Pampas the natives hunt the
+tiger and the wild bull with simple running nooses which they throw to
+a distance of twenty or thirty paces the end of a cord with such
+nicety; but in face of the proof I was obliged to acknowledge the truth
+of the recital. My friend placed a bottle at the distance of thirty
+paces, and at each cast he caught the neck of the bottle in his running
+noose. I practiced this exercise, and as nature has endowed me with
+some faculties, at this day I can throw the lasso with any man in the
+world. Well, do you understand, monsieur? Our host has a well-furnished
+cellar the key of which never leaves him; only this cellar has a
+ventilating hole. Now through this ventilating hole I throw my lasso,
+and as I now know in which part of the cellar is the best wine, that’s
+my point for sport. You see, monsieur, what the New World has to do
+with the bottles which are on the commode and the wardrobe. Now, will
+you taste our wine, and without prejudice say what you think of it?”
+
+“Thank you, my friend, thank you; unfortunately, I have just
+breakfasted.”
+
+“Well,” said Porthos, “arrange the table, Mousqueton, and while we
+breakfast, D’Artagnan will relate to us what has happened to him during
+the ten days since he left us.”
+
+“Willingly,” said D’Artagnan.
+
+While Porthos and Mousqueton were breakfasting, with the appetites of
+convalescents and with that brotherly cordiality which unites men in
+misfortune, D’Artagnan related how Aramis, being wounded, was obliged
+to stop at Crèvecœur, how he had left Athos fighting at Amiens with
+four men who accused him of being a coiner, and how he, D’Artagnan, had
+been forced to run the Comtes de Wardes through the body in order to
+reach England.
+
+But there the confidence of D’Artagnan stopped. He only added that on
+his return from Great Britain he had brought back four magnificent
+horses—one for himself, and one for each of his companions; then he
+informed Porthos that the one intended for him was already installed in
+the stable of the tavern.
+
+At this moment Planchet entered, to inform his master that the horses
+were sufficiently refreshed and that it would be possible to sleep at
+Clermont.
+
+As D’Artagnan was tolerably reassured with regard to Porthos, and as he
+was anxious to obtain news of his two other friends, he held out his
+hand to the wounded man, and told him he was about to resume his route
+in order to continue his researches. For the rest, as he reckoned upon
+returning by the same route in seven or eight days, if Porthos were
+still at the Great St. Martin, he would call for him on his way.
+
+Porthos replied that in all probability his sprain would not permit him
+to depart yet awhile. Besides, it was necessary he should stay at
+Chantilly to wait for the answer from his duchess.
+
+D’Artagnan wished that answer might be prompt and favorable; and having
+again recommended Porthos to the care of Mousqueton, and paid his bill
+to the host, he resumed his route with Planchet, already relieved of
+one of his led horses.
+
+
+
+
+Chapter XXVI.
+ARAMIS AND HIS THESIS
+
+
+D’Artagnan had said nothing to Porthos of his wound or of his
+procurator’s wife. Our Béarnais was a prudent lad, however young he
+might be. Consequently he had appeared to believe all that the
+vainglorious Musketeer had told him, convinced that no friendship will
+hold out against a surprised secret. Besides, we feel always a sort of
+mental superiority over those whose lives we know better than they
+suppose. In his projects of intrigue for the future, and determined as
+he was to make his three friends the instruments of his fortune,
+D’Artagnan was not sorry at getting into his grasp beforehand the
+invisible strings by which he reckoned upon moving them.
+
+And yet, as he journeyed along, a profound sadness weighed upon his
+heart. He thought of that young and pretty Mme. Bonacieux who was to
+have paid him the price of his devotedness; but let us hasten to say
+that this sadness possessed the young man less from the regret of the
+happiness he had missed, than from the fear he entertained that some
+serious misfortune had befallen the poor woman. For himself, he had no
+doubt she was a victim of the cardinal’s vengeance; and, as was well
+known, the vengeance of his Eminence was terrible. How he had found
+grace in the eyes of the minister, he did not know; but without doubt
+M. de Cavois would have revealed this to him if the captain of the
+Guards had found him at home.
+
+Nothing makes time pass more quickly or more shortens a journey than a
+thought which absorbs in itself all the faculties of the organization
+of him who thinks. External existence then resembles a sleep of which
+this thought is the dream. By its influence, time has no longer
+measure, space has no longer distance. We depart from one place, and
+arrive at another, that is all. Of the interval passed, nothing remains
+in the memory but a vague mist in which a thousand confused images of
+trees, mountains, and landscapes are lost. It was as a prey to this
+hallucination that D’Artagnan traveled, at whatever pace his horse
+pleased, the six or eight leagues that separated Chantilly from
+Crèvecœur, without his being able to remember on his arrival in the
+village any of the things he had passed or met with on the road.
+
+There only his memory returned to him. He shook his head, perceived the
+cabaret at which he had left Aramis, and putting his horse to the trot,
+he shortly pulled up at the door.
+
+This time it was not a host but a hostess who received him. D’Artagnan
+was a physiognomist. His eye took in at a glance the plump, cheerful
+countenance of the mistress of the place, and he at once perceived
+there was no occasion for dissembling with her, or of fearing anything
+from one blessed with such a joyous physiognomy.
+
+“My good dame,” asked D’Artagnan, “can you tell me what has become of
+one of my friends, whom we were obliged to leave here about a dozen
+days ago?”
+
+“A handsome young man, three- or four-and-twenty years old, mild,
+amiable, and well made?”
+
+“That is he—wounded in the shoulder.”
+
+“Just so. Well, monsieur, he is still here.”
+
+“Ah, _pardieu!_ My dear dame,” said D’Artagnan, springing from his
+horse, and throwing the bridle to Planchet, “you restore me to life;
+where is this dear Aramis? Let me embrace him, I am in a hurry to see
+him again.”
+
+“Pardon, monsieur, but I doubt whether he can see you at this moment.”
+
+“Why so? Has he a lady with him?”
+
+“Jesus! What do you mean by that? Poor lad! No, monsieur, he has not a
+lady with him.”
+
+“With whom is he, then?”
+
+“With the curate of Montdidier and the superior of the Jesuits of
+Amiens.”
+
+“Good heavens!” cried D’Artagnan, “is the poor fellow worse, then?”
+
+“No, monsieur, quite the contrary; but after his illness grace touched
+him, and he determined to take orders.”
+
+“That’s it!” said D’Artagnan, “I had forgotten that he was only a
+Musketeer for a time.”
+
+“Monsieur still insists upon seeing him?”
+
+“More than ever.”
+
+“Well, monsieur has only to take the right-hand staircase in the
+courtyard, and knock at Number Five on the second floor.”
+
+D’Artagnan walked quickly in the direction indicated, and found one of
+those exterior staircases that are still to be seen in the yards of our
+old-fashioned taverns. But there was no getting at the place of sojourn
+of the future abbé; the defiles of the chamber of Aramis were as well
+guarded as the gardens of Armida. Bazin was stationed in the corridor,
+and barred his passage with the more intrepidity that, after many years
+of trial, Bazin found himself near a result of which he had ever been
+ambitious.
+
+In fact, the dream of poor Bazin had always been to serve a churchman;
+and he awaited with impatience the moment, always in the future, when
+Aramis would throw aside the uniform and assume the cassock. The
+daily-renewed promise of the young man that the moment would not long
+be delayed, had alone kept him in the service of a Musketeer—a service
+in which, he said, his soul was in constant jeopardy.
+
+Bazin was then at the height of joy. In all probability, this time his
+master would not retract. The union of physical pain with moral
+uneasiness had produced the effect so long desired. Aramis, suffering
+at once in body and mind, had at length fixed his eyes and his thoughts
+upon religion, and he had considered as a warning from heaven the
+double accident which had happened to him; that is to say, the sudden
+disappearance of his mistress and the wound in his shoulder.
+
+It may be easily understood that in the present disposition of his
+master nothing could be more disagreeable to Bazin than the arrival of
+D’Artagnan, which might cast his master back again into that vortex of
+mundane affairs which had so long carried him away. He resolved, then,
+to defend the door bravely; and as, betrayed by the mistress of the
+inn, he could not say that Aramis was absent, he endeavored to prove to
+the newcomer that it would be the height of indiscretion to disturb his
+master in his pious conference, which had commenced with the morning
+and would not, as Bazin said, terminate before night.
+
+But D’Artagnan took very little heed of the eloquent discourse of M.
+Bazin; and as he had no desire to support a polemic discussion with his
+friend’s valet, he simply moved him out of the way with one hand, and
+with the other turned the handle of the door of Number Five. The door
+opened, and D’Artagnan went into the chamber.
+
+Aramis, in a black gown, his head enveloped in a sort of round flat
+cap, not much unlike a _calotte_, was seated before an oblong table,
+covered with rolls of paper and enormous volumes in folio. At his right
+hand was placed the superior of the Jesuits, and on his left the curate
+of Montdidier. The curtains were half drawn, and only admitted the
+mysterious light calculated for beatific reveries. All the mundane
+objects that generally strike the eye on entering the room of a young
+man, particularly when that young man is a Musketeer, had disappeared
+as if by enchantment; and for fear, no doubt, that the sight of them
+might bring his master back to ideas of this world, Bazin had laid his
+hands upon sword, pistols, plumed hat, and embroideries and laces of
+all kinds and sorts. In their stead D’Artagnan thought he perceived in
+an obscure corner a discipline cord suspended from a nail in the wall.
+
+At the noise made by D’Artagnan in entering, Aramis lifted up his head,
+and beheld his friend; but to the great astonishment of the young man,
+the sight of him did not produce much effect upon the Musketeer, so
+completely was his mind detached from the things of this world.
+
+“Good day, dear D’Artagnan,” said Aramis; “believe me, I am glad to see
+you.”
+
+“So am I delighted to see you,” said D’Artagnan, “although I am not yet
+sure that it is Aramis I am speaking to.”
+
+“To himself, my friend, to himself! But what makes you doubt it?”
+
+“I was afraid I had made a mistake in the chamber, and that I had found
+my way into the apartment of some churchman. Then another error seized
+me on seeing you in company with these gentlemen—I was afraid you were
+dangerously ill.”
+
+The two men in black, who guessed D’Artagnan’s meaning, darted at him a
+glance which might have been thought threatening; but D’Artagnan took
+no heed of it.
+
+“I disturb you, perhaps, my dear Aramis,” continued D’Artagnan, “for by
+what I see, I am led to believe that you are confessing to these
+gentlemen.”
+
+Aramis colored imperceptibly. “You disturb me? Oh, quite the contrary,
+dear friend, I swear; and as a proof of what I say, permit me to
+declare I am rejoiced to see you safe and sound.”
+
+“Ah, he’ll come round,” thought D’Artagnan; “that’s not bad!”
+
+“This gentleman, who is my friend, has just escaped from a serious
+danger,” continued Aramis, with unction, pointing to D’Artagnan with
+his hand, and addressing the two ecclesiastics.
+
+“Praise God, monsieur,” replied they, bowing together.
+
+“I have not failed to do so, your Reverences,” replied the young man,
+returning their salutation.
+
+“You arrive in good time, dear D’Artagnan,” said Aramis, “and by taking
+part in our discussion may assist us with your intelligence. Monsieur
+the Principal of Amiens, Monsieur the Curate of Montdidier, and I are
+arguing certain theological questions in which we have been much
+interested; I shall be delighted to have your opinion.”
+
+“The opinion of a swordsman can have very little weight,” replied
+D’Artagnan, who began to be uneasy at the turn things were taking, “and
+you had better be satisfied, believe me, with the knowledge of these
+gentlemen.”
+
+The two men in black bowed in their turn.
+
+“On the contrary,” replied Aramis, “your opinion will be very valuable.
+The question is this: Monsieur the Principal thinks that my thesis
+ought to be dogmatic and didactic.”
+
+“Your thesis! Are you then making a thesis?”
+
+“Without doubt,” replied the Jesuit. “In the examination which precedes
+ordination, a thesis is always a requisite.”
+
+“Ordination!” cried D’Artagnan, who could not believe what the hostess
+and Bazin had successively told him; and he gazed, half stupefied, upon
+the three persons before him.
+
+“Now,” continued Aramis, taking the same graceful position in his easy
+chair that he would have assumed in bed, and complacently examining his
+hand, which was as white and plump as that of a woman, and which he
+held in the air to cause the blood to descend, “now, as you have heard,
+D’Artagnan, Monsieur the Principal is desirous that my thesis should be
+dogmatic, while I, for my part, would rather it should be ideal. This
+is the reason why Monsieur the Principal has proposed to me the
+following subject, which has not yet been treated upon, and in which I
+perceive there is matter for magnificent elaboration—‘_Utraque manus in
+benedicendo clericis inferioribus necessaria est_.’”
+
+D’Artagnan, whose erudition we are well acquainted with, evinced no
+more interest on hearing this quotation than he had at that of M. de
+Tréville in allusion to the gifts he pretended that D’Artagnan had
+received from the Duke of Buckingham.
+
+“Which means,” resumed Aramis, that he might perfectly understand,
+“‘The two hands are indispensable for priests of the inferior orders,
+when they bestow the benediction.’”
+
+“An admirable subject!” cried the Jesuit.
+
+“Admirable and dogmatic!” repeated the curate, who, about as strong as
+D’Artagnan with respect to Latin, carefully watched the Jesuit in order
+to keep step with him, and repeated his words like an echo.
+
+As to D’Artagnan, he remained perfectly insensible to the enthusiasm of
+the two men in black.
+
+“Yes, admirable! _prorsus admirabile!_” continued Aramis; “but which
+requires a profound study of both the Scriptures and the Fathers. Now,
+I have confessed to these learned ecclesiastics, and that in all
+humility, that the duties of mounting guard and the service of the king
+have caused me to neglect study a little. I should find myself,
+therefore, more at my ease, _facilius natans_, in a subject of my own
+choice, which would be to these hard theological questions what morals
+are to metaphysics in philosophy.”
+
+D’Artagnan began to be tired, and so did the curate.
+
+“See what an exordium!” cried the Jesuit.
+
+“Exordium,” repeated the curate, for the sake of saying something.
+“_Quemadmodum inter cœlorum immensitatem_.”
+
+Aramis cast a glance upon D’Artagnan to see what effect all this
+produced, and found his friend gaping enough to split his jaws.
+
+“Let us speak French, my father,” said he to the Jesuit; “Monsieur
+d’Artagnan will enjoy our conversation better.”
+
+“Yes,” replied D’Artagnan; “I am fatigued with reading, and all this
+Latin confuses me.”
+
+“Certainly,” replied the Jesuit, a little put out, while the curate,
+greatly delighted, turned upon D’Artagnan a look full of gratitude.
+“Well, let us see what is to be derived from this gloss. Moses, the
+servant of God—he was but a servant, please to understand—Moses blessed
+with the hands; he held out both his arms while the Hebrews beat their
+enemies, and then he blessed them with his two hands. Besides, what
+does the Gospel say? _Imponite manus_, and not _manum_—place the
+_hands_, not the _hand_.”
+
+“Place the _hands_,” repeated the curate, with a gesture.
+
+“St. Peter, on the contrary, of whom the Popes are the successors,”
+continued the Jesuit; “_porrige digitos_—present the fingers. Are you
+there, now?”
+
+“_Certes_,” replied Aramis, in a pleased tone, “but the thing is
+subtle.”
+
+“The _fingers_,” resumed the Jesuit, “St. Peter blessed with the
+_fingers_. The Pope, therefore blesses with the fingers. And with how
+many fingers does he bless? With _three_ fingers, to be sure—one for
+the Father, one for the Son, and one for the Holy Ghost.”
+
+All crossed themselves. D’Artagnan thought it was proper to follow this
+example.
+
+“The Pope is the successor of St. Peter, and represents the three
+divine powers; the rest—_ordines inferiores_—of the ecclesiastical
+hierarchy bless in the name of the holy archangels and angels. The most
+humble clerks such as our deacons and sacristans, bless with holy water
+sprinklers, which resemble an infinite number of blessing fingers.
+There is the subject simplified. _Argumentum omni denudatum ornamento_.
+I could make of that subject two volumes the size of this,” continued
+the Jesuit; and in his enthusiasm he struck a St. Chrysostom in folio,
+which made the table bend beneath its weight.
+
+D’Artagnan trembled.
+
+“_Certes_,” said Aramis, “I do justice to the beauties of this thesis;
+but at the same time I perceive it would be overwhelming for me. I had
+chosen this text—tell me, dear D’Artagnan, if it is not to your
+taste—‘_Non inutile est desiderium in oblatione_’; that is, ‘A little
+regret is not unsuitable in an offering to the Lord.’”
+
+“Stop there!” cried the Jesuit, “for that thesis touches closely upon
+heresy. There is a proposition almost like it in the _Augustinus_ of
+the heresiarch Jansenius, whose book will sooner or later be burned by
+the hands of the executioner. Take care, my young friend. You are
+inclining toward false doctrines, my young friend; you will be lost.”
+
+“You will be lost,” said the curate, shaking his head sorrowfully.
+
+“You approach that famous point of free will which is a mortal rock.
+You face the insinuations of the Pelagians and the semi-Pelagians.”
+
+“But, my Reverend—” replied Aramis, a little amazed by the shower of
+arguments that poured upon his head.
+
+“How will you prove,” continued the Jesuit, without allowing him time
+to speak, “that we ought to regret the world when we offer ourselves to
+God? Listen to this dilemma: God is God, and the world is the devil. To
+regret the world is to regret the devil; that is my conclusion.”
+
+“And that is mine also,” said the curate.
+
+“But, for heaven’s sake—” resumed Aramis.
+
+“_Desideras diabolum_, unhappy man!” cried the Jesuit.
+
+“He regrets the devil! Ah, my young friend,” added the curate,
+groaning, “do not regret the devil, I implore you!”
+
+D’Artagnan felt himself bewildered. It seemed to him as though he were
+in a madhouse, and was becoming as mad as those he saw. He was,
+however, forced to hold his tongue from not comprehending half the
+language they employed.
+
+“But listen to me, then,” resumed Aramis with politeness mingled with a
+little impatience. “I do not say I regret; no, I will never pronounce
+that sentence, which would not be orthodox.”
+
+The Jesuit raised his hands toward heaven, and the curate did the same.
+
+“No; but pray grant me that it is acting with an ill grace to offer to
+the Lord only that with which we are perfectly disgusted! Don’t you
+think so, D’Artagnan?”
+
+“I think so, indeed,” cried he.
+
+The Jesuit and the curate quite started from their chairs.
+
+“This is the point of departure; it is a syllogism. The world is not
+wanting in attractions. I quit the world; then I make a sacrifice. Now,
+the Scripture says positively, ‘Make a sacrifice unto the Lord.’”
+
+“That is true,” said his antagonists.
+
+“And then,” said Aramis, pinching his ear to make it red, as he rubbed
+his hands to make them white, “and then I made a certain _rondeau_ upon
+it last year, which I showed to Monsieur Voiture, and that great man
+paid me a thousand compliments.”
+
+“A _rondeau!_” said the Jesuit, disdainfully.
+
+“A _rondeau!_” said the curate, mechanically.
+
+“Repeat it! Repeat it!” cried D’Artagnan; “it will make a little
+change.”
+
+“Not so, for it is religious,” replied Aramis; “it is theology in
+verse.”
+
+“The devil!” said D’Artagnan.
+
+“Here it is,” said Aramis, with a little look of diffidence, which,
+however, was not exempt from a shade of hypocrisy:
+
+“Vous qui pleurez un passé plein de charmes,
+    Et qui trainez des jours infortunés,
+    Tous vos malheurs se verront terminés,
+Quand à Dieu seul vous offrirez vos larmes,
+        Vous qui pleurez!”
+
+
+“You who weep for pleasures fled,
+    While dragging on a life of care,
+    All your woes will melt in air,
+If to God your tears are shed,
+        You who weep!”
+
+
+D’Artagnan and the curate appeared pleased. The Jesuit persisted in his
+opinion. “Beware of a profane taste in your theological style. What
+says Augustine on this subject: ‘_Severus sit clericorum verbo_.’”
+
+“Yes, let the sermon be clear,” said the curate.
+
+“Now,” hastily interrupted the Jesuit, on seeing that his acolyte was
+going astray, “now your thesis would please the ladies; it would have
+the success of one of Monsieur Patru’s pleadings.”
+
+“Please God!” cried Aramis, transported.
+
+“There it is,” cried the Jesuit; “the world still speaks within you in
+a loud voice, _altisimâ voce_. You follow the world, my young friend,
+and I tremble lest grace prove not efficacious.”
+
+“Be satisfied, my reverend father, I can answer for myself.”
+
+“Mundane presumption!”
+
+“I know myself, Father; my resolution is irrevocable.”
+
+“Then you persist in continuing that thesis?”
+
+“I feel myself called upon to treat that, and no other. I will see
+about the continuation of it, and tomorrow I hope you will be satisfied
+with the corrections I shall have made in consequence of your advice.”
+
+“Work slowly,” said the curate; “we leave you in an excellent tone of
+mind.”
+
+“Yes, the ground is all sown,” said the Jesuit, “and we have not to
+fear that one portion of the seed may have fallen upon stone, another
+upon the highway, or that the birds of heaven have eaten the rest,
+_aves cœli comederunt illam_.”
+
+“Plague stifle you and your Latin!” said D’Artagnan, who began to feel
+all his patience exhausted.
+
+“Farewell, my son,” said the curate, “till tomorrow.”
+
+“Till tomorrow, rash youth,” said the Jesuit. “You promise to become
+one of the lights of the Church. Heaven grant that this light prove not
+a devouring fire!”
+
+D’Artagnan, who for an hour past had been gnawing his nails with
+impatience, was beginning to attack the quick.
+
+The two men in black rose, bowed to Aramis and D’Artagnan, and advanced
+toward the door. Bazin, who had been standing listening to all this
+controversy with a pious jubilation, sprang toward them, took the
+breviary of the curate and the missal of the Jesuit, and walked
+respectfully before them to clear their way.
+
+Aramis conducted them to the foot of the stairs, and then immediately
+came up again to D’Artagnan, whose senses were still in a state of
+confusion.
+
+When left alone, the two friends at first kept an embarrassed silence.
+It however became necessary for one of them to break it first, and as
+D’Artagnan appeared determined to leave that honor to his companion,
+Aramis said, “you see that I am returned to my fundamental ideas.”
+
+“Yes, efficacious grace has touched you, as that gentleman said just
+now.”
+
+“Oh, these plans of retreat have been formed for a long time. You have
+often heard me speak of them, have you not, my friend?”
+
+“Yes; but I confess I always thought you jested.”
+
+“With such things! Oh, D’Artagnan!”
+
+“The devil! Why, people jest with death.”
+
+“And people are wrong, D’Artagnan; for death is the door which leads to
+perdition or to salvation.”
+
+“Granted; but if you please, let us not theologize, Aramis. You must
+have had enough for today. As for me, I have almost forgotten the
+little Latin I have ever known. Then I confess to you that I have eaten
+nothing since ten o’clock this morning, and I am devilish hungry.”
+
+“We will dine directly, my friend; only you must please to remember
+that this is Friday. Now, on such a day I can neither eat flesh nor see
+it eaten. If you can be satisfied with my dinner—it consists of cooked
+tetragones and fruits.”
+
+“What do you mean by tetragones?” asked D’Artagnan, uneasily.
+
+“I mean spinach,” replied Aramis; “but on your account I will add some
+eggs, and that is a serious infraction of the rule—for eggs are meat,
+since they engender chickens.”
+
+“This feast is not very succulent; but never mind, I will put up with
+it for the sake of remaining with you.”
+
+“I am grateful to you for the sacrifice,” said Aramis; “but if your
+body be not greatly benefited by it, be assured your soul will.”
+
+“And so, Aramis, you are decidedly going into the Church? What will our
+two friends say? What will Monsieur de Tréville say? They will treat
+you as a deserter, I warn you.”
+
+“I do not enter the Church; I re-enter it. I deserted the Church for
+the world, for you know that I forced myself when I became a
+Musketeer.”
+
+“I? I know nothing about it.”
+
+“You don’t know I quit the seminary?”
+
+“Not at all.”
+
+“This is my story, then. Besides, the Scriptures say, ‘Confess
+yourselves to one another,’ and I confess to you, D’Artagnan.”
+
+“And I give you absolution beforehand. You see I am a good sort of a
+man.”
+
+“Do not jest about holy things, my friend.”
+
+“Go on, then, I listen.”
+
+“I had been at the seminary from nine years old; in three days I should
+have been twenty. I was about to become an abbé, and all was arranged.
+One evening I went, according to custom, to a house which I frequented
+with much pleasure: when one is young, what can be expected?—one is
+weak. An officer who saw me, with a jealous eye, reading the _Lives of
+the Saints_ to the mistress of the house, entered suddenly and without
+being announced. That evening I had translated an episode of Judith,
+and had just communicated my verses to the lady, who gave me all sorts
+of compliments, and leaning on my shoulder, was reading them a second
+time with me. Her pose, which I must admit was rather free, wounded
+this officer. He said nothing; but when I went out he followed, and
+quickly came up with me. ‘Monsieur the Abbé,’ said he, ‘do you like
+blows with a cane?’ ‘I cannot say, monsieur,’ answered I; ‘no one has
+ever dared to give me any.’ ‘Well, listen to me, then, Monsieur the
+Abbé! If you venture again into the house in which I have met you this
+evening, I will dare it myself.’ I really think I must have been
+frightened. I became very pale; I felt my legs fail me; I sought for a
+reply, but could find none—I was silent. The officer waited for his
+reply, and seeing it so long coming, he burst into a laugh, turned upon
+his heel, and re-entered the house. I returned to the seminary.
+
+“I am a gentleman born, and my blood is warm, as you may have remarked,
+my dear D’Artagnan. The insult was terrible, and although unknown to
+the rest of the world, I felt it live and fester at the bottom of my
+heart. I informed my superiors that I did not feel myself sufficiently
+prepared for ordination, and at my request the ceremony was postponed
+for a year. I sought out the best fencing master in Paris, I made an
+agreement with him to take a lesson every day, and every day for a year
+I took that lesson. Then, on the anniversary of the day on which I had
+been insulted, I hung my cassock on a peg, assumed the costume of a
+cavalier, and went to a ball given by a lady friend of mine and to
+which I knew my man was invited. It was in the Rue des
+France-Bourgeois, close to La Force. As I expected, my officer was
+there. I went up to him as he was singing a love ditty and looking
+tenderly at a lady, and interrupted him exactly in the middle of the
+second couplet. ‘Monsieur,’ said I, ‘does it still displease you that I
+should frequent a certain house of La Rue Payenne? And would you still
+cane me if I took it into my head to disobey you? The officer looked at
+me with astonishment, and then said, ‘What is your business with me,
+monsieur? I do not know you.’ ‘I am,’ said I, ‘the little abbé who
+reads _Lives of the Saints_, and translates Judith into verse.’ ‘Ah,
+ah! I recollect now,’ said the officer, in a jeering tone; ‘well, what
+do you want with me?’ ‘I want you to spare time to take a walk with
+me.’ ‘Tomorrow morning, if you like, with the greatest pleasure.’ ‘No,
+not tomorrow morning, if you please, but immediately.’ ‘If you
+absolutely insist.’ ‘I do insist upon it.’ ‘Come, then. Ladies,’ said
+the officer, ‘do not disturb yourselves; allow me time just to kill
+this gentleman, and I will return and finish the last couplet.’
+
+“We went out. I took him to the Rue Payenne, to exactly the same spot
+where, a year before, at the very same hour, he had paid me the
+compliment I have related to you. It was a superb moonlight night. We
+immediately drew, and at the first pass I laid him stark dead.”
+
+“The devil!” cried D’Artagnan.
+
+“Now,” continued Aramis, “as the ladies did not see the singer come
+back, and as he was found in the Rue Payenne with a great sword wound
+through his body, it was supposed that I had accommodated him thus; and
+the matter created some scandal which obliged me to renounce the
+cassock for a time. Athos, whose acquaintance I made about that period,
+and Porthos, who had in addition to my lessons taught me some effective
+tricks of fence, prevailed upon me to solicit the uniform of a
+Musketeer. The king entertained great regard for my father, who had
+fallen at the siege of Arras, and the uniform was granted. You may
+understand that the moment has come for me to re-enter the bosom of the
+Church.”
+
+“And why today, rather than yesterday or tomorrow? What has happened to
+you today, to raise all these melancholy ideas?”
+
+“This wound, my dear D’Artagnan, has been a warning to me from heaven.”
+
+“This wound? Bah, it is now nearly healed, and I am sure it is not that
+which gives you the most pain.”
+
+“What, then?” said Aramis, blushing.
+
+“You have one at heart, Aramis, one deeper and more painful—a wound
+made by a woman.”
+
+The eye of Aramis kindled in spite of himself.
+
+“Ah,” said he, dissembling his emotion under a feigned carelessness,
+“do not talk of such things, and suffer love pains? _Vanitas
+vanitatum!_ According to your idea, then, my brain is turned. And for
+whom—for some _grisette_, some chambermaid with whom I have trifled in
+some garrison? Fie!”
+
+“Pardon, my dear Aramis, but I thought you carried your eyes higher.”
+
+“Higher? And who am I, to nourish such ambition? A poor Musketeer, a
+beggar, an unknown—who hates slavery, and finds himself ill-placed in
+the world.”
+
+“Aramis, Aramis!” cried D’Artagnan, looking at his friend with an air
+of doubt.
+
+“Dust I am, and to dust I return. Life is full of humiliations and
+sorrows,” continued he, becoming still more melancholy; “all the ties
+which attach him to life break in the hand of man, particularly the
+golden ties. Oh, my dear D’Artagnan,” resumed Aramis, giving to his
+voice a slight tone of bitterness, “trust me! Conceal your wounds when
+you have any; silence is the last joy of the unhappy. Beware of giving
+anyone the clue to your griefs; the curious suck our tears as flies
+suck the blood of a wounded hart.”
+
+“Alas, my dear Aramis,” said D’Artagnan, in his turn heaving a profound
+sigh, “that is my story you are relating!”
+
+“How?”
+
+“Yes; a woman whom I love, whom I adore, has just been torn from me by
+force. I do not know where she is or whither they have conducted her.
+She is perhaps a prisoner; she is perhaps dead!”
+
+“Yes, but you have at least this consolation, that you can say to
+yourself she has not quit you voluntarily, that if you learn no news of
+her, it is because all communication with you is interdicted; while I—”
+
+“Well?”
+
+“Nothing,” replied Aramis, “nothing.”
+
+“So you renounce the world, then, forever; that is a settled thing—a
+resolution registered!”
+
+“Forever! You are my friend today; tomorrow you will be no more to me
+than a shadow, or rather, even, you will no longer exist. As for the
+world, it is a sepulcher and nothing else.”
+
+“The devil! All this is very sad which you tell me.”
+
+“What will you? My vocation commands me; it carries me away.”
+
+D’Artagnan smiled, but made no answer.
+
+Aramis continued, “And yet, while I do belong to the earth, I wish to
+speak of you—of our friends.”
+
+“And on my part,” said D’Artagnan, “I wished to speak of you, but I
+find you so completely detached from everything! To love you cry, ‘Fie!
+Friends are shadows! The world is a sepulcher!’”
+
+“Alas, you will find it so yourself,” said Aramis, with a sigh.
+
+“Well, then, let us say no more about it,” said D’Artagnan; “and let us
+burn this letter, which, no doubt, announces to you some fresh
+infidelity of your _grisette_ or your chambermaid.”
+
+“What letter?” cried Aramis, eagerly.
+
+“A letter which was sent to your abode in your absence, and which was
+given to me for you.”
+
+“But from whom is that letter?”
+
+“Oh, from some heartbroken waiting woman, some desponding _grisette;_
+from Madame de Chevreuse’s chambermaid, perhaps, who was obliged to
+return to Tours with her mistress, and who, in order to appear smart
+and attractive, stole some perfumed paper, and sealed her letter with a
+duchess’s coronet.”
+
+“What do you say?”
+
+“Hold! I must have lost it,” said the young man maliciously, pretending
+to search for it. “But fortunately the world is a sepulcher; the men,
+and consequently the women, are but shadows, and love is a sentiment to
+which you cry, ‘Fie! Fie!’”
+
+“D’Artagnan, D’Artagnan,” cried Aramis, “you are killing me!”
+
+“Well, here it is at last!” said D’Artagnan, as he drew the letter from
+his pocket.
+
+Aramis made a bound, seized the letter, read it, or rather devoured it,
+his countenance radiant.
+
+“This same waiting maid seems to have an agreeable style,” said the
+messenger, carelessly.
+
+“Thanks, D’Artagnan, thanks!” cried Aramis, almost in a state of
+delirium. “She was forced to return to Tours; she is not faithless; she
+still loves me! Come, my friend, come, let me embrace you. Happiness
+almost stifles me!”
+
+The two friends began to dance around the venerable St. Chrysostom,
+kicking about famously the sheets of the thesis, which had fallen on
+the floor.
+
+At that moment Bazin entered with the spinach and the omelet.
+
+“Be off, you wretch!” cried Aramis, throwing his skullcap in his face.
+“Return whence you came; take back those horrible vegetables, and that
+poor kickshaw! Order a larded hare, a fat capon, mutton leg dressed
+with garlic, and four bottles of old Burgundy.”
+
+Bazin, who looked at his master, without comprehending the cause of
+this change, in a melancholy manner, allowed the omelet to slip into
+the spinach, and the spinach onto the floor.
+
+“Now this is the moment to consecrate your existence to the King of
+kings,” said D’Artagnan, “if you persist in offering him a civility.
+_Non inutile desiderium oblatione_.”
+
+“Go to the devil with your Latin. Let us drink, my dear D’Artagnan,
+_morbleu!_ Let us drink while the wine is fresh! Let us drink heartily,
+and while we do so, tell me a little of what is going on in the world
+yonder.”
+
+
+
+
+Chapter XXVII.
+THE WIFE OF ATHOS
+
+
+We have now to search for Athos,” said D’Artagnan to the vivacious
+Aramis, when he had informed him of all that had passed since their
+departure from the capital, and an excellent dinner had made one of
+them forget his thesis and the other his fatigue.
+
+“Do you think, then, that any harm can have happened to him?” asked
+Aramis. “Athos is so cool, so brave, and handles his sword so
+skillfully.”
+
+“No doubt. Nobody has a higher opinion of the courage and skill of
+Athos than I have; but I like better to hear my sword clang against
+lances than against staves. I fear lest Athos should have been beaten
+down by serving men. Those fellows strike hard, and don’t leave off in
+a hurry. This is why I wish to set out again as soon as possible.”
+
+“I will try to accompany you,” said Aramis, “though I scarcely feel in
+a condition to mount on horseback. Yesterday I undertook to employ that
+cord which you see hanging against the wall, but pain prevented my
+continuing the pious exercise.”
+
+“That’s the first time I ever heard of anybody trying to cure gunshot
+wounds with cat-o’-nine-tails; but you were ill, and illness renders
+the head weak, therefore you may be excused.”
+
+“When do you mean to set out?”
+
+“Tomorrow at daybreak. Sleep as soundly as you can tonight, and
+tomorrow, if you can, we will take our departure together.”
+
+“Till tomorrow, then,” said Aramis; “for iron-nerved as you are, you
+must need repose.”
+
+The next morning, when D’Artagnan entered Aramis’s chamber, he found
+him at the window.
+
+“What are you looking at?” asked D’Artagnan.
+
+“My faith! I am admiring three magnificent horses which the stable boys
+are leading about. It would be a pleasure worthy of a prince to travel
+upon such horses.”
+
+“Well, my dear Aramis, you may enjoy that pleasure, for one of those
+three horses is yours.”
+
+“Ah, bah! Which?”
+
+“Whichever of the three you like, I have no preference.”
+
+“And the rich caparison, is that mine, too?”
+
+“Without doubt.”
+
+“You laugh, D’Artagnan.”
+
+“No, I have left off laughing, now that you speak French.”
+
+“What, those rich holsters, that velvet housing, that saddle studded
+with silver—are they all for me?”
+
+“For you and nobody else, as the horse which paws the ground is mine,
+and the other horse, which is caracoling, belongs to Athos.”
+
+“_Peste!_ They are three superb animals!”
+
+“I am glad they please you.”
+
+“Why, it must have been the king who made you such a present.”
+
+“Certainly it was not the cardinal; but don’t trouble yourself whence
+they come, think only that one of the three is your property.”
+
+“I choose that which the red-headed boy is leading.”
+
+“It is yours!”
+
+“Good heaven! That is enough to drive away all my pains; I could mount
+him with thirty balls in my body. On my soul, handsome stirrups!
+_Holà_, Bazin, come here this minute.”
+
+Bazin appeared on the threshold, dull and spiritless.
+
+“That last order is useless,” interrupted D’Artagnan; “there are loaded
+pistols in your holsters.”
+
+Bazin sighed.
+
+“Come, Monsieur Bazin, make yourself easy,” said D’Artagnan; “people of
+all conditions gain the kingdom of heaven.”
+
+“Monsieur was already such a good theologian,” said Bazin, almost
+weeping; “he might have become a bishop, and perhaps a cardinal.”
+
+“Well, but my poor Bazin, reflect a little. Of what use is it to be a
+churchman, pray? You do not avoid going to war by that means; you see,
+the cardinal is about to make the next campaign, helm on head and
+partisan in hand. And Monsieur de Nogaret de la Valette, what do you
+say of him? He is a cardinal likewise. Ask his lackey how often he has
+had to prepare lint of him.”
+
+“Alas!” sighed Bazin. “I know it, monsieur; everything is turned
+topsy-turvy in the world nowadays.”
+
+While this dialogue was going on, the two young men and the poor lackey
+descended.
+
+“Hold my stirrup, Bazin,” cried Aramis; and Aramis sprang into the
+saddle with his usual grace and agility, but after a few vaults and
+curvets of the noble animal his rider felt his pains come on so
+insupportably that he turned pale and became unsteady in his seat.
+D’Artagnan, who, foreseeing such an event, had kept his eye on him,
+sprang toward him, caught him in his arms, and assisted him to his
+chamber.
+
+“That’s all right, my dear Aramis, take care of yourself,” said he; “I
+will go alone in search of Athos.”
+
+“You are a man of brass,” replied Aramis.
+
+“No, I have good luck, that is all. But how do you mean to pass your
+time till I come back? No more theses, no more glosses upon the fingers
+or upon benedictions, hey?”
+
+Aramis smiled. “I will make verses,” said he.
+
+“Yes, I dare say; verses perfumed with the odor of the billet from the
+attendant of Madame de Chevreuse. Teach Bazin prosody; that will
+console him. As to the horse, ride him a little every day, and that
+will accustom you to his maneuvers.”
+
+“Oh, make yourself easy on that head,” replied Aramis. “You will find
+me ready to follow you.”
+
+They took leave of each other, and in ten minutes, after having
+commended his friend to the cares of the hostess and Bazin, D’Artagnan
+was trotting along in the direction of Amiens.
+
+How was he going to find Athos? Should he find him at all? The position
+in which he had left him was critical. He probably had succumbed. This
+idea, while darkening his brow, drew several sighs from him, and caused
+him to formulate to himself a few vows of vengeance. Of all his
+friends, Athos was the eldest, and the least resembling him in
+appearance, in his tastes and sympathies.
+
+Yet he entertained a marked preference for this gentleman. The noble
+and distinguished air of Athos, those flashes of greatness which from
+time to time broke out from the shade in which he voluntarily kept
+himself, that unalterable equality of temper which made him the most
+pleasant companion in the world, that forced and cynical gaiety, that
+bravery which might have been termed blind if it had not been the
+result of the rarest coolness—such qualities attracted more than the
+esteem, more than the friendship of D’Artagnan; they attracted his
+admiration.
+
+Indeed, when placed beside M. de Tréville, the elegant and noble
+courtier, Athos in his most cheerful days might advantageously sustain
+a comparison. He was of middle height; but his person was so admirably
+shaped and so well proportioned that more than once in his struggles
+with Porthos he had overcome the giant whose physical strength was
+proverbial among the Musketeers. His head, with piercing eyes, a
+straight nose, a chin cut like that of Brutus, had altogether an
+indefinable character of grandeur and grace. His hands, of which he
+took little care, were the despair of Aramis, who cultivated his with
+almond paste and perfumed oil. The sound of his voice was at once
+penetrating and melodious; and then, that which was inconceivable in
+Athos, who was always retiring, was that delicate knowledge of the
+world and of the usages of the most brilliant society—those manners of
+a high degree which appeared, as if unconsciously to himself, in his
+least actions.
+
+If a repast were on foot, Athos presided over it better than any other,
+placing every guest exactly in the rank which his ancestors had earned
+for him or that he had made for himself. If a question in heraldry were
+started, Athos knew all the noble families of the kingdom, their
+genealogy, their alliances, their coats of arms, and the origin of
+them. Etiquette had no minutiæ unknown to him. He knew what were the
+rights of the great land owners. He was profoundly versed in hunting
+and falconry, and had one day when conversing on this great art
+astonished even Louis XIII. himself, who took a pride in being
+considered a past master therein.
+
+Like all the great nobles of that period, Athos rode and fenced to
+perfection. But still further, his education had been so little
+neglected, even with respect to scholastic studies, so rare at this
+time among gentlemen, that he smiled at the scraps of Latin which
+Aramis sported and which Porthos pretended to understand. Two or three
+times, even, to the great astonishment of his friends, he had, when
+Aramis allowed some rudimental error to escape him, replaced a verb in
+its right tense and a noun in its case. Besides, his probity was
+irreproachable, in an age in which soldiers compromised so easily with
+their religion and their consciences, lovers with the rigorous delicacy
+of our era, and the poor with God’s Seventh Commandment. This Athos,
+then, was a very extraordinary man.
+
+And yet this nature so distinguished, this creature so beautiful, this
+essence so fine, was seen to turn insensibly toward material life, as
+old men turn toward physical and moral imbecility. Athos, in his hours
+of gloom—and these hours were frequent—was extinguished as to the whole
+of the luminous portion of him, and his brilliant side disappeared as
+into profound darkness.
+
+Then the demigod vanished; he remained scarcely a man. His head hanging
+down, his eye dull, his speech slow and painful, Athos would look for
+hours together at his bottle, his glass, or at Grimaud, who, accustomed
+to obey him by signs, read in the faint glance of his master his least
+desire, and satisfied it immediately. If the four friends were
+assembled at one of these moments, a word, thrown forth occasionally
+with a violent effort, was the share Athos furnished to the
+conversation. In exchange for his silence Athos drank enough for four,
+and without appearing to be otherwise affected by wine than by a more
+marked constriction of the brow and by a deeper sadness.
+
+D’Artagnan, whose inquiring disposition we are acquainted with, had
+not—whatever interest he had in satisfying his curiosity on this
+subject—been able to assign any cause for these fits, or for the
+periods of their recurrence. Athos never received any letters; Athos
+never had concerns which all his friends did not know.
+
+It could not be said that it was wine which produced this sadness; for
+in truth he only drank to combat this sadness, which wine however, as
+we have said, rendered still darker. This excess of bilious humor could
+not be attributed to play; for unlike Porthos, who accompanied the
+variations of chance with songs or oaths, Athos when he won remained as
+unmoved as when he lost. He had been known, in the circle of the
+Musketeers, to win in one night three thousand pistoles; to lose them
+even to the gold-embroidered belt for gala days, win all this again
+with the addition of a hundred louis, without his beautiful eyebrow
+being heightened or lowered half a line, without his hands losing their
+pearly hue, without his conversation, which was cheerful that evening,
+ceasing to be calm and agreeable.
+
+Neither was it, as with our neighbors, the English, an atmospheric
+influence which darkened his countenance; for the sadness generally
+became more intense toward the fine season of the year. June and July
+were the terrible months with Athos.
+
+For the present he had no anxiety. He shrugged his shoulders when
+people spoke of the future. His secret, then, was in the past, as had
+often been vaguely said to D’Artagnan.
+
+This mysterious shade, spread over his whole person, rendered still
+more interesting the man whose eyes or mouth, even in the most complete
+intoxication, had never revealed anything, however skillfully questions
+had been put to him.
+
+“Well,” thought D’Artagnan, “poor Athos is perhaps at this moment dead,
+and dead by my fault—for it was I who dragged him into this affair, of
+which he did not know the origin, of which he is ignorant of the
+result, and from which he can derive no advantage.”
+
+“Without reckoning, monsieur,” added Planchet to his master’s audibly
+expressed reflections, “that we perhaps owe our lives to him. Do you
+remember how he cried, ‘On, D’Artagnan, on, I am taken’? And when he
+had discharged his two pistols, what a terrible noise he made with his
+sword! One might have said that twenty men, or rather twenty mad
+devils, were fighting.”
+
+These words redoubled the eagerness of D’Artagnan, who urged his horse,
+though he stood in need of no incitement, and they proceeded at a rapid
+pace. About eleven o’clock in the morning they perceived Amiens, and at
+half past eleven they were at the door of the cursed inn.
+
+D’Artagnan had often meditated against the perfidious host one of those
+hearty vengeances which offer consolation while they are hoped for. He
+entered the hostelry with his hat pulled over his eyes, his left hand
+on the pommel of the sword, and cracking his whip with his right hand.
+
+“Do you remember me?” said he to the host, who advanced to greet him.
+
+“I have not that honor, monseigneur,” replied the latter, his eyes
+dazzled by the brilliant style in which D’Artagnan traveled.
+
+“What, you don’t know me?”
+
+“No, monseigneur.”
+
+“Well, two words will refresh your memory. What have you done with that
+gentleman against whom you had the audacity, about twelve days ago, to
+make an accusation of passing false money?”
+
+The host became as pale as death; for D’Artagnan had assumed a
+threatening attitude, and Planchet modeled himself after his master.
+
+“Ah, monseigneur, do not mention it!” cried the host, in the most
+pitiable voice imaginable. “Ah, monseigneur, how dearly have I paid for
+that fault, unhappy wretch as I am!”
+
+“That gentleman, I say, what has become of him?”
+
+“Deign to listen to me, monseigneur, and be merciful! Sit down, in
+mercy!”
+
+D’Artagnan, mute with anger and anxiety, took a seat in the threatening
+attitude of a judge. Planchet glared fiercely over the back of his
+armchair.
+
+“Here is the story, monseigneur,” resumed the trembling host; “for I
+now recollect you. It was you who rode off at the moment I had that
+unfortunate difference with the gentleman you speak of.”
+
+“Yes, it was I; so you may plainly perceive that you have no mercy to
+expect if you do not tell me the whole truth.”
+
+“Condescend to listen to me, and you shall know all.”
+
+“I listen.”
+
+“I had been warned by the authorities that a celebrated coiner of bad
+money would arrive at my inn, with several of his companions, all
+disguised as Guards or Musketeers. Monseigneur, I was furnished with a
+description of your horses, your lackeys, your countenances—nothing was
+omitted.”
+
+“Go on, go on!” said D’Artagnan, who quickly understood whence such an
+exact description had come.
+
+“I took then, in conformity with the orders of the authorities, who
+sent me a reinforcement of six men, such measures as I thought
+necessary to get possession of the persons of the pretended coiners.”
+
+“Again!” said D’Artagnan, whose ears chafed terribly under the
+repetition of this word _coiners_.
+
+“Pardon me, monseigneur, for saying such things, but they form my
+excuse. The authorities had terrified me, and you know that an
+innkeeper must keep on good terms with the authorities.”
+
+“But once again, that gentleman—where is he? What has become of him? Is
+he dead? Is he living?”
+
+“Patience, monseigneur, we are coming to it. There happened then that
+which you know, and of which your precipitate departure,” added the
+host, with an acuteness that did not escape D’Artagnan, “appeared to
+authorize the issue. That gentleman, your friend, defended himself
+desperately. His lackey, who, by an unforeseen piece of ill luck, had
+quarreled with the officers, disguised as stable lads—”
+
+“Miserable scoundrel!” cried D’Artagnan, “you were all in the plot,
+then! And I really don’t know what prevents me from exterminating you
+all.”
+
+“Alas, monseigneur, we were not in the plot, as you will soon see.
+Monsieur your friend (pardon for not calling him by the honorable name
+which no doubt he bears, but we do not know that name), Monsieur your
+friend, having disabled two men with his pistols, retreated fighting
+with his sword, with which he disabled one of my men, and stunned me
+with a blow of the flat side of it.”
+
+“You villain, will you finish?” cried D’Artagnan, “Athos—what has
+become of Athos?”
+
+“While fighting and retreating, as I have told Monseigneur, he found
+the door of the cellar stairs behind him, and as the door was open, he
+took out the key, and barricaded himself inside. As we were sure of
+finding him there, we left him alone.”
+
+“Yes,” said D’Artagnan, “you did not really wish to kill; you only
+wished to imprison him.”
+
+“Good God! To imprison him, monseigneur? Why, he imprisoned himself, I
+swear to you he did. In the first place he had made rough work of it;
+one man was killed on the spot, and two others were severely wounded.
+The dead man and the two wounded were carried off by their comrades,
+and I have heard nothing of either of them since. As for myself, as
+soon as I recovered my senses I went to Monsieur the Governor, to whom
+I related all that had passed, and asked, what I should do with my
+prisoner. Monsieur the Governor was all astonishment. He told me he
+knew nothing about the matter, that the orders I had received did not
+come from him, and that if I had the audacity to mention his name as
+being concerned in this disturbance he would have me hanged. It appears
+that I had made a mistake, monsieur, that I had arrested the wrong
+person, and that he whom I ought to have arrested had escaped.”
+
+“But Athos!” cried D’Artagnan, whose impatience was increased by the
+disregard of the authorities, “Athos, where is he?”
+
+“As I was anxious to repair the wrongs I had done the prisoner,”
+resumed the innkeeper, “I took my way straight to the cellar in order
+to set him at liberty. Ah, monsieur, he was no longer a man, he was a
+devil! To my offer of liberty, he replied that it was nothing but a
+snare, and that before he came out he intended to impose his own
+conditions. I told him very humbly—for I could not conceal from myself
+the scrape I had got into by laying hands on one of his Majesty’s
+Musketeers—I told him I was quite ready to submit to his conditions.
+
+“‘In the first place,’ said he, ‘I wish my lackey placed with me, fully
+armed.’ We hastened to obey this order; for you will please to
+understand, monsieur, we were disposed to do everything your friend
+could desire. Monsieur Grimaud (he told us his name, although he does
+not talk much)—Monsieur Grimaud, then, went down to the cellar, wounded
+as he was; then his master, having admitted him, barricaded the door
+afresh, and ordered us to remain quietly in our own bar.”
+
+“But where is Athos now?” cried D’Artagnan. “Where is Athos?”
+
+“In the cellar, monsieur.”
+
+“What, you scoundrel! Have you kept him in the cellar all this time?”
+
+“Merciful heaven! No, monsieur! We keep him in the cellar! You do not
+know what he is about in the cellar. Ah! If you could but persuade him
+to come out, monsieur, I should owe you the gratitude of my whole life;
+I should adore you as my patron saint!”
+
+“Then he is there? I shall find him there?”
+
+“Without doubt you will, monsieur; he persists in remaining there. We
+every day pass through the air hole some bread at the end of a fork,
+and some meat when he asks for it; but alas! It is not of bread and
+meat of which he makes the greatest consumption. I once endeavored to
+go down with two of my servants; but he flew into terrible rage. I
+heard the noise he made in loading his pistols, and his servant in
+loading his musketoon. Then, when we asked them what were their
+intentions, the master replied that he had forty charges to fire, and
+that he and his lackey would fire to the last one before he would allow
+a single soul of us to set foot in the cellar. Upon this I went and
+complained to the governor, who replied that I only had what I
+deserved, and that it would teach me to insult honorable gentlemen who
+took up their abode in my house.”
+
+“So that since that time—” replied D’Artagnan, totally unable to
+refrain from laughing at the pitiable face of the host.
+
+“So from that time, monsieur,” continued the latter, “we have led the
+most miserable life imaginable; for you must know, monsieur, that all
+our provisions are in the cellar. There is our wine in bottles, and our
+wine in casks; the beer, the oil, and the spices, the bacon, and
+sausages. And as we are prevented from going down there, we are forced
+to refuse food and drink to the travelers who come to the house; so
+that our hostelry is daily going to ruin. If your friend remains
+another week in my cellar I shall be a ruined man.”
+
+“And not more than justice, either, you ass! Could you not perceive by
+our appearance that we were people of quality, and not coiners—say?”
+
+“Yes, monsieur, you are right,” said the host. “But, hark, hark! There
+he is!”
+
+“Somebody has disturbed him, without doubt,” said D’Artagnan.
+
+“But he must be disturbed,” cried the host; “Here are two English
+gentlemen just arrived.”
+
+“Well?”
+
+“Well, the English like good wine, as you may know, monsieur; these
+have asked for the best. My wife has perhaps requested permission of
+Monsieur Athos to go into the cellar to satisfy these gentlemen; and
+he, as usual, has refused. Ah, good heaven! There is the hullabaloo
+louder than ever!”
+
+D’Artagnan, in fact, heard a great noise on the side next the cellar.
+He rose, and preceded by the host wringing his hands, and followed by
+Planchet with his musketoon ready for use, he approached the scene of
+action.
+
+The two gentlemen were exasperated; they had had a long ride, and were
+dying with hunger and thirst.
+
+“But this is tyranny!” cried one of them, in very good French, though
+with a foreign accent, “that this madman will not allow these good
+people access to their own wine! Nonsense, let us break open the door,
+and if he is too far gone in his madness, well, we will kill him!”
+
+“Softly, gentlemen!” said D’Artagnan, drawing his pistols from his
+belt, “you will kill nobody, if you please!”
+
+“Good, good!” cried the calm voice of Athos, from the other side of the
+door, “let them just come in, these devourers of little children, and
+we shall see!”
+
+Brave as they appeared to be, the two English gentlemen looked at each
+other hesitatingly. One might have thought there was in that cellar one
+of those famished ogres—the gigantic heroes of popular legends, into
+whose cavern nobody could force their way with impunity.
+
+There was a moment of silence; but at length the two Englishmen felt
+ashamed to draw back, and the angrier one descended the five or six
+steps which led to the cellar, and gave a kick against the door enough
+to split a wall.
+
+“Planchet,” said D’Artagnan, cocking his pistols, “I will take charge
+of the one at the top; you look to the one below. Ah, gentlemen, you
+want battle; and you shall have it.”
+
+“Good God!” cried the hollow voice of Athos, “I can hear D’Artagnan, I
+think.”
+
+“Yes,” cried D’Artagnan, raising his voice in turn, “I am here, my
+friend.”
+
+“Ah, good, then,” replied Athos, “we will teach them, these door
+breakers!”
+
+The gentlemen had drawn their swords, but they found themselves taken
+between two fires. They still hesitated an instant; but, as before,
+pride prevailed, and a second kick split the door from bottom to top.
+
+“Stand on one side, D’Artagnan, stand on one side,” cried Athos. “I am
+going to fire!”
+
+“Gentlemen,” exclaimed D’Artagnan, whom reflection never abandoned,
+“gentlemen, think of what you are about. Patience, Athos! You are
+running your heads into a very silly affair; you will be riddled. My
+lackey and I will have three shots at you, and you will get as many
+from the cellar. You will then have our swords, with which, I can
+assure you, my friend and I can play tolerably well. Let me conduct
+your business and my own. You shall soon have something to drink; I
+give you my word.”
+
+“If there is any left,” grumbled the jeering voice of Athos.
+
+The host felt a cold sweat creep down his back.
+
+“How! ‘If there is any left!’” murmured he.
+
+“What the devil! There must be plenty left,” replied D’Artagnan. “Be
+satisfied of that; these two cannot have drunk all the cellar.
+Gentlemen, return your swords to their scabbards.”
+
+“Well, provided you replace your pistols in your belt.”
+
+“Willingly.”
+
+And D’Artagnan set the example. Then, turning toward Planchet, he made
+him a sign to uncock his musketoon.
+
+The Englishmen, convinced of these peaceful proceedings, sheathed their
+swords grumblingly. The history of Athos’s imprisonment was then
+related to them; and as they were really gentlemen, they pronounced the
+host in the wrong.
+
+“Now, gentlemen,” said D’Artagnan, “go up to your room again; and in
+ten minutes, I will answer for it, you shall have all you desire.”
+
+The Englishmen bowed and went upstairs.
+
+“Now I am alone, my dear Athos,” said D’Artagnan; “open the door, I beg
+of you.”
+
+“Instantly,” said Athos.
+
+Then was heard a great noise of fagots being removed and of the
+groaning of posts; these were the counterscarps and bastions of Athos,
+which the besieged himself demolished.
+
+An instant after, the broken door was removed, and the pale face of
+Athos appeared, who with a rapid glance took a survey of the
+surroundings.
+
+D’Artagnan threw himself on his neck and embraced him tenderly. He then
+tried to draw him from his moist abode, but to his surprise he
+perceived that Athos staggered.
+
+“You are wounded,” said he.
+
+“I! Not at all. I am dead drunk, that’s all, and never did a man more
+strongly set about getting so. By the Lord, my good host! I must at
+least have drunk for my part a hundred and fifty bottles.”
+
+“Mercy!” cried the host, “if the lackey has drunk only half as much as
+the master, I am a ruined man.”
+
+“Grimaud is a well-bred lackey. He would never think of faring in the
+same manner as his master; he only drank from the cask. Hark! I don’t
+think he put the faucet in again. Do you hear it? It is running now.”
+
+D’Artagnan burst into a laugh which changed the shiver of the host into
+a burning fever.
+
+In the meantime, Grimaud appeared in his turn behind his master, with
+the musketoon on his shoulder, and his head shaking. Like one of those
+drunken satyrs in the pictures of Rubens. He was moistened before and
+behind with a greasy liquid which the host recognized as his best olive
+oil.
+
+The four crossed the public room and proceeded to take possession of
+the best apartment in the house, which D’Artagnan occupied with
+authority.
+
+In the meantime the host and his wife hurried down with lamps into the
+cellar, which had so long been interdicted to them and where a
+frightful spectacle awaited them.
+
+Beyond the fortifications through which Athos had made a breach in
+order to get out, and which were composed of fagots, planks, and empty
+casks, heaped up according to all the rules of the strategic art, they
+found, swimming in puddles of oil and wine, the bones and fragments of
+all the hams they had eaten; while a heap of broken bottles filled the
+whole left-hand corner of the cellar, and a tun, the cock of which was
+left running, was yielding, by this means, the last drop of its blood.
+“The image of devastation and death,” as the ancient poet says,
+“reigned as over a field of battle.”
+
+Of fifty large sausages, suspended from the joists, scarcely ten
+remained.
+
+Then the lamentations of the host and hostess pierced the vault of the
+cellar. D’Artagnan himself was moved by them. Athos did not even turn
+his head.
+
+To grief succeeded rage. The host armed himself with a spit, and rushed
+into the chamber occupied by the two friends.
+
+“Some wine!” said Athos, on perceiving the host.
+
+“Some wine!” cried the stupefied host, “some wine? Why you have drunk
+more than a hundred pistoles’ worth! I am a ruined man, lost,
+destroyed!”
+
+“Bah,” said Athos, “we were always dry.”
+
+“If you had been contented with drinking, well and good; but you have
+broken all the bottles.”
+
+“You pushed me upon a heap which rolled down. That was your fault.”
+
+“All my oil is lost!”
+
+“Oil is a sovereign balm for wounds; and my poor Grimaud here was
+obliged to dress those you had inflicted on him.”
+
+“All my sausages are gnawed!”
+
+“There is an enormous quantity of rats in that cellar.”
+
+“You shall pay me for all this,” cried the exasperated host.
+
+“Triple ass!” said Athos, rising; but he sank down again immediately.
+He had tried his strength to the utmost. D’Artagnan came to his relief
+with his whip in his hand.
+
+The host drew back and burst into tears.
+
+“This will teach you,” said D’Artagnan, “to treat the guests God sends
+you in a more courteous fashion.”
+
+“God? Say the devil!”
+
+“My dear friend,” said D’Artagnan, “if you annoy us in this manner we
+will all four go and shut ourselves up in your cellar, and we will see
+if the mischief is as great as you say.”
+
+“Oh, gentlemen,” said the host, “I have been wrong. I confess it, but
+pardon to every sin! You are gentlemen, and I am a poor innkeeper. You
+will have pity on me.”
+
+“Ah, if you speak in that way,” said Athos, “you will break my heart,
+and the tears will flow from my eyes as the wine flowed from the cask.
+We are not such devils as we appear to be. Come hither, and let us
+talk.”
+
+The host approached with hesitation.
+
+“Come hither, I say, and don’t be afraid,” continued Athos. “At the
+very moment when I was about to pay you, I had placed my purse on the
+table.”
+
+“Yes, monsieur.”
+
+“That purse contained sixty pistoles; where is it?”
+
+“Deposited with the justice; they said it was bad money.”
+
+“Very well; get me my purse back and keep the sixty pistoles.”
+
+“But Monseigneur knows very well that justice never lets go that which
+it once lays hold of. If it were bad money, there might be some hopes;
+but unfortunately, those were all good pieces.”
+
+“Manage the matter as well as you can, my good man; it does not concern
+me, the more so as I have not a livre left.”
+
+“Come,” said D’Artagnan, “let us inquire further. Athos’s horse, where
+is that?”
+
+“In the stable.”
+
+“How much is it worth?”
+
+“Fifty pistoles at most.”
+
+“It’s worth eighty. Take it, and there ends the matter.”
+
+“What,” cried Athos, “are you selling my horse—my Bajazet? And pray
+upon what shall I make my campaign; upon Grimaud?”
+
+“I have brought you another,” said D’Artagnan.
+
+“Another?”
+
+“And a magnificent one!” cried the host.
+
+“Well, since there is another finer and younger, why, you may take the
+old one; and let us drink.”
+
+“What?” asked the host, quite cheerful again.
+
+“Some of that at the bottom, near the laths. There are twenty-five
+bottles of it left; all the rest were broken by my fall. Bring six of
+them.”
+
+“Why, this man is a cask!” said the host, aside. “If he only remains
+here a fortnight, and pays for what he drinks, I shall soon
+re-establish my business.”
+
+“And don’t forget,” said D’Artagnan, “to bring up four bottles of the
+same sort for the two English gentlemen.”
+
+“And now,” said Athos, “while they bring the wine, tell me, D’Artagnan,
+what has become of the others, come!”
+
+D’Artagnan related how he had found Porthos in bed with a strained
+knee, and Aramis at a table between two theologians. As he finished,
+the host entered with the wine ordered and a ham which, fortunately for
+him, had been left out of the cellar.
+
+“That’s well!” said Athos, filling his glass and that of his friend;
+“here’s to Porthos and Aramis! But you, D’Artagnan, what is the matter
+with you, and what has happened to you personally? You have a sad air.”
+
+“Alas,” said D’Artagnan, “it is because I am the most unfortunate.”
+
+“Tell me.”
+
+“Presently,” said D’Artagnan.
+
+“Presently! And why presently? Because you think I am drunk?
+D’Artagnan, remember this! My ideas are never so clear as when I have
+had plenty of wine. Speak, then, I am all ears.”
+
+D’Artagnan related his adventure with Mme. Bonacieux. Athos listened to
+him without a frown; and when he had finished, said, “Trifles, only
+trifles!” That was his favorite word.
+
+“You always say _trifles_, my dear Athos!” said D’Artagnan, “and that
+comes very ill from you, who have never loved.”
+
+The drink-deadened eye of Athos flashed out, but only for a moment; it
+became as dull and vacant as before.
+
+“That’s true,” said he, quietly, “for my part I have never loved.”
+
+“Acknowledge, then, you stony heart,” said D’Artagnan, “that you are
+wrong to be so hard upon us tender hearts.”
+
+“Tender hearts! Pierced hearts!” said Athos.
+
+“What do you say?”
+
+“I say that love is a lottery in which he who wins, wins death! You are
+very fortunate to have lost, believe me, my dear D’Artagnan. And if I
+have any counsel to give, it is, always lose!”
+
+“She seemed to love me so!”
+
+“She _seemed_, did she?”
+
+“Oh, she _did_ love me!”
+
+“You child, why, there is not a man who has not believed, as you do,
+that his mistress loved him, and there lives not a man who has not been
+deceived by his mistress.”
+
+“Except you, Athos, who never had one.”
+
+“That’s true,” said Athos, after a moment’s silence, “that’s true! I
+never had one! Let us drink!”
+
+“But then, philosopher that you are,” said D’Artagnan, “instruct me,
+support me. I stand in need of being taught and consoled.”
+
+“Consoled for what?”
+
+“For my misfortune.”
+
+“Your misfortune is laughable,” said Athos, shrugging his shoulders; “I
+should like to know what you would say if I were to relate to you a
+real tale of love!”
+
+“Which has happened to you?”
+
+“Or one of my friends, what matters?”
+
+“Tell it, Athos, tell it.”
+
+“Better if I drink.”
+
+“Drink and relate, then.”
+
+“Not a bad idea!” said Athos, emptying and refilling his glass. “The
+two things agree marvelously well.”
+
+“I am all attention,” said D’Artagnan.
+
+Athos collected himself, and in proportion as he did so, D’Artagnan saw
+that he became pale. He was at that period of intoxication in which
+vulgar drinkers fall on the floor and go to sleep. He kept himself
+upright and dreamed, without sleeping. This somnambulism of drunkenness
+had something frightful in it.
+
+“You particularly wish it?” asked he.
+
+“I pray for it,” said D’Artagnan.
+
+“Be it then as you desire. One of my friends—one of my friends, please
+to observe, not myself,” said Athos, interrupting himself with a
+melancholy smile, “one of the counts of my province—that is to say, of
+Berry—noble as a Dandolo or a Montmorency, at twenty-five years of age
+fell in love with a girl of sixteen, beautiful as fancy can paint.
+Through the ingenuousness of her age beamed an ardent mind, not of the
+woman, but of the poet. She did not please; she intoxicated. She lived
+in a small town with her brother, who was a curate. Both had recently
+come into the country. They came nobody knew whence; but when seeing
+her so lovely and her brother so pious, nobody thought of asking whence
+they came. They were said, however, to be of good extraction. My
+friend, who was seigneur of the country, might have seduced her, or
+taken her by force, at his will—for he was master. Who would have come
+to the assistance of two strangers, two unknown persons? Unfortunately
+he was an honorable man; he married her. The fool! The ass! The idiot!”
+
+“How so, if he loved her?” asked D’Artagnan.
+
+“Wait,” said Athos. “He took her to his château, and made her the first
+lady in the province; and in justice it must be allowed that she
+supported her rank becomingly.”
+
+“Well?” asked D’Artagnan.
+
+“Well, one day when she was hunting with her husband,” continued Athos,
+in a low voice, and speaking very quickly, “she fell from her horse and
+fainted. The count flew to her to help, and as she appeared to be
+oppressed by her clothes, he ripped them open with his poniard, and in
+so doing laid bare her shoulder. D’Artagnan,” said Athos, with a
+maniacal burst of laughter, “guess what she had on her shoulder.”
+
+“How can I tell?” said D’Artagnan.
+
+“A _fleur-de-lis_,” said Athos. “She was branded.”
+
+Athos emptied at a single draught the glass he held in his hand.
+
+“Horror!” cried D’Artagnan. “What do you tell me?”
+
+“Truth, my friend. The angel was a demon; the poor young girl had
+stolen the sacred vessels from a church.”
+
+“And what did the count do?”
+
+“The count was of the highest nobility. He had on his estates the
+rights of high and low tribunals. He tore the dress of the countess to
+pieces; he tied her hands behind her, and hanged her on a tree.”
+
+“Heavens, Athos, a murder?” cried D’Artagnan.
+
+“No less,” said Athos, as pale as a corpse. “But methinks I need wine!”
+and he seized by the neck the last bottle that was left, put it to his
+mouth, and emptied it at a single draught, as he would have emptied an
+ordinary glass.
+
+Then he let his head sink upon his two hands, while D’Artagnan stood
+before him, stupefied.
+
+“That has cured me of beautiful, poetical, and loving women,” said
+Athos, after a considerable pause, raising his head, and forgetting to
+continue the fiction of the count. “God grant you as much! Let us
+drink.”
+
+“Then she is dead?” stammered D’Artagnan.
+
+“_Parbleu!_” said Athos. “But hold out your glass. Some ham, my boy, or
+we can’t drink.”
+
+“And her brother?” added D’Artagnan, timidly.
+
+“Her brother?” replied Athos.
+
+“Yes, the priest.”
+
+“Oh, I inquired after him for the purpose of hanging him likewise; but
+he was beforehand with me, he had quit the curacy the night before.”
+
+“Was it ever known who this miserable fellow was?”
+
+“He was doubtless the first lover and accomplice of the fair lady. A
+worthy man, who had pretended to be a curate for the purpose of getting
+his mistress married, and securing her a position. He has been hanged
+and quartered, I hope.”
+
+“My God, my God!” cried D’Artagnan, quite stunned by the relation of
+this horrible adventure.
+
+“Taste some of this ham, D’Artagnan; it is exquisite,” said Athos,
+cutting a slice, which he placed on the young man’s plate.
+
+“What a pity it is there were only four like this in the cellar. I
+could have drunk fifty bottles more.”
+
+D’Artagnan could no longer endure this conversation, which had made him
+bewildered. Allowing his head to sink upon his two hands, he pretended
+to sleep.
+
+“These young fellows can none of them drink,” said Athos, looking at
+him with pity, “and yet this is one of the best!”
+
+
+
+
+Chapter XXVIII.
+THE RETURN
+
+
+D’Artagnan was astounded by the terrible confidence of Athos; yet many
+things appeared very obscure to him in this half revelation. In the
+first place it had been made by a man quite drunk to one who was half
+drunk; and yet, in spite of the incertainty which the vapor of three or
+four bottles of Burgundy carries with it to the brain, D’Artagnan, when
+awaking on the following morning, had all the words of Athos as present
+to his memory as if they then fell from his mouth—they had been so
+impressed upon his mind. All this doubt only gave rise to a more lively
+desire of arriving at a certainty, and he went into his friend’s
+chamber with a fixed determination of renewing the conversation of the
+preceding evening; but he found Athos quite himself again—that is to
+say, the most shrewd and impenetrable of men. Besides which, the
+Musketeer, after having exchanged a hearty shake of the hand with him,
+broached the matter first.
+
+“I was pretty drunk yesterday, D’Artagnan,” said he, “I can tell that
+by my tongue, which was swollen and hot this morning, and by my pulse,
+which was very tremulous. I wager that I uttered a thousand
+extravagances.”
+
+While saying this he looked at his friend with an earnestness that
+embarrassed him.
+
+“No,” replied D’Artagnan, “if I recollect well what you said, it was
+nothing out of the common way.”
+
+“Ah, you surprise me. I thought I had told you a most lamentable
+story.” And he looked at the young man as if he would read the bottom
+of his heart.
+
+“My faith,” said D’Artagnan, “it appears that I was more drunk than
+you, since I remember nothing of the kind.”
+
+Athos did not trust this reply, and he resumed; “you cannot have failed
+to remark, my dear friend, that everyone has his particular kind of
+drunkenness, sad or gay. My drunkenness is always sad, and when I am
+thoroughly drunk my mania is to relate all the lugubrious stories which
+my foolish nurse inculcated into my brain. That is my failing—a capital
+failing, I admit; but with that exception, I am a good drinker.”
+
+Athos spoke this in so natural a manner that D’Artagnan was shaken in
+his conviction.
+
+“It is that, then,” replied the young man, anxious to find out the
+truth, “it is that, then, I remember as we remember a dream. We were
+speaking of hanging.”
+
+“Ah, you see how it is,” said Athos, becoming still paler, but yet
+attempting to laugh; “I was sure it was so—the hanging of people is my
+nightmare.”
+
+“Yes, yes,” replied D’Artagnan. “I remember now; yes, it was about—stop
+a minute—yes, it was about a woman.”
+
+“That’s it,” replied Athos, becoming almost livid; “that is my grand
+story of the fair lady, and when I relate that, I must be very drunk.”
+
+“Yes, that was it,” said D’Artagnan, “the story of a tall, fair lady,
+with blue eyes.”
+
+“Yes, who was hanged.”
+
+“By her husband, who was a nobleman of your acquaintance,” continued
+D’Artagnan, looking intently at Athos.
+
+“Well, you see how a man may compromise himself when he does not know
+what he says,” replied Athos, shrugging his shoulders as if he thought
+himself an object of pity. “I certainly never will get drunk again,
+D’Artagnan; it is too bad a habit.”
+
+D’Artagnan remained silent; and then changing the conversation all at
+once, Athos said:
+
+“By the by, I thank you for the horse you have brought me.”
+
+“Is it to your mind?” asked D’Artagnan.
+
+“Yes; but it is not a horse for hard work.”
+
+“You are mistaken; I rode him nearly ten leagues in less than an hour
+and a half, and he appeared no more distressed than if he had only made
+the tour of the Place St. Sulpice.”
+
+“Ah, you begin to awaken my regret.”
+
+“Regret?”
+
+“Yes; I have parted with him.”
+
+“How?”
+
+“Why, here is the simple fact. This morning I awoke at six o’clock. You
+were still fast asleep, and I did not know what to do with myself; I
+was still stupid from our yesterday’s debauch. As I came into the
+public room, I saw one of our Englishman bargaining with a dealer for a
+horse, his own having died yesterday from bleeding. I drew near, and
+found he was bidding a hundred pistoles for a chestnut nag.
+‘_Pardieu_,’ said I, ‘my good gentleman, I have a horse to sell, too.’
+‘Ay, and a very fine one! I saw him yesterday; your friend’s lackey was
+leading him.’ ‘Do you think he is worth a hundred pistoles?’ ‘Yes! Will
+you sell him to me for that sum?’ ‘No; but I will play for him.’
+‘What?’ ‘At dice.’ No sooner said than done, and I lost the horse. Ah,
+ah! But please to observe I won back the equipage,” cried Athos.
+
+D’Artagnan looked much disconcerted.
+
+“This vexes you?” said Athos.
+
+“Well, I must confess it does,” replied D’Artagnan. “That horse was to
+have identified us in the day of battle. It was a pledge, a
+remembrance. Athos, you have done wrong.”
+
+“But, my dear friend, put yourself in my place,” replied the Musketeer.
+“I was hipped to death; and still further, upon my honor, I don’t like
+English horses. If it is only to be recognized, why the saddle will
+suffice for that; it is quite remarkable enough. As to the horse, we
+can easily find some excuse for its disappearance. Why the devil! A
+horse is mortal; suppose mine had had the glanders or the farcy?”
+
+D’Artagnan did not smile.
+
+“It vexes me greatly,” continued Athos, “that you attach so much
+importance to these animals, for I am not yet at the end of my story.”
+
+“What else have you done.”
+
+“After having lost my own horse, nine against ten—see how near—I formed
+an idea of staking yours.”
+
+“Yes; but you stopped at the idea, I hope?”
+
+“No; for I put it in execution that very minute.”
+
+“And the consequence?” said D’Artagnan, in great anxiety.
+
+“I threw, and I lost.”
+
+“What, my horse?”
+
+“Your horse, seven against eight; a point short—you know the proverb.”
+
+“Athos, you are not in your right senses, I swear.”
+
+“My dear lad, that was yesterday, when I was telling you silly stories,
+it was proper to tell me that, and not this morning. I lost him then,
+with all his appointments and furniture.”
+
+“Really, this is frightful.”
+
+“Stop a minute; you don’t know all yet. I should make an excellent
+gambler if I were not too hot-headed; but I was hot-headed, just as if
+I had been drinking. Well, I was not hot-headed then—”
+
+“Well, but what else could you play for? You had nothing left?”
+
+“Oh, yes, my friend; there was still that diamond left which sparkles
+on your finger, and which I had observed yesterday.”
+
+“This diamond!” said D’Artagnan, placing his hand eagerly on his ring.
+
+“And as I am a connoisseur in such things, having had a few of my own
+once, I estimated it at a thousand pistoles.”
+
+“I hope,” said D’Artagnan, half dead with fright, “you made no mention
+of my diamond?”
+
+“On the contrary, my dear friend, this diamond became our only
+resource; with it I might regain our horses and their harnesses, and
+even money to pay our expenses on the road.”
+
+“Athos, you make me tremble!” cried D’Artagnan.
+
+“I mentioned your diamond then to my adversary, who had likewise
+remarked it. What the devil, my dear, do you think you can wear a star
+from heaven on your finger, and nobody observe it? Impossible!”
+
+“Go on, go on, my dear fellow!” said D’Artagnan; “for upon my honor,
+you will kill me with your indifference.”
+
+“We divided, then, this diamond into ten parts of a hundred pistoles
+each.”
+
+“You are laughing at me, and want to try me!” said D’Artagnan, whom
+anger began to take by the hair, as Minerva takes Achilles, in the
+_Iliad_.
+
+“No, I do not jest, _mordieu!_ I should like to have seen you in my
+place! I had been fifteen days without seeing a human face, and had
+been left to brutalize myself in the company of bottles.”
+
+“That was no reason for staking my diamond!” replied D’Artagnan,
+closing his hand with a nervous spasm.
+
+“Hear the end. Ten parts of a hundred pistoles each, in ten throws,
+without revenge; in thirteen throws I had lost all—in thirteen throws.
+The number thirteen was always fatal to me; it was on the thirteenth of
+July that—”
+
+“_Ventrebleu!_” cried D’Artagnan, rising from the table, the story of
+the present day making him forget that of the preceding one.
+
+“Patience!” said Athos; “I had a plan. The Englishman was an original;
+I had seen him conversing that morning with Grimaud, and Grimaud had
+told me that he had made him proposals to enter into his service. I
+staked Grimaud, the silent Grimaud, divided into ten portions.”
+
+“Well, what next?” said D’Artagnan, laughing in spite of himself.
+
+“Grimaud himself, understand; and with the ten parts of Grimaud, which
+are not worth a ducatoon, I regained the diamond. Tell me, now, if
+persistence is not a virtue?”
+
+“My faith! But this is droll,” cried D’Artagnan, consoled, and holding
+his sides with laughter.
+
+“You may guess, finding the luck turned, that I again staked the
+diamond.”
+
+“The devil!” said D’Artagnan, becoming angry again.
+
+“I won back your harness, then your horse, then my harness, then my
+horse, and then I lost again. In brief, I regained your harness and
+then mine. That’s where we are. That was a superb throw, so I left off
+there.”
+
+D’Artagnan breathed as if the whole hostelry had been removed from his
+breast.
+
+“Then the diamond is safe?” said he, timidly.
+
+“Intact, my dear friend; besides the harness of your Bucephalus and
+mine.”
+
+“But what is the use of harnesses without horses?”
+
+“I have an idea about them.”
+
+“Athos, you make me shudder.”
+
+“Listen to me. You have not played for a long time, D’Artagnan.”
+
+“And I have no inclination to play.”
+
+“Swear to nothing. You have not played for a long time, I said; you
+ought, then, to have a good hand.”
+
+“Well, what then?”
+
+“Well; the Englishman and his companion are still here. I remarked that
+he regretted the horse furniture very much. You appear to think much of
+your horse. In your place I would stake the furniture against the
+horse.”
+
+“But he will not wish for only one harness.”
+
+“Stake both, _pardieu!_ I am not selfish, as you are.”
+
+“You would do so?” said D’Artagnan, undecided, so strongly did the
+confidence of Athos begin to prevail, in spite of himself.
+
+“On my honor, in one single throw.”
+
+“But having lost the horses, I am particularly anxious to preserve the
+harnesses.”
+
+“Stake your diamond, then.”
+
+“This? That’s another matter. Never, never!”
+
+“The devil!” said Athos. “I would propose to you to stake Planchet, but
+as that has already been done, the Englishman would not, perhaps, be
+willing.”
+
+“Decidedly, my dear Athos,” said D’Artagnan, “I should like better not
+to risk anything.”
+
+“That’s a pity,” said Athos, coolly. “The Englishman is overflowing
+with pistoles. Good Lord, try one throw! One throw is soon made!”
+
+“And if I lose?”
+
+“You will win.”
+
+“But if I lose?”
+
+“Well, you will surrender the harnesses.”
+
+“Have with you for one throw!” said D’Artagnan.
+
+Athos went in quest of the Englishman, whom he found in the stable,
+examining the harnesses with a greedy eye. The opportunity was good. He
+proposed the conditions—the two harnesses, either against one horse or
+a hundred pistoles. The Englishman calculated fast; the two harnesses
+were worth three hundred pistoles. He consented.
+
+D’Artagnan threw the dice with a trembling hand, and turned up the
+number three; his paleness terrified Athos, who, however, consented
+himself with saying, “That’s a sad throw, comrade; you will have the
+horses fully equipped, monsieur.”
+
+The Englishman, quite triumphant, did not even give himself the trouble
+to shake the dice. He threw them on the table without looking at them,
+so sure was he of victory; D’Artagnan turned aside to conceal his ill
+humor.
+
+“Hold, hold, hold!” said Athos, wit his quiet tone; “that throw of the
+dice is extraordinary. I have not seen such a one four times in my
+life. Two aces!”
+
+The Englishman looked, and was seized with astonishment. D’Artagnan
+looked, and was seized with pleasure.
+
+“Yes,” continued Athos, “four times only; once at the house of Monsieur
+Créquy; another time at my own house in the country, in my château
+at—when I had a château; a third time at Monsieur de Tréville’s where
+it surprised us all; and the fourth time at a cabaret, where it fell to
+my lot, and where I lost a hundred louis and a supper on it.”
+
+“Then Monsieur takes his horse back again,” said the Englishman.
+
+“Certainly,” said D’Artagnan.
+
+“Then there is no revenge?”
+
+“Our conditions said, ‘No revenge,’ you will please to recollect.”
+
+“That is true; the horse shall be restored to your lackey, monsieur.”
+
+“A moment,” said Athos; “with your permission, monsieur, I wish to
+speak a word with my friend.”
+
+“Say on.”
+
+Athos drew D’Artagnan aside.
+
+“Well, Tempter, what more do you want with me?” said D’Artagnan. “You
+want me to throw again, do you not?”
+
+“No, I would wish you to reflect.”
+
+“On what?”
+
+“You mean to take your horse?”
+
+“Without doubt.”
+
+“You are wrong, then. I would take the hundred pistoles. You know you
+have staked the harnesses against the horse or a hundred pistoles, at
+your choice.”
+
+“Yes.”
+
+“Well, then, I repeat, you are wrong. What is the use of one horse for
+us two? I could not ride behind. We should look like the two sons of
+Aymon, who had lost their brother. You cannot think of humiliating me
+by prancing along by my side on that magnificent charger. For my part,
+I should not hesitate a moment; I should take the hundred pistoles. We
+want money for our return to Paris.”
+
+“I am much attached to that horse, Athos.”
+
+“And there again you are wrong. A horse slips and injures a joint; a
+horse stumbles and breaks his knees to the bone; a horse eats out of a
+manger in which a glandered horse has eaten. There is a horse, while on
+the contrary, the hundred pistoles feed their master.”
+
+“But how shall we get back?”
+
+“Upon our lackey’s horses, _pardieu_. Anybody may see by our bearing
+that we are people of condition.”
+
+“Pretty figures we shall cut on ponies while Aramis and Porthos
+caracole on their steeds.”
+
+“Aramis! Porthos!” cried Athos, and laughed aloud.
+
+“What is it?” asked D’Artagnan, who did not at all comprehend the
+hilarity of his friend.
+
+“Nothing, nothing! Go on!”
+
+“Your advice, then?”
+
+“To take the hundred pistoles, D’Artagnan. With the hundred pistoles we
+can live well to the end of the month. We have undergone a great deal
+of fatigue, remember, and a little rest will do no harm.”
+
+“I rest? Oh, no, Athos. Once in Paris, I shall prosecute my search for
+that unfortunate woman!”
+
+“Well, you may be assured that your horse will not be half so
+serviceable to you for that purpose as good golden louis. Take the
+hundred pistoles, my friend; take the hundred pistoles!”
+
+D’Artagnan only required one reason to be satisfied. This last reason
+appeared convincing. Besides, he feared that by resisting longer he
+should appear selfish in the eyes of Athos. He acquiesced, therefore,
+and chose the hundred pistoles, which the Englishman paid down on the
+spot.
+
+They then determined to depart. Peace with the landlord, in addition to
+Athos’s old horse, cost six pistoles. D’Artagnan and Athos took the
+nags of Planchet and Grimaud, and the two lackeys started on foot,
+carrying the saddles on their heads.
+
+However ill our two friends were mounted, they were soon far in advance
+of their servants, and arrived at Crèvecœur. From a distance they
+perceived Aramis, seated in a melancholy manner at his window, looking
+out, like Sister Anne, at the dust in the horizon.
+
+“_Holà_, Aramis! What the devil are you doing there?” cried the two
+friends.
+
+“Ah, is that you, D’Artagnan, and you, Athos?” said the young man. “I
+was reflecting upon the rapidity with which the blessings of this world
+leave us. My English horse, which has just disappeared amid a cloud of
+dust, has furnished me with a living image of the fragility of the
+things of the earth. Life itself may be resolved into three words:
+_Erat, est, fuit_.”
+
+“Which means—” said D’Artagnan, who began to suspect the truth.
+
+“Which means that I have just been duped—sixty louis for a horse which
+by the manner of his gait can do at least five leagues an hour.”
+
+D’Artagnan and Athos laughed aloud.
+
+“My dear D’Artagnan,” said Aramis, “don’t be too angry with me, I beg.
+Necessity has no law; besides, I am the person punished, as that
+rascally horsedealer has robbed me of fifty louis, at least. Ah, you
+fellows are good managers! You ride on our lackey’s horses, and have
+your own gallant steeds led along carefully by hand, at short stages.”
+
+At the same instant a market cart, which some minutes before had
+appeared upon the Amiens road, pulled up at the inn, and Planchet and
+Grimaud came out of it with the saddles on their heads. The cart was
+returning empty to Paris, and the two lackeys had agreed, for their
+transport, to slake the wagoner’s thirst along the route.
+
+“What is this?” said Aramis, on seeing them arrive. “Nothing but
+saddles?”
+
+“Now do you understand?” said Athos.
+
+“My friends, that’s exactly like me! I retained my harness by instinct.
+_Holà_, Bazin! Bring my new saddle and carry it along with those of
+these gentlemen.”
+
+“And what have you done with your ecclesiastics?” asked D’Artagnan.
+
+“My dear fellow, I invited them to a dinner the next day,” replied
+Aramis. “They have some capital wine here—please to observe that in
+passing. I did my best to make them drunk. Then the curate forbade me
+to quit my uniform, and the Jesuit entreated me to get him made a
+Musketeer.”
+
+“Without a thesis?” cried D’Artagnan, “without a thesis? I demand the
+suppression of the thesis.”
+
+“Since then,” continued Aramis, “I have lived very agreeably. I have
+begun a poem in verses of one syllable. That is rather difficult, but
+the merit in all things consists in the difficulty. The matter is
+gallant. I will read you the first canto. It has four hundred lines,
+and lasts a minute.”
+
+“My faith, my dear Aramis,” said D’Artagnan, who detested verses almost
+as much as he did Latin, “add to the merit of the difficulty that of
+the brevity, and you are sure that your poem will at least have two
+merits.”
+
+“You will see,” continued Aramis, “that it breathes irreproachable
+passion. And so, my friends, we return to Paris? Bravo! I am ready. We
+are going to rejoin that good fellow, Porthos. So much the better. You
+can’t think how I have missed him, the great simpleton. To see him so
+self-satisfied reconciles me with myself. He would not sell his horse;
+not for a kingdom! I think I can see him now, mounted upon his superb
+animal and seated in his handsome saddle. I am sure he will look like
+the Great Mogul!”
+
+They made a halt for an hour to refresh their horses. Aramis discharged
+his bill, placed Bazin in the cart with his comrades, and they set
+forward to join Porthos.
+
+They found him up, less pale than when D’Artagnan left him after his
+first visit, and seated at a table on which, though he was alone, was
+spread enough for four persons. This dinner consisted of meats nicely
+dressed, choice wines, and superb fruit.
+
+“Ah, _pardieu!_” said he, rising, “you come in the nick of time,
+gentlemen. I was just beginning the soup, and you will dine with me.”
+
+“Oh, oh!” said D’Artagnan, “Mousqueton has not caught these bottles
+with his lasso. Besides, here is a piquant _fricandeau_ and a fillet of
+beef.”
+
+“I am recruiting myself,” said Porthos, “I am recruiting myself.
+Nothing weakens a man more than these devilish strains. Did you ever
+suffer from a strain, Athos?”
+
+“Never! Though I remember, in our affair of the Rue Férou, I received a
+sword wound which at the end of fifteen or eighteen days produced the
+same effect.”
+
+“But this dinner was not intended for you alone, Porthos?” said Aramis.
+
+“No,” said Porthos, “I expected some gentlemen of the neighborhood, who
+have just sent me word they could not come. You will take their places
+and I shall not lose by the exchange. _Holà_, Mousqueton, seats, and
+order double the bottles!”
+
+“Do you know what we are eating here?” said Athos, at the end of ten
+minutes.
+
+“_Pardieu!_” replied D’Artagnan, “for my part, I am eating veal
+garnished with shrimps and vegetables.”
+
+“And I some lamb chops,” said Porthos.
+
+“And I a plain chicken,” said Aramis.
+
+“You are all mistaken, gentlemen,” answered Athos, gravely; “you are
+eating horse.”
+
+“Eating what?” said D’Artagnan.
+
+“Horse!” said Aramis, with a grimace of disgust.
+
+Porthos alone made no reply.
+
+“Yes, horse. Are we not eating a horse, Porthos? And perhaps his
+saddle, therewith.”
+
+“No, gentlemen, I have kept the harness,” said Porthos.
+
+“My faith,” said Aramis, “we are all alike. One would think we had
+tipped the wink.”
+
+“What could I do?” said Porthos. “This horse made my visitors ashamed
+of theirs, and I don’t like to humiliate people.”
+
+“Then your duchess is still at the waters?” asked D’Artagnan.
+
+“Still,” replied Porthos. “And, my faith, the governor of the
+province—one of the gentlemen I expected today—seemed to have such a
+wish for him, that I gave him to him.”
+
+“Gave him?” cried D’Artagnan.
+
+“My God, yes, _gave_, that is the word,” said Porthos; “for the animal
+was worth at least a hundred and fifty louis, and the stingy fellow
+would only give me eighty.”
+
+“Without the saddle?” said Aramis.
+
+“Yes, without the saddle.”
+
+“You will observe, gentlemen,” said Athos, “that Porthos has made the
+best bargain of any of us.”
+
+And then commenced a roar of laughter in which they all joined, to the
+astonishment of poor Porthos; but when he was informed of the cause of
+their hilarity, he shared it vociferously according to his custom.
+
+“There is one comfort, we are all in cash,” said D’Artagnan.
+
+“Well, for my part,” said Athos, “I found Aramis’s Spanish wine so good
+that I sent on a hamper of sixty bottles of it in the wagon with the
+lackeys. That has weakened my purse.”
+
+“And I,” said Aramis, “imagined that I had given almost my last sou to
+the church of Montdidier and the Jesuits of Amiens, with whom I had
+made engagements which I ought to have kept. I have ordered Masses for
+myself, and for you, gentlemen, which will be said, gentlemen, for
+which I have not the least doubt you will be marvelously benefited.”
+
+“And I,” said Porthos, “do you think my strain cost me nothing?—without
+reckoning Mousqueton’s wound, for which I had to have the surgeon twice
+a day, and who charged me double on account of that foolish Mousqueton
+having allowed himself a ball in a part which people generally only
+show to an apothecary; so I advised him to try never to get wounded
+there any more.”
+
+“Ay, ay!” said Athos, exchanging a smile with D’Artagnan and Aramis,
+“it is very clear you acted nobly with regard to the poor lad; that is
+like a good master.”
+
+“In short,” said Porthos, “when all my expenses are paid, I shall have,
+at most, thirty crowns left.”
+
+“And I about ten pistoles,” said Aramis.
+
+“Well, then it appears that we are the Crœsuses of the society. How
+much have you left of your hundred pistoles, D’Artagnan?”
+
+“Of my hundred pistoles? Why, in the first place I gave you fifty.”
+
+“You think so?”
+
+“_Pardieu!_”
+
+“Ah, that is true. I recollect.”
+
+“Then I paid the host six.”
+
+“What a brute of a host! Why did you give him six pistoles?”
+
+“You told me to give them to him.”
+
+“It is true; I am too good-natured. In brief, how much remains?”
+
+“Twenty-five pistoles,” said D’Artagnan.
+
+“And I,” said Athos, taking some small change from his pocket, “I—”
+
+“You? Nothing!”
+
+“My faith! So little that it is not worth reckoning with the general
+stock.”
+
+“Now, then, let us calculate how much we posses in all.”
+
+“Porthos?”
+
+“Thirty crowns.”
+
+“Aramis?”
+
+“Ten pistoles.”
+
+“And you, D’Artagnan?”
+
+“Twenty-five.”
+
+“That makes in all?” said Athos.
+
+“Four hundred and seventy-five livres,” said D’Artagnan, who reckoned
+like Archimedes.
+
+“On our arrival in Paris, we shall still have four hundred, besides the
+harnesses,” said Porthos.
+
+“But our troop horses?” said Aramis.
+
+“Well, of the four horses of our lackeys we will make two for the
+masters, for which we will draw lots. With the four hundred livres we
+will make the half of one for one of the unmounted, and then we will
+give the turnings out of our pockets to D’Artagnan, who has a steady
+hand, and will go and play in the first gaming house we come to.
+There!”
+
+“Let us dine, then,” said Porthos; “it is getting cold.”
+
+The friends, at ease with regard to the future, did honor to the
+repast, the remains of which were abandoned to Mousqueton, Bazin,
+Planchet, and Grimaud.
+
+On arriving in Paris, D’Artagnan found a letter from M. de Tréville,
+which informed him that, at his request, the king had promised that he
+should enter the company of the Musketeers.
+
+As this was the height of D’Artagnan’s worldly ambition—apart, be it
+well understood, from his desire of finding Mme. Bonacieux—he ran, full
+of joy, to seek his comrades, whom he had left only half an hour
+before, but whom he found very sad and deeply preoccupied. They were
+assembled in council at the residence of Athos, which always indicated
+an event of some gravity. M. de Tréville had intimated to them his
+Majesty’s fixed intention to open the campaign on the first of May, and
+they must immediately prepare their outfits.
+
+The four philosophers looked at one another in a state of bewilderment.
+M. de Tréville never jested in matters relating to discipline.
+
+“And what do you reckon your outfit will cost?” said D’Artagnan.
+
+“Oh, we can scarcely say. We have made our calculations with Spartan
+economy, and we each require fifteen hundred livres.”
+
+“Four times fifteen makes sixty—six thousand livres,” said Athos.
+
+“It seems to me,” said D’Artagnan, “with a thousand livres each—I do
+not speak as a Spartan, but as a procurator—”
+
+This word _procurator_ roused Porthos. “Stop,” said he, “I have an
+idea.”
+
+“Well, that’s something, for I have not the shadow of one,” said Athos
+coolly; “but as to D’Artagnan, gentlemen, the idea of belonging to
+_ours_ has driven him out of his senses. A thousand livres! For my
+part, I declare I want two thousand.”
+
+“Four times two makes eight,” then said Aramis; “it is eight thousand
+that we want to complete our outfits, toward which, it is true, we have
+already the saddles.”
+
+“Besides,” said Athos, waiting till D’Artagnan, who went to thank
+Monsieur de Tréville, had shut the door, “besides, there is that
+beautiful ring which beams from the finger of our friend. What the
+devil! D’Artagnan is too good a comrade to leave his brothers in
+embarrassment while he wears the ransom of a king on his finger.”
+
+
+
+
+Chapter XXIX.
+HUNTING FOR THE EQUIPMENTS
+
+
+The most preoccupied of the four friends was certainly D’Artagnan,
+although he, in his quality of Guardsman, would be much more easily
+equipped than Messieurs the Musketeers, who were all of high rank; but
+our Gascon cadet was, as may have been observed, of a provident and
+almost avaricious character, and with that (explain the contradiction)
+so vain as almost to rival Porthos. To this preoccupation of his
+vanity, D’Artagnan at this moment joined an uneasiness much less
+selfish. Notwithstanding all his inquiries respecting Mme. Bonacieux,
+he could obtain no intelligence of her. M. de Tréville had spoken of
+her to the queen. The queen was ignorant where the mercer’s young wife
+was, but had promised to have her sought for; but this promise was very
+vague and did not at all reassure D’Artagnan.
+
+Athos did not leave his chamber; he made up his mind not to take a
+single step to equip himself.
+
+“We have still fifteen days before us,” said he to his friends, “well,
+if at the end of a fortnight I have found nothing, or rather if nothing
+has come to find me, as I, too good a Catholic to kill myself with a
+pistol bullet, I will seek a good quarrel with four of his Eminence’s
+Guards or with eight Englishmen, and I will fight until one of them has
+killed me, which, considering the number, cannot fail to happen. It
+will then be said of me that I died for the king; so that I shall have
+performed my duty without the expense of an outfit.”
+
+Porthos continued to walk about with his hands behind him, tossing his
+head and repeating, “I shall follow up on my idea.”
+
+Aramis, anxious and negligently dressed, said nothing.
+
+It may be seen by these disastrous details that desolation reigned in
+the community.
+
+The lackeys on their part, like the coursers of Hippolytus, shared the
+sadness of their masters. Mousqueton collected a store of crusts;
+Bazin, who had always been inclined to devotion, never quit the
+churches; Planchet watched the flight of flies; and Grimaud, whom the
+general distress could not induce to break the silence imposed by his
+master, heaved sighs enough to soften the stones.
+
+The three friends—for, as we have said, Athos had sworn not to stir a
+foot to equip himself—went out early in the morning, and returned late
+at night. They wandered about the streets, looking at the pavement as
+if to see whether the passengers had not left a purse behind them. They
+might have been supposed to be following tracks, so observant were they
+wherever they went. When they met they looked desolately at one
+another, as much as to say, “Have you found anything?”
+
+However, as Porthos had first found an idea, and had thought of it
+earnestly afterward, he was the first to act. He was a man of
+execution, this worthy Porthos. D’Artagnan perceived him one day
+walking toward the church of St. Leu, and followed him instinctively.
+He entered, after having twisted his mustache and elongated his
+imperial, which always announced on his part the most triumphant
+resolutions. As D’Artagnan took some precautions to conceal himself,
+Porthos believed he had not been seen. D’Artagnan entered behind him.
+Porthos went and leaned against the side of a pillar. D’Artagnan, still
+unperceived, supported himself against the other side.
+
+There happened to be a sermon, which made the church very full of
+people. Porthos took advantage of this circumstance to ogle the women.
+Thanks to the cares of Mousqueton, the exterior was far from announcing
+the distress of the interior. His hat was a little napless, his feather
+was a little faded, his gold lace was a little tarnished, his laces
+were a trifle frayed; but in the obscurity of the church these things
+were not seen, and Porthos was still the handsome Porthos.
+
+D’Artagnan observed, on the bench nearest to the pillar against which
+Porthos leaned, a sort of ripe beauty, rather yellow and rather dry,
+but erect and haughty under her black hood. The eyes of Porthos were
+furtively cast upon this lady, and then roved about at large over the
+nave.
+
+On her side the lady, who from time to time blushed, darted with the
+rapidity of lightning a glance toward the inconstant Porthos; and then
+immediately the eyes of Porthos wandered anxiously. It was plain that
+this mode of proceeding piqued the lady in the black hood, for she bit
+her lips till they bled, scratched the end of her nose, and could not
+sit still in her seat.
+
+Porthos, seeing this, retwisted his mustache, elongated his imperial a
+second time, and began to make signals to a beautiful lady who was near
+the choir, and who not only was a beautiful lady, but still further, no
+doubt, a great lady—for she had behind her a Negro boy who had brought
+the cushion on which she knelt, and a female servant who held the
+emblazoned bag in which was placed the book from which she read the
+Mass.
+
+The lady with the black hood followed through all their wanderings the
+looks of Porthos, and perceived that they rested upon the lady with the
+velvet cushion, the little Negro, and the maid-servant.
+
+During this time Porthos played close. It was almost imperceptible
+motions of his eyes, fingers placed upon the lips, little assassinating
+smiles, which really did assassinate the disdained beauty.
+
+Then she cried, “Ahem!” under cover of the _mea culpa_, striking her
+breast so vigorously that everybody, even the lady with the red
+cushion, turned round toward her. Porthos paid no attention.
+Nevertheless, he understood it all, but was deaf.
+
+The lady with the red cushion produced a great effect—for she was very
+handsome—upon the lady with the black hood, who saw in her a rival
+really to be dreaded; a great effect upon Porthos, who thought her much
+prettier than the lady with the black hood; a great effect upon
+D’Artagnan, who recognized in her the lady of Meung, of Calais, and of
+Dover, whom his persecutor, the man with the scar, had saluted by the
+name of Milady.
+
+D’Artagnan, without losing sight of the lady of the red cushion,
+continued to watch the proceedings of Porthos, which amused him
+greatly. He guessed that the lady of the black hood was the
+procurator’s wife of the Rue aux Ours, which was the more probable from
+the church of St. Leu being not far from that locality.
+
+He guessed, likewise, by induction, that Porthos was taking his revenge
+for the defeat of Chantilly, when the procurator’s wife had proved so
+refractory with respect to her purse.
+
+Amid all this, D’Artagnan remarked also that not one countenance
+responded to the gallantries of Porthos. There were only chimeras and
+illusions; but for real love, for true jealousy, is there any reality
+except illusions and chimeras?
+
+The sermon over, the procurator’s wife advanced toward the holy font.
+Porthos went before her, and instead of a finger, dipped his whole hand
+in. The procurator’s wife smiled, thinking that it was for her Porthos
+had put himself to this trouble; but she was cruelly and promptly
+undeceived. When she was only about three steps from him, he turned his
+head round, fixing his eyes steadfastly upon the lady with the red
+cushion, who had risen and was approaching, followed by her black boy
+and her woman.
+
+When the lady of the red cushion came close to Porthos, Porthos drew
+his dripping hand from the font. The fair worshipper touched the great
+hand of Porthos with her delicate fingers, smiled, made the sign of the
+cross, and left the church.
+
+This was too much for the procurator’s wife; she doubted not there was
+an intrigue between this lady and Porthos. If she had been a great lady
+she would have fainted; but as she was only a procurator’s wife, she
+contented herself saying to the Musketeer with concentrated fury, “Eh,
+Monsieur Porthos, you don’t offer me any holy water?”
+
+Porthos, at the sound of that voice, started like a man awakened from a
+sleep of a hundred years.
+
+“Ma-madame!” cried he; “is that you? How is your husband, our dear
+Monsieur Coquenard? Is he still as stingy as ever? Where can my eyes
+have been not to have seen you during the two hours of the sermon?”
+
+“I was within two paces of you, monsieur,” replied the procurator’s
+wife; “but you did not perceive me because you had no eyes but for the
+pretty lady to whom you just now gave the holy water.”
+
+Porthos pretended to be confused. “Ah,” said he, “you have remarked—”
+
+“I must have been blind not to have seen.”
+
+“Yes,” said Porthos, “that is a duchess of my acquaintance whom I have
+great trouble to meet on account of the jealousy of her husband, and
+who sent me word that she should come today to this poor church, buried
+in this vile quarter, solely for the sake of seeing me.”
+
+“Monsieur Porthos,” said the procurator’s wife, “will you have the
+kindness to offer me your arm for five minutes? I have something to say
+to you.”
+
+“Certainly, madame,” said Porthos, winking to himself, as a gambler
+does who laughs at the dupe he is about to pluck.
+
+At that moment D’Artagnan passed in pursuit of Milady; he cast a
+passing glance at Porthos, and beheld this triumphant look.
+
+“Eh, eh!” said he, reasoning to himself according to the strangely easy
+morality of that gallant period, “there is one who will be equipped in
+good time!”
+
+Porthos, yielding to the pressure of the arm of the procurator’s wife,
+as a bark yields to the rudder, arrived at the cloister St. Magloire—a
+little-frequented passage, enclosed with a turnstile at each end. In
+the daytime nobody was seen there but mendicants devouring their
+crusts, and children at play.
+
+“Ah, Monsieur Porthos,” cried the procurator’s wife, when she was
+assured that no one who was a stranger to the population of the
+locality could either see or hear her, “ah, Monsieur Porthos, you are a
+great conqueror, as it appears!”
+
+“I, madame?” said Porthos, drawing himself up proudly; “how so?”
+
+“The signs just now, and the holy water! But that must be a princess,
+at least—that lady with her Negro boy and her maid!”
+
+“My God! Madame, you are deceived,” said Porthos; “she is simply a
+duchess.”
+
+“And that running footman who waited at the door, and that carriage
+with a coachman in grand livery who sat waiting on his seat?”
+
+Porthos had seen neither the footman nor the carriage, but with the eye
+of a jealous woman, Mme. Coquenard had seen everything.
+
+Porthos regretted that he had not at once made the lady of the red
+cushion a princess.
+
+“Ah, you are quite the pet of the ladies, Monsieur Porthos!” resumed
+the procurator’s wife, with a sigh.
+
+“Well,” responded Porthos, “you may imagine, with the physique with
+which nature has endowed me, I am not in want of good luck.”
+
+“Good Lord, how quickly men forget!” cried the procurator’s wife,
+raising her eyes toward heaven.
+
+“Less quickly than the women, it seems to me,” replied Porthos; “for I,
+madame, I may say I was your victim, when wounded, dying, I was
+abandoned by the surgeons. I, the offspring of a noble family, who
+placed reliance upon your friendship—I was near dying of my wounds at
+first, and of hunger afterward, in a beggarly inn at Chantilly, without
+you ever deigning once to reply to the burning letters I addressed to
+you.”
+
+“But, Monsieur Porthos,” murmured the procurator’s wife, who began to
+feel that, to judge by the conduct of the great ladies of the time, she
+was wrong.
+
+“I, who had sacrificed for you the Baronne de—”
+
+“I know it well.”
+
+“The Comtesse de—”
+
+“Monsieur Porthos, be generous!”
+
+“You are right, madame, and I will not finish.”
+
+“But it was my husband who would not hear of lending.”
+
+“Madame Coquenard,” said Porthos, “remember the first letter you wrote
+me, and which I preserve engraved in my memory.”
+
+The procurator’s wife uttered a groan.
+
+“Besides,” said she, “the sum you required me to borrow was rather
+large.”
+
+“Madame Coquenard, I gave you the preference. I had but to write to the
+Duchesse—but I won’t repeat her name, for I am incapable of
+compromising a woman; but this I know, that I had but to write to her
+and she would have sent me fifteen hundred.”
+
+The procurator’s wife shed a tear.
+
+“Monsieur Porthos,” said she, “I can assure you that you have severely
+punished me; and if in the time to come you should find yourself in a
+similar situation, you have but to apply to me.”
+
+“Fie, madame, fie!” said Porthos, as if disgusted. “Let us not talk
+about money, if you please; it is humiliating.”
+
+“Then you no longer love me!” said the procurator’s wife, slowly and
+sadly.
+
+Porthos maintained a majestic silence.
+
+“And that is the only reply you make? Alas, I understand.”
+
+“Think of the offense you have committed toward me, madame! It remains
+_here!_” said Porthos, placing his hand on his heart, and pressing it
+strongly.
+
+“I will repair it, indeed I will, my dear Porthos.”
+
+“Besides, what did I ask of you?” resumed Porthos, with a movement of
+the shoulders full of good fellowship. “A loan, nothing more! After
+all, I am not an unreasonable man. I know you are not rich, Madame
+Coquenard, and that your husband is obliged to bleed his poor clients
+to squeeze a few paltry crowns from them. Oh! If you were a duchess, a
+marchioness, or a countess, it would be quite a different thing; it
+would be unpardonable.”
+
+The procurator’s wife was piqued.
+
+“Please to know, Monsieur Porthos,” said she, “that my strongbox, the
+strongbox of a procurator’s wife though it may be, is better filled
+than those of your affected minxes.”
+
+“That doubles the offense,” said Porthos, disengaging his arm from that
+of the procurator’s wife; “for if you are rich, Madame Coquenard, then
+there is no excuse for your refusal.”
+
+“When I said rich,” replied the procurator’s wife, who saw that she had
+gone too far, “you must not take the word literally. I am not precisely
+rich, though I am pretty well off.”
+
+“Hold, madame,” said Porthos, “let us say no more upon the subject, I
+beg of you. You have misunderstood me, all sympathy is extinct between
+us.”
+
+“Ingrate that you are!”
+
+“Ah! I advise you to complain!” said Porthos.
+
+“Begone, then, to your beautiful duchess; I will detain you no longer.”
+
+“And she is not to be despised, in my opinion.”
+
+“Now, Monsieur Porthos, once more, and this is the last! Do you love me
+still?”
+
+“Ah, madame,” said Porthos, in the most melancholy tone he could
+assume, “when we are about to enter upon a campaign—a campaign, in
+which my presentiments tell me I shall be killed—”
+
+“Oh, don’t talk of such things!” cried the procurator’s wife, bursting
+into tears.
+
+“Something whispers me so,” continued Porthos, becoming more and more
+melancholy.
+
+“Rather say that you have a new love.”
+
+“Not so; I speak frankly to you. No object affects me; and I even feel
+here, at the bottom of my heart, something which speaks for you. But in
+fifteen days, as you know, or as you do not know, this fatal campaign
+is to open. I shall be fearfully preoccupied with my outfit. Then I
+must make a journey to see my family, in the lower part of Brittany, to
+obtain the sum necessary for my departure.”
+
+Porthos observed a last struggle between love and avarice.
+
+“And as,” continued he, “the duchess whom you saw at the church has
+estates near to those of my family, we mean to make the journey
+together. Journeys, you know, appear much shorter when we travel two in
+company.”
+
+“Have you no friends in Paris, then, Monsieur Porthos?” said the
+procurator’s wife.
+
+“I thought I had,” said Porthos, resuming his melancholy air; “but I
+have been taught my mistake.”
+
+“You have some!” cried the procurator’s wife, in a transport that
+surprised even herself. “Come to our house tomorrow. You are the son of
+my aunt, consequently my cousin; you come from Noyon, in Picardy; you
+have several lawsuits and no attorney. Can you recollect all that?”
+
+“Perfectly, madame.”
+
+“Come at dinnertime.”
+
+“Very well.”
+
+“And be upon your guard before my husband, who is rather shrewd,
+notwithstanding his seventy-six years.”
+
+“Seventy-six years! _Peste!_ That’s a fine age!” replied Porthos.
+
+“A great age, you mean, Monsieur Porthos. Yes, the poor man may be
+expected to leave me a widow, any hour,” continued she, throwing a
+significant glance at Porthos. “Fortunately, by our marriage contract,
+the survivor takes everything.”
+
+“All?”
+
+“Yes, all.”
+
+“You are a woman of precaution, I see, my dear Madame Coquenard,” said
+Porthos, squeezing the hand of the procurator’s wife tenderly.
+
+“We are then reconciled, dear Monsieur Porthos?” said she, simpering.
+
+“For life,” replied Porthos, in the same manner.
+
+“Till we meet again, then, dear traitor!”
+
+“Till we meet again, my forgetful charmer!”
+
+“Tomorrow, my angel!”
+
+“Tomorrow, flame of my life!”
+
+
+
+
+Chapter XXX.
+D’ARTAGNAN AND THE ENGLISHMAN
+
+
+D’Artagnan followed Milady without being perceived by her. He saw her
+get into her carriage, and heard her order the coachman to drive to St.
+Germain.
+
+It was useless to try to keep pace on foot with a carriage drawn by two
+powerful horses. D’Artagnan therefore returned to the Rue Férou.
+
+In the Rue de Seine he met Planchet, who had stopped before the house
+of a pastry cook, and was contemplating with ecstasy a cake of the most
+appetizing appearance.
+
+He ordered him to go and saddle two horses in M. de Tréville’s
+stables—one for himself, D’Artagnan, and one for Planchet—and bring
+them to Athos’s place. Once for all, Tréville had placed his stable at
+D’Artagnan’s service.
+
+Planchet proceeded toward the Rue du Colombier, and D’Artagnan toward
+the Rue Férou. Athos was at home, emptying sadly a bottle of the famous
+Spanish wine he had brought back with him from his journey into
+Picardy. He made a sign for Grimaud to bring a glass for D’Artagnan,
+and Grimaud obeyed as usual.
+
+D’Artagnan related to Athos all that had passed at the church between
+Porthos and the procurator’s wife, and how their comrade was probably
+by that time in a fair way to be equipped.
+
+“As for me,” replied Athos to this recital, “I am quite at my ease; it
+will not be women that will defray the expense of my outfit.”
+
+“Handsome, well-bred, noble lord as you are, my dear Athos, neither
+princesses nor queens would be secure from your amorous solicitations.”
+
+“How young this D’Artagnan is!” said Athos, shrugging his shoulders;
+and he made a sign to Grimaud to bring another bottle.
+
+At that moment Planchet put his head modestly in at the half-open door,
+and told his master that the horses were ready.
+
+“What horses?” asked Athos.
+
+“Two horses that Monsieur de Tréville lends me at my pleasure, and with
+which I am now going to take a ride to St. Germain.”
+
+“Well, and what are you going to do at St. Germain?” then demanded
+Athos.
+
+Then D’Artagnan described the meeting which he had at the church, and
+how he had found that lady who, with the seigneur in the black cloak
+and with the scar near his temple, filled his mind constantly.
+
+“That is to say, you are in love with this lady as you were with Madame
+Bonacieux,” said Athos, shrugging his shoulders contemptuously, as if
+he pitied human weakness.
+
+“I? not at all!” said D’Artagnan. “I am only curious to unravel the
+mystery to which she is attached. I do not know why, but I imagine that
+this woman, wholly unknown to me as she is, and wholly unknown to her
+as I am, has an influence over my life.”
+
+“Well, perhaps you are right,” said Athos. “I do not know a woman that
+is worth the trouble of being sought for when she is once lost. Madame
+Bonacieux is lost; so much the worse for her if she is found.”
+
+“No, Athos, no, you are mistaken,” said D’Artagnan; “I love my poor
+Constance more than ever, and if I knew the place in which she is, were
+it at the end of the world, I would go to free her from the hands of
+her enemies; but I am ignorant. All my researches have been useless.
+What is to be said? I must divert my attention!”
+
+“Amuse yourself with Milady, my dear D’Artagnan; I wish you may with
+all my heart, if that will amuse you.”
+
+“Hear me, Athos,” said D’Artagnan. “Instead of shutting yourself up
+here as if you were under arrest, get on horseback and come and take a
+ride with me to St. Germain.”
+
+“My dear fellow,” said Athos, “I ride horses when I have any; when I
+have none, I go afoot.”
+
+“Well,” said D’Artagnan, smiling at the misanthropy of Athos, which
+from any other person would have offended him, “I ride what I can get;
+I am not so proud as you. So _au revoir_, dear Athos.”
+
+“_Au revoir_,” said the Musketeer, making a sign to Grimaud to uncork
+the bottle he had just brought.
+
+D’Artagnan and Planchet mounted, and took the road to St. Germain.
+
+All along the road, what Athos had said respecting Mme. Bonacieux
+recurred to the mind of the young man. Although D’Artagnan was not of a
+very sentimental character, the mercer’s pretty wife had made a real
+impression upon his heart. As he said, he was ready to go to the end of
+the world to seek her; but the world, being round, has many ends, so
+that he did not know which way to turn. Meantime, he was going to try
+to find out Milady. Milady had spoken to the man in the black cloak;
+therefore she knew him. Now, in the opinion of D’Artagnan, it was
+certainly the man in the black cloak who had carried off Mme. Bonacieux
+the second time, as he had carried her off the first. D’Artagnan then
+only half-lied, which is lying but little, when he said that by going
+in search of Milady he at the same time went in search of Constance.
+
+Thinking of all this, and from time to time giving a touch of the spur
+to his horse, D’Artagnan completed his short journey, and arrived at
+St. Germain. He had just passed by the pavilion in which ten years
+later Louis XIV. was born. He rode up a very quiet street, looking to
+the right and the left to see if he could catch any vestige of his
+beautiful Englishwoman, when from the ground floor of a pretty house,
+which, according to the fashion of the time, had no window toward the
+street, he saw a face peep out with which he thought he was acquainted.
+This person walked along the terrace, which was ornamented with
+flowers. Planchet recognized him first.
+
+“Eh, monsieur!” said he, addressing D’Artagnan, “don’t you remember
+that face which is blinking yonder?”
+
+“No,” said D’Artagnan, “and yet I am certain it is not the first time I
+have seen that visage.”
+
+“_Parbleu_, I believe it is not,” said Planchet. “Why, it is poor
+Lubin, the lackey of the Comte de Wardes—he whom you took such good
+care of a month ago at Calais, on the road to the governor’s country
+house!”
+
+“So it is!” said D’Artagnan; “I know him now. Do you think he would
+recollect you?”
+
+“My faith, monsieur, he was in such trouble that I doubt if he can have
+retained a very clear recollection of me.”
+
+“Well, go and talk with the boy,” said D’Artagnan, “and make out if you
+can from his conversation whether his master is dead.”
+
+Planchet dismounted and went straight up to Lubin, who did not at all
+remember him, and the two lackeys began to chat with the best
+understanding possible; while D’Artagnan turned the two horses into a
+lane, went round the house, and came back to watch the conference from
+behind a hedge of filberts.
+
+At the end of an instant’s observation he heard the noise of a vehicle,
+and saw Milady’s carriage stop opposite to him. He could not be
+mistaken; Milady was in it. D’Artagnan leaned upon the neck of his
+horse, in order that he might see without being seen.
+
+Milady put her charming blond head out at the window, and gave her
+orders to her maid.
+
+The latter—a pretty girl of about twenty or twenty-two years, active
+and lively, the true _soubrette_ of a great lady—jumped from the step
+upon which, according to the custom of the time, she was seated, and
+took her way toward the terrace upon which D’Artagnan had perceived
+Lubin.
+
+D’Artagnan followed the _soubrette_ with his eyes, and saw her go
+toward the terrace; but it happened that someone in the house called
+Lubin, so that Planchet remained alone, looking in all directions for
+the road where D’Artagnan had disappeared.
+
+The maid approached Planchet, whom she took for Lubin, and holding out
+a little billet to him said, “For your master.”
+
+“For my master?” replied Planchet, astonished.
+
+“Yes, and important. Take it quickly.”
+
+Thereupon she ran toward the carriage, which had turned round toward
+the way it came, jumped upon the step, and the carriage drove off.
+
+Planchet turned and returned the billet. Then, accustomed to passive
+obedience, he jumped down from the terrace, ran toward the lane, and at
+the end of twenty paces met D’Artagnan, who, having seen all, was
+coming to him.
+
+“For you, monsieur,” said Planchet, presenting the billet to the young
+man.
+
+“For me?” said D’Artagnan; “are you sure of that?”
+
+“_Pardieu_, monsieur, I can’t be more sure. The _soubrette_ said, ‘For
+your master.’ I have no other master but you; so—a pretty little lass,
+my faith, is that _soubrette!_”
+
+D’Artagnan opened the letter, and read these words:
+
+“A person who takes more interest in you than she is willing to confess
+wishes to know on what day it will suit you to walk in the forest?
+Tomorrow, at the Hôtel Field of the Cloth of Gold, a lackey in black
+and red will wait for your reply.”
+
+
+“Oh!” said D’Artagnan, “this is rather warm; it appears that Milady and
+I are anxious about the health of the same person. Well, Planchet, how
+is the good Monsieur de Wardes? He is not dead, then?”
+
+“No, monsieur, he is as well as a man can be with four sword wounds in
+his body; for you, without question, inflicted four upon the dear
+gentleman, and he is still very weak, having lost almost all his blood.
+As I said, monsieur, Lubin did not know me, and told me our adventure
+from one end to the other.”
+
+“Well done, Planchet! you are the king of lackeys. Now jump onto your
+horse, and let us overtake the carriage.”
+
+This did not take long. At the end of five minutes they perceived the
+carriage drawn up by the roadside; a cavalier, richly dressed, was
+close to the door.
+
+The conversation between Milady and the cavalier was so animated that
+D’Artagnan stopped on the other side of the carriage without anyone but
+the pretty _soubrette_ perceiving his presence.
+
+The conversation took place in English—a language which D’Artagnan
+could not understand; but by the accent the young man plainly saw that
+the beautiful Englishwoman was in a great rage. She terminated it by an
+action which left no doubt as to the nature of this conversation; this
+was a blow with her fan, applied with such force that the little
+feminine weapon flew into a thousand pieces.
+
+The cavalier laughed aloud, which appeared to exasperate Milady still
+more.
+
+D’Artagnan thought this was the moment to interfere. He approached the
+other door, and taking off his hat respectfully, said, “Madame, will
+you permit me to offer you my services? It appears to me that this
+cavalier has made you very angry. Speak one word, madame, and I take
+upon myself to punish him for his want of courtesy.”
+
+At the first word Milady turned, looking at the young man with
+astonishment; and when he had finished, she said in very good French,
+“Monsieur, I should with great confidence place myself under your
+protection if the person with whom I quarrel were not my brother.”
+
+“Ah, excuse me, then,” said D’Artagnan. “You must be aware that I was
+ignorant of that, madame.”
+
+“What is that stupid fellow troubling himself about?” cried the
+cavalier whom Milady had designated as her brother, stooping down to
+the height of the coach window. “Why does not he go about his
+business?”
+
+“Stupid fellow yourself!” said D’Artagnan, stooping in his turn on the
+neck of his horse, and answering on his side through the carriage
+window. “I do not go on because it pleases me to stop here.”
+
+The cavalier addressed some words in English to his sister.
+
+“I speak to you in French,” said D’Artagnan; “be kind enough, then, to
+reply to me in the same language. You are Madame’s brother, I learn—be
+it so; but fortunately you are not mine.”
+
+It might be thought that Milady, timid as women are in general, would
+have interposed in this commencement of mutual provocations in order to
+prevent the quarrel from going too far; but on the contrary, she threw
+herself back in her carriage, and called out coolly to the coachman,
+“Go on—home!”
+
+The pretty _soubrette_ cast an anxious glance at D’Artagnan, whose good
+looks seemed to have made an impression on her.
+
+The carriage went on, and left the two men facing each other; no
+material obstacle separated them.
+
+The cavalier made a movement as if to follow the carriage; but
+D’Artagnan, whose anger, already excited, was much increased by
+recognizing in him the Englishman of Amiens who had won his horse and
+had been very near winning his diamond of Athos, caught at his bridle
+and stopped him.
+
+“Well, monsieur,” said he, “you appear to be more stupid than I am, for
+you forget there is a little quarrel to arrange between us two.”
+
+“Ah,” said the Englishman, “is it you, my master? It seems you must
+always be playing some game or other.”
+
+“Yes; and that reminds me that I have a revenge to take. We will see,
+my dear monsieur, if you can handle a sword as skillfully as you can a
+dice box.”
+
+“You see plainly that I have no sword,” said the Englishman. “Do you
+wish to play the braggart with an unarmed man?”
+
+“I hope you have a sword at home; but at all events, I have two, and if
+you like, I will throw with you for one of them.”
+
+“Needless,” said the Englishman; “I am well furnished with such
+playthings.”
+
+“Very well, my worthy gentleman,” replied D’Artagnan, “pick out the
+longest, and come and show it to me this evening.”
+
+“Where, if you please?”
+
+“Behind the Luxembourg; that’s a charming spot for such amusements as
+the one I propose to you.”
+
+“That will do; I will be there.”
+
+“Your hour?”
+
+“Six o’clock.”
+
+“_A propos_, you have probably one or two friends?”
+
+“I have three, who would be honored by joining in the sport with me.”
+
+“Three? Marvelous! That falls out oddly! Three is just my number!”
+
+“Now, then, who are you?” asked the Englishman.
+
+“I am Monsieur d’Artagnan, a Gascon gentleman, serving in the king’s
+Musketeers. And you?”
+
+“I am Lord de Winter, Baron Sheffield.”
+
+“Well, then, I am your servant, Monsieur Baron,” said D’Artagnan,
+“though you have names rather difficult to recollect.” And touching his
+horse with the spur, he cantered back to Paris. As he was accustomed to
+do in all cases of any consequence, D’Artagnan went straight to the
+residence of Athos.
+
+He found Athos reclining upon a large sofa, where he was waiting, as he
+said, for his outfit to come and find him. He related to Athos all that
+had passed, except the letter to M. de Wardes.
+
+Athos was delighted to find he was going to fight an Englishman. We
+might say that was his dream.
+
+They immediately sent their lackeys for Porthos and Aramis, and on
+their arrival made them acquainted with the situation.
+
+Porthos drew his sword from the scabbard, and made passes at the wall,
+springing back from time to time, and making contortions like a dancer.
+
+Aramis, who was constantly at work at his poem, shut himself up in
+Athos’s closet, and begged not to be disturbed before the moment of
+drawing swords.
+
+Athos, by signs, desired Grimaud to bring another bottle of wine.
+
+D’Artagnan employed himself in arranging a little plan, of which we
+shall hereafter see the execution, and which promised him some
+agreeable adventure, as might be seen by the smiles which from time to
+time passed over his countenance, whose thoughtfulness they animated.
+
+
+
+
+Chapter XXXI.
+ENGLISH AND FRENCH
+
+
+The hour having come, they went with their four lackeys to a spot
+behind the Luxembourg given up to the feeding of goats. Athos threw a
+piece of money to the goatkeeper to withdraw. The lackeys were ordered
+to act as sentinels.
+
+A silent party soon drew near to the same enclosure, entered, and
+joined the Musketeers. Then, according to foreign custom, the
+presentations took place.
+
+The Englishmen were all men of rank; consequently the odd names of
+their adversaries were for them not only a matter of surprise, but of
+annoyance.
+
+“But after all,” said Lord de Winter, when the three friends had been
+named, “we do not know who you are. We cannot fight with such names;
+they are names of shepherds.”
+
+“Therefore your lordship may suppose they are only assumed names,” said
+Athos.
+
+“Which only gives us a greater desire to know the real ones,” replied
+the Englishman.
+
+“You played very willingly with us without knowing our names,” said
+Athos, “by the same token that you won our horses.”
+
+“That is true, but we then only risked our pistoles; this time we risk
+our blood. One plays with anybody; but one fights only with equals.”
+
+“And that is but just,” said Athos, and he took aside the one of the
+four Englishmen with whom he was to fight, and communicated his name in
+a low voice.
+
+Porthos and Aramis did the same.
+
+“Does that satisfy you?” said Athos to his adversary. “Do you find me
+of sufficient rank to do me the honor of crossing swords with me?”
+
+“Yes, monsieur,” said the Englishman, bowing.
+
+“Well! now shall I tell you something?” added Athos, coolly.
+
+“What?” replied the Englishman.
+
+“Why, that is that you would have acted much more wisely if you had not
+required me to make myself known.”
+
+“Why so?”
+
+“Because I am believed to be dead, and have reasons for wishing nobody
+to know I am living; so that I shall be obliged to kill you to prevent
+my secret from roaming over the fields.”
+
+The Englishman looked at Athos, believing that he jested, but Athos did
+not jest the least in the world.
+
+“Gentlemen,” said Athos, addressing at the same time his companions and
+their adversaries, “are we ready?”
+
+“Yes!” answered the Englishmen and the Frenchmen, as with one voice.
+
+“On guard, then!” cried Athos.
+
+Immediately eight swords glittered in the rays of the setting sun, and
+the combat began with an animosity very natural between men twice
+enemies.
+
+Athos fenced with as much calmness and method as if he had been
+practicing in a fencing school.
+
+Porthos, abated, no doubt, of his too-great confidence by his adventure
+of Chantilly, played with skill and prudence. Aramis, who had the third
+canto of his poem to finish, behaved like a man in haste.
+
+Athos killed his adversary first. He hit him but once, but as he had
+foretold, that hit was a mortal one; the sword pierced his heart.
+
+Second, Porthos stretched his upon the grass with a wound through his
+thigh, As the Englishman, without making any further resistance, then
+surrendered his sword, Porthos took him up in his arms and bore him to
+his carriage.
+
+Aramis pushed his so vigorously that after going back fifty paces, the
+man ended by fairly taking to his heels, and disappeared amid the
+hooting of the lackeys.
+
+As to D’Artagnan, he fought purely and simply on the defensive; and
+when he saw his adversary pretty well fatigued, with a vigorous side
+thrust sent his sword flying. The baron, finding himself disarmed, took
+two or three steps back, but in this movement his foot slipped and he
+fell backward.
+
+D’Artagnan was over him at a bound, and said to the Englishman,
+pointing his sword to his throat, “I could kill you, my Lord, you are
+completely in my hands; but I spare your life for the sake of your
+sister.”
+
+D’Artagnan was at the height of joy; he had realized the plan he had
+imagined beforehand, whose picturing had produced the smiles we noted
+upon his face.
+
+The Englishman, delighted at having to do with a gentleman of such a
+kind disposition, pressed D’Artagnan in his arms, and paid a thousand
+compliments to the three Musketeers, and as Porthos’s adversary was
+already installed in the carriage, and as Aramis’s had taken to his
+heels, they had nothing to think about but the dead.
+
+As Porthos and Aramis were undressing him, in the hope of finding his
+wound not mortal, a large purse dropped from his clothes. D’Artagnan
+picked it up and offered it to Lord de Winter.
+
+“What the devil would you have me do with that?” said the Englishman.
+
+“You can restore it to his family,” said D’Artagnan.
+
+“His family will care much about such a trifle as that! His family will
+inherit fifteen thousand louis a year from him. Keep the purse for your
+lackeys.”
+
+D’Artagnan put the purse into his pocket.
+
+“And now, my young friend, for you will permit me, I hope, to give you
+that name,” said Lord de Winter, “on this very evening, if agreeable to
+you, I will present you to my sister, Milady Clarik, for I am desirous
+that she should take you into her good graces; and as she is not in bad
+odor at court, she may perhaps on some future day speak a word that
+will not prove useless to you.”
+
+D’Artagnan blushed with pleasure, and bowed a sign of assent.
+
+At this time Athos came up to D’Artagnan.
+
+“What do you mean to do with that purse?” whispered he.
+
+“Why, I meant to pass it over to you, my dear Athos.”
+
+“Me! why to me?”
+
+“Why, you killed him! They are the spoils of victory.”
+
+“I, the heir of an enemy!” said Athos; “for whom, then, do you take
+me?”
+
+“It is the custom in war,” said D’Artagnan, “why should it not be the
+custom in a duel?”
+
+“Even on the field of battle, I have never done that.”
+
+Porthos shrugged his shoulders; Aramis by a movement of his lips
+endorsed Athos.
+
+“Then,” said D’Artagnan, “let us give the money to the lackeys, as Lord
+de Winter desired us to do.”
+
+“Yes,” said Athos; “let us give the money to the lackeys—not to our
+lackeys, but to the lackeys of the Englishmen.”
+
+Athos took the purse, and threw it into the hand of the coachman. “For
+you and your comrades.”
+
+This greatness of spirit in a man who was quite destitute struck even
+Porthos; and this French generosity, repeated by Lord de Winter and his
+friend, was highly applauded, except by MM. Grimaud, Bazin, Mousqueton
+and Planchet.
+
+Lord de Winter, on quitting D’Artagnan, gave him his sister’s address.
+She lived in the Place Royale—then the fashionable quarter—at Number 6,
+and he undertook to call and take D’Artagnan with him in order to
+introduce him. D’Artagnan appointed eight o’clock at Athos’s residence.
+
+This introduction to Milady Clarik occupied the head of our Gascon
+greatly. He remembered in what a strange manner this woman had hitherto
+been mixed up in his destiny. According to his conviction, she was some
+creature of the cardinal, and yet he felt himself invincibly drawn
+toward her by one of those sentiments for which we cannot account. His
+only fear was that Milady would recognize in him the man of Meung and
+of Dover. Then she knew that he was one of the friends of M. de
+Tréville, and consequently, that he belonged body and soul to the king;
+which would make him lose a part of his advantage, since when known to
+Milady as he knew her, he played only an equal game with her. As to the
+commencement of an intrigue between her and M. de Wardes, our
+presumptuous hero gave but little heed to that, although the marquis
+was young, handsome, rich, and high in the cardinal’s favor. It is not
+for nothing we are but twenty years old, above all if we were born at
+Tarbes.
+
+D’Artagnan began by making his most splendid toilet, then returned to
+Athos’s, and according to custom, related everything to him. Athos
+listened to his projects, then shook his head, and recommended prudence
+to him with a shade of bitterness.
+
+“What!” said he, “you have just lost one woman, whom you call good,
+charming, perfect; and here you are, running headlong after another.”
+
+D’Artagnan felt the truth of this reproach.
+
+“I loved Madame Bonacieux with my heart, while I only love Milady with
+my head,” said he. “In getting introduced to her, my principal object
+is to ascertain what part she plays at court.”
+
+“The part she plays, _pardieu!_ It is not difficult to divine that,
+after all you have told me. She is some emissary of the cardinal; a
+woman who will draw you into a snare in which you will leave your
+head.”
+
+“The devil! my dear Athos, you view things on the dark side, methinks.”
+
+“My dear fellow, I mistrust women. Can it be otherwise? I bought my
+experience dearly—particularly fair women. Milady is fair, you say?”
+
+“She has the most beautiful light hair imaginable!”
+
+“Ah, my poor D’Artagnan!” said Athos.
+
+“Listen to me! I want to be enlightened on a subject; then, when I
+shall have learned what I desire to know, I will withdraw.”
+
+“Be enlightened!” said Athos, phlegmatically.
+
+Lord de Winter arrived at the appointed time; but Athos, being warned
+of his coming, went into the other chamber. He therefore found
+D’Artagnan alone, and as it was nearly eight o’clock he took the young
+man with him.
+
+An elegant carriage waited below, and as it was drawn by two excellent
+horses, they were soon at the Place Royale.
+
+Milady Clarik received D’Artagnan ceremoniously. Her hôtel was
+remarkably sumptuous, and while the most part of the English had quit,
+or were about to quit, France on account of the war, Milady had just
+been laying out much money upon her residence; which proved that the
+general measure which drove the English from France did not affect her.
+
+“You see,” said Lord de Winter, presenting D’Artagnan to his sister, “a
+young gentleman who has held my life in his hands, and who has not
+abused his advantage, although we have been twice enemies, although it
+was I who insulted him, and although I am an Englishman. Thank him,
+then, madame, if you have any affection for me.”
+
+Milady frowned slightly; a scarcely visible cloud passed over her brow,
+and so peculiar a smile appeared upon her lips that the young man, who
+saw and observed this triple shade, almost shuddered at it.
+
+The brother did not perceive this; he had turned round to play with
+Milady’s favorite monkey, which had pulled him by the doublet.
+
+“You are welcome, monsieur,” said Milady, in a voice whose singular
+sweetness contrasted with the symptoms of ill-humor which D’Artagnan
+had just remarked; “you have today acquired eternal rights to my
+gratitude.”
+
+The Englishman then turned round and described the combat without
+omitting a single detail. Milady listened with the greatest attention,
+and yet it was easily to be perceived, whatever effort she made to
+conceal her impressions, that this recital was not agreeable to her.
+The blood rose to her head, and her little foot worked with impatience
+beneath her robe.
+
+Lord de Winter perceived nothing of this. When he had finished, he went
+to a table upon which was a salver with Spanish wine and glasses. He
+filled two glasses, and by a sign invited D’Artagnan to drink.
+
+D’Artagnan knew it was considered disobliging by an Englishman to
+refuse to pledge him. He therefore drew near to the table and took the
+second glass. He did not, however, lose sight of Milady, and in a
+mirror he perceived the change that came over her face. Now that she
+believed herself to be no longer observed, a sentiment resembling
+ferocity animated her countenance. She bit her handkerchief with her
+beautiful teeth.
+
+That pretty little _soubrette_ whom D’Artagnan had already observed
+then came in. She spoke some words to Lord de Winter in English, who
+thereupon requested D’Artagnan’s permission to retire, excusing himself
+on account of the urgency of the business that had called him away, and
+charging his sister to obtain his pardon.
+
+D’Artagnan exchanged a shake of the hand with Lord de Winter, and then
+returned to Milady. Her countenance, with surprising mobility, had
+recovered its gracious expression; but some little red spots on her
+handkerchief indicated that she had bitten her lips till the blood
+came. Those lips were magnificent; they might be said to be of coral.
+
+The conversation took a cheerful turn. Milady appeared to have entirely
+recovered. She told D’Artagnan that Lord de Winter was her
+brother-in-law, and not her brother. She had married a younger brother
+of the family, who had left her a widow with one child. This child was
+the only heir to Lord de Winter, if Lord de Winter did not marry. All
+this showed D’Artagnan that there was a veil which concealed something;
+but he could not yet see under this veil.
+
+In addition to this, after a half hour’s conversation D’Artagnan was
+convinced that Milady was his compatriot; she spoke French with an
+elegance and a purity that left no doubt on that head.
+
+D’Artagnan was profuse in gallant speeches and protestations of
+devotion. To all the simple things which escaped our Gascon, Milady
+replied with a smile of kindness. The hour came for him to retire.
+D’Artagnan took leave of Milady, and left the saloon the happiest of
+men.
+
+On the staircase he met the pretty _soubrette_, who brushed gently
+against him as she passed, and then, blushing to the eyes, asked his
+pardon for having touched him in a voice so sweet that the pardon was
+granted instantly.
+
+D’Artagnan came again on the morrow, and was still better received than
+on the evening before. Lord de Winter was not at home; and it was
+Milady who this time did all the honors of the evening. She appeared to
+take a great interest in him, asked him whence he came, who were his
+friends, and whether he had not sometimes thought of attaching himself
+to the cardinal.
+
+D’Artagnan, who, as we have said, was exceedingly prudent for a young
+man of twenty, then remembered his suspicions regarding Milady. He
+launched into a eulogy of his Eminence, and said that he should not
+have failed to enter into the Guards of the cardinal instead of the
+king’s Guards if he had happened to know M. de Cavois instead of M. de
+Tréville.
+
+Milady changed the conversation without any appearance of affectation,
+and asked D’Artagnan in the most careless manner possible if he had
+ever been in England.
+
+D’Artagnan replied that he had been sent thither by M. de Tréville to
+treat for a supply of horses, and that he had brought back four as
+specimens.
+
+Milady in the course of the conversation twice or thrice bit her lips;
+she had to deal with a Gascon who played close.
+
+At the same hour as on the preceding evening, D’Artagnan retired. In
+the corridor he again met the pretty Kitty; that was the name of the
+_soubrette_. She looked at him with an expression of kindness which it
+was impossible to mistake; but D’Artagnan was so preoccupied by the
+mistress that he noticed absolutely nothing but her.
+
+D’Artagnan came again on the morrow and the day after that, and each
+day Milady gave him a more gracious reception.
+
+Every evening, either in the antechamber, the corridor, or on the
+stairs, he met the pretty _soubrette_. But, as we have said, D’Artagnan
+paid no attention to this persistence of poor Kitty.
+
+
+
+
+Chapter XXXII.
+A PROCURATOR’S DINNER
+
+
+However brilliant had been the part played by Porthos in the duel, it
+had not made him forget the dinner of the procurator’s wife.
+
+On the morrow he received the last touches of Mousqueton’s brush for an
+hour, and took his way toward the Rue aux Ours with the steps of a man
+who was doubly in favor with fortune.
+
+His heart beat, but not like D’Artagnan’s with a young and impatient
+love. No; a more material interest stirred his blood. He was about at
+last to pass that mysterious threshold, to climb those unknown stairs
+by which, one by one, the old crowns of M. Coquenard had ascended. He
+was about to see in reality a certain coffer of which he had twenty
+times beheld the image in his dreams—a coffer long and deep, locked,
+bolted, fastened in the wall; a coffer of which he had so often heard,
+and which the hands—a little wrinkled, it is true, but still not
+without elegance—of the procurator’s wife were about to open to his
+admiring looks.
+
+And then he—a wanderer on the earth, a man without fortune, a man
+without family, a soldier accustomed to inns, cabarets, taverns, and
+restaurants, a lover of wine forced to depend upon chance treats—was
+about to partake of family meals, to enjoy the pleasures of a
+comfortable establishment, and to give himself up to those little
+attentions which “the harder one is, the more they please,” as old
+soldiers say.
+
+To come in the capacity of a cousin, and seat himself every day at a
+good table; to smooth the yellow, wrinkled brow of the old procurator;
+to pluck the clerks a little by teaching them _bassette_, _passe-dix_,
+and _lansquenet_, in their utmost nicety, and winning from them, by way
+of fee for the lesson he would give them in an hour, their savings of a
+month—all this was enormously delightful to Porthos.
+
+The Musketeer could not forget the evil reports which then prevailed,
+and which indeed have survived them, of the procurators of the
+period—meanness, stinginess, fasts; but as, after all, excepting some
+few acts of economy which Porthos had always found very unseasonable,
+the procurator’s wife had been tolerably liberal—that is, be it
+understood, for a procurator’s wife—he hoped to see a household of a
+highly comfortable kind.
+
+And yet, at the very door the Musketeer began to entertain some doubts.
+The approach was not such as to prepossess people—an ill-smelling, dark
+passage, a staircase half-lighted by bars through which stole a glimmer
+from a neighboring yard; on the first floor a low door studded with
+enormous nails, like the principal gate of the Grand Châtelet.
+
+Porthos knocked with his hand. A tall, pale clerk, his face shaded by a
+forest of virgin hair, opened the door, and bowed with the air of a man
+forced at once to respect in another lofty stature, which indicated
+strength, the military dress, which indicated rank, and a ruddy
+countenance, which indicated familiarity with good living.
+
+A shorter clerk came behind the first, a taller clerk behind the
+second, a stripling of a dozen years rising behind the third. In all,
+three clerks and a half, which, for the time, argued a very extensive
+clientage.
+
+Although the Musketeer was not expected before one o’clock, the
+procurator’s wife had been on the watch ever since midday, reckoning
+that the heart, or perhaps the stomach, of her lover would bring him
+before his time.
+
+Mme. Coquenard therefore entered the office from the house at the same
+moment her guest entered from the stairs, and the appearance of the
+worthy lady relieved him from an awkward embarrassment. The clerks
+surveyed him with great curiosity, and he, not knowing well what to say
+to this ascending and descending scale, remained tongue-tied.
+
+“It is my cousin!” cried the procurator’s wife. “Come in, come in,
+Monsieur Porthos!”
+
+The name of Porthos produced its effect upon the clerks, who began to
+laugh; but Porthos turned sharply round, and every countenance quickly
+recovered its gravity.
+
+They reached the office of the procurator after having passed through
+the antechamber in which the clerks were, and the study in which they
+ought to have been. This last apartment was a sort of dark room,
+littered with papers. On quitting the study they left the kitchen on
+the right, and entered the reception room.
+
+All these rooms, which communicated with one another, did not inspire
+Porthos favorably. Words might be heard at a distance through all these
+open doors. Then, while passing, he had cast a rapid, investigating
+glance into the kitchen; and he was obliged to confess to himself, to
+the shame of the procurator’s wife and his own regret, that he did not
+see that fire, that animation, that bustle, which when a good repast is
+on foot prevails generally in that sanctuary of good living.
+
+The procurator had without doubt been warned of his visit, as he
+expressed no surprise at the sight of Porthos, who advanced toward him
+with a sufficiently easy air, and saluted him courteously.
+
+“We are cousins, it appears, Monsieur Porthos?” said the procurator,
+rising, yet supporting his weight upon the arms of his cane chair.
+
+The old man, wrapped in a large black doublet, in which the whole of
+his slender body was concealed, was brisk and dry. His little gray eyes
+shone like carbuncles, and appeared, with his grinning mouth, to be the
+only part of his face in which life survived. Unfortunately the legs
+began to refuse their service to this bony machine. During the last
+five or six months that this weakness had been felt, the worthy
+procurator had nearly become the slave of his wife.
+
+The cousin was received with resignation, that was all. M. Coquenard,
+firm upon his legs, would have declined all relationship with M.
+Porthos.
+
+“Yes, monsieur, we are cousins,” said Porthos, without being
+disconcerted, as he had never reckoned upon being received
+enthusiastically by the husband.
+
+“By the female side, I believe?” said the procurator, maliciously.
+
+Porthos did not feel the ridicule of this, and took it for a piece of
+simplicity, at which he laughed in his large mustache. Mme. Coquenard,
+who knew that a simple-minded procurator was a very rare variety in the
+species, smiled a little, and colored a great deal.
+
+M. Coquenard had, since the arrival of Porthos, frequently cast his
+eyes with great uneasiness upon a large chest placed in front of his
+oak desk. Porthos comprehended that this chest, although it did not
+correspond in shape with that which he had seen in his dreams, must be
+the blessed coffer, and he congratulated himself that the reality was
+several feet higher than the dream.
+
+M. Coquenard did not carry his genealogical investigations any further;
+but withdrawing his anxious look from the chest and fixing it upon
+Porthos, he contented himself with saying, “Monsieur our cousin will do
+us the favor of dining with us once before his departure for the
+campaign, will he not, Madame Coquenard?”
+
+This time Porthos received the blow right in his stomach, and felt it.
+It appeared likewise that Mme. Coquenard was not less affected by it on
+her part, for she added, “My cousin will not return if he finds that we
+do not treat him kindly; but otherwise he has so little time to pass in
+Paris, and consequently to spare to us, that we must entreat him to
+give us every instant he can call his own previous to his departure.”
+
+“Oh, my legs, my poor legs! where are you?” murmured Coquenard, and he
+tried to smile.
+
+This succor, which came to Porthos at the moment in which he was
+attacked in his gastronomic hopes, inspired much gratitude in the
+Musketeer toward the procurator’s wife.
+
+The hour of dinner soon arrived. They passed into the eating room—a
+large dark room situated opposite the kitchen.
+
+The clerks, who, as it appeared, had smelled unusual perfumes in the
+house, were of military punctuality, and held their stools in hand
+quite ready to sit down. Their jaws moved preliminarily with fearful
+threatenings.
+
+“Indeed!” thought Porthos, casting a glance at the three hungry
+clerks—for the errand boy, as might be expected, was not admitted to
+the honors of the magisterial table, “in my cousin’s place, I would not
+keep such gourmands! They look like shipwrecked sailors who have not
+eaten for six weeks.”
+
+M. Coquenard entered, pushed along upon his armchair with casters by
+Mme. Coquenard, whom Porthos assisted in rolling her husband up to the
+table. He had scarcely entered when he began to agitate his nose and
+his jaws after the example of his clerks.
+
+“Oh, oh!” said he; “here is a soup which is rather inviting.”
+
+“What the devil can they smell so extraordinary in this soup?” said
+Porthos, at the sight of a pale liquid, abundant but entirely free from
+meat, on the surface of which a few crusts swam about as rare as the
+islands of an archipelago.
+
+Mme. Coquenard smiled, and upon a sign from her everyone eagerly took
+his seat.
+
+M. Coquenard was served first, then Porthos. Afterward Mme. Coquenard
+filled her own plate, and distributed the crusts without soup to the
+impatient clerks. At this moment the door of the dining room unclosed
+with a creak, and Porthos perceived through the half-open flap the
+little clerk who, not being allowed to take part in the feast, ate his
+dry bread in the passage with the double odor of the dining room and
+kitchen.
+
+After the soup the maid brought a boiled fowl—a piece of magnificence
+which caused the eyes of the diners to dilate in such a manner that
+they seemed ready to burst.
+
+“One may see that you love your family, Madame Coquenard,” said the
+procurator, with a smile that was almost tragic. “You are certainly
+treating your cousin very handsomely!”
+
+The poor fowl was thin, and covered with one of those thick, bristly
+skins through which the teeth cannot penetrate with all their efforts.
+The fowl must have been sought for a long time on the perch, to which
+it had retired to die of old age.
+
+“The devil!” thought Porthos, “this is poor work. I respect old age,
+but I don’t much like it boiled or roasted.”
+
+And he looked round to see if anybody partook of his opinion; but on
+the contrary, he saw nothing but eager eyes which were devouring, in
+anticipation, that sublime fowl which was the object of his contempt.
+
+Mme. Coquenard drew the dish toward her, skillfully detached the two
+great black feet, which she placed upon her husband’s plate, cut off
+the neck, which with the head she put on one side for herself, raised
+the wing for Porthos, and then returned the bird otherwise intact to
+the servant who had brought it in, who disappeared with it before the
+Musketeer had time to examine the variations which disappointment
+produces upon faces, according to the characters and temperaments of
+those who experience it.
+
+In the place of the fowl a dish of haricot beans made its appearance—an
+enormous dish in which some bones of mutton that at first sight one
+might have believed to have some meat on them pretended to show
+themselves.
+
+But the clerks were not the dupes of this deceit, and their lugubrious
+looks settled down into resigned countenances.
+
+Mme. Coquenard distributed this dish to the young men with the
+moderation of a good housewife.
+
+The time for wine came. M. Coquenard poured from a very small stone
+bottle the third of a glass for each of the young men, served himself
+in about the same proportion, and passed the bottle to Porthos and Mme.
+Coquenard.
+
+The young men filled up their third of a glass with water; then, when
+they had drunk half the glass, they filled it up again, and continued
+to do so. This brought them, by the end of the repast, to swallowing a
+drink which from the color of the ruby had passed to that of a pale
+topaz.
+
+Porthos ate his wing of the fowl timidly, and shuddered when he felt
+the knee of the procurator’s wife under the table, as it came in search
+of his. He also drank half a glass of this sparingly served wine, and
+found it to be nothing but that horrible Montreuil—the terror of all
+expert palates.
+
+M. Coquenard saw him swallowing this wine undiluted, and sighed deeply.
+
+“Will you eat any of these beans, Cousin Porthos?” said Mme. Coquenard,
+in that tone which says, “Take my advice, don’t touch them.”
+
+“Devil take me if I taste one of them!” murmured Porthos to himself,
+and then said aloud, “Thank you, my cousin, I am no longer hungry.”
+
+There was silence. Porthos could hardly keep his countenance.
+
+The procurator repeated several times, “Ah, Madame Coquenard! Accept my
+compliments; your dinner has been a real feast. Lord, how I have
+eaten!”
+
+M. Coquenard had eaten his soup, the black feet of the fowl, and the
+only mutton bone on which there was the least appearance of meat.
+
+Porthos fancied they were mystifying him, and began to curl his
+mustache and knit his eyebrows; but the knee of Mme. Coquenard gently
+advised him to be patient.
+
+This silence and this interruption in serving, which were
+unintelligible to Porthos, had, on the contrary, a terrible meaning for
+the clerks. Upon a look from the procurator, accompanied by a smile
+from Mme. Coquenard, they arose slowly from the table, folded their
+napkins more slowly still, bowed, and retired.
+
+“Go, young men! go and promote digestion by working,” said the
+procurator, gravely.
+
+The clerks gone, Mme. Coquenard rose and took from a buffet a piece of
+cheese, some preserved quinces, and a cake which she had herself made
+of almonds and honey.
+
+M. Coquenard knit his eyebrows because there were too many good things.
+Porthos bit his lips because he saw not the wherewithal to dine. He
+looked to see if the dish of beans was still there; the dish of beans
+had disappeared.
+
+“A positive feast!” cried M. Coquenard, turning about in his chair, “a
+real feast, _epulœ epulorum_. Lucullus dines with Lucullus.”
+
+Porthos looked at the bottle, which was near him, and hoped that with
+wine, bread, and cheese, he might make a dinner; but wine was wanting,
+the bottle was empty. M. and Mme. Coquenard did not seem to observe it.
+
+“This is fine!” said Porthos to himself; “I am prettily caught!”
+
+He passed his tongue over a spoonful of preserves, and stuck his teeth
+into the sticky pastry of Mme. Coquenard.
+
+“Now,” said he, “the sacrifice is consummated! Ah! if I had not the
+hope of peeping with Madame Coquenard into her husband’s chest!”
+
+M. Coquenard, after the luxuries of such a repast, which he called an
+excess, felt the want of a siesta. Porthos began to hope that the thing
+would take place at the present sitting, and in that same locality; but
+the procurator would listen to nothing, he would be taken to his room,
+and was not satisfied till he was close to his chest, upon the edge of
+which, for still greater precaution, he placed his feet.
+
+The procurator’s wife took Porthos into an adjoining room, and they
+began to lay the basis of a reconciliation.
+
+“You can come and dine three times a week,” said Mme. Coquenard.
+
+“Thanks, madame!” said Porthos, “but I don’t like to abuse your
+kindness; besides, I must think of my outfit!”
+
+“That’s true,” said the procurator’s wife, groaning, “that unfortunate
+outfit!”
+
+“Alas, yes,” said Porthos, “it is so.”
+
+“But of what, then, does the equipment of your company consist,
+Monsieur Porthos?”
+
+“Oh, of many things!” said Porthos. “The Musketeers are, as you know,
+picked soldiers, and they require many things useless to the Guardsmen
+or the Swiss.”
+
+“But yet, detail them to me.”
+
+“Why, they may amount to—“, said Porthos, who preferred discussing the
+total to taking them one by one.
+
+The procurator’s wife waited tremblingly.
+
+“To how much?” said she. “I hope it does not exceed—” She stopped;
+speech failed her.
+
+“Oh, no,” said Porthos, “it does not exceed two thousand five hundred
+livres! I even think that with economy I could manage it with two
+thousand livres.”
+
+“Good God!” cried she, “two thousand livres! Why, that is a fortune!”
+
+Porthos made a most significant grimace; Mme. Coquenard understood it.
+
+“I wished to know the detail,” said she, “because, having many
+relatives in business, I was almost sure of obtaining things at a
+hundred per cent less than you would pay yourself.”
+
+“Ah, ah!” said Porthos, “that is what you meant to say!”
+
+“Yes, dear Monsieur Porthos. Thus, for instance, don’t you in the first
+place want a horse?”
+
+“Yes, a horse.”
+
+“Well, then! I can just suit you.”
+
+“Ah!” said Porthos, brightening, “that’s well as regards my horse; but
+I must have the appointments complete, as they include objects which a
+Musketeer alone can purchase, and which will not amount, besides, to
+more than three hundred livres.”
+
+“Three hundred livres? Then put down three hundred livres,” said the
+procurator’s wife, with a sigh.
+
+Porthos smiled. It may be remembered that he had the saddle which came
+from Buckingham. These three hundred livres he reckoned upon putting
+snugly into his pocket.
+
+“Then,” continued he, “there is a horse for my lackey, and my valise.
+As to my arms, it is useless to trouble you about them; I have them.”
+
+“A horse for your lackey?” resumed the procurator’s wife, hesitatingly;
+“but that is doing things in lordly style, my friend.”
+
+“Ah, madame!” said Porthos, haughtily; “do you take me for a beggar?”
+
+“No; I only thought that a pretty mule makes sometimes as good an
+appearance as a horse, and it seemed to me that by getting a pretty
+mule for Mousqueton—”
+
+“Well, agreed for a pretty mule,” said Porthos; “you are right, I have
+seen very great Spanish nobles whose whole suite were mounted on mules.
+But then you understand, Madame Coquenard, a mule with feathers and
+bells.”
+
+“Be satisfied,” said the procurator’s wife.
+
+“There remains the valise,” added Porthos.
+
+“Oh, don’t let that disturb you,” cried Mme. Coquenard. “My husband has
+five or six valises; you shall choose the best. There is one in
+particular which he prefers in his journeys, large enough to hold all
+the world.”
+
+“Your valise is then empty?” asked Porthos, with simplicity.
+
+“Certainly it is empty,” replied the procurator’s wife, in real
+innocence.
+
+“Ah, but the valise I want,” cried Porthos, “is a well-filled one, my
+dear.”
+
+Madame uttered fresh sighs. Molière had not written his scene in
+“L’Avare” then. Mme. Coquenard was in the dilemma of Harpagan.
+
+Finally, the rest of the equipment was successively debated in the same
+manner; and the result of the sitting was that the procurator’s wife
+should give eight hundred livres in money, and should furnish the horse
+and the mule which should have the honor of carrying Porthos and
+Mousqueton to glory.
+
+These conditions being agreed to, Porthos took leave of Mme. Coquenard.
+The latter wished to detain him by darting certain tender glances; but
+Porthos urged the commands of duty, and the procurator’s wife was
+obliged to give place to the king.
+
+The Musketeer returned home hungry and in bad humor.
+
+
+
+
+Chapter XXXIII.
+SOUBRETTE AND MISTRESS
+
+
+Meantime, as we have said, despite the cries of his conscience and the
+wise counsels of Athos, D’Artagnan became hourly more in love with
+Milady. Thus he never failed to pay his diurnal court to her; and the
+self-satisfied Gascon was convinced that sooner or later she could not
+fail to respond.
+
+One day, when he arrived with his head in the air, and as light at
+heart as a man who awaits a shower of gold, he found the _soubrette_
+under the gateway of the hôtel; but this time the pretty Kitty was not
+contented with touching him as he passed, she took him gently by the
+hand.
+
+“Good!” thought D’Artagnan, “She is charged with some message for me
+from her mistress; she is about to appoint some rendezvous of which she
+had not courage to speak.” And he looked down at the pretty girl with
+the most triumphant air imaginable.
+
+“I wish to say three words to you, Monsieur Chevalier,” stammered the
+_soubrette_.
+
+“Speak, my child, speak,” said D’Artagnan; “I listen.”
+
+“Here? Impossible! That which I have to say is too long, and above all,
+too secret.”
+
+“Well, what is to be done?”
+
+“If Monsieur Chevalier would follow me?” said Kitty, timidly.
+
+“Where you please, my dear child.”
+
+“Come, then.”
+
+And Kitty, who had not let go the hand of D’Artagnan, led him up a
+little dark, winding staircase, and after ascending about fifteen
+steps, opened a door.
+
+“Come in here, Monsieur Chevalier,” said she; “here we shall be alone,
+and can talk.”
+
+“And whose room is this, my dear child?”
+
+“It is mine, Monsieur Chevalier; it communicates with my mistress’s by
+that door. But you need not fear. She will not hear what we say; she
+never goes to bed before midnight.”
+
+D’Artagnan cast a glance around him. The little apartment was charming
+for its taste and neatness; but in spite of himself, his eyes were
+directed to that door which Kitty said led to Milady’s chamber.
+
+Kitty guessed what was passing in the mind of the young man, and heaved
+a deep sigh.
+
+“You love my mistress, then, very dearly, Monsieur Chevalier?” said
+she.
+
+“Oh, more than I can say, Kitty! I am mad for her!”
+
+Kitty breathed a second sigh.
+
+“Alas, monsieur,” said she, “that is too bad.”
+
+“What the devil do you see so bad in it?” said D’Artagnan.
+
+“Because, monsieur,” replied Kitty, “my mistress loves you not at all.”
+
+“_Hein!_” said D’Artagnan, “can she have charged you to tell me so?”
+
+“Oh, no, monsieur; but out of the regard I have for you, I have taken
+the resolution to tell you so.”
+
+“Much obliged, my dear Kitty; but for the intention only—for the
+information, you must agree, is not likely to be at all agreeable.”
+
+“That is to say, you don’t believe what I have told you; is it not so?”
+
+“We have always some difficulty in believing such things, my pretty
+dear, were it only from self-love.”
+
+“Then you don’t believe me?”
+
+“I confess that unless you deign to give me some proof of what you
+advance—”
+
+“What do you think of this?”
+
+Kitty drew a little note from her bosom.
+
+“For me?” said D’Artagnan, seizing the letter.
+
+“No; for another.”
+
+“For another?”
+
+“Yes.”
+
+“His name; his name!” cried D’Artagnan.
+
+“Read the address.”
+
+“Monsieur El Comte de Wardes.”
+
+The remembrance of the scene at St. Germain presented itself to the
+mind of the presumptuous Gascon. As quick as thought, he tore open the
+letter, in spite of the cry which Kitty uttered on seeing what he was
+going to do, or rather, what he was doing.
+
+“Oh, good Lord, Monsieur Chevalier,” said she, “what are you doing?”
+
+“I?” said D’Artagnan; “nothing,” and he read,
+
+“You have not answered my first note. Are you indisposed, or have you
+forgotten the glances you favored me with at the ball of Mme. de Guise?
+You have an opportunity now, Count; do not allow it to escape.”
+
+
+D’Artagnan became very pale; he was wounded in his _self_-love: he
+thought that it was in his _love_.
+
+“Poor dear Monsieur d’Artagnan,” said Kitty, in a voice full of
+compassion, and pressing anew the young man’s hand.
+
+“You pity me, little one?” said D’Artagnan.
+
+“Oh, yes, and with all my heart; for I know what it is to be in love.”
+
+“You know what it is to be in love?” said D’Artagnan, looking at her
+for the first time with much attention.
+
+“Alas, yes.”
+
+“Well, then, instead of pitying me, you would do much better to assist
+me in avenging myself on your mistress.”
+
+“And what sort of revenge would you take?”
+
+“I would triumph over her, and supplant my rival.”
+
+“I will never help you in that, Monsieur Chevalier,” said Kitty,
+warmly.
+
+“And why not?” demanded D’Artagnan.
+
+“For two reasons.”
+
+“What ones?”
+
+“The first is that my mistress will never love you.”
+
+“How do you know that?”
+
+“You have cut her to the heart.”
+
+“I? In what can I have offended her—I who ever since I have known her
+have lived at her feet like a slave? Speak, I beg you!”
+
+“I will never confess that but to the man—who should read to the bottom
+of my soul!”
+
+D’Artagnan looked at Kitty for the second time. The young girl had
+freshness and beauty which many duchesses would have purchased with
+their coronets.
+
+“Kitty,” said he, “I will read to the bottom of your soul whenever you
+like; don’t let that disturb you.” And he gave her a kiss at which the
+poor girl became as red as a cherry.
+
+“Oh, no,” said Kitty, “it is not me you love! It is my mistress you
+love; you told me so just now.”
+
+“And does that hinder you from letting me know the second reason?”
+
+“The second reason, Monsieur the Chevalier,” replied Kitty, emboldened
+by the kiss in the first place, and still further by the expression of
+the eyes of the young man, “is that in love, everyone for herself!”
+
+Then only D’Artagnan remembered the languishing glances of Kitty, her
+constantly meeting him in the antechamber, the corridor, or on the
+stairs, those touches of the hand every time she met him, and her deep
+sighs; but absorbed by his desire to please the great lady, he had
+disdained the _soubrette_. He whose game is the eagle takes no heed of
+the sparrow.
+
+But this time our Gascon saw at a glance all the advantage to be
+derived from the love which Kitty had just confessed so innocently, or
+so boldly: the interception of letters addressed to the Comte de
+Wardes, news on the spot, entrance at all hours into Kitty’s chamber,
+which was contiguous to her mistress’s. The perfidious deceiver was, as
+may plainly be perceived, already sacrificing, in intention, the poor
+girl in order to obtain Milady, willy-nilly.
+
+“Well,” said he to the young girl, “are you willing, my dear Kitty,
+that I should give you a proof of that love which you doubt?”
+
+“What love?” asked the young girl.
+
+“Of that which I am ready to feel toward you.”
+
+“And what is that proof?”
+
+“Are you willing that I should this evening pass with you the time I
+generally spend with your mistress?”
+
+“Oh, yes,” said Kitty, clapping her hands, “very willing.”
+
+“Well, then, come here, my dear,” said D’Artagnan, establishing himself
+in an easy chair; “come, and let me tell you that you are the prettiest
+_soubrette_ I ever saw!”
+
+And he did tell her so much, and so well, that the poor girl, who asked
+nothing better than to believe him, did believe him. Nevertheless, to
+D’Artagnan’s great astonishment, the pretty Kitty defended herself
+resolutely.
+
+Time passes quickly when it is passed in attacks and defenses. Midnight
+sounded, and almost at the same time the bell was rung in Milady’s
+chamber.
+
+“Good God,” cried Kitty, “there is my mistress calling me! Go; go
+directly!”
+
+D’Artagnan rose, took his hat, as if it had been his intention to obey,
+then, opening quickly the door of a large closet instead of that
+leading to the staircase, he buried himself amid the robes and dressing
+gowns of Milady.
+
+“What are you doing?” cried Kitty.
+
+D’Artagnan, who had secured the key, shut himself up in the closet
+without reply.
+
+“Well,” cried Milady, in a sharp voice. “Are you asleep, that you don’t
+answer when I ring?”
+
+And D’Artagnan heard the door of communication opened violently.
+
+“Here am I, Milady, here am I!” cried Kitty, springing forward to meet
+her mistress.
+
+Both went into the bedroom, and as the door of communication remained
+open, D’Artagnan could hear Milady for some time scolding her maid. She
+was at length appeased, and the conversation turned upon him while
+Kitty was assisting her mistress.
+
+“Well,” said Milady, “I have not seen our Gascon this evening.”
+
+“What, Milady! has he not come?” said Kitty. “Can he be inconstant
+before being happy?”
+
+“Oh, no; he must have been prevented by Monsieur de Tréville or
+Monsieur Dessessart. I understand my game, Kitty; I have this one
+safe.”
+
+“What will you do with him, madame?”
+
+“What will I do with him? Be easy, Kitty, there is something between
+that man and me that he is quite ignorant of: he nearly made me lose my
+credit with his Eminence. Oh, I will be revenged!”
+
+“I believed that Madame loved him.”
+
+“I love him? I detest him! An idiot, who held the life of Lord de
+Winter in his hands and did not kill him, by which I missed three
+hundred thousand livres’ income.”
+
+“That’s true,” said Kitty; “your son was the only heir of his uncle,
+and until his majority you would have had the enjoyment of his
+fortune.”
+
+D’Artagnan shuddered to the marrow at hearing this suave creature
+reproach him, with that sharp voice which she took such pains to
+conceal in conversation, for not having killed a man whom he had seen
+load her with kindnesses.
+
+“For all this,” continued Milady, “I should long ago have revenged
+myself on him if, and I don’t know why, the cardinal had not requested
+me to conciliate him.”
+
+“Oh, yes; but Madame has not conciliated that little woman he was so
+fond of.”
+
+“What, the mercer’s wife of the Rue des Fossoyeurs? Has he not already
+forgotten she ever existed? Fine vengeance that, on my faith!”
+
+A cold sweat broke from D’Artagnan’s brow. Why, this woman was a
+monster! He resumed his listening, but unfortunately the toilet was
+finished.
+
+“That will do,” said Milady; “go into your own room, and tomorrow
+endeavor again to get me an answer to the letter I gave you.”
+
+“For Monsieur de Wardes?” said Kitty.
+
+“To be sure; for Monsieur de Wardes.”
+
+“Now, there is one,” said Kitty, “who appears to me quite a different
+sort of a man from that poor Monsieur d’Artagnan.”
+
+“Go to bed, mademoiselle,” said Milady; “I don’t like comments.”
+
+D’Artagnan heard the door close; then the noise of two bolts by which
+Milady fastened herself in. On her side, but as softly as possible,
+Kitty turned the key of the lock, and then D’Artagnan opened the closet
+door.
+
+“Oh, good Lord!” said Kitty, in a low voice, “what is the matter with
+you? How pale you are!”
+
+“The abominable creature,” murmured D’Artagnan.
+
+“Silence, silence, begone!” said Kitty. “There is nothing but a
+wainscot between my chamber and Milady’s; every word that is uttered in
+one can be heard in the other.”
+
+“That’s exactly the reason I won’t go,” said D’Artagnan.
+
+“What!” said Kitty, blushing.
+
+“Or, at least, I will go—later.”
+
+He drew Kitty to him. She had the less motive to resist, resistance
+would make so much noise. Therefore Kitty surrendered.
+
+It was a movement of vengeance upon Milady. D’Artagnan believed it
+right to say that vengeance is the pleasure of the gods. With a little
+more heart, he might have been contented with this new conquest; but
+the principal features of his character were ambition and pride. It
+must, however, be confessed in his justification that the first use he
+made of his influence over Kitty was to try and find out what had
+become of Mme. Bonacieux; but the poor girl swore upon the crucifix to
+D’Artagnan that she was entirely ignorant on that head, her mistress
+never admitting her into half her secrets—only she believed she could
+say she was not dead.
+
+As to the cause which was near making Milady lose her credit with the
+cardinal, Kitty knew nothing about it; but this time D’Artagnan was
+better informed than she was. As he had seen Milady on board a vessel
+at the moment he was leaving England, he suspected that it was, almost
+without a doubt, on account of the diamond studs.
+
+But what was clearest in all this was that the true hatred, the
+profound hatred, the inveterate hatred of Milady, was increased by his
+not having killed her brother-in-law.
+
+D’Artagnan came the next day to Milady’s, and finding her in a very
+ill-humor, had no doubt that it was lack of an answer from M. de Wardes
+that provoked her thus. Kitty came in, but Milady was very cross with
+her. The poor girl ventured a glance at D’Artagnan which said, “See how
+I suffer on your account!”
+
+Toward the end of the evening, however, the beautiful lioness became
+milder; she smilingly listened to the soft speeches of D’Artagnan, and
+even gave him her hand to kiss.
+
+D’Artagnan departed, scarcely knowing what to think, but as he was a
+youth who did not easily lose his head, while continuing to pay his
+court to Milady, he had framed a little plan in his mind.
+
+He found Kitty at the gate, and, as on the preceding evening, went up
+to her chamber. Kitty had been accused of negligence and severely
+scolded. Milady could not at all comprehend the silence of the Comte de
+Wardes, and she ordered Kitty to come at nine o’clock in the morning to
+take a third letter.
+
+D’Artagnan made Kitty promise to bring him that letter on the following
+morning. The poor girl promised all her lover desired; she was mad.
+
+Things passed as on the night before. D’Artagnan concealed himself in
+his closet; Milady called, undressed, sent away Kitty, and shut the
+door. As the night before, D’Artagnan did not return home till five
+o’clock in the morning.
+
+At eleven o’clock Kitty came to him. She held in her hand a fresh
+billet from Milady. This time the poor girl did not even argue with
+D’Artagnan; she gave it to him at once. She belonged body and soul to
+her handsome soldier.
+
+D’Artagnan opened the letter and read as follows:
+
+This is the third time I have written to you to tell you that I love
+you. Beware that I do not write to you a fourth time to tell you that I
+detest you.
+    If you repent of the manner in which you have acted toward me, the
+    young girl who brings you this will tell you how a man of spirit
+    may obtain his pardon.
+
+
+D’Artagnan colored and grew pale several times in reading this billet.
+
+“Oh, you love her still,” said Kitty, who had not taken her eyes off
+the young man’s countenance for an instant.
+
+“No, Kitty, you are mistaken. I do not love her, but I will avenge
+myself for her contempt.”
+
+“Oh, yes, I know what sort of vengeance! You told me that!”
+
+“What matters it to you, Kitty? You know it is you alone whom I love.”
+
+“How can I know that?”
+
+“By the scorn I will throw upon her.”
+
+D’Artagnan took a pen and wrote:
+
+MADAME, Until the present moment I could not believe that it was to me
+your first two letters were addressed, so unworthy did I feel myself of
+such an honor; besides, I was so seriously indisposed that I could not
+in any case have replied to them.
+    But now I am forced to believe in the excess of your kindness,
+    since not only your letter but your servant assures me that I have
+    the good fortune to be beloved by you.
+    She has no occasion to teach me the way in which a man of spirit
+    may obtain his pardon. I will come and ask mine at eleven o’clock
+    this evening.
+    To delay it a single day would be in my eyes now to commit a fresh
+    offense.
+    From him whom you have rendered the happiest of men,
+
+
+COMTE DE WARDES
+
+
+This note was in the first place a forgery; it was likewise an
+indelicacy. It was even, according to our present manners, something
+like an infamous action; but at that period people did not manage
+affairs as they do today. Besides, D’Artagnan from her own admission
+knew Milady culpable of treachery in matters more important, and could
+entertain no respect for her. And yet, notwithstanding this want of
+respect, he felt an uncontrollable passion for this woman boiling in
+his veins—passion drunk with contempt; but passion or thirst, as the
+reader pleases.
+
+D’Artagnan’s plan was very simple. By Kitty’s chamber he could gain
+that of her mistress. He would take advantage of the first moment of
+surprise, shame, and terror, to triumph over her. He might fail, but
+something must be left to chance. In eight days the campaign would
+open, and he would be compelled to leave Paris; D’Artagnan had no time
+for a prolonged love siege.
+
+“There,” said the young man, handing Kitty the letter sealed; “give
+that to Milady. It is the count’s reply.”
+
+Poor Kitty became as pale as death; she suspected what the letter
+contained.
+
+“Listen, my dear girl,” said D’Artagnan; “you cannot but perceive that
+all this must end, some way or other. Milady may discover that you gave
+the first billet to my lackey instead of to the count’s; that it is I
+who have opened the others which ought to have been opened by de
+Wardes. Milady will then turn you out of doors, and you know she is not
+the woman to limit her vengeance.”
+
+“Alas!” said Kitty, “for whom have I exposed myself to all that?”
+
+“For me, I well know, my sweet girl,” said D’Artagnan. “But I am
+grateful, I swear to you.”
+
+“But what does this note contain?”
+
+“Milady will tell you.”
+
+“Ah, you do not love me!” cried Kitty, “and I am very wretched.”
+
+To this reproach there is always one response which deludes women.
+D’Artagnan replied in such a manner that Kitty remained in her great
+delusion. Although she cried freely before deciding to transmit the
+letter to her mistress, she did at last so decide, which was all
+D’Artagnan wished. Finally he promised that he would leave her
+mistress’s presence at an early hour that evening, and that when he
+left the mistress he would ascend with the maid. This promise completed
+poor Kitty’s consolation.
+
+
+
+
+Chapter XXXIV.
+IN WHICH THE EQUIPMENT OF ARAMIS AND PORTHOS IS TREATED OF
+
+
+Since the four friends had been each in search of his equipments, there
+had been no fixed meeting between them. They dined apart from one
+another, wherever they might happen to be, or rather where they could.
+Duty likewise on its part took a portion of that precious time which
+was gliding away so rapidly—only they had agreed to meet once a week,
+about one o’clock, at the residence of Athos, seeing that he, in
+agreement with the vow he had formed, did not pass over the threshold
+of his door.
+
+This day of reunion was the same day as that on which Kitty came to
+find D’Artagnan. Soon as Kitty left him, D’Artagnan directed his steps
+toward the Rue Férou.
+
+He found Athos and Aramis philosophizing. Aramis had some slight
+inclination to resume the cassock. Athos, according to his system,
+neither encouraged nor dissuaded him. Athos believed that everyone
+should be left to his own free will. He never gave advice but when it
+was asked, and even then he required to be asked twice.
+
+“People, in general,” he said, “only ask advice not to follow it; or if
+they do follow it, it is for the sake of having someone to blame for
+having given it.”
+
+Porthos arrived a minute after D’Artagnan. The four friends were
+reunited.
+
+The four countenances expressed four different feelings: that of
+Porthos, tranquillity; that of D’Artagnan, hope; that of Aramis,
+uneasiness; that of Athos, carelessness.
+
+At the end of a moment’s conversation, in which Porthos hinted that a
+lady of elevated rank had condescended to relieve him from his
+embarrassment, Mousqueton entered. He came to request his master to
+return to his lodgings, where his presence was urgent, as he piteously
+said.
+
+“Is it my equipment?”
+
+“Yes and no,” replied Mousqueton.
+
+“Well, but can’t you speak?”
+
+“Come, monsieur.”
+
+Porthos rose, saluted his friends, and followed Mousqueton. An instant
+after, Bazin made his appearance at the door.
+
+“What do you want with me, my friend?” said Aramis, with that mildness
+of language which was observable in him every time that his ideas were
+directed toward the Church.
+
+“A man wishes to see Monsieur at home,” replied Bazin.
+
+“A man! What man?”
+
+“A mendicant.”
+
+“Give him alms, Bazin, and bid him pray for a poor sinner.”
+
+“This mendicant insists upon speaking to you, and pretends that you
+will be very glad to see him.”
+
+“Has he sent no particular message for me?”
+
+“Yes. If Monsieur Aramis hesitates to come,” he said, “tell him I am
+from Tours.”
+
+“From Tours!” cried Aramis. “A thousand pardons, gentlemen; but no
+doubt this man brings me the news I expected.” And rising also, he went
+off at a quick pace. There remained Athos and D’Artagnan.
+
+“I believe these fellows have managed their business. What do you
+think, D’Artagnan?” said Athos.
+
+“I know that Porthos was in a fair way,” replied D’Artagnan; “and as to
+Aramis to tell you the truth, I have never been seriously uneasy on his
+account. But you, my dear Athos—you, who so generously distributed the
+Englishman’s pistoles, which were our legitimate property—what do you
+mean to do?”
+
+“I am satisfied with having killed that fellow, my boy, seeing that it
+is blessed bread to kill an Englishman; but if I had pocketed his
+pistoles, they would have weighed me down like a remorse.”
+
+“Go to, my dear Athos; you have truly inconceivable ideas.”
+
+“Let it pass. What do you think of Monsieur de Tréville telling me,
+when he did me the honor to call upon me yesterday, that you associated
+with the suspected English, whom the cardinal protects?”
+
+“That is to say, I visit an Englishwoman—the one I named.”
+
+“Oh, ay! the fair woman on whose account I gave you advice, which
+naturally you took care not to adopt.”
+
+“I gave you my reasons.”
+
+“Yes; you look there for your outfit, I think you said.”
+
+“Not at all. I have acquired certain knowledge that that woman was
+concerned in the abduction of Madame Bonacieux.”
+
+“Yes, I understand now: to find one woman, you court another. It is the
+longest road, but certainly the most amusing.”
+
+D’Artagnan was on the point of telling Athos all; but one consideration
+restrained him. Athos was a gentleman, punctilious in points of honor;
+and there were in the plan which our lover had devised for Milady, he
+was sure, certain things that would not obtain the assent of this
+Puritan. He was therefore silent; and as Athos was the least
+inquisitive of any man on earth, D’Artagnan’s confidence stopped there.
+We will therefore leave the two friends, who had nothing important to
+say to each other, and follow Aramis.
+
+Upon being informed that the person who wanted to speak to him came
+from Tours, we have seen with what rapidity the young man followed, or
+rather went before, Bazin; he ran without stopping from the Rue Férou
+to the Rue de Vaugirard. On entering he found a man of short stature
+and intelligent eyes, but covered with rags.
+
+“You have asked for me?” said the Musketeer.
+
+“I wish to speak with Monsieur Aramis. Is that your name, monsieur?”
+
+“My very own. You have brought me something?”
+
+“Yes, if you show me a certain embroidered handkerchief.”
+
+“Here it is,” said Aramis, taking a small key from his breast and
+opening a little ebony box inlaid with mother of pearl, “here it is.
+Look.”
+
+“That is right,” replied the mendicant; “dismiss your lackey.”
+
+In fact, Bazin, curious to know what the mendicant could want with his
+master, kept pace with him as well as he could, and arrived almost at
+the same time he did; but his quickness was not of much use to him. At
+the hint from the mendicant his master made him a sign to retire, and
+he was obliged to obey.
+
+Bazin gone, the mendicant cast a rapid glance around him in order to be
+sure that nobody could either see or hear him, and opening his ragged
+vest, badly held together by a leather strap, he began to rip the upper
+part of his doublet, from which he drew a letter.
+
+Aramis uttered a cry of joy at the sight of the seal, kissed the
+superscription with an almost religious respect, and opened the
+epistle, which contained what follows:
+
+“My Friend, it is the will of fate that we should be still for some
+time separated; but the delightful days of youth are not lost beyond
+return. Perform your duty in camp; I will do mine elsewhere. Accept
+that which the bearer brings you; make the campaign like a handsome
+true gentleman, and think of me, who kisses tenderly your black eyes.
+    “Adieu; or rather, _au revoir_.”
+
+
+The mendicant continued to rip his garments; and drew from amid his
+rags a hundred and fifty Spanish double pistoles, which he laid down on
+the table; then he opened the door, bowed, and went out before the
+young man, stupefied by his letter, had ventured to address a word to
+him.
+
+Aramis then reperused the letter, and perceived a postscript:
+
+PS. You may behave politely to the bearer, who is a count and a grandee
+of Spain!
+
+
+“Golden dreams!” cried Aramis. “Oh, beautiful life! Yes, we are young;
+yes, we shall yet have happy days! My love, my blood, my life! all,
+all, all, are thine, my adored mistress!”
+
+And he kissed the letter with passion, without even vouchsafing a look
+at the gold which sparkled on the table.
+
+Bazin scratched at the door, and as Aramis had no longer any reason to
+exclude him, he bade him come in.
+
+Bazin was stupefied at the sight of the gold, and forgot that he came
+to announce D’Artagnan, who, curious to know who the mendicant could
+be, came to Aramis on leaving Athos.
+
+Now, as D’Artagnan used no ceremony with Aramis, seeing that Bazin
+forgot to announce him, he announced himself.
+
+“The devil! my dear Aramis,” said D’Artagnan, “if these are the prunes
+that are sent to you from Tours, I beg you will make my compliments to
+the gardener who gathers them.”
+
+“You are mistaken, friend D’Artagnan,” said Aramis, always on his
+guard; “this is from my publisher, who has just sent me the price of
+that poem in one-syllable verse which I began yonder.”
+
+“Ah, indeed,” said D’Artagnan. “Well, your publisher is very generous,
+my dear Aramis, that’s all I can say.”
+
+“How, monsieur?” cried Bazin, “a poem sell so dear as that! It is
+incredible! Oh, monsieur, you can write as much as you like; you may
+become equal to Monsieur de Voiture and Monsieur de Benserade. I like
+that. A poet is as good as an abbé. Ah! Monsieur Aramis, become a poet,
+I beg of you.”
+
+“Bazin, my friend,” said Aramis, “I believe you meddle with my
+conversation.”
+
+Bazin perceived he was wrong; he bowed and went out.
+
+“Ah!” said D’Artagnan with a smile, “you sell your productions at their
+weight in gold. You are very fortunate, my friend; but take care or you
+will lose that letter which is peeping from your doublet, and which
+also comes, no doubt, from your publisher.”
+
+Aramis blushed to the eyes, crammed in the letter, and re-buttoned his
+doublet.
+
+“My dear D’Artagnan,” said he, “if you please, we will join our
+friends; as I am rich, we will today begin to dine together again,
+expecting that you will be rich in your turn.”
+
+“My faith!” said D’Artagnan, with great pleasure. “It is long since we
+have had a good dinner; and I, for my part, have a somewhat hazardous
+expedition for this evening, and shall not be sorry, I confess, to
+fortify myself with a few glasses of good old Burgundy.”
+
+“Agreed, as to the old Burgundy; I have no objection to that,” said
+Aramis, from whom the letter and the gold had removed, as by magic, his
+ideas of conversion.
+
+And having put three or four double pistoles into his pocket to answer
+the needs of the moment, he placed the others in the ebony box, inlaid
+with mother of pearl, in which was the famous handkerchief which served
+him as a talisman.
+
+The two friends repaired to Athos’s, and he, faithful to his vow of not
+going out, took upon him to order dinner to be brought to them. As he
+was perfectly acquainted with the details of gastronomy, D’Artagnan and
+Aramis made no objection to abandoning this important care to him.
+
+They went to find Porthos, and at the corner of the Rue Bac met
+Mousqueton, who, with a most pitiable air, was driving before him a
+mule and a horse.
+
+D’Artagnan uttered a cry of surprise, which was not quite free from
+joy.
+
+“Ah, my yellow horse,” cried he. “Aramis, look at that horse!”
+
+“Oh, the frightful brute!” said Aramis.
+
+“Ah, my dear,” replied D’Artagnan, “upon that very horse I came to
+Paris.”
+
+“What, does Monsieur know this horse?” said Mousqueton.
+
+“It is of an original color,” said Aramis; “I never saw one with such a
+hide in my life.”
+
+“I can well believe it,” replied D’Artagnan, “and that was why I got
+three crowns for him. It must have been for his hide, for, _certes_,
+the carcass is not worth eighteen livres. But how did this horse come
+into your hands, Mousqueton?”
+
+“Pray,” said the lackey, “say nothing about it, monsieur; it is a
+frightful trick of the husband of our duchess!”
+
+“How is that, Mousqueton?”
+
+“Why, we are looked upon with a rather favorable eye by a lady of
+quality, the Duchesse de—but, your pardon; my master has commanded me
+to be discreet. She had forced us to accept a little souvenir, a
+magnificent Spanish _genet_ and an Andalusian mule, which were
+beautiful to look upon. The husband heard of the affair; on their way
+he confiscated the two magnificent beasts which were being sent to us,
+and substituted these horrible animals.”
+
+“Which you are taking back to him?” said D’Artagnan.
+
+“Exactly!” replied Mousqueton. “You may well believe that we will not
+accept such steeds as these in exchange for those which had been
+promised to us.”
+
+“No, _pardieu;_ though I should like to have seen Porthos on my yellow
+horse. That would give me an idea of how I looked when I arrived in
+Paris. But don’t let us hinder you, Mousqueton; go and perform your
+master’s orders. Is he at home?”
+
+“Yes, monsieur,” said Mousqueton, “but in a very ill humor. Get up!”
+
+He continued his way toward the Quai des Grands Augustins, while the
+two friends went to ring at the bell of the unfortunate Porthos. He,
+having seen them crossing the yard, took care not to answer, and they
+rang in vain.
+
+Meanwhile Mousqueton continued on his way, and crossing the Pont Neuf,
+still driving the two sorry animals before him, he reached the Rue aux
+Ours. Arrived there, he fastened, according to the orders of his
+master, both horse and mule to the knocker of the procurator’s door;
+then, without taking any thought for their future, he returned to
+Porthos, and told him that his commission was completed.
+
+In a short time the two unfortunate beasts, who had not eaten anything
+since the morning, made such a noise in raising and letting fall the
+knocker that the procurator ordered his errand boy to go and inquire in
+the neighborhood to whom this horse and mule belonged.
+
+Mme. Coquenard recognized her present, and could not at first
+comprehend this restitution; but the visit of Porthos soon enlightened
+her. The anger which fired the eyes of the Musketeer, in spite of his
+efforts to suppress it, terrified his sensitive inamorata. In fact,
+Mousqueton had not concealed from his master that he had met D’Artagnan
+and Aramis, and that D’Artagnan in the yellow horse had recognized the
+Béarnese pony upon which he had come to Paris, and which he had sold
+for three crowns.
+
+Porthos went away after having appointed a meeting with the
+procurator’s wife in the cloister of St. Magloire. The procurator,
+seeing he was going, invited him to dinner—an invitation which the
+Musketeer refused with a majestic air.
+
+Mme. Coquenard repaired trembling to the cloister of St. Magloire, for
+she guessed the reproaches that awaited her there; but she was
+fascinated by the lofty airs of Porthos.
+
+All that which a man wounded in his self-love could let fall in the
+shape of imprecations and reproaches upon the head of a woman Porthos
+let fall upon the bowed head of the procurator’s wife.
+
+“Alas,” said she, “I did all for the best! One of our clients is a
+horsedealer; he owes money to the office, and is backward in his pay. I
+took the mule and the horse for what he owed us; he assured me that
+they were two noble steeds.”
+
+“Well, madame,” said Porthos, “if he owed you more than five crowns,
+your horsedealer is a thief.”
+
+“There is no harm in trying to buy things cheap, Monsieur Porthos,”
+said the procurator’s wife, seeking to excuse herself.
+
+“No, madame; but they who so assiduously try to buy things cheap ought
+to permit others to seek more generous friends.” And Porthos, turning
+on his heel, made a step to retire.
+
+“Monsieur Porthos! Monsieur Porthos!” cried the procurator’s wife. “I
+have been wrong; I see it. I ought not to have driven a bargain when it
+was to equip a cavalier like you.”
+
+Porthos, without reply, retreated a second step. The procurator’s wife
+fancied she saw him in a brilliant cloud, all surrounded by duchesses
+and marchionesses, who cast bags of money at his feet.
+
+“Stop, in the name of heaven, Monsieur Porthos!” cried she. “Stop, and
+let us talk.”
+
+“Talking with you brings me misfortune,” said Porthos.
+
+“But, tell me, what do you ask?”
+
+“Nothing; for that amounts to the same thing as if I asked you for
+something.”
+
+The procurator’s wife hung upon the arm of Porthos, and in the violence
+of her grief she cried out, “Monsieur Porthos, I am ignorant of all
+such matters! How should I know what a horse is? How should I know what
+horse furniture is?”
+
+“You should have left it to me, then, madame, who know what they are;
+but you wished to be frugal, and consequently to lend at usury.”
+
+“It was wrong, Monsieur Porthos; but I will repair that wrong, upon my
+word of honor.”
+
+“How so?” asked the Musketeer.
+
+“Listen. This evening M. Coquenard is going to the house of the Duc de
+Chaulnes, who has sent for him. It is for a consultation, which will
+last three hours at least. Come! We shall be alone, and can make up our
+accounts.”
+
+“In good time. Now you talk, my dear.”
+
+“You pardon me?”
+
+“We shall see,” said Porthos, majestically; and the two separated
+saying, “Till this evening.”
+
+“The devil!” thought Porthos, as he walked away, “it appears I am
+getting nearer to Monsieur Coquenard’s strongbox at last.”
+
+
+
+
+Chapter XXXV.
+A GASCON A MATCH FOR CUPID
+
+
+The evening so impatiently waited for by Porthos and by D’Artagnan at
+last arrived.
+
+As was his custom, D’Artagnan presented himself at Milady’s at about
+nine o’clock. He found her in a charming humor. Never had he been so
+well received. Our Gascon knew, by the first glance of his eye, that
+his billet had been delivered, and that this billet had had its effect.
+
+Kitty entered to bring some sherbet. Her mistress put on a charming
+face, and smiled on her graciously; but alas! the poor girl was so sad
+that she did not even notice Milady’s condescension.
+
+D’Artagnan looked at the two women, one after the other, and was forced
+to acknowledge that in his opinion Dame Nature had made a mistake in
+their formation. To the great lady she had given a heart vile and
+venal; to the _soubrette_ she had given the heart of a duchess.
+
+At ten o’clock Milady began to appear restless. D’Artagnan knew what
+she wanted. She looked at the clock, rose, reseated herself, smiled at
+D’Artagnan with an air which said, “You are very amiable, no doubt, but
+you would be _charming_ if you would only depart.”
+
+D’Artagnan rose and took his hat; Milady gave him her hand to kiss. The
+young man felt her press his hand, and comprehended that this was a
+sentiment, not of coquetry, but of gratitude because of his departure.
+
+“She loves him devilishly,” he murmured. Then he went out.
+
+This time Kitty was nowhere waiting for him; neither in the
+antechamber, nor in the corridor, nor beneath the great door. It was
+necessary that D’Artagnan should find alone the staircase and the
+little chamber. She heard him enter, but she did not raise her head.
+The young man went to her and took her hands; then she sobbed aloud.
+
+As D’Artagnan had presumed, on receiving his letter, Milady in a
+delirium of joy had told her servant everything; and by way of
+recompense for the manner in which she had this time executed the
+commission, she had given Kitty a purse.
+
+Returning to her own room, Kitty had thrown the purse into a corner,
+where it lay open, disgorging three or four gold pieces on the carpet.
+The poor girl, under the caresses of D’Artagnan, lifted her head.
+D’Artagnan himself was frightened by the change in her countenance. She
+joined her hands with a suppliant air, but without venturing to speak a
+word. As little sensitive as was the heart of D’Artagnan, he was
+touched by this mute sorrow; but he held too tenaciously to his
+projects, above all to this one, to change the program which he had
+laid out in advance. He did not therefore allow her any hope that he
+would flinch; only he represented his action as one of simple
+vengeance.
+
+For the rest this vengeance was very easy; for Milady, doubtless to
+conceal her blushes from her lover, had ordered Kitty to extinguish all
+the lights in the apartment, and even in the little chamber itself.
+Before daybreak M. de Wardes must take his departure, still in
+obscurity.
+
+Presently they heard Milady retire to her room. D’Artagnan slipped into
+the wardrobe. Hardly was he concealed when the little bell sounded.
+Kitty went to her mistress, and did not leave the door open; but the
+partition was so thin that one could hear nearly all that passed
+between the two women.
+
+Milady seemed overcome with joy, and made Kitty repeat the smallest
+details of the pretended interview of the _soubrette_ with De Wardes
+when he received the letter; how he had responded; what was the
+expression of his face; if he seemed very amorous. And to all these
+questions poor Kitty, forced to put on a pleasant face, responded in a
+stifled voice whose dolorous accent her mistress did not however
+remark, solely because happiness is egotistical.
+
+Finally, as the hour for her interview with the count approached,
+Milady had everything about her darkened, and ordered Kitty to return
+to her own chamber, and introduce De Wardes whenever he presented
+himself.
+
+Kitty’s detention was not long. Hardly had D’Artagnan seen, through a
+crevice in his closet, that the whole apartment was in obscurity, than
+he slipped out of his concealment, at the very moment when Kitty
+reclosed the door of communication.
+
+“What is that noise?” demanded Milady.
+
+“It is I,” said D’Artagnan in a subdued voice, “I, the Comte de
+Wardes.”
+
+“Oh, my God, my God!” murmured Kitty, “he has not even waited for the
+hour he himself named!”
+
+“Well,” said Milady, in a trembling voice, “why do you not enter?
+Count, Count,” added she, “you know that I wait for you.”
+
+At this appeal D’Artagnan drew Kitty quietly away, and slipped into the
+chamber.
+
+If rage or sorrow ever torture the heart, it is when a lover receives
+under a name which is not his own protestations of love addressed to
+his happy rival. D’Artagnan was in a dolorous situation which he had
+not foreseen. Jealousy gnawed his heart; and he suffered almost as much
+as poor Kitty, who at that very moment was crying in the next chamber.
+
+“Yes, Count,” said Milady, in her softest voice, and pressing his hand
+in her own, “I am happy in the love which your looks and your words
+have expressed to me every time we have met. I also—I love you. Oh,
+tomorrow, tomorrow, I must have some pledge from you which will prove
+that you think of me; and that you may not forget me, take this!” and
+she slipped a ring from her finger onto D’Artagnan’s. D’Artagnan
+remembered having seen this ring on the finger of Milady; it was a
+magnificent sapphire, encircled with brilliants.
+
+The first movement of D’Artagnan was to return it, but Milady added,
+“No, no! Keep that ring for love of me. Besides, in accepting it,” she
+added, in a voice full of emotion, “you render me a much greater
+service than you imagine.”
+
+“This woman is full of mysteries,” murmured D’Artagnan to himself. At
+that instant he felt himself ready to reveal all. He even opened his
+mouth to tell Milady who he was, and with what a revengeful purpose he
+had come; but she added, “Poor angel, whom that monster of a Gascon
+barely failed to kill.”
+
+The monster was himself.
+
+“Oh,” continued Milady, “do your wounds still make you suffer?”
+
+“Yes, much,” said D’Artagnan, who did not well know how to answer.
+
+“Be tranquil,” murmured Milady; “I will avenge you—and cruelly!”
+
+“_Peste!_” said D’Artagnan to himself, “the moment for confidences has
+not yet come.”
+
+It took some time for D’Artagnan to resume this little dialogue; but
+then all the ideas of vengeance which he had brought with him had
+completely vanished. This woman exercised over him an unaccountable
+power; he hated and adored her at the same time. He would not have
+believed that two sentiments so opposite could dwell in the same heart,
+and by their union constitute a passion so strange, and as it were,
+diabolical.
+
+Presently it sounded one o’clock. It was necessary to separate.
+D’Artagnan at the moment of quitting Milady felt only the liveliest
+regret at the parting; and as they addressed each other in a
+reciprocally passionate adieu, another interview was arranged for the
+following week.
+
+Poor Kitty hoped to speak a few words to D’Artagnan when he passed
+through her chamber; but Milady herself reconducted him through the
+darkness, and only quit him at the staircase.
+
+The next morning D’Artagnan ran to find Athos. He was engaged in an
+adventure so singular that he wished for counsel. He therefore told him
+all.
+
+“Your Milady,” said he, “appears to be an infamous creature, but not
+the less you have done wrong to deceive her. In one fashion or another
+you have a terrible enemy on your hands.”
+
+While thus speaking Athos regarded with attention the sapphire set with
+diamonds which had taken, on D’Artagnan’s finger, the place of the
+queen’s ring, carefully kept in a casket.
+
+“You notice my ring?” said the Gascon, proud to display so rich a gift
+in the eyes of his friends.
+
+“Yes,” said Athos, “it reminds me of a family jewel.”
+
+“It is beautiful, is it not?” said D’Artagnan.
+
+“Yes,” said Athos, “magnificent. I did not think two sapphires of such
+a fine water existed. Have you traded it for your diamond?”
+
+“No. It is a gift from my beautiful Englishwoman, or rather
+Frenchwoman—for I am convinced she was born in France, though I have
+not questioned her.”
+
+“That ring comes from Milady?” cried Athos, with a voice in which it
+was easy to detect strong emotion.
+
+“Her very self; she gave it me last night. Here it is,” replied
+D’Artagnan, taking it from his finger.
+
+Athos examined it and became very pale. He tried it on his left hand;
+it fit his finger as if made for it.
+
+A shade of anger and vengeance passed across the usually calm brow of
+this gentleman.
+
+“It is impossible it can be she,” said he. “How could this ring come
+into the hands of Milady Clarik? And yet it is difficult to suppose
+such a resemblance should exist between two jewels.”
+
+“Do you know this ring?” said D’Artagnan.
+
+“I thought I did,” replied Athos; “but no doubt I was mistaken.” And he
+returned D’Artagnan the ring without, however, ceasing to look at it.
+
+“Pray, D’Artagnan,” said Athos, after a minute, “either take off that
+ring or turn the mounting inside; it recalls such cruel recollections
+that I shall have no head to converse with you. Don’t ask me for
+counsel; don’t tell me you are perplexed what to do. But stop! let me
+look at that sapphire again; the one I mentioned to you had one of its
+faces scratched by accident.”
+
+D’Artagnan took off the ring, giving it again to Athos.
+
+Athos started. “Look,” said he, “is it not strange?” and he pointed out
+to D’Artagnan the scratch he had remembered.
+
+“But from whom did this ring come to you, Athos?”
+
+“From my mother, who inherited it from her mother. As I told you, it is
+an old family jewel.”
+
+“And you—sold it?” asked D’Artagnan, hesitatingly.
+
+“No,” replied Athos, with a singular smile. “I gave it away in a night
+of love, as it has been given to you.”
+
+D’Artagnan became pensive in his turn; it appeared as if there were
+abysses in Milady’s soul whose depths were dark and unknown. He took
+back the ring, but put it in his pocket and not on his finger.
+
+“D’Artagnan,” said Athos, taking his hand, “you know I love you; if I
+had a son I could not love him better. Take my advice, renounce this
+woman. I do not know her, but a sort of intuition tells me she is a
+lost creature, and that there is something fatal about her.”
+
+“You are right,” said D’Artagnan; “I will have done with her. I own
+that this woman terrifies me.”
+
+“Shall you have the courage?” said Athos.
+
+“I shall,” replied D’Artagnan, “and instantly.”
+
+“In truth, my young friend, you will act rightly,” said the gentleman,
+pressing the Gascon’s hand with an affection almost paternal; “and God
+grant that this woman, who has scarcely entered into your life, may not
+leave a terrible trace in it!” And Athos bowed to D’Artagnan like a man
+who wishes it understood that he would not be sorry to be left alone
+with his thoughts.
+
+On reaching home D’Artagnan found Kitty waiting for him. A month of
+fever could not have changed her more than this one night of
+sleeplessness and sorrow.
+
+She was sent by her mistress to the false De Wardes. Her mistress was
+mad with love, intoxicated with joy. She wished to know when her lover
+would meet her a second night; and poor Kitty, pale and trembling,
+awaited D’Artagnan’s reply. The counsels of his friend, joined to the
+cries of his own heart, made him determine, now his pride was saved and
+his vengeance satisfied, not to see Milady again. As a reply, he wrote
+the following letter:
+
+Do not depend upon me, madame, for the next meeting. Since my
+convalescence I have so many affairs of this kind on my hands that I am
+forced to regulate them a little. When your turn comes, I shall have
+the honor to inform you of it. I kiss your hands.
+
+
+COMTE DE WARDES
+
+
+Not a word about the sapphire. Was the Gascon determined to keep it as
+a weapon against Milady, or else, let us be frank, did he not reserve
+the sapphire as a last resource for his outfit? It would be wrong to
+judge the actions of one period from the point of view of another. That
+which would now be considered as disgraceful to a gentleman was at that
+time quite a simple and natural affair, and the younger sons of the
+best families were frequently supported by their mistresses. D’Artagnan
+gave the open letter to Kitty, who at first was unable to comprehend
+it, but who became almost wild with joy on reading it a second time.
+She could scarcely believe in her happiness; and D’Artagnan was forced
+to renew with the living voice the assurances which he had written. And
+whatever might be—considering the violent character of Milady—the
+danger which the poor girl incurred in giving this billet to her
+mistress, she ran back to the Place Royale as fast as her legs could
+carry her.
+
+The heart of the best woman is pitiless toward the sorrows of a rival.
+
+Milady opened the letter with eagerness equal to Kitty’s in bringing
+it; but at the first words she read she became livid. She crushed the
+paper in her hand, and turning with flashing eyes upon Kitty, she
+cried, “What is this letter?”
+
+“The answer to Madame’s,” replied Kitty, all in a tremble.
+
+“Impossible!” cried Milady. “It is impossible a gentleman could have
+written such a letter to a woman.” Then all at once, starting, she
+cried, “My God! can he have—” and she stopped. She ground her teeth;
+she was of the color of ashes. She tried to go toward the window for
+air, but she could only stretch forth her arms; her legs failed her,
+and she sank into an armchair. Kitty, fearing she was ill, hastened
+toward her and was beginning to open her dress; but Milady started up,
+pushing her away. “What do you want with me?” said she, “and why do you
+place your hand on me?”
+
+“I thought that Madame was ill, and I wished to bring her help,”
+responded the maid, frightened at the terrible expression which had
+come over her mistress’s face.
+
+“I faint? I? I? Do you take me for half a woman? When I am insulted I
+do not faint; I avenge myself!”
+
+And she made a sign for Kitty to leave the room.
+
+
+
+
+Chapter XXXVI.
+DREAM OF VENGEANCE
+
+
+That evening Milady gave orders that when M. d’Artagnan came as usual,
+he should be immediately admitted; but he did not come.
+
+The next day Kitty went to see the young man again, and related to him
+all that had passed on the preceding evening. D’Artagnan smiled; this
+jealous anger of Milady was his revenge.
+
+That evening Milady was still more impatient than on the preceding
+evening. She renewed the order relative to the Gascon; but as before
+she expected him in vain.
+
+The next morning, when Kitty presented herself at D’Artagnan’s, she was
+no longer joyous and alert as on the two preceding days; but on the
+contrary sad as death.
+
+D’Artagnan asked the poor girl what was the matter with her; but she,
+as her only reply, drew a letter from her pocket and gave it to him.
+
+This letter was in Milady’s handwriting; only this time it was
+addressed to M. d’Artagnan, and not to M. de Wardes.
+
+He opened it and read as follows:
+
+DEAR M. D’ARTAGNAN, It is wrong thus to neglect your friends,
+particularly at the moment you are about to leave them for so long a
+time. My brother-in-law and myself expected you yesterday and the day
+before, but in vain. Will it be the same this evening?
+
+
+Your very grateful,
+MILADY CLARIK
+
+
+“That’s all very simple,” said D’Artagnan; “I expected this letter. My
+credit rises by the fall of that of the Comte de Wardes.”
+
+“And will you go?” asked Kitty.
+
+“Listen to me, my dear girl,” said the Gascon, who sought for an excuse
+in his own eyes for breaking the promise he had made Athos; “you must
+understand it would be impolitic not to accept such a positive
+invitation. Milady, not seeing me come again, would not be able to
+understand what could cause the interruption of my visits, and might
+suspect something; who could say how far the vengeance of such a woman
+would go?”
+
+“Oh, my God!” said Kitty, “you know how to represent things in such a
+way that you are always in the right. You are going now to pay your
+court to her again, and if this time you succeed in pleasing her in
+your own name and with your own face, it will be much worse than
+before.”
+
+Instinct made poor Kitty guess a part of what was to happen. D’Artagnan
+reassured her as well as he could, and promised to remain insensible to
+the seductions of Milady.
+
+He desired Kitty to tell her mistress that he could not be more
+grateful for her kindnesses than he was, and that he would be obedient
+to her orders. He did not dare to write for fear of not being able—to
+such experienced eyes as those of Milady—to disguise his writing
+sufficiently.
+
+As nine o’clock sounded, D’Artagnan was at the Place Royale. It was
+evident that the servants who waited in the antechamber were warned,
+for as soon as D’Artagnan appeared, before even he had asked if Milady
+were visible, one of them ran to announce him.
+
+“Show him in,” said Milady, in a quick tone, but so piercing that
+D’Artagnan heard her in the antechamber.
+
+He was introduced.
+
+“I am at home to nobody,” said Milady; “observe, to _nobody_.”
+
+The servant went out.
+
+D’Artagnan cast an inquiring glance at Milady. She was pale, and looked
+fatigued, either from tears or want of sleep. The number of lights had
+been intentionally diminished, but the young woman could not conceal
+the traces of the fever which had devoured her for two days.
+
+D’Artagnan approached her with his usual gallantry. She then made an
+extraordinary effort to receive him, but never did a more distressed
+countenance give the lie to a more amiable smile.
+
+To the questions which D’Artagnan put concerning her health, she
+replied, “Bad, very bad.”
+
+“Then,” replied he, “my visit is ill-timed; you, no doubt, stand in
+need of repose, and I will withdraw.”
+
+“No, no!” said Milady. “On the contrary, stay, Monsieur d’Artagnan;
+your agreeable company will divert me.”
+
+“Oh, oh!” thought D’Artagnan. “She has never been so kind before. On
+guard!”
+
+Milady assumed the most agreeable air possible, and conversed with more
+than her usual brilliancy. At the same time the fever, which for an
+instant abandoned her, returned to give luster to her eyes, color to
+her cheeks, and vermillion to her lips. D’Artagnan was again in the
+presence of the Circe who had before surrounded him with her
+enchantments. His love, which he believed to be extinct but which was
+only asleep, awoke again in his heart. Milady smiled, and D’Artagnan
+felt that he could damn himself for that smile. There was a moment at
+which he felt something like remorse.
+
+By degrees, Milady became more communicative. She asked D’Artagnan if
+he had a mistress.
+
+“Alas!” said D’Artagnan, with the most sentimental air he could assume,
+“can you be cruel enough to put such a question to me—to me, who, from
+the moment I saw you, have only breathed and sighed through you and for
+you?”
+
+Milady smiled with a strange smile.
+
+“Then you love me?” said she.
+
+“Have I any need to tell you so? Have you not perceived it?”
+
+“It may be; but you know the more hearts are worth the capture, the
+more difficult they are to be won.”
+
+“Oh, difficulties do not affright me,” said D’Artagnan. “I shrink
+before nothing but impossibilities.”
+
+“Nothing is impossible,” replied Milady, “to true love.”
+
+“Nothing, madame?”
+
+“Nothing,” replied Milady.
+
+“The devil!” thought D’Artagnan. “The note is changed. Is she going to
+fall in love with me, by chance, this fair inconstant; and will she be
+disposed to give me myself another sapphire like that which she gave me
+for De Wardes?”
+
+D’Artagnan rapidly drew his seat nearer to Milady’s.
+
+“Well, now,” she said, “let us see what you would do to prove this love
+of which you speak.”
+
+“All that could be required of me. Order; I am ready.”
+
+“For everything?”
+
+“For everything,” cried D’Artagnan, who knew beforehand that he had not
+much to risk in engaging himself thus.
+
+“Well, now let us talk a little seriously,” said Milady, in her turn
+drawing her armchair nearer to D’Artagnan’s chair.
+
+“I am all attention, madame,” said he.
+
+Milady remained thoughtful and undecided for a moment; then, as if
+appearing to have formed a resolution, she said, “I have an enemy.”
+
+“You, madame!” said D’Artagnan, affecting surprise; “is that possible,
+my God?—good and beautiful as you are!”
+
+“A mortal enemy.”
+
+“Indeed!”
+
+“An enemy who has insulted me so cruelly that between him and me it is
+war to the death. May I reckon on you as an auxiliary?”
+
+D’Artagnan at once perceived the ground which the vindictive creature
+wished to reach.
+
+“You may, madame,” said he, with emphasis. “My arm and my life belong
+to you, like my love.”
+
+“Then,” said Milady, “since you are as generous as you are loving—”
+
+She stopped.
+
+“Well?” demanded D’Artagnan.
+
+“Well,” replied Milady, after a moment of silence, “from the present
+time, cease to talk of impossibilities.”
+
+“Do not overwhelm me with happiness,” cried D’Artagnan, throwing
+himself on his knees, and covering with kisses the hands abandoned to
+him.
+
+“Avenge me of that infamous De Wardes,” said Milady, between her teeth,
+“and I shall soon know how to get rid of you—you double idiot, you
+animated sword blade!”
+
+“Fall voluntarily into my arms, hypocritical and dangerous woman,” said
+D’Artagnan, likewise to himself, “after having abused me with such
+effrontery, and afterward I will laugh at you with him whom you wish me
+to kill.”
+
+D’Artagnan lifted up his head.
+
+“I am ready,” said he.
+
+“You have understood me, then, dear Monsieur d’Artagnan,” said Milady.
+
+“I could interpret one of your looks.”
+
+“Then you would employ for me your arm which has already acquired so
+much renown?”
+
+“Instantly!”
+
+“But on my part,” said Milady, “how should I repay such a service? I
+know these lovers. They are men who do nothing for nothing.”
+
+“You know the only reply that I desire,” said D’Artagnan, “the only one
+worthy of you and of me!”
+
+And he drew nearer to her.
+
+She scarcely resisted.
+
+“Interested man!” cried she, smiling.
+
+“Ah,” cried D’Artagnan, really carried away by the passion this woman
+had the power to kindle in his heart, “ah, that is because my happiness
+appears so impossible to me; and I have such fear that it should fly
+away from me like a dream that I pant to make a reality of it.”
+
+“Well, merit this pretended happiness, then!”
+
+“I am at your orders,” said D’Artagnan.
+
+“Quite certain?” said Milady, with a last doubt.
+
+“Only name to me the base man that has brought tears into your
+beautiful eyes!”
+
+“Who told you that I had been weeping?” said she.
+
+“It appeared to me—”
+
+“Such women as I never weep,” said Milady.
+
+“So much the better! Come, tell me his name!”
+
+“Remember that his name is all my secret.”
+
+“Yet I must know his name.”
+
+“Yes, you must; see what confidence I have in you!”
+
+“You overwhelm me with joy. What is his name?”
+
+“You know him.”
+
+“Indeed.”
+
+“Yes.”
+
+“It is surely not one of my friends?” replied D’Artagnan, affecting
+hesitation in order to make her believe him ignorant.
+
+“If it were one of your friends you would hesitate, then?” cried
+Milady; and a threatening glance darted from her eyes.
+
+“Not if it were my own brother!” cried D’Artagnan, as if carried away
+by his enthusiasm.
+
+Our Gascon promised this without risk, for he knew all that was meant.
+
+“I love your devotedness,” said Milady.
+
+“Alas, do you love nothing else in me?” asked D’Artagnan.
+
+“I love you also, _you!_” said she, taking his hand.
+
+The warm pressure made D’Artagnan tremble, as if by the touch that
+fever which consumed Milady attacked himself.
+
+“You love me, you!” cried he. “Oh, if that were so, I should lose my
+reason!”
+
+And he folded her in his arms. She made no effort to remove her lips
+from his kisses; only she did not respond to them. Her lips were cold;
+it appeared to D’Artagnan that he had embraced a statue.
+
+He was not the less intoxicated with joy, electrified by love. He
+almost believed in the tenderness of Milady; he almost believed in the
+crime of De Wardes. If De Wardes had at that moment been under his
+hand, he would have killed him.
+
+Milady seized the occasion.
+
+“His name is—” said she, in her turn.
+
+“De Wardes; I know it,” cried D’Artagnan.
+
+“And how do you know it?” asked Milady, seizing both his hands, and
+endeavoring to read with her eyes to the bottom of his heart.
+
+D’Artagnan felt he had allowed himself to be carried away, and that he
+had committed an error.
+
+“Tell me, tell me, tell me, I say,” repeated Milady, “how do you know
+it?”
+
+“How do I know it?” said D’Artagnan.
+
+“Yes.”
+
+“I know it because yesterday Monsieur de Wardes, in a saloon where I
+was, showed a ring which he said he had received from you.”
+
+“Wretch!” cried Milady.
+
+The epithet, as may be easily understood, resounded to the very bottom
+of D’Artagnan’s heart.
+
+“Well?” continued she.
+
+“Well, I will avenge you of this wretch,” replied D’Artagnan, giving
+himself the airs of Don Japhet of Armenia.
+
+“Thanks, my brave friend!” cried Milady; “and when shall I be avenged?”
+
+“Tomorrow—immediately—when you please!”
+
+Milady was about to cry out, “Immediately,” but she reflected that such
+precipitation would not be very gracious toward D’Artagnan.
+
+Besides, she had a thousand precautions to take, a thousand counsels to
+give to her defender, in order that he might avoid explanations with
+the count before witnesses. All this was answered by an expression of
+D’Artagnan’s. “Tomorrow,” said he, “you will be avenged, or I shall be
+dead.”
+
+“No,” said she, “you will avenge me; but you will not be dead. He is a
+coward.”
+
+“With women, perhaps; but not with men. I know something of him.”
+
+“But it seems you had not much reason to complain of your fortune in
+your contest with him.”
+
+“Fortune is a courtesan; favorable yesterday, she may turn her back
+tomorrow.”
+
+“Which means that you now hesitate?”
+
+“No, I do not hesitate; God forbid! But would it be just to allow me to
+go to a possible death without having given me at least something more
+than hope?”
+
+Milady answered by a glance which said, “Is that all?—speak, then.” And
+then accompanying the glance with explanatory words, “That is but too
+just,” said she, tenderly.
+
+“Oh, you are an angel!” exclaimed the young man.
+
+“Then all is agreed?” said she.
+
+“Except that which I ask of you, dear love.”
+
+“But when I assure you that you may rely on my tenderness?”
+
+“I cannot wait till tomorrow.”
+
+“Silence! I hear my brother. It will be useless for him to find you
+here.”
+
+She rang the bell and Kitty appeared.
+
+“Go out this way,” said she, opening a small private door, “and come
+back at eleven o’clock; we will then terminate this conversation. Kitty
+will conduct you to my chamber.”
+
+The poor girl almost fainted at hearing these words.
+
+“Well, mademoiselle, what are you thinking about, standing there like a
+statue? Do as I bid you: show the chevalier out; and this evening at
+eleven o’clock—you have heard what I said.”
+
+“It appears that these appointments are all made for eleven o’clock,”
+thought D’Artagnan; “that’s a settled custom.”
+
+Milady held out her hand to him, which he kissed tenderly.
+
+“But,” said he, as he retired as quickly as possible from the
+reproaches of Kitty, “I must not play the fool. This woman is certainly
+a great liar. I must take care.”
+
+
+
+
+Chapter XXXVII.
+MILADY’S SECRET
+
+
+D’Artagnan left the hôtel instead of going up at once to Kitty’s
+chamber, as she endeavored to persuade him to do—and that for two
+reasons: the first, because by this means he should escape reproaches,
+recriminations, and prayers; the second, because he was not sorry to
+have an opportunity of reading his own thoughts and endeavoring, if
+possible, to fathom those of this woman.
+
+What was most clear in the matter was that D’Artagnan loved Milady like
+a madman, and that she did not love him at all. In an instant
+D’Artagnan perceived that the best way in which he could act would be
+to go home and write Milady a long letter, in which he would confess to
+her that he and De Wardes were, up to the present moment absolutely the
+same, and that consequently he could not undertake, without committing
+suicide, to kill the Comte de Wardes. But he also was spurred on by a
+ferocious desire of vengeance. He wished to subdue this woman in his
+own name; and as this vengeance appeared to him to have a certain
+sweetness in it, he could not make up his mind to renounce it.
+
+He walked six or seven times round the Place Royale, turning at every
+ten steps to look at the light in Milady’s apartment, which was to be
+seen through the blinds. It was evident that this time the young woman
+was not in such haste to retire to her apartment as she had been the
+first.
+
+At length the light disappeared. With this light was extinguished the
+last irresolution in the heart of D’Artagnan. He recalled to his mind
+the details of the first night, and with a beating heart and a brain on
+fire he re-entered the hôtel and flew toward Kitty’s chamber.
+
+The poor girl, pale as death and trembling in all her limbs, wished to
+delay her lover; but Milady, with her ear on the watch, had heard the
+noise D’Artagnan had made, and opening the door, said, “Come in.”
+
+All this was of such incredible immodesty, of such monstrous
+effrontery, that D’Artagnan could scarcely believe what he saw or what
+he heard. He imagined himself to be drawn into one of those fantastic
+intrigues one meets in dreams. He, however, darted not the less quickly
+toward Milady, yielding to that magnetic attraction which the loadstone
+exercises over iron.
+
+As the door closed after them Kitty rushed toward it. Jealousy, fury,
+offended pride, all the passions in short that dispute the heart of an
+outraged woman in love, urged her to make a revelation; but she
+reflected that she would be totally lost if she confessed having
+assisted in such a machination, and above all, that D’Artagnan would
+also be lost to her forever. This last thought of love counseled her to
+make this last sacrifice.
+
+D’Artagnan, on his part, had gained the summit of all his wishes. It
+was no longer a rival who was beloved; it was himself who was
+apparently beloved. A secret voice whispered to him, at the bottom of
+his heart, that he was but an instrument of vengeance, that he was only
+caressed till he had given death; but pride, but self-love, but madness
+silenced this voice and stifled its murmurs. And then our Gascon, with
+that large quantity of conceit which we know he possessed, compared
+himself with De Wardes, and asked himself why, after all, he should not
+be beloved for himself?
+
+He was absorbed entirely by the sensations of the moment. Milady was no
+longer for him that woman of fatal intentions who had for a moment
+terrified him; she was an ardent, passionate mistress, abandoning
+herself to love which she also seemed to feel. Two hours thus glided
+away. When the transports of the two lovers were calmer, Milady, who
+had not the same motives for forgetfulness that D’Artagnan had, was the
+first to return to reality, and asked the young man if the means which
+were on the morrow to bring on the encounter between him and De Wardes
+were already arranged in his mind.
+
+But D’Artagnan, whose ideas had taken quite another course, forgot
+himself like a fool, and answered gallantly that it was too late to
+think about duels and sword thrusts.
+
+This coldness toward the only interests that occupied her mind
+terrified Milady, whose questions became more pressing.
+
+Then D’Artagnan, who had never seriously thought of this impossible
+duel, endeavored to turn the conversation; but he could not succeed.
+Milady kept him within the limits she had traced beforehand with her
+irresistible spirit and her iron will.
+
+D’Artagnan fancied himself very cunning when advising Milady to
+renounce, by pardoning De Wardes, the furious projects she had formed.
+
+But at the first word the young woman started, and exclaimed in a
+sharp, bantering tone, which sounded strangely in the darkness, “Are
+you afraid, dear Monsieur d’Artagnan?”
+
+“You cannot think so, dear love!” replied D’Artagnan; “but now, suppose
+this poor Comte de Wardes were less guilty than you think him?”
+
+“At all events,” said Milady, seriously, “he has deceived me, and from
+the moment he deceived me, he merited death.”
+
+“He shall die, then, since you condemn him!” said D’Artagnan, in so
+firm a tone that it appeared to Milady an undoubted proof of devotion.
+This reassured her.
+
+We cannot say how long the night seemed to Milady, but D’Artagnan
+believed it to be hardly two hours before the daylight peeped through
+the window blinds, and invaded the chamber with its paleness. Seeing
+D’Artagnan about to leave her, Milady recalled his promise to avenge
+her on the Comte de Wardes.
+
+“I am quite ready,” said D’Artagnan; “but in the first place I should
+like to be certain of one thing.”
+
+“And what is that?” asked Milady.
+
+“That is, whether you really love me?”
+
+“I have given you proof of that, it seems to me.”
+
+“And I am yours, body and soul!”
+
+“Thanks, my brave lover; but as you are satisfied of my love, you must,
+in your turn, satisfy me of yours. Is it not so?”
+
+“Certainly; but if you love me as much as you say,” replied D’Artagnan,
+“do you not entertain a little fear on my account?”
+
+“What have I to fear?”
+
+“Why, that I may be dangerously wounded—killed even.”
+
+“Impossible!” cried Milady, “you are such a valiant man, and such an
+expert swordsman.”
+
+“You would not, then, prefer a method,” resumed D’Artagnan, “which
+would equally avenge you while rendering the combat useless?”
+
+Milady looked at her lover in silence. The pale light of the first rays
+of day gave to her clear eyes a strangely frightful expression.
+
+“Really,” said she, “I believe you now begin to hesitate.”
+
+“No, I do not hesitate; but I really pity this poor Comte de Wardes,
+since you have ceased to love him. I think that a man must be so
+severely punished by the loss of your love that he stands in need of no
+other chastisement.”
+
+“Who told you that I loved him?” asked Milady, sharply.
+
+“At least, I am now at liberty to believe, without too much fatuity,
+that you love another,” said the young man, in a caressing tone, “and I
+repeat that I am really interested for the count.”
+
+“You?” asked Milady.
+
+“Yes, I.”
+
+“And why _you?_”
+
+“Because I alone know—”
+
+“What?”
+
+“That he is far from being, or rather having been, so guilty toward you
+as he appears.”
+
+“Indeed!” said Milady, in an anxious tone; “explain yourself, for I
+really cannot tell what you mean.”
+
+And she looked at D’Artagnan, who embraced her tenderly, with eyes
+which seemed to burn themselves away.
+
+“Yes; I am a man of honor,” said D’Artagnan, determined to come to an
+end, “and since your love is mine, and I am satisfied I possess it—for
+I do possess it, do I not?”
+
+“Entirely; go on.”
+
+“Well, I feel as if transformed—a confession weighs on my mind.”
+
+“A confession!”
+
+“If I had the least doubt of your love I would not make it, but you
+love me, my beautiful mistress, do you not?”
+
+“Without doubt.”
+
+“Then if through excess of love I have rendered myself culpable toward
+you, you will pardon me?”
+
+“Perhaps.”
+
+D’Artagnan tried with his sweetest smile to touch his lips to Milady’s,
+but she evaded him.
+
+“This confession,” said she, growing paler, “what is this confession?”
+
+“You gave De Wardes a meeting on Thursday last in this very room, did
+you not?”
+
+“No, no! It is not true,” said Milady, in a tone of voice so firm, and
+with a countenance so unchanged, that if D’Artagnan had not been in
+such perfect possession of the fact, he would have doubted.
+
+“Do not lie, my angel,” said D’Artagnan, smiling; “that would be
+useless.”
+
+“What do you mean? Speak! you kill me.”
+
+“Be satisfied; you are not guilty toward me, and I have already
+pardoned you.”
+
+“What next? what next?”
+
+“De Wardes cannot boast of anything.”
+
+“How is that? You told me yourself that that ring—”
+
+“That ring I have! The Comte de Wardes of Thursday and the D’Artagnan
+of today are the same person.”
+
+The imprudent young man expected a surprise, mixed with shame—a slight
+storm which would resolve itself into tears; but he was strangely
+deceived, and his error was not of long duration.
+
+Pale and trembling, Milady repulsed D’Artagnan’s attempted embrace by a
+violent blow on the chest, as she sprang out of bed.
+
+It was almost broad daylight.
+
+D’Artagnan detained her by her night dress of fine India linen, to
+implore her pardon; but she, with a strong movement, tried to escape.
+Then the cambric was torn from her beautiful shoulders; and on one of
+those lovely shoulders, round and white, D’Artagnan recognized, with
+inexpressible astonishment, the _fleur-de-lis_—that indelible mark
+which the hand of the infamous executioner had imprinted.
+
+“Great God!” cried D’Artagnan, loosing his hold of her dress, and
+remaining mute, motionless, and frozen.
+
+But Milady felt herself denounced even by his terror. He had doubtless
+seen all. The young man now knew her secret, her terrible secret—the
+secret she concealed even from her maid with such care, the secret of
+which all the world was ignorant, except himself.
+
+She turned upon him, no longer like a furious woman, but like a wounded
+panther.
+
+“Ah, wretch!” cried she, “you have basely betrayed me, and still more,
+you have my secret! You shall die.”
+
+And she flew to a little inlaid casket which stood upon the dressing
+table, opened it with a feverish and trembling hand, drew from it a
+small poniard, with a golden haft and a sharp thin blade, and then
+threw herself with a bound upon D’Artagnan.
+
+Although the young man was brave, as we know, he was terrified at that
+wild countenance, those terribly dilated pupils, those pale cheeks, and
+those bleeding lips. He recoiled to the other side of the room as he
+would have done from a serpent which was crawling toward him, and his
+sword coming in contact with his nervous hand, he drew it almost
+unconsciously from the scabbard. But without taking any heed of the
+sword, Milady endeavored to get near enough to him to stab him, and did
+not stop till she felt the sharp point at her throat.
+
+She then tried to seize the sword with her hands; but D’Artagnan kept
+it free from her grasp, and presenting the point, sometimes at her
+eyes, sometimes at her breast, compelled her to glide behind the
+bedstead, while he aimed at making his retreat by the door which led to
+Kitty’s apartment.
+
+Milady during this time continued to strike at him with horrible fury,
+screaming in a formidable way.
+
+As all this, however, bore some resemblance to a duel, D’Artagnan began
+to recover himself little by little.
+
+“Well, beautiful lady, very well,” said he; “but, _pardieu_, if you
+don’t calm yourself, I will design a second _fleur-de-lis_ upon one of
+those pretty cheeks!”
+
+“Scoundrel, infamous scoundrel!” howled Milady.
+
+But D’Artagnan, still keeping on the defensive, drew near to Kitty’s
+door. At the noise they made, she in overturning the furniture in her
+efforts to get at him, he in screening himself behind the furniture to
+keep out of her reach, Kitty opened the door. D’Artagnan, who had
+unceasingly maneuvered to gain this point, was not at more than three
+paces from it. With one spring he flew from the chamber of Milady into
+that of the maid, and quick as lightning, he slammed to the door, and
+placed all his weight against it, while Kitty pushed the bolts.
+
+Then Milady attempted to tear down the doorcase, with a strength
+apparently above that of a woman; but finding she could not accomplish
+this, she in her fury stabbed at the door with her poniard, the point
+of which repeatedly glittered through the wood. Every blow was
+accompanied with terrible imprecations.
+
+“Quick, Kitty, quick!” said D’Artagnan, in a low voice, as soon as the
+bolts were fast, “let me get out of the hôtel; for if we leave her time
+to turn round, she will have me killed by the servants.”
+
+“But you can’t go out so,” said Kitty; “you are naked.”
+
+“That’s true,” said D’Artagnan, then first thinking of the costume he
+found himself in, “that’s true. But dress me as well as you are able,
+only make haste; think, my dear girl, it’s life and death!”
+
+Kitty was but too well aware of that. In a turn of the hand she muffled
+him up in a flowered robe, a large hood, and a cloak. She gave him some
+slippers, in which he placed his naked feet, and then conducted him
+down the stairs. It was time. Milady had already rung her bell, and
+roused the whole hôtel. The porter was drawing the cord at the moment
+Milady cried from her window, “Don’t open!”
+
+The young man fled while she was still threatening him with an impotent
+gesture. The moment she lost sight of him, Milady tumbled fainting into
+her chamber.
+
+
+
+
+Chapter XXXVIII.
+HOW, WITHOUT INCOMMDING HIMSELF, ATHOS PROCURES HIS EQUIPMENT
+
+
+D’Artagnan was so completely bewildered that without taking any heed of
+what might become of Kitty he ran at full speed across half Paris, and
+did not stop till he came to Athos’s door. The confusion of his mind,
+the terror which spurred him on, the cries of some of the patrol who
+started in pursuit of him, and the hooting of the people who,
+notwithstanding the early hour, were going to their work, only made him
+precipitate his course.
+
+He crossed the court, ran up the two flights to Athos’s apartment, and
+knocked at the door enough to break it down.
+
+Grimaud came, rubbing his half-open eyes, to answer this noisy summons,
+and D’Artagnan sprang with such violence into the room as nearly to
+overturn the astonished lackey.
+
+In spite of his habitual silence, the poor lad this time found his
+speech.
+
+“Holloa, there!” cried he; “what do you want, you strumpet? What’s your
+business here, you hussy?”
+
+D’Artagnan threw off his hood, and disengaged his hands from the folds
+of the cloak. At sight of the mustaches and the naked sword, the poor
+devil perceived he had to deal with a man. He then concluded it must be
+an assassin.
+
+“Help! murder! help!” cried he.
+
+“Hold your tongue, you stupid fellow!” said the young man; “I am
+D’Artagnan; don’t you know me? Where is your master?”
+
+“You, Monsieur d’Artagnan!” cried Grimaud, “impossible.”
+
+“Grimaud,” said Athos, coming out of his apartment in a dressing gown,
+“Grimaud, I thought I heard you permitting yourself to speak?”
+
+“Ah, monsieur, it is—”
+
+“Silence!”
+
+Grimaud contented himself with pointing D’Artagnan out to his master
+with his finger.
+
+Athos recognized his comrade, and phlegmatic as he was, he burst into a
+laugh which was quite excused by the strange masquerade before his
+eyes—petticoats falling over his shoes, sleeves tucked up, and
+mustaches stiff with agitation.
+
+“Don’t laugh, my friend!” cried D’Artagnan; “for heaven’s sake, don’t
+laugh, for upon my soul, it’s no laughing matter!”
+
+And he pronounced these words with such a solemn air and with such a
+real appearance of terror, that Athos eagerly seized his hand, crying,
+“Are you wounded, my friend? How pale you are!”
+
+“No, but I have just met with a terrible adventure! Are you alone,
+Athos?”
+
+“_Parbleu!_ whom do you expect to find with me at this hour?”
+
+“Well, well!” and D’Artagnan rushed into Athos’s chamber.
+
+“Come, speak!” said the latter, closing the door and bolting it, that
+they might not be disturbed. “Is the king dead? Have you killed the
+cardinal? You are quite upset! Come, come, tell me; I am dying with
+curiosity and uneasiness!”
+
+“Athos,” said D’Artagnan, getting rid of his female garments, and
+appearing in his shirt, “prepare yourself to hear an incredible, an
+unheard-of story.”
+
+“Well, but put on this dressing gown first,” said the Musketeer to his
+friend.
+
+D’Artagnan donned the robe as quickly as he could, mistaking one sleeve
+for the other, so greatly was he still agitated.
+
+“Well?” said Athos.
+
+“Well,” replied D’Artagnan, bending his mouth to Athos’s ear, and
+lowering his voice, “Milady is marked with a _fleur-de-lis_ upon her
+shoulder!”
+
+“Ah!” cried the Musketeer, as if he had received a ball in his heart.
+
+“Let us see,” said D’Artagnan. “Are you _sure_ that the _other_ is
+dead?”
+
+“_The other?_” said Athos, in so stifled a voice that D’Artagnan
+scarcely heard him.
+
+“Yes, she of whom you told me one day at Amiens.”
+
+Athos uttered a groan, and let his head sink on his hands.
+
+“This is a woman of twenty-six or twenty-eight years.”
+
+“Fair,” said Athos, “is she not?”
+
+“Very.”
+
+“Blue and clear eyes, of a strange brilliancy, with black eyelids and
+eyebrows?”
+
+“Yes.”
+
+“Tall, well-made? She has lost a tooth, next to the eyetooth on the
+left?”
+
+“Yes.”
+
+“The _fleur-de-lis_ is small, rosy in color, and looks as if efforts
+had been made to efface it by the application of poultices?”
+
+“Yes.”
+
+“But you say she is English?”
+
+“She is called Milady, but she may be French. Lord de Winter is only
+her brother-in-law.”
+
+“I will see her, D’Artagnan!”
+
+“Beware, Athos, beware. You tried to kill her; she is a woman to return
+you the like, and not to fail.”
+
+“She will not dare to say anything; that would be to denounce herself.”
+
+“She is capable of anything or everything. Did you ever see her
+furious?”
+
+“No,” said Athos.
+
+“A tigress, a panther! Ah, my dear Athos, I am greatly afraid I have
+drawn a terrible vengeance on both of us!”
+
+D’Artagnan then related all—the mad passion of Milady and her menaces
+of death.
+
+“You are right; and upon my soul, I would give my life for a hair,”
+said Athos. “Fortunately, the day after tomorrow we leave Paris. We are
+going according to all probability to La Rochelle, and once gone—”
+
+“She will follow you to the end of the world, Athos, if she recognizes
+you. Let her, then, exhaust her vengeance on me alone!”
+
+“My dear friend, of what consequence is it if she kills me?” said
+Athos. “Do you, perchance, think I set any great store by life?”
+
+“There is something horribly mysterious under all this, Athos; this
+woman is one of the cardinal’s spies, I am sure of that.”
+
+“In that case, take care! If the cardinal does not hold you in high
+admiration for the affair of London, he entertains a great hatred for
+you; but as, considering everything, he cannot accuse you openly, and
+as hatred must be satisfied, particularly when it’s a cardinal’s
+hatred, take care of yourself. If you go out, do not go out alone; when
+you eat, use every precaution. Mistrust everything, in short, even your
+own shadow.”
+
+“Fortunately,” said D’Artagnan, “all this will be only necessary till
+after tomorrow evening, for when once with the army, we shall have, I
+hope, only men to dread.”
+
+“In the meantime,” said Athos, “I renounce my plan of seclusion, and
+wherever you go, I will go with you. You must return to the Rue des
+Fossoyeurs; I will accompany you.”
+
+“But however near it may be,” replied D’Artagnan, “I cannot go thither
+in this guise.”
+
+“That’s true,” said Athos, and he rang the bell.
+
+Grimaud entered.
+
+Athos made him a sign to go to D’Artagnan’s residence, and bring back
+some clothes. Grimaud replied by another sign that he understood
+perfectly, and set off.
+
+“All this will not advance your outfit,” said Athos; “for if I am not
+mistaken, you have left the best of your apparel with Milady, and she
+will certainly not have the politeness to return it to you.
+Fortunately, you have the sapphire.”
+
+“The jewel is yours, my dear Athos! Did you not tell me it was a family
+jewel?”
+
+“Yes, my grandfather gave two thousand crowns for it, as he once told
+me. It formed part of the nuptial present he made his wife, and it is
+magnificent. My mother gave it to me, and I, fool as I was, instead of
+keeping the ring as a holy relic, gave it to this wretch.”
+
+“Then, my friend, take back this ring, to which I see you attach much
+value.”
+
+“I take back the ring, after it has passed through the hands of that
+infamous creature? Never; that ring is defiled, D’Artagnan.”
+
+“Sell it, then.”
+
+“Sell a jewel which came from my mother! I vow I should consider it a
+profanation.”
+
+“Pledge it, then; you can borrow at least a thousand crowns on it. With
+that sum you can extricate yourself from your present difficulties; and
+when you are full of money again, you can redeem it, and take it back
+cleansed from its ancient stains, as it will have passed through the
+hands of usurers.”
+
+Athos smiled.
+
+“You are a capital companion, D’Artagnan,” said he; “your never-failing
+cheerfulness raises poor souls in affliction. Well, let us pledge the
+ring, but upon one condition.”
+
+“What?”
+
+“That there shall be five hundred crowns for you, and five hundred
+crowns for me.”
+
+“Don’t dream it, Athos. I don’t need the quarter of such a sum—I who am
+still only in the Guards—and by selling my saddles, I shall procure it.
+What do I want? A horse for Planchet, that’s all. Besides, you forget
+that I have a ring likewise.”
+
+“To which you attach more value, it seems, than I do to mine; at least,
+I have thought so.”
+
+“Yes, for in any extreme circumstance it might not only extricate us
+from some great embarrassment, but even a great danger. It is not only
+a valuable diamond, but it is an enchanted talisman.”
+
+“I don’t at all understand you, but I believe all you say to be true.
+Let us return to my ring, or rather to yours. You shall take half the
+sum that will be advanced upon it, or I will throw it into the Seine;
+and I doubt, as was the case with Polycrates, whether any fish will be
+sufficiently complaisant to bring it back to us.”
+
+“Well, I will take it, then,” said D’Artagnan.
+
+At this moment Grimaud returned, accompanied by Planchet; the latter,
+anxious about his master and curious to know what had happened to him,
+had taken advantage of the opportunity and brought the garments
+himself.
+
+D’Artagnan dressed himself, and Athos did the same. When the two were
+ready to go out, the latter made Grimaud the sign of a man taking aim,
+and the lackey immediately took down his musketoon, and prepared to
+follow his master.
+
+They arrived without accident at the Rue des Fossoyeurs. Bonacieux was
+standing at the door, and looked at D’Artagnan hatefully.
+
+“Make haste, dear lodger,” said he; “there is a very pretty girl
+waiting for you upstairs; and you know women don’t like to be kept
+waiting.”
+
+“That’s Kitty!” said D’Artagnan to himself, and darted into the
+passage.
+
+Sure enough! Upon the landing leading to the chamber, and crouching
+against the door, he found the poor girl, all in a tremble. As soon as
+she perceived him, she cried, “You have promised your protection; you
+have promised to save me from her anger. Remember, it is you who have
+ruined me!”
+
+“Yes, yes, to be sure, Kitty,” said D’Artagnan; “be at ease, my girl.
+But what happened after my departure?”
+
+“How can I tell!” said Kitty. “The lackeys were brought by the cries
+she made. She was mad with passion. There exist no imprecations she did
+not pour out against you. Then I thought she would remember it was
+through my chamber you had penetrated hers, and that then she would
+suppose I was your accomplice; so I took what little money I had and
+the best of my things, and I got away.
+
+“Poor dear girl! But what can I do with you? I am going away the day
+after tomorrow.”
+
+“Do what you please, Monsieur Chevalier. Help me out of Paris; help me
+out of France!”
+
+“I cannot take you, however, to the siege of La Rochelle,” said
+D’Artagnan.
+
+“No; but you can place me in one of the provinces with some lady of
+your acquaintance—in your own country, for instance.”
+
+“My dear little love! In my country the ladies do without chambermaids.
+But stop! I can manage your business for you. Planchet, go and find
+Aramis. Request him to come here directly. We have something very
+important to say to him.”
+
+“I understand,” said Athos; “but why not Porthos? I should have thought
+that his duchess—”
+
+“Oh, Porthos’s duchess is dressed by her husband’s clerks,” said
+D’Artagnan, laughing. “Besides, Kitty would not like to live in the Rue
+aux Ours. Isn’t it so, Kitty?”
+
+“I do not care where I live,” said Kitty, “provided I am well
+concealed, and nobody knows where I am.”
+
+“Meanwhile, Kitty, when we are about to separate, and you are no longer
+jealous of me—”
+
+“Monsieur Chevalier, far off or near,” said Kitty, “I shall always love
+you.”
+
+“Where the devil will constancy niche itself next?” murmured Athos.
+
+“And I, also,” said D’Artagnan, “I also. I shall always love you; be
+sure of that. But now answer me. I attach great importance to the
+question I am about to put to you. Did you never hear talk of a young
+woman who was carried off one night?”
+
+“There, now! Oh, Monsieur Chevalier, do you love that woman still?”
+
+“No, no; it is one of my friends who loves her—Monsieur Athos, this
+gentleman here.”
+
+“I?” cried Athos, with an accent like that of a man who perceives he is
+about to tread upon an adder.
+
+“You, to be sure!” said D’Artagnan, pressing Athos’s hand. “You know
+the interest we both take in this poor little Madame Bonacieux.
+Besides, Kitty will tell nothing; will you, Kitty? You understand, my
+dear girl,” continued D’Artagnan, “she is the wife of that frightful
+baboon you saw at the door as you came in.”
+
+“Oh, my God! You remind me of my fright! If he should have known me
+again!”
+
+“How? know you again? Did you ever see that man before?”
+
+“He came twice to Milady’s.”
+
+“That’s it. About what time?”
+
+“Why, about fifteen or eighteen days ago.”
+
+“Exactly so.”
+
+“And yesterday evening he came again.”
+
+“Yesterday evening?”
+
+“Yes, just before you came.”
+
+“My dear Athos, we are enveloped in a network of spies. And do you
+believe he knew you again, Kitty?”
+
+“I pulled down my hood as soon as I saw him, but perhaps it was too
+late.”
+
+“Go down, Athos—he mistrusts you less than me—and see if he be still at
+his door.”
+
+Athos went down and returned immediately.
+
+“He has gone,” said he, “and the house door is shut.”
+
+“He has gone to make his report, and to say that all the pigeons are at
+this moment in the dovecot.”
+
+“Well, then, let us all fly,” said Athos, “and leave nobody here but
+Planchet to bring us news.”
+
+“A minute. Aramis, whom we have sent for!”
+
+“That’s true,” said Athos; “we must wait for Aramis.”
+
+At that moment Aramis entered.
+
+The matter was all explained to him, and the friends gave him to
+understand that among all his high connections he must find a place for
+Kitty.
+
+Aramis reflected for a minute, and then said, coloring, “Will it be
+really rendering you a service, D’Artagnan?”
+
+“I shall be grateful to you all my life.”
+
+“Very well. Madame de Bois-Tracy asked me, for one of her friends who
+resides in the provinces, I believe, for a trustworthy maid. If you
+can, my dear D’Artagnan, answer for Mademoiselle—”
+
+“Oh, monsieur, be assured that I shall be entirely devoted to the
+person who will give me the means of quitting Paris.”
+
+“Then,” said Aramis, “this falls out very well.”
+
+He placed himself at the table and wrote a little note which he sealed
+with a ring, and gave the billet to Kitty.
+
+“And now, my dear girl,” said D’Artagnan, “you know that it is not good
+for any of us to be here. Therefore let us separate. We shall meet
+again in better days.”
+
+“And whenever we find each other, in whatever place it may be,” said
+Kitty, “you will find me loving you as I love you today.”
+
+“Dicers’ oaths!” said Athos, while D’Artagnan went to conduct Kitty
+downstairs.
+
+An instant afterward the three young men separated, agreeing to meet
+again at four o’clock with Athos, and leaving Planchet to guard the
+house.
+
+Aramis returned home, and Athos and D’Artagnan busied themselves about
+pledging the sapphire.
+
+As the Gascon had foreseen, they easily obtained three hundred pistoles
+on the ring. Still further, the Jew told them that if they would sell
+it to him, as it would make a magnificent pendant for earrings, he
+would give five hundred pistoles for it.
+
+Athos and D’Artagnan, with the activity of two soldiers and the
+knowledge of two connoisseurs, hardly required three hours to purchase
+the entire equipment of the Musketeer. Besides, Athos was very easy,
+and a noble to his fingers’ ends. When a thing suited him he paid the
+price demanded, without thinking to ask for any abatement. D’Artagnan
+would have remonstrated at this; but Athos put his hand upon his
+shoulder, with a smile, and D’Artagnan understood that it was all very
+well for such a little Gascon gentleman as himself to drive a bargain,
+but not for a man who had the bearing of a prince. The Musketeer met
+with a superb Andalusian horse, black as jet, nostrils of fire, legs
+clean and elegant, rising six years. He examined him, and found him
+sound and without blemish. They asked a thousand livres for him.
+
+He might perhaps have been bought for less; but while D’Artagnan was
+discussing the price with the dealer, Athos was counting out the money
+on the table.
+
+Grimaud had a stout, short Picard cob, which cost three hundred livres.
+
+But when the saddle and arms for Grimaud were purchased, Athos had not
+a sou left of his hundred and fifty pistoles. D’Artagnan offered his
+friend a part of his share which he should return when convenient.
+
+But Athos only replied to this proposal by shrugging his shoulders.
+
+“How much did the Jew say he would give for the sapphire if he
+purchased it?” said Athos.
+
+“Five hundred pistoles.”
+
+“That is to say, two hundred more—a hundred pistoles for you and a
+hundred pistoles for me. Well, now, that would be a real fortune to us,
+my friend; let us go back to the Jew’s again.”
+
+“What! will you—”
+
+“This ring would certainly only recall very bitter remembrances; then
+we shall never be masters of three hundred pistoles to redeem it, so
+that we really should lose two hundred pistoles by the bargain. Go and
+tell him the ring is his, D’Artagnan, and bring back the two hundred
+pistoles with you.”
+
+“Reflect, Athos!”
+
+“Ready money is needful for the present time, and we must learn how to
+make sacrifices. Go, D’Artagnan, go; Grimaud will accompany you with
+his musketoon.”
+
+A half hour afterward, D’Artagnan returned with the two thousand
+livres, and without having met with any accident.
+
+It was thus Athos found at home resources which he did not expect.
+
+
+
+
+Chapter XXXIX.
+A VISION
+
+
+At four o’clock the four friends were all assembled with Athos. Their
+anxiety about their outfits had all disappeared, and each countenance
+only preserved the expression of its own secret disquiet—for behind all
+present happiness is concealed a fear for the future.
+
+Suddenly Planchet entered, bringing two letters for D’Artagnan.
+
+The one was a little billet, genteelly folded, with a pretty seal in
+green wax on which was impressed a dove bearing a green branch.
+
+The other was a large square epistle, resplendent with the terrible
+arms of his Eminence the cardinal duke.
+
+At the sight of the little letter the heart of D’Artagnan bounded, for
+he believed he recognized the handwriting, and although he had seen
+that writing but once, the memory of it remained at the bottom of his
+heart.
+
+He therefore seized the little epistle, and opened it eagerly.
+
+“Be,” said the letter, “on Thursday next, at from six to seven o’clock
+in the evening, on the road to Chaillot, and look carefully into the
+carriages that pass; but if you have any consideration for your own
+life or that of those who love you, do not speak a single word, do not
+make a movement which may lead anyone to believe you have recognized
+her who exposes herself to everything for the sake of seeing you but
+for an instant.”
+
+No signature.
+
+“That’s a snare,” said Athos; “don’t go, D’Artagnan.”
+
+“And yet,” replied D’Artagnan, “I think I recognize the writing.”
+
+“It may be counterfeit,” said Athos. “Between six and seven o’clock the
+road of Chaillot is quite deserted; you might as well go and ride in
+the forest of Bondy.”
+
+“But suppose we all go,” said D’Artagnan; “what the devil! They won’t
+devour us all four, four lackeys, horses, arms, and all!”
+
+“And besides, it will be a chance for displaying our new equipments,”
+said Porthos.
+
+“But if it is a woman who writes,” said Aramis, “and that woman desires
+not to be seen, remember, you compromise her, D’Artagnan; which is not
+the part of a gentleman.”
+
+“We will remain in the background,” said Porthos, “and he will advance
+alone.”
+
+“Yes; but a pistol shot is easily fired from a carriage which goes at a
+gallop.”
+
+“Bah!” said D’Artagnan, “they will miss me; if they fire we will ride
+after the carriage, and exterminate those who may be in it. They must
+be enemies.”
+
+“He is right,” said Porthos; “battle. Besides, we must try our own
+arms.”
+
+“Bah, let us enjoy that pleasure,” said Aramis, with his mild and
+careless manner.
+
+“As you please,” said Athos.
+
+“Gentlemen,” said D’Artagnan, “it is half past four, and we have
+scarcely time to be on the road of Chaillot by six.”
+
+“Besides, if we go out too late, nobody will see us,” said Porthos,
+“and that will be a pity. Let us get ready, gentlemen.”
+
+“But this second letter,” said Athos, “you forget that; it appears to
+me, however, that the seal denotes that it deserves to be opened. For
+my part, I declare, D’Artagnan, I think it of much more consequence
+than the little piece of waste paper you have so cunningly slipped into
+your bosom.”
+
+D’Artagnan blushed.
+
+“Well,” said he, “let us see, gentlemen, what are his Eminence’s
+commands,” and D’Artagnan unsealed the letter and read,
+
+“M. d’Artagnan, of the king’s Guards, company Dessessart, is expected
+at the Palais-Cardinal this evening, at eight o’clock.
+
+
+“LA HOUDINIERE, _Captain of the Guards_”
+
+
+“The devil!” said Athos; “here’s a rendezvous much more serious than
+the other.”
+
+“I will go to the second after attending the first,” said D’Artagnan.
+“One is for seven o’clock, and the other for eight; there will be time
+for both.”
+
+“Hum! I would not go at all,” said Aramis. “A gallant knight cannot
+decline a rendezvous with a lady; but a prudent gentleman may excuse
+himself from not waiting on his Eminence, particularly when he has
+reason to believe he is not invited to make his compliments.”
+
+“I am of Aramis’s opinion,” said Porthos.
+
+“Gentlemen,” replied D’Artagnan, “I have already received by Monsieur
+de Cavois a similar invitation from his Eminence. I neglected it, and
+on the morrow a serious misfortune happened to me—Constance
+disappeared. Whatever may ensue, I will go.”
+
+“If you are determined,” said Athos, “do so.”
+
+“But the Bastille?” said Aramis.
+
+“Bah! you will get me out if they put me there,” said D’Artagnan.
+
+“To be sure we will,” replied Aramis and Porthos, with admirable
+promptness and decision, as if that were the simplest thing in the
+world, “to be sure we will get you out; but meantime, as we are to set
+off the day after tomorrow, you would do much better not to risk this
+Bastille.”
+
+“Let us do better than that,” said Athos; “do not let us leave him
+during the whole evening. Let each of us wait at a gate of the palace
+with three Musketeers behind him; if we see a close carriage, at all
+suspicious in appearance, come out, let us fall upon it. It is a long
+time since we have had a skirmish with the Guards of Monsieur the
+Cardinal; Monsieur de Tréville must think us dead.”
+
+“To a certainty, Athos,” said Aramis, “you were meant to be a general
+of the army! What do you think of the plan, gentlemen?”
+
+“Admirable!” replied the young men in chorus.
+
+“Well,” said Porthos, “I will run to the hôtel, and engage our comrades
+to hold themselves in readiness by eight o’clock; the rendezvous, the
+Place du Palais-Cardinal. Meantime, you see that the lackeys saddle the
+horses.”
+
+“I have no horse,” said D’Artagnan; “but that is of no consequence, I
+can take one of Monsieur de Tréville’s.”
+
+“That is not worth while,” said Aramis, “you can have one of mine.”
+
+“One of yours! how many have you, then?” asked D’Artagnan.
+
+“Three,” replied Aramis, smiling.
+
+“_Certes_,” cried Athos, “you are the best-mounted poet of France or
+Navarre.”
+
+“Well, my dear Aramis, you don’t want three horses? I cannot comprehend
+what induced you to buy three!”
+
+“Therefore I only purchased two,” said Aramis.
+
+“The third, then, fell from the clouds, I suppose?”
+
+“No, the third was brought to me this very morning by a groom out of
+livery, who would not tell me in whose service he was, and who said he
+had received orders from his master.”
+
+“Or his mistress,” interrupted D’Artagnan.
+
+“That makes no difference,” said Aramis, coloring; “and who affirmed,
+as I said, that he had received orders from his master or mistress to
+place the horse in my stable, without informing me whence it came.”
+
+“It is only to poets that such things happen,” said Athos, gravely.
+
+“Well, in that case, we can manage famously,” said D’Artagnan; “which
+of the two horses will you ride—that which you bought or the one that
+was given to you?”
+
+“That which was given to me, assuredly. You cannot for a moment
+imagine, D’Artagnan, that I would commit such an offense toward—”
+
+“The unknown giver,” interrupted D’Artagnan.
+
+“Or the mysterious benefactress,” said Athos.
+
+“The one you bought will then become useless to you?”
+
+“Nearly so.”
+
+“And you selected it yourself?”
+
+“With the greatest care. The safety of the horseman, you know, depends
+almost always upon the goodness of his horse.”
+
+“Well, transfer it to me at the price it cost you?”
+
+“I was going to make you the offer, my dear D’Artagnan, giving you all
+the time necessary for repaying me such a trifle.”
+
+“How much did it cost you?”
+
+“Eight hundred livres.”
+
+“Here are forty double pistoles, my dear friend,” said D’Artagnan,
+taking the sum from his pocket; “I know that is the coin in which you
+were paid for your poems.”
+
+“You are rich, then?” said Aramis.
+
+“Rich? Richest, my dear fellow!”
+
+And D’Artagnan chinked the remainder of his pistoles in his pocket.
+
+“Send your saddle, then, to the hôtel of the Musketeers, and your horse
+can be brought back with ours.”
+
+“Very well; but it is already five o’clock, so make haste.”
+
+A quarter of an hour afterward Porthos appeared at the end of the Rue
+Férou on a very handsome _genet_. Mousqueton followed him upon an
+Auvergne horse, small but very handsome. Porthos was resplendent with
+joy and pride.
+
+At the same time, Aramis made his appearance at the other end of the
+street upon a superb English charger. Bazin followed him upon a roan,
+holding by the halter a vigorous Mecklenburg horse; this was
+D’Artagnan’s mount.
+
+The two Musketeers met at the gate. Athos and D’Artagnan watched their
+approach from the window.
+
+“The devil!” cried Aramis, “you have a magnificent horse there,
+Porthos.”
+
+“Yes,” replied Porthos, “it is the one that ought to have been sent to
+me at first. A bad joke of the husband’s substituted the other; but the
+husband has been punished since, and I have obtained full
+satisfaction.”
+
+Planchet and Grimaud appeared in their turn, leading their masters’
+steeds. D’Artagnan and Athos put themselves into saddle with their
+companions, and all four set forward; Athos upon a horse he owed to a
+woman, Aramis on a horse he owed to his mistress, Porthos on a horse he
+owed to his procurator’s wife, and D’Artagnan on a horse he owed to his
+good fortune—the best mistress possible.
+
+The lackeys followed.
+
+As Porthos had foreseen, the cavalcade produced a good effect; and if
+Mme. Coquenard had met Porthos and seen what a superb appearance he
+made upon his handsome Spanish _genet_, she would not have regretted
+the bleeding she had inflicted upon the strongbox of her husband.
+
+Near the Louvre the four friends met with M. de Tréville, who was
+returning from St. Germain; he stopped them to offer his compliments
+upon their appointments, which in an instant drew round them a hundred
+gapers.
+
+D’Artagnan profited by the circumstance to speak to M. de Tréville of
+the letter with the great red seal and the cardinal’s arms. It is well
+understood that he did not breathe a word about the other.
+
+M. de Tréville approved of the resolution he had adopted, and assured
+him that if on the morrow he did not appear, he himself would undertake
+to find him, let him be where he might.
+
+At this moment the clock of La Samaritaine struck six; the four friends
+pleaded an engagement, and took leave of M. de Tréville.
+
+A short gallop brought them to the road of Chaillot; the day began to
+decline, carriages were passing and repassing. D’Artagnan, keeping at
+some distance from his friends, darted a scrutinizing glance into every
+carriage that appeared, but saw no face with which he was acquainted.
+
+At length, after waiting a quarter of an hour and just as twilight was
+beginning to thicken, a carriage appeared, coming at a quick pace on
+the road of Sèvres. A presentiment instantly told D’Artagnan that this
+carriage contained the person who had appointed the rendezvous; the
+young man was himself astonished to find his heart beat so violently.
+Almost instantly a female head was put out at the window, with two
+fingers placed upon her mouth, either to enjoin silence or to send him
+a kiss. D’Artagnan uttered a slight cry of joy; this woman, or rather
+this apparition—for the carriage passed with the rapidity of a
+vision—was Mme. Bonacieux.
+
+By an involuntary movement and in spite of the injunction given,
+D’Artagnan put his horse into a gallop, and in a few strides overtook
+the carriage; but the window was hermetically closed, the vision had
+disappeared.
+
+D’Artagnan then remembered the injunction: “If you value your own life
+or that of those who love you, remain motionless, and as if you had
+seen nothing.”
+
+He stopped, therefore, trembling not for himself but for the poor woman
+who had evidently exposed herself to great danger by appointing this
+rendezvous.
+
+The carriage pursued its way, still going at a great pace, till it
+dashed into Paris, and disappeared.
+
+D’Artagnan remained fixed to the spot, astounded and not knowing what
+to think. If it was Mme. Bonacieux and if she was returning to Paris,
+why this fugitive rendezvous, why this simple exchange of a glance, why
+this lost kiss? If, on the other side, it was not she—which was still
+quite possible—for the little light that remained rendered a mistake
+easy—might it not be the commencement of some plot against him through
+the allurement of this woman, for whom his love was known?
+
+His three companions joined him. All had plainly seen a woman’s head
+appear at the window, but none of them, except Athos, knew Mme.
+Bonacieux. The opinion of Athos was that it was indeed she; but less
+preoccupied by that pretty face than D’Artagnan, he had fancied he saw
+a second head, a man’s head, inside the carriage.
+
+“If that be the case,” said D’Artagnan, “they are doubtless
+transporting her from one prison to another. But what can they intend
+to do with the poor creature, and how shall I ever meet her again?”
+
+“Friend,” said Athos, gravely, “remember that it is the dead alone with
+whom we are not likely to meet again on this earth. You know something
+of that, as well as I do, I think. Now, if your mistress is not dead,
+if it is she we have just seen, you will meet with her again some day
+or other. And perhaps, my God!” added he, with that misanthropic tone
+which was peculiar to him, “perhaps sooner than you wish.”
+
+Half past seven had sounded. The carriage had been twenty minutes
+behind the time appointed. D’Artagnan’s friends reminded him that he
+had a visit to pay, but at the same time bade him observe that there
+was yet time to retract.
+
+But D’Artagnan was at the same time impetuous and curious. He had made
+up his mind that he would go to the Palais-Cardinal, and that he would
+learn what his Eminence had to say to him. Nothing could turn him from
+his purpose.
+
+They reached the Rue St. Honoré, and in the Place du Palais-Cardinal
+they found the twelve invited Musketeers, walking about in expectation
+of their comrades. There only they explained to them the matter in
+hand.
+
+D’Artagnan was well known among the honorable corps of the king’s
+Musketeers, in which it was known he would one day take his place; he
+was considered beforehand as a comrade. It resulted from these
+antecedents that everyone entered heartily into the purpose for which
+they met; besides, it would not be unlikely that they would have an
+opportunity of playing either the cardinal or his people an ill turn,
+and for such expeditions these worthy gentlemen were always ready.
+
+Athos divided them into three groups, assumed the command of one, gave
+the second to Aramis, and the third to Porthos; and then each group
+went and took their watch near an entrance.
+
+D’Artagnan, on his part, entered boldly at the principal gate.
+
+Although he felt himself ably supported, the young man was not without
+a little uneasiness as he ascended the great staircase, step by step.
+His conduct toward Milady bore a strong resemblance to treachery, and
+he was very suspicious of the political relations which existed between
+that woman and the cardinal. Still further, De Wardes, whom he had
+treated so ill, was one of the tools of his Eminence; and D’Artagnan
+knew that while his Eminence was terrible to his enemies, he was
+strongly attached to his friends.
+
+“If De Wardes has related all our affair to the cardinal, which is not
+to be doubted, and if he has recognized me, as is probable, I may
+consider myself almost as a condemned man,” said D’Artagnan, shaking
+his head. “But why has he waited till now? That’s all plain enough.
+Milady has laid her complaints against me with that hypocritical grief
+which renders her so interesting, and this last offense has made the
+cup overflow.”
+
+“Fortunately,” added he, “my good friends are down yonder, and they
+will not allow me to be carried away without a struggle. Nevertheless,
+Monsieur de Tréville’s company of Musketeers alone cannot maintain a
+war against the cardinal, who disposes of the forces of all France, and
+before whom the queen is without power and the king without will.
+D’Artagnan, my friend, you are brave, you are prudent, you have
+excellent qualities; but the women will ruin you!”
+
+He came to this melancholy conclusion as he entered the antechamber. He
+placed his letter in the hands of the usher on duty, who led him into
+the waiting room and passed on into the interior of the palace.
+
+In this waiting room were five or six of the cardinal’s Guards, who
+recognized D’Artagnan, and knowing that it was he who had wounded
+Jussac, they looked upon him with a smile of singular meaning.
+
+This smile appeared to D’Artagnan to be of bad augury. Only, as our
+Gascon was not easily intimidated—or rather, thanks to a great pride
+natural to the men of his country, he did not allow one easily to see
+what was passing in his mind when that which was passing at all
+resembled fear—he placed himself haughtily in front of Messieurs the
+Guards, and waited with his hand on his hip, in an attitude by no means
+deficient in majesty.
+
+The usher returned and made a sign to D’Artagnan to follow him. It
+appeared to the young man that the Guards, on seeing him depart,
+chuckled among themselves.
+
+He traversed a corridor, crossed a grand saloon, entered a library, and
+found himself in the presence of a man seated at a desk and writing.
+
+The usher introduced him, and retired without speaking a word.
+D’Artagnan remained standing and examined this man.
+
+D’Artagnan at first believed that he had to do with some judge
+examining his papers; but he perceived that the man at the desk wrote,
+or rather corrected, lines of unequal length, scanning the words on his
+fingers. He saw then that he was with a poet. At the end of an instant
+the poet closed his manuscript, upon the cover of which was written
+“Mirame, a Tragedy in Five Acts,” and raised his head.
+
+D’Artagnan recognized the cardinal.
+
+
+
+
+Chapter XL.
+A TERRIBLE VISION
+
+
+The cardinal leaned his elbow on his manuscript, his cheek upon his
+hand, and looked intently at the young man for a moment. No one had a
+more searching eye than the Cardinal de Richelieu, and D’Artagnan felt
+this glance run through his veins like a fever.
+
+He however kept a good countenance, holding his hat in his hand and
+awaiting the good pleasure of his Eminence, without too much assurance,
+but also without too much humility.
+
+“Monsieur,” said the cardinal, “are you a D’Artagnan from Béarn?”
+
+“Yes, monseigneur,” replied the young man.
+
+“There are several branches of the D’Artagnans at Tarbes and in its
+environs,” said the cardinal; “to which do you belong?”
+
+“I am the son of him who served in the Religious Wars under the great
+King Henry, the father of his gracious Majesty.”
+
+“That is well. It is you who set out seven or eight months ago from
+your country to seek your fortune in the capital?”
+
+“Yes, monseigneur.”
+
+“You came through Meung, where something befell you. I don’t very well
+know what, but still something.”
+
+“Monseigneur,” said D’Artagnan, “this was what happened to me—”
+
+“Never mind, never mind!” resumed the cardinal, with a smile which
+indicated that he knew the story as well as he who wished to relate it.
+“You were recommended to Monsieur de Tréville, were you not?”
+
+“Yes, monseigneur; but in that unfortunate affair at Meung—”
+
+“The letter was lost,” replied his Eminence; “yes, I know that. But
+Monsieur de Tréville is a skilled physiognomist, who knows men at first
+sight; and he placed you in the company of his brother-in-law, Monsieur
+Dessessart, leaving you to hope that one day or other you should enter
+the Musketeers.”
+
+“Monseigneur is correctly informed,” said D’Artagnan.
+
+“Since that time many things have happened to you. You were walking one
+day behind the Chartreux, when it would have been better if you had
+been elsewhere. Then you took with your friends a journey to the waters
+of Forges; they stopped on the road, but you continued yours. That is
+all very simple: you had business in England.”
+
+“Monseigneur,” said D’Artagnan, quite confused, “I went—”
+
+“Hunting at Windsor, or elsewhere—that concerns nobody. I know, because
+it is my office to know everything. On your return you were received by
+an august personage, and I perceive with pleasure that you preserve the
+souvenir she gave you.”
+
+D’Artagnan placed his hand upon the queen’s diamond, which he wore, and
+quickly turned the stone inward; but it was too late.
+
+“The day after that, you received a visit from Cavois,” resumed the
+cardinal. “He went to desire you to come to the palace. You have not
+returned that visit, and you were wrong.”
+
+“Monseigneur, I feared I had incurred disgrace with your Eminence.”
+
+“How could that be, monsieur? Could you incur my displeasure by having
+followed the orders of your superiors with more intelligence and
+courage than another would have done? It is the people who do not obey
+that I punish, and not those who, like you, obey—but too well. As a
+proof, remember the date of the day on which I had you bidden to come
+to me, and seek in your memory for what happened to you that very
+night.”
+
+That was the very evening when the abduction of Mme. Bonacieux took
+place. D’Artagnan trembled; and he likewise recollected that during the
+past half hour the poor woman had passed close to him, without doubt
+carried away by the same power that had caused her disappearance.
+
+“In short,” continued the cardinal, “as I have heard nothing of you for
+some time past, I wished to know what you were doing. Besides, you owe
+me some thanks. You must yourself have remarked how much you have been
+considered in all the circumstances.”
+
+D’Artagnan bowed with respect.
+
+“That,” continued the cardinal, “arose not only from a feeling of
+natural equity, but likewise from a plan I have marked out with respect
+to you.”
+
+D’Artagnan became more and more astonished.
+
+“I wished to explain this plan to you on the day you received my first
+invitation; but you did not come. Fortunately, nothing is lost by this
+delay, and you are now about to hear it. Sit down there, before me,
+D’Artagnan; you are gentleman enough not to listen standing.” And the
+cardinal pointed with his finger to a chair for the young man, who was
+so astonished at what was passing that he awaited a second sign from
+his interlocutor before he obeyed.
+
+“You are brave, Monsieur d’Artagnan,” continued his Eminence; “you are
+prudent, which is still better. I like men of head and heart. Don’t be
+afraid,” said he, smiling. “By men of heart I mean men of courage. But
+young as you are, and scarcely entering into the world, you have
+powerful enemies; if you do not take great heed, they will destroy
+you.”
+
+“Alas, monseigneur!” replied the young man, “very easily, no doubt, for
+they are strong and well supported, while I am alone.”
+
+“Yes, that’s true; but alone as you are, you have done much already,
+and will do still more, I don’t doubt. Yet you have need, I believe, to
+be guided in the adventurous career you have undertaken; for, if I
+mistake not, you came to Paris with the ambitious idea of making your
+fortune.”
+
+“I am at the age of extravagant hopes, monseigneur,” said D’Artagnan.
+
+“There are no extravagant hopes but for fools, monsieur, and you are a
+man of understanding. Now, what would you say to an ensign’s commission
+in my Guards, and a company after the campaign?”
+
+“Ah, monseigneur.”
+
+“You accept it, do you not?”
+
+“Monseigneur,” replied D’Artagnan, with an embarrassed air.
+
+“How? You refuse?” cried the cardinal, with astonishment.
+
+“I am in his Majesty’s Guards, monseigneur, and I have no reason to be
+dissatisfied.”
+
+“But it appears to me that my Guards—mine—are also his Majesty’s
+Guards; and whoever serves in a French corps serves the king.”
+
+“Monseigneur, your Eminence has ill understood my words.”
+
+“You want a pretext, do you not? I comprehend. Well, you have this
+excuse: advancement, the opening campaign, the opportunity which I
+offer you—so much for the world. As regards yourself, the need of
+protection; for it is fit you should know, Monsieur d’Artagnan, that I
+have received heavy and serious complaints against you. You do not
+consecrate your days and nights wholly to the king’s service.”
+
+D’Artagnan colored.
+
+“In fact,” said the cardinal, placing his hand upon a bundle of papers,
+“I have here a whole pile which concerns you. I know you to be a man of
+resolution; and your services, well directed, instead of leading you to
+ill, might be very advantageous to you. Come; reflect, and decide.”
+
+“Your goodness confounds me, monseigneur,” replied D’Artagnan, “and I
+am conscious of a greatness of soul in your Eminence that makes me mean
+as an earthworm; but since Monseigneur permits me to speak freely—”
+
+D’Artagnan paused.
+
+“Yes; speak.”
+
+“Then, I will presume to say that all my friends are in the king’s
+Musketeers and Guards, and that by an inconceivable fatality my enemies
+are in the service of your Eminence; I should, therefore, be ill
+received here and ill regarded there if I accepted what Monseigneur
+offers me.”
+
+“Do you happen to entertain the haughty idea that I have not yet made
+you an offer equal to your value?” asked the cardinal, with a smile of
+disdain.
+
+“Monseigneur, your Eminence is a hundred times too kind to me; and on
+the contrary, I think I have not proved myself worthy of your goodness.
+The siege of La Rochelle is about to be resumed, monseigneur. I shall
+serve under the eye of your Eminence, and if I have the good fortune to
+conduct myself at the siege in such a manner as merits your attention,
+then I shall at least leave behind me some brilliant action to justify
+the protection with which you honor me. Everything is best in its time,
+monseigneur. Hereafter, perhaps, I shall have the right of _giving_
+myself; at present I shall appear to sell myself.”
+
+“That is to say, you refuse to serve me, monsieur,” said the cardinal,
+with a tone of vexation, through which, however, might be seen a sort
+of esteem; “remain free, then, and guard your hatreds and your
+sympathies.”
+
+“Monseigneur—”
+
+“Well, well,” said the cardinal, “I don’t wish you any ill; but you
+must be aware that it is quite trouble enough to defend and recompense
+our friends. We owe nothing to our enemies; and let me give you a piece
+of advice; take care of yourself, Monsieur d’Artagnan, for from the
+moment I withdraw my hand from behind you, I would not give an _obolus_
+for your life.”
+
+“I will try to do so, monseigneur,” replied the Gascon, with a noble
+confidence.
+
+“Remember at a later period and at a certain moment, if any mischance
+should happen to you,” said Richelieu, significantly, “that it was I
+who came to seek you, and that I did all in my power to prevent this
+misfortune befalling you.”
+
+“I shall entertain, whatever may happen,” said D’Artagnan, placing his
+hand upon his breast and bowing, “an eternal gratitude toward your
+Eminence for that which you now do for me.”
+
+“Well, let it be, then, as you have said, Monsieur d’Artagnan; we shall
+see each other again after the campaign. I will have my eye upon you,
+for I shall be there,” replied the cardinal, pointing with his finger
+to a magnificent suit of armor he was to wear, “and on our return,
+well—we will settle our account!”
+
+“Ah, monseigneur,” cried D’Artagnan, “spare me the weight of your
+displeasure. Remain neutral monseigneur, if you find that I act as
+becomes a gallant man.”
+
+“Young man,” said Richelieu, “if I shall be able to say to you at
+another time what I have said to you today, I promise you to do so.”
+
+This last expression of Richelieu’s conveyed a terrible doubt; it
+alarmed D’Artagnan more than a menace would have done, for it was a
+warning. The cardinal, then, was seeking to preserve him from some
+misfortune which threatened him. He opened his mouth to reply, but with
+a haughty gesture the cardinal dismissed him.
+
+D’Artagnan went out, but at the door his heart almost failed him, and
+he felt inclined to return. Then the noble and severe countenance of
+Athos crossed his mind; if he made the compact with the cardinal which
+he required, Athos would no more give him his hand—Athos would renounce
+him.
+
+It was this fear that restrained him, so powerful is the influence of a
+truly great character on all that surrounds it.
+
+D’Artagnan descended by the staircase at which he had entered, and
+found Athos and the four Musketeers waiting his appearance, and
+beginning to grow uneasy. With a word, D’Artagnan reassured them; and
+Planchet ran to inform the other sentinels that it was useless to keep
+guard longer, as his master had come out safe from the Palais-Cardinal.
+
+Returned home with Athos, Aramis and Porthos inquired eagerly the cause
+of the strange interview; but D’Artagnan confined himself to telling
+them that M. de Richelieu had sent for him to propose to him to enter
+into his guards with the rank of ensign, and that he had refused.
+
+“And you were right,” cried Aramis and Porthos, with one voice.
+
+Athos fell into a profound reverie and answered nothing. But when they
+were alone he said, “You have done that which you ought to have done,
+D’Artagnan; but perhaps you have been wrong.”
+
+D’Artagnan sighed deeply, for this voice responded to a secret voice of
+his soul, which told him that great misfortunes awaited him.
+
+The whole of the next day was spent in preparations for departure.
+D’Artagnan went to take leave of M. de Tréville. At that time it was
+believed that the separation of the Musketeers and the Guards would be
+but momentary, the king holding his Parliament that very day and
+proposing to set out the day after. M. de Tréville contented himself
+with asking D’Artagnan if he could do anything for him, but D’Artagnan
+answered that he was supplied with all he wanted.
+
+That night brought together all those comrades of the Guards of M.
+Dessessart and the company of Musketeers of M. de Tréville who had been
+accustomed to associate together. They were parting to meet again when
+it pleased God, and if it pleased God. That night, then, was somewhat
+riotous, as may be imagined. In such cases extreme preoccupation is
+only to be combated by extreme carelessness.
+
+At the first sound of the morning trumpet the friends separated; the
+Musketeers hastening to the hôtel of M. de Tréville, the Guards to that
+of M. Dessessart. Each of the captains then led his company to the
+Louvre, where the king held his review.
+
+The king was dull and appeared ill, which detracted a little from his
+usual lofty bearing. In fact, the evening before, a fever had seized
+him in the midst of the Parliament, while he was holding his Bed of
+Justice. He had, not the less, decided upon setting out that same
+evening; and in spite of the remonstrances that had been offered to
+him, he persisted in having the review, hoping by setting it at
+defiance to conquer the disease which began to lay hold upon him.
+
+The review over, the Guards set forward alone on their march, the
+Musketeers waiting for the king, which allowed Porthos time to go and
+take a turn in his superb equipment in the Rue aux Ours.
+
+The procurator’s wife saw him pass in his new uniform and on his fine
+horse. She loved Porthos too dearly to allow him to part thus; she made
+him a sign to dismount and come to her. Porthos was magnificent; his
+spurs jingled, his cuirass glittered, his sword knocked proudly against
+his ample limbs. This time the clerks evinced no inclination to laugh,
+such a real ear clipper did Porthos appear.
+
+The Musketeer was introduced to M. Coquenard, whose little gray eyes
+sparkled with anger at seeing his cousin all blazing new. Nevertheless,
+one thing afforded him inward consolation; it was expected by everybody
+that the campaign would be a severe one. He whispered a hope to himself
+that this beloved relative might be killed in the field.
+
+Porthos paid his compliments to M. Coquenard and bade him farewell. M.
+Coquenard wished him all sorts of prosperities. As to Mme. Coquenard,
+she could not restrain her tears; but no evil impressions were taken
+from her grief as she was known to be very much attached to her
+relatives, about whom she was constantly having serious disputes with
+her husband.
+
+But the real adieux were made in Mme. Coquenard’s chamber; they were
+heartrending.
+
+As long as the procurator’s wife could follow him with her eyes, she
+waved her handkerchief to him, leaning so far out of the window as to
+lead people to believe she wished to precipitate herself. Porthos
+received all these attentions like a man accustomed to such
+demonstrations, only on turning the corner of the street he lifted his
+hat gracefully, and waved it to her as a sign of adieu.
+
+On his part Aramis wrote a long letter. To whom? Nobody knew. Kitty,
+who was to set out that evening for Tours, was waiting in the next
+chamber.
+
+Athos sipped the last bottle of his Spanish wine.
+
+In the meantime D’Artagnan was defiling with his company. Arriving at
+the Faubourg St. Antoine, he turned round to look gaily at the
+Bastille; but as it was the Bastille alone he looked at, he did not
+observe Milady, who, mounted upon a light chestnut horse, designated
+him with her finger to two ill-looking men who came close up to the
+ranks to take notice of him. To a look of interrogation which they
+made, Milady replied by a sign that it was he. Then, certain that there
+could be no mistake in the execution of her orders, she started her
+horse and disappeared.
+
+The two men followed the company, and on leaving the Faubourg St.
+Antoine, mounted two horses properly equipped, which a servant without
+livery had waiting for them.
+
+
+
+
+Chapter XLI.
+THE SIEGE OF LA ROCHELLE
+
+
+The Siege of La Rochelle was one of the great political events of the
+reign of Louis XIII., and one of the great military enterprises of the
+cardinal. It is, then, interesting and even necessary that we should
+say a few words about it, particularly as many details of this siege
+are connected in too important a manner with the story we have
+undertaken to relate to allow us to pass it over in silence.
+
+The political plans of the cardinal when he undertook this siege were
+extensive. Let us unfold them first, and then pass on to the private
+plans which perhaps had not less influence upon his Eminence than the
+others.
+
+Of the important cities given up by Henry IV. to the Huguenots as places
+of safety, there only remained La Rochelle. It became necessary,
+therefore, to destroy this last bulwark of Calvinism—a dangerous leaven
+with which the ferments of civil revolt and foreign war were constantly
+mingling.
+
+Spaniards, Englishmen, and Italian malcontents, adventurers of all
+nations, and soldiers of fortune of every sect, flocked at the first
+summons under the standard of the Protestants, and organized themselves
+like a vast association, whose branches diverged freely over all parts
+of Europe.
+
+La Rochelle, which had derived a new importance from the ruin of the
+other Calvinist cities, was, then, the focus of dissensions and
+ambition. Moreover, its port was the last in the kingdom of France open
+to the English, and by closing it against England, our eternal enemy,
+the cardinal completed the work of Joan of Arc and the Duc de Guise.
+
+Thus Bassompierre, who was at once Protestant and Catholic—Protestant
+by conviction and Catholic as commander of the order of the Holy Ghost;
+Bassompierre, who was a German by birth and a Frenchman at heart—in
+short, Bassompierre, who had a distinguished command at the siege of La
+Rochelle, said, in charging at the head of several other Protestant
+nobles like himself, “You will see, gentlemen, that we shall be fools
+enough to take La Rochelle.”
+
+And Bassompierre was right. The cannonade of the Isle of Ré presaged to
+him the dragonnades of the Cévennes; the taking of La Rochelle was the
+preface to the revocation of the Edict of Nantes.
+
+We have hinted that by the side of these views of the leveling and
+simplifying minister, which belong to history, the chronicler is forced
+to recognize the lesser motives of the amorous man and jealous rival.
+
+Richelieu, as everyone knows, had loved the queen. Was this love a
+simple political affair, or was it naturally one of those profound
+passions which Anne of Austria inspired in those who approached her?
+That we are not able to say; but at all events, we have seen, by the
+anterior developments of this story, that Buckingham had the advantage
+over him, and in two or three circumstances, particularly that of the
+diamond studs, had, thanks to the devotedness of the three Musketeers
+and the courage and conduct of D’Artagnan, cruelly mystified him.
+
+It was, then, Richelieu’s object, not only to get rid of an enemy of
+France, but to avenge himself on a rival; but this vengeance must be
+grand and striking and worthy in every way of a man who held in his
+hand, as his weapon for combat, the forces of a kingdom.
+
+Richelieu knew that in combating England he combated Buckingham; that
+in triumphing over England he triumphed over Buckingham—in short, that
+in humiliating England in the eyes of Europe he humiliated Buckingham
+in the eyes of the queen.
+
+On his side Buckingham, in pretending to maintain the honor of England,
+was moved by interests exactly like those of the cardinal. Buckingham
+also was pursuing a private vengeance. Buckingham could not under any
+pretense be admitted into France as an ambassador; he wished to enter
+it as a conqueror.
+
+It resulted from this that the real stake in this game, which two most
+powerful kingdoms played for the good pleasure of two amorous men, was
+simply a kind look from Anne of Austria.
+
+The first advantage had been gained by Buckingham. Arriving
+unexpectedly in sight of the Isle of Ré with ninety vessels and nearly
+twenty thousand men, he had surprised the Comte de Toiras, who
+commanded for the king in the Isle, and he had, after a bloody
+conflict, effected his landing.
+
+Allow us to observe in passing that in this fight perished the Baron de
+Chantal; that the Baron de Chantal left a little orphan girl eighteen
+months old, and that this little girl was afterward Mme. de Sévigné.
+
+The Comte de Toiras retired into the citadel St. Martin with his
+garrison, and threw a hundred men into a little fort called the fort of
+La Prée.
+
+This event had hastened the resolutions of the cardinal; and till the
+king and he could take the command of the siege of La Rochelle, which
+was determined, he had sent Monsieur to direct the first operations,
+and had ordered all the troops he could dispose of to march toward the
+theater of war. It was of this detachment, sent as a vanguard, that our
+friend D’Artagnan formed a part.
+
+The king, as we have said, was to follow as soon as his Bed of Justice
+had been held; but on rising from his Bed of Justice on the
+twenty-eighth of June, he felt himself attacked by fever. He was,
+notwithstanding, anxious to set out; but his illness becoming more
+serious, he was forced to stop at Villeroy.
+
+Now, whenever the king halted, the Musketeers halted. It followed that
+D’Artagnan, who was as yet purely and simply in the Guards, found
+himself, for the time at least, separated from his good friends—Athos,
+Porthos, and Aramis. This separation, which was no more than an
+unpleasant circumstance, would have certainly become a cause of serious
+uneasiness if he had been able to guess by what unknown dangers he was
+surrounded.
+
+He, however, arrived without accident in the camp established before La
+Rochelle, on the tenth of the month of September of the year 1627.
+
+Everything was in the same state. The Duke of Buckingham and his
+English, masters of the Isle of Ré, continued to besiege, but without
+success, the citadel St. Martin and the fort of La Prée; and
+hostilities with La Rochelle had commenced, two or three days before,
+about a fort which the Duc d’Angoulême had caused to be constructed
+near the city.
+
+The Guards, under the command of M. Dessessart, took up their quarters
+at the Minimes; but, as we know, D’Artagnan, possessed with ambition to
+enter the Musketeers, had formed but few friendships among his
+comrades, and he felt himself isolated and given up to his own
+reflections.
+
+His reflections were not very cheerful. From the time of his arrival in
+Paris, he had been mixed up with public affairs; but his own private
+affairs had made no great progress, either in love or fortune. As to
+love, the only woman he could have loved was Mme. Bonacieux; and Mme.
+Bonacieux had disappeared, without his being able to discover what had
+become of her. As to fortune, he had made—he, humble as he was—an enemy
+of the cardinal; that is to say, of a man before whom trembled the
+greatest men of the kingdom, beginning with the king.
+
+That man had the power to crush him, and yet he had not done so. For a
+mind so perspicuous as that of D’Artagnan, this indulgence was a light
+by which he caught a glimpse of a better future.
+
+Then he had made himself another enemy, less to be feared, he thought;
+but nevertheless, he instinctively felt, not to be despised. This enemy
+was Milady.
+
+In exchange for all this, he had acquired the protection and good will
+of the queen; but the favor of the queen was at the present time an
+additional cause of persecution, and her protection, as it was known,
+protected badly—as witness Chalais and Mme. Bonacieux.
+
+What he had clearly gained in all this was the diamond, worth five or
+six thousand livres, which he wore on his finger; and even this
+diamond—supposing that D’Artagnan, in his projects of ambition, wished
+to keep it, to make it someday a pledge for the gratitude of the
+queen—had not in the meanwhile, since he could not part with it, more
+value than the gravel he trod under his feet.
+
+We say the gravel he trod under his feet, for D’Artagnan made these
+reflections while walking solitarily along a pretty little road which
+led from the camp to the village of Angoutin. Now, these reflections
+had led him further than he intended, and the day was beginning to
+decline when, by the last ray of the setting sun, he thought he saw the
+barrel of a musket glitter from behind a hedge.
+
+D’Artagnan had a quick eye and a prompt understanding. He comprehended
+that the musket had not come there of itself, and that he who bore it
+had not concealed himself behind a hedge with any friendly intentions.
+He determined, therefore, to direct his course as clear from it as he
+could when, on the opposite side of the road, from behind a rock, he
+perceived the extremity of another musket.
+
+This was evidently an ambuscade.
+
+The young man cast a glance at the first musket and saw, with a certain
+degree of inquietude, that it was leveled in his direction; but as soon
+as he perceived that the orifice of the barrel was motionless, he threw
+himself upon the ground. At the same instant the gun was fired, and he
+heard the whistling of a ball pass over his head.
+
+No time was to be lost. D’Artagnan sprang up with a bound, and at the
+same instant the ball from the other musket tore up the gravel on the
+very spot on the road where he had thrown himself with his face to the
+ground.
+
+D’Artagnan was not one of those foolhardy men who seek a ridiculous
+death in order that it may be said of them that they did not retreat a
+single step. Besides, courage was out of the question here; D’Artagnan
+had fallen into an ambush.
+
+“If there is a third shot,” said he to himself, “I am a lost man.”
+
+He immediately, therefore, took to his heels and ran toward the camp,
+with the swiftness of the young men of his country, so renowned for
+their agility; but whatever might be his speed, the first who fired,
+having had time to reload, fired a second shot, and this time so well
+aimed that it struck his hat, and carried it ten paces from him.
+
+As he, however, had no other hat, he picked up this as he ran, and
+arrived at his quarters very pale and quite out of breath. He sat down
+without saying a word to anybody, and began to reflect.
+
+This event might have three causes:
+
+The first and the most natural was that it might be an ambuscade of the
+Rochellais, who might not be sorry to kill one of his Majesty’s Guards,
+because it would be an enemy the less, and this enemy might have a
+well-furnished purse in his pocket.
+
+D’Artagnan took his hat, examined the hole made by the ball, and shook
+his head. The ball was not a musket ball—it was an arquebus ball. The
+accuracy of the aim had first given him the idea that a special weapon
+had been employed. This could not, then, be a military ambuscade, as
+the ball was not of the regular caliber.
+
+This might be a kind remembrance of Monsieur the Cardinal. It may be
+observed that at the very moment when, thanks to the ray of the sun, he
+perceived the gun barrel, he was thinking with astonishment on the
+forbearance of his Eminence with respect to him.
+
+But D’Artagnan again shook his head. For people toward whom he had but
+to put forth his hand, his Eminence had rarely recourse to such means.
+
+It might be a vengeance of Milady; that was most probable.
+
+He tried in vain to remember the faces or dress of the assassins; he
+had escaped so rapidly that he had not had leisure to notice anything.
+
+“Ah, my poor friends!” murmured D’Artagnan; “where are you? And that
+you should fail me!”
+
+D’Artagnan passed a very bad night. Three or four times he started up,
+imagining that a man was approaching his bed for the purpose of
+stabbing him. Nevertheless, day dawned without darkness having brought
+any accident.
+
+But D’Artagnan well suspected that that which was deferred was not
+relinquished.
+
+D’Artagnan remained all day in his quarters, assigning as a reason to
+himself that the weather was bad.
+
+At nine o’clock the next morning, the drums beat to arms. The Duc
+d’Orléans visited the posts. The guards were under arms, and D’Artagnan
+took his place in the midst of his comrades.
+
+Monsieur passed along the front of the line; then all the superior
+officers approached him to pay their compliments, M. Dessessart,
+captain of the Guards, as well as the others.
+
+At the expiration of a minute or two, it appeared to D’Artagnan that M.
+Dessessart made him a sign to approach. He waited for a fresh gesture
+on the part of his superior, for fear he might be mistaken; but this
+gesture being repeated, he left the ranks, and advanced to receive
+orders.
+
+“Monsieur is about to ask for some men of good will for a dangerous
+mission, but one which will do honor to those who shall accomplish it;
+and I made you a sign in order that you might hold yourself in
+readiness.”
+
+“Thanks, my captain!” replied D’Artagnan, who wished for nothing better
+than an opportunity to distinguish himself under the eye of the
+lieutenant general.
+
+In fact the Rochellais had made a _sortie_ during the night, and had
+retaken a bastion of which the royal army had gained possession two
+days before. The matter was to ascertain, by reconnoitering, how the
+enemy guarded this bastion.
+
+At the end of a few minutes Monsieur raised his voice, and said, “I
+want for this mission three or four volunteers, led by a man who can be
+depended upon.”
+
+“As to the man to be depended upon, I have him under my hand,
+monsieur,” said M. Dessessart, pointing to D’Artagnan; “and as to the
+four or five volunteers, Monsieur has but to make his intentions known,
+and the men will not be wanting.”
+
+“Four men of good will who will risk being killed with me!” said
+D’Artagnan, raising his sword.
+
+Two of his comrades of the Guards immediately sprang forward, and two
+other soldiers having joined them, the number was deemed sufficient.
+D’Artagnan declined all others, being unwilling to take the first
+chance from those who had the priority.
+
+It was not known whether, after the taking of the bastion, the
+Rochellais had evacuated it or left a garrison in it; the object then
+was to examine the place near enough to verify the reports.
+
+D’Artagnan set out with his four companions, and followed the trench;
+the two Guards marched abreast with him, and the two soldiers followed
+behind.
+
+They arrived thus, screened by the lining of the trench, till they came
+within a hundred paces of the bastion. There, on turning round,
+D’Artagnan perceived that the two soldiers had disappeared.
+
+He thought that, beginning to be afraid, they had stayed behind, and he
+continued to advance.
+
+At the turning of the counterscarp they found themselves within about
+sixty paces of the bastion. They saw no one, and the bastion seemed
+abandoned.
+
+The three composing our forlorn hope were deliberating whether they
+should proceed any further, when all at once a circle of smoke
+enveloped the giant of stone, and a dozen balls came whistling around
+D’Artagnan and his companions.
+
+They knew all they wished to know; the bastion was guarded. A longer
+stay in this dangerous spot would have been useless imprudence.
+D’Artagnan and his two companions turned their backs, and commenced a
+retreat which resembled a flight.
+
+On arriving at the angle of the trench which was to serve them as a
+rampart, one of the Guardsmen fell. A ball had passed through his
+breast. The other, who was safe and sound, continued his way toward the
+camp.
+
+D’Artagnan was not willing to abandon his companion thus, and stooped
+to raise him and assist him in regaining the lines; but at this moment
+two shots were fired. One ball struck the head of the already-wounded
+guard, and the other flattened itself against a rock, after having
+passed within two inches of D’Artagnan.
+
+The young man turned quickly round, for this attack could not have come
+from the bastion, which was hidden by the angle of the trench. The idea
+of the two soldiers who had abandoned him occurred to his mind, and
+with them he remembered the assassins of two evenings before. He
+resolved this time to know with whom he had to deal, and fell upon the
+body of his comrade as if he were dead.
+
+He quickly saw two heads appear above an abandoned work within thirty
+paces of him; they were the heads of the two soldiers. D’Artagnan had
+not been deceived; these two men had only followed for the purpose of
+assassinating him, hoping that the young man’s death would be placed to
+the account of the enemy.
+
+As he might be only wounded and might denounce their crime, they came
+up to him with the purpose of making sure. Fortunately, deceived by
+D’Artagnan’s trick, they neglected to reload their guns.
+
+When they were within ten paces of him, D’Artagnan, who in falling had
+taken care not to let go his sword, sprang up close to them.
+
+The assassins comprehended that if they fled toward the camp without
+having killed their man, they should be accused by him; therefore their
+first idea was to join the enemy. One of them took his gun by the
+barrel, and used it as he would a club. He aimed a terrible blow at
+D’Artagnan, who avoided it by springing to one side; but by this
+movement he left a passage free to the bandit, who darted off toward
+the bastion. As the Rochellais who guarded the bastion were ignorant of
+the intentions of the man they saw coming toward them, they fired upon
+him, and he fell, struck by a ball which broke his shoulder.
+
+Meantime D’Artagnan had thrown himself upon the other soldier,
+attacking him with his sword. The conflict was not long; the wretch had
+nothing to defend himself with but his discharged arquebus. The sword
+of the Guardsman slipped along the barrel of the now-useless weapon,
+and passed through the thigh of the assassin, who fell.
+
+D’Artagnan immediately placed the point of his sword at his throat.
+
+“Oh, do not kill me!” cried the bandit. “Pardon, pardon, my officer,
+and I will tell you all.”
+
+“Is your secret of enough importance to me to spare your life for it?”
+asked the young man, withholding his arm.
+
+“Yes; if you think existence worth anything to a man of twenty, as you
+are, and who may hope for everything, being handsome and brave, as you
+are.”
+
+“Wretch,” cried D’Artagnan, “speak quickly! Who employed you to
+assassinate me?”
+
+“A woman whom I don’t know, but who is called Milady.”
+
+“But if you don’t know this woman, how do you know her name?”
+
+“My comrade knows her, and called her so. It was with him she agreed,
+and not with me; he even has in his pocket a letter from that person,
+who attaches great importance to you, as I have heard him say.”
+
+“But how did you become concerned in this villainous affair?”
+
+“He proposed to me to undertake it with him, and I agreed.”
+
+“And how much did she give you for this fine enterprise?”
+
+“A hundred louis.”
+
+“Well, come!” said the young man, laughing, “she thinks I am worth
+something. A hundred louis? Well, that was a temptation for two
+wretches like you. I understand why you accepted it, and I grant you my
+pardon; but upon one condition.”
+
+“What is that?” said the soldier, uneasy at perceiving that all was not
+over.
+
+“That you will go and fetch me the letter your comrade has in his
+pocket.”
+
+“But,” cried the bandit, “that is only another way of killing me. How
+can I go and fetch that letter under the fire of the bastion?”
+
+“You must nevertheless make up your mind to go and get it, or I swear
+you shall die by my hand.”
+
+“Pardon, monsieur; pity! In the name of that young lady you love, and
+whom you perhaps believe dead but who is not!” cried the bandit,
+throwing himself upon his knees and leaning upon his hand—for he began
+to lose his strength with his blood.
+
+“And how do you know there is a young woman whom I love, and that I
+believed that woman dead?” asked D’Artagnan.
+
+“By that letter which my comrade has in his pocket.”
+
+“You see, then,” said D’Artagnan, “that I must have that letter. So no
+more delay, no more hesitation; or else whatever may be my repugnance
+to soiling my sword a second time with the blood of a wretch like you,
+I swear by my faith as an honest man—” and at these words D’Artagnan
+made so fierce a gesture that the wounded man sprang up.
+
+“Stop, stop!” cried he, regaining strength by force of terror. “I will
+go—I will go!”
+
+D’Artagnan took the soldier’s arquebus, made him go on before him, and
+urged him toward his companion by pricking him behind with his sword.
+
+It was a frightful thing to see this wretch, leaving a long track of
+blood on the ground he passed over, pale with approaching death, trying
+to drag himself along without being seen to the body of his accomplice,
+which lay twenty paces from him.
+
+Terror was so strongly painted on his face, covered with a cold sweat,
+that D’Artagnan took pity on him, and casting upon him a look of
+contempt, “Stop,” said he, “I will show you the difference between a
+man of courage and such a coward as you. Stay where you are; I will go
+myself.”
+
+And with a light step, an eye on the watch, observing the movements of
+the enemy and taking advantage of the accidents of the ground,
+D’Artagnan succeeded in reaching the second soldier.
+
+There were two means of gaining his object—to search him on the spot,
+or to carry him away, making a buckler of his body, and search him in
+the trench.
+
+D’Artagnan preferred the second means, and lifted the assassin onto his
+shoulders at the moment the enemy fired.
+
+A slight shock, the dull noise of three balls which penetrated the
+flesh, a last cry, a convulsion of agony, proved to D’Artagnan that the
+would-be assassin had saved his life.
+
+D’Artagnan regained the trench, and threw the corpse beside the wounded
+man, who was as pale as death.
+
+Then he began to search. A leather pocketbook, a purse, in which was
+evidently a part of the sum which the bandit had received, with a dice
+box and dice, completed the possessions of the dead man.
+
+He left the box and dice where they fell, threw the purse to the
+wounded man, and eagerly opened the pocketbook.
+
+Among some unimportant papers he found the following letter, that which
+he had sought at the risk of his life:
+
+“Since you have lost sight of that woman and she is now in safety in
+the convent, which you should never have allowed her to reach, try, at
+least, not to miss the man. If you do, you know that my hand stretches
+far, and that you shall pay very dearly for the hundred louis you have
+from me.”
+
+
+No signature. Nevertheless it was plain the letter came from Milady. He
+consequently kept it as a piece of evidence, and being in safety behind
+the angle of the trench, he began to interrogate the wounded man. He
+confessed that he had undertaken with his comrade—the same who was
+killed—to carry off a young woman who was to leave Paris by the
+Barrière de La Villette; but having stopped to drink at a cabaret, they
+had missed the carriage by ten minutes.
+
+“But what were you to do with that woman?” asked D’Artagnan, with
+anguish.
+
+“We were to have conveyed her to a hôtel in the Place Royale,” said the
+wounded man.
+
+“Yes, yes!” murmured D’Artagnan; “that’s the place—Milady’s own
+residence!”
+
+Then the young man tremblingly comprehended what a terrible thirst for
+vengeance urged this woman on to destroy him, as well as all who loved
+him, and how well she must be acquainted with the affairs of the court,
+since she had discovered all. There could be no doubt she owed this
+information to the cardinal.
+
+But amid all this he perceived, with a feeling of real joy, that the
+queen must have discovered the prison in which poor Mme. Bonacieux was
+explaining her devotion, and that she had freed her from that prison;
+and the letter he had received from the young woman, and her passage
+along the road of Chaillot like an apparition, were now explained.
+
+Then also, as Athos had predicted, it became possible to find Mme.
+Bonacieux, and a convent was not impregnable.
+
+This idea completely restored clemency to his heart. He turned toward
+the wounded man, who had watched with intense anxiety all the various
+expressions of his countenance, and holding out his arm to him, said,
+“Come, I will not abandon you thus. Lean upon me, and let us return to
+the camp.”
+
+“Yes,” said the man, who could scarcely believe in such magnanimity,
+“but is it not to have me hanged?”
+
+“You have my word,” said he; “for the second time I give you your
+life.”
+
+The wounded man sank upon his knees, to again kiss the feet of his
+preserver; but D’Artagnan, who had no longer a motive for staying so
+near the enemy, abridged the testimonials of his gratitude.
+
+The Guardsman who had returned at the first discharge announced the
+death of his four companions. They were therefore much astonished and
+delighted in the regiment when they saw the young man come back safe
+and sound.
+
+D’Artagnan explained the sword wound of his companion by a _sortie_
+which he improvised. He described the death of the other soldier, and
+the perils they had encountered. This recital was for him the occasion
+of veritable triumph. The whole army talked of this expedition for a
+day, and Monsieur paid him his compliments upon it. Besides this, as
+every great action bears its recompense with it, the brave exploit of
+D’Artagnan resulted in the restoration of the tranquility he had lost.
+In fact, D’Artagnan believed that he might be tranquil, as one of his
+two enemies was killed and the other devoted to his interests.
+
+This tranquillity proved one thing—that D’Artagnan did not yet know
+Milady.
+
+
+
+
+Chapter XLII.
+THE ANJOU WINE
+
+
+After the most disheartening news of the king’s health, a report of his
+convalescence began to prevail in the camp; and as he was very anxious
+to be in person at the siege, it was said that as soon as he could
+mount a horse he would set forward.
+
+Meantime, Monsieur, who knew that from one day to the other he might
+expect to be removed from his command by the Duc d’Angoulême, by
+Bassompierre, or by Schomberg, who were all eager for his post, did but
+little, lost his days in wavering, and did not dare to attempt any
+great enterprise to drive the English from the Isle of Ré, where they
+still besieged the citadel St. Martin and the fort of La Prée, as on
+their side the French were besieging La Rochelle.
+
+D’Artagnan, as we have said, had become more tranquil, as always
+happens after a past danger, particularly when the danger seems to have
+vanished. He only felt one uneasiness, and that was at not hearing any
+tidings from his friends.
+
+But one morning at the commencement of the month of November everything
+was explained to him by this letter, dated from Villeroy:
+
+M. D’ARTAGNAN, MM. Athos, Porthos, and Aramis, after having had an
+entertainment at my house and enjoying themselves very much, created
+such a disturbance that the provost of the castle, a rigid man, has
+ordered them to be confined for some days; but I accomplish the order
+they have given me by forwarding to you a dozen bottles of my Anjou
+wine, with which they are much pleased. They are desirous that you
+should drink to their health in their favorite wine. I have done this,
+and am, monsieur, with great respect,
+
+
+Your very humble and obedient servant,
+GODEAU, _Purveyor of the Musketeers_
+
+
+“That’s all well!” cried D’Artagnan. “They think of me in their
+pleasures, as I thought of them in my troubles. Well, I will certainly
+drink to their health with all my heart, but I will not drink alone.”
+
+And D’Artagnan went among those Guardsmen with whom he had formed
+greater intimacy than with the others, to invite them to enjoy with him
+this present of delicious Anjou wine which had been sent him from
+Villeroy.
+
+One of the two Guardsmen was engaged that evening, and another the
+next, so the meeting was fixed for the day after that.
+
+D’Artagnan, on his return, sent the twelve bottles of wine to the
+refreshment room of the Guards, with strict orders that great care
+should be taken of it; and then, on the day appointed, as the dinner
+was fixed for midday D’Artagnan sent Planchet at nine in the morning to
+assist in preparing everything for the entertainment.
+
+Planchet, very proud of being raised to the dignity of landlord,
+thought he would make all ready, like an intelligent man; and with this
+view called in the assistance of the lackey of one of his master’s
+guests, named Fourreau, and the false soldier who had tried to kill
+D’Artagnan and who, belonging to no corps, had entered into the service
+of D’Artagnan, or rather of Planchet, after D’Artagnan had saved his
+life.
+
+The hour of the banquet being come, the two guards arrived, took their
+places, and the dishes were arranged on the table. Planchet waited,
+towel on arm; Fourreau uncorked the bottles; and Brisemont, which was
+the name of the convalescent, poured the wine, which was a little
+shaken by its journey, carefully into decanters. Of this wine, the
+first bottle being a little thick at the bottom, Brisemont poured the
+lees into a glass, and D’Artagnan desired him to drink it, for the poor
+devil had not yet recovered his strength.
+
+The guests having eaten the soup, were about to lift the first glass of
+wine to their lips, when all at once the cannon sounded from Fort Louis
+and Fort Neuf. The Guardsmen, imagining this to be caused by some
+unexpected attack, either of the besieged or the English, sprang to
+their swords. D’Artagnan, not less forward than they, did likewise, and
+all ran out, in order to repair to their posts.
+
+But scarcely were they out of the room before they were made aware of
+the cause of this noise. Cries of “Live the king! Live the cardinal!”
+resounded on every side, and the drums were beaten in all directions.
+
+In short, the king, impatient, as has been said, had come by forced
+marches, and had that moment arrived with all his household and a
+reinforcement of ten thousand troops. His Musketeers proceeded and
+followed him. D’Artagnan, placed in line with his company, saluted with
+an expressive gesture his three friends, whose eyes soon discovered
+him, and M. de Tréville, who detected him at once.
+
+The ceremony of reception over, the four friends were soon in one
+another’s arms.
+
+“_Pardieu!_” cried D’Artagnan, “you could not have arrived in better
+time; the dinner cannot have had time to get cold! Can it, gentlemen?”
+added the young man, turning to the two Guards, whom he introduced to
+his friends.
+
+“Ah, ah!” said Porthos, “it appears we are feasting!”
+
+“I hope,” said Aramis, “there are no women at your dinner.”
+
+“Is there any drinkable wine in your tavern?” asked Athos.
+
+“Well, _pardieu!_ there is yours, my dear friend,” replied D’Artagnan.
+
+“Our wine!” said Athos, astonished.
+
+“Yes, that you sent me.”
+
+“We sent you wine?”
+
+“You know very well—the wine from the hills of Anjou.”
+
+“Yes, I know what brand you are talking about.”
+
+“The wine you prefer.”
+
+“Well, in the absence of champagne and chambertin, you must content
+yourselves with that.”
+
+“And so, connoisseurs in wine as we are, we have sent you some Anjou
+wine?” said Porthos.
+
+“Not exactly, it is the wine that was sent by your order.”
+
+“On our account?” said the three Musketeers.
+
+“Did you send this wine, Aramis?” said Athos.
+
+“No; and you, Porthos?”
+
+“No; and you, Athos?”
+
+“No!”
+
+“If it was not you, it was your purveyor,” said D’Artagnan.
+
+“Our purveyor!”
+
+“Yes, your purveyor, Godeau—the purveyor of the Musketeers.”
+
+“My faith! never mind where it comes from,” said Porthos, “let us taste
+it, and if it is good, let us drink it.”
+
+“No,” said Athos; “don’t let us drink wine which comes from an unknown
+source.”
+
+“You are right, Athos,” said D’Artagnan. “Did none of you charge your
+purveyor, Godeau, to send me some wine?”
+
+“No! And yet you say he has sent you some as from us?”
+
+“Here is his letter,” said D’Artagnan, and he presented the note to his
+comrades.
+
+“This is not his writing!” said Athos. “I am acquainted with it; before
+we left Villeroy I settled the accounts of the regiment.”
+
+“A false letter altogether,” said Porthos, “we have not been
+disciplined.”
+
+“D’Artagnan,” said Aramis, in a reproachful tone, “how could you
+believe that we had made a disturbance?”
+
+D’Artagnan grew pale, and a convulsive trembling shook all his limbs.
+
+“Thou alarmest me!” said Athos, who never used _thee_ and _thou_ but
+upon very particular occasions, “what has happened?”
+
+“Look you, my friends!” cried D’Artagnan, “a horrible suspicion crosses
+my mind! Can this be another vengeance of that woman?”
+
+It was now Athos who turned pale.
+
+D’Artagnan rushed toward the refreshment room, the three Musketeers and
+the two Guards following him.
+
+The first object that met the eyes of D’Artagnan on entering the room
+was Brisemont, stretched upon the ground and rolling in horrible
+convulsions.
+
+Planchet and Fourreau, as pale as death, were trying to give him
+succor; but it was plain that all assistance was useless—all the
+features of the dying man were distorted with agony.
+
+“Ah!” cried he, on perceiving D’Artagnan, “ah! this is frightful! You
+pretend to pardon me, and you poison me!”
+
+“I!” cried D’Artagnan. “I, wretch? What do you say?”
+
+“I say that it was you who gave me the wine; I say that it was you who
+desired me to drink it. I say you wished to avenge yourself on me, and
+I say that it is horrible!”
+
+“Do not think so, Brisemont,” said D’Artagnan; “do not think so. I
+swear to you, I protest—”
+
+“Oh, but God is above! God will punish you! My God, grant that he may
+one day suffer what I suffer!”
+
+“Upon the Gospel,” said D’Artagnan, throwing himself down by the dying
+man, “I swear to you that the wine was poisoned and that I was going to
+drink of it as you did.”
+
+“I do not believe you,” cried the soldier, and he expired amid horrible
+tortures.
+
+“Frightful! frightful!” murmured Athos, while Porthos broke the bottles
+and Aramis gave orders, a little too late, that a confessor should be
+sent for.
+
+“Oh, my friends,” said D’Artagnan, “you come once more to save my life,
+not only mine but that of these gentlemen. Gentlemen,” continued he,
+addressing the Guardsmen, “I request you will be silent with regard to
+this adventure. Great personages may have had a hand in what you have
+seen, and if talked about, the evil would only recoil upon us.”
+
+“Ah, monsieur!” stammered Planchet, more dead than alive, “ah,
+monsieur, what an escape I have had!”
+
+“How, sirrah! you were going to drink my wine?”
+
+“To the health of the king, monsieur; I was going to drink a small
+glass of it if Fourreau had not told me I was called.”
+
+“Alas!” said Fourreau, whose teeth chattered with terror, “I wanted to
+get him out of the way that I might drink myself.”
+
+“Gentlemen,” said D’Artagnan, addressing the Guardsmen, “you may easily
+comprehend that such a feast can only be very dull after what has taken
+place; so accept my excuses, and put off the party till another day, I
+beg of you.”
+
+The two Guardsmen courteously accepted D’Artagnan’s excuses, and
+perceiving that the four friends desired to be alone, retired.
+
+When the young Guardsman and the three Musketeers were without
+witnesses, they looked at one another with an air which plainly
+expressed that each of them perceived the gravity of their situation.
+
+“In the first place,” said Athos, “let us leave this chamber; the dead
+are not agreeable company, particularly when they have died a violent
+death.”
+
+“Planchet,” said D’Artagnan, “I commit the corpse of this poor devil to
+your care. Let him be interred in holy ground. He committed a crime, it
+is true; but he repented of it.”
+
+And the four friends quit the room, leaving to Planchet and Fourreau
+the duty of paying mortuary honors to Brisemont.
+
+The host gave them another chamber, and served them with fresh eggs and
+some water, which Athos went himself to draw at the fountain. In a few
+words, Porthos and Aramis were posted as to the situation.
+
+“Well,” said D’Artagnan to Athos, “you see, my dear friend, that this
+is war to the death.”
+
+Athos shook his head.
+
+“Yes, yes,” replied he, “I perceive that plainly; but do you really
+believe it is she?”
+
+“I am sure of it.”
+
+“Nevertheless, I confess I still doubt.”
+
+“But the _fleur-de-lis_ on her shoulder?”
+
+“She is some Englishwoman who has committed a crime in France, and has
+been branded in consequence.”
+
+“Athos, she is your wife, I tell you,” repeated D’Artagnan; “only
+reflect how much the two descriptions resemble each other.”
+
+“Yes; but I should think the other must be dead, I hanged her so
+effectually.”
+
+It was D’Artagnan who now shook his head in his turn.
+
+“But in either case, what is to be done?” said the young man.
+
+“The fact is, one cannot remain thus, with a sword hanging eternally
+over his head,” said Athos. “We must extricate ourselves from this
+position.”
+
+“But how?”
+
+“Listen! You must try to see her, and have an explanation with her. Say
+to her: ‘Peace or war! My word as a gentleman never to say anything of
+you, never to do anything against you; on your side, a solemn oath to
+remain neutral with respect to me. If not, I will apply to the
+chancellor, I will apply to the king, I will apply to the hangman, I
+will move the courts against you, I will denounce you as branded, I
+will bring you to trial; and if you are acquitted, well, by the faith
+of a gentleman, I will kill you at the corner of some wall, as I would
+a mad dog.’”
+
+“I like the means well enough,” said D’Artagnan, “but where and how to
+meet with her?”
+
+“Time, dear friend, time brings round opportunity; opportunity is the
+martingale of man. The more we have ventured the more we gain, when we
+know how to wait.”
+
+“Yes; but to wait surrounded by assassins and poisoners.”
+
+“Bah!” said Athos. “God has preserved us hitherto, God will preserve us
+still.”
+
+“Yes, we. Besides, we are men; and everything considered, it is our lot
+to risk our lives; but _she_,” asked he, in an undertone.
+
+“What she?” asked Athos.
+
+“Constance.”
+
+“Madame Bonacieux! Ah, that’s true!” said Athos. “My poor friend, I had
+forgotten you were in love.”
+
+“Well, but,” said Aramis, “have you not learned by the letter you found
+on the wretched corpse that she is in a convent? One may be very
+comfortable in a convent; and as soon as the siege of La Rochelle is
+terminated, I promise you on my part—”
+
+“Good,” cried Athos, “good! Yes, my dear Aramis, we all know that your
+views have a religious tendency.”
+
+“I am only temporarily a Musketeer,” said Aramis, humbly.
+
+“It is some time since we heard from his mistress,” said Athos, in a
+low voice. “But take no notice; we know all about that.”
+
+“Well,” said Porthos, “it appears to me that the means are very
+simple.”
+
+“What?” asked D’Artagnan.
+
+“You say she is in a convent?” replied Porthos.
+
+“Yes.”
+
+“Very well. As soon as the siege is over, we’ll carry her off from that
+convent.”
+
+“But we must first learn what convent she is in.”
+
+“That’s true,” said Porthos.
+
+“But I think I have it,” said Athos. “Don’t you say, dear D’Artagnan,
+that it is the queen who has made choice of the convent for her?”
+
+“I believe so, at least.”
+
+“In that case Porthos will assist us.”
+
+“And how so, if you please?”
+
+“Why, by your marchioness, your duchess, your princess. She must have a
+long arm.”
+
+“Hush!” said Porthos, placing a finger on his lips. “I believe her to
+be a cardinalist; she must know nothing of the matter.”
+
+“Then,” said Aramis, “I take upon myself to obtain intelligence of
+her.”
+
+“You, Aramis?” cried the three friends. “You! And how?”
+
+“By the queen’s almoner, to whom I am very intimately allied,” said
+Aramis, coloring.
+
+And on this assurance, the four friends, who had finished their modest
+repast, separated, with the promise of meeting again that evening.
+D’Artagnan returned to less important affairs, and the three Musketeers
+repaired to the king’s quarters, where they had to prepare their
+lodging.
+
+
+
+
+Chapter XLIII.
+THE SIGN OF THE RED DOVECOT
+
+
+Meanwhile the king, who, with more reason than the cardinal, showed his
+hatred for Buckingham, although scarcely arrived was in such a haste to
+meet the enemy that he commanded every disposition to be made to drive
+the English from the Isle of Ré, and afterward to press the siege of La
+Rochelle; but notwithstanding his earnest wish, he was delayed by the
+dissensions which broke out between MM. Bassompierre and Schomberg,
+against the Duc d’Angoulême.
+
+MM. Bassompierre and Schomberg were marshals of France, and claimed
+their right of commanding the army under the orders of the king; but
+the cardinal, who feared that Bassompierre, a Huguenot at heart, might
+press but feebly the English and Rochellais, his brothers in religion,
+supported the Duc d’Angoulême, whom the king, at his instigation, had
+named lieutenant general. The result was that to prevent MM.
+Bassompierre and Schomberg from deserting the army, a separate command
+had to be given to each. Bassompierre took up his quarters on the north
+of the city, between Leu and Dompierre; the Duc d’Angoulême on the
+east, from Dompierre to Perigny; and M. de Schomberg on the south, from
+Perigny to Angoutin.
+
+The quarters of Monsieur were at Dompierre; the quarters of the king
+were sometimes at Estrée, sometimes at Jarrie; the cardinal’s quarters
+were upon the downs, at the bridge of La Pierre, in a simple house
+without any entrenchment. So that Monsieur watched Bassompierre; the
+king, the Duc d’Angoulême; and the cardinal, M. de Schomberg.
+
+As soon as this organization was established, they set about driving
+the English from the Isle.
+
+The juncture was favorable. The English, who require, above everything,
+good living in order to be good soldiers, only eating salt meat and bad
+biscuit, had many invalids in their camp. Still further, the sea, very
+rough at this period of the year all along the sea coast, destroyed
+every day some little vessel; and the shore, from the point of
+l’Aiguillon to the trenches, was at every tide literally covered with
+the wrecks of pinnacles, _roberges_, and feluccas. The result was that
+even if the king’s troops remained quietly in their camp, it was
+evident that some day or other, Buckingham, who only continued in the
+Isle from obstinacy, would be obliged to raise the siege.
+
+But as M. de Toiras gave information that everything was preparing in
+the enemy’s camp for a fresh assault, the king judged that it would be
+best to put an end to the affair, and gave the necessary orders for a
+decisive action.
+
+As it is not our intention to give a journal of the siege, but on the
+contrary only to describe such of the events of it as are connected
+with the story we are relating, we will content ourselves with saying
+in two words that the expedition succeeded, to the great astonishment
+of the king and the great glory of the cardinal. The English, repulsed
+foot by foot, beaten in all encounters, and defeated in the passage of
+the Isle of Loie, were obliged to re-embark, leaving on the field of
+battle two thousand men, among whom were five colonels, three
+lieutenant colonels, two hundred and fifty captains, twenty gentlemen
+of rank, four pieces of cannon, and sixty flags, which were taken to
+Paris by Claude de St. Simon, and suspended with great pomp in the
+arches of Notre Dame.
+
+Te Deums were chanted in camp, and afterward throughout France.
+
+The cardinal was left free to carry on the siege, without having, at
+least at the present, anything to fear on the part of the English.
+
+But it must be acknowledged, this response was but momentary. An envoy
+of the Duke of Buckingham, named Montague, was taken, and proof was
+obtained of a league between the German Empire, Spain, England, and
+Lorraine. This league was directed against France.
+
+Still further, in Buckingham’s lodging, which he had been forced to
+abandon more precipitately than he expected, papers were found which
+confirmed this alliance and which, as the cardinal asserts in his
+memoirs, strongly compromised Mme. de Chevreuse and consequently the
+queen.
+
+It was upon the cardinal that all the responsibility fell, for one is
+not a despotic minister without responsibility. All, therefore, of the
+vast resources of his genius were at work night and day, engaged in
+listening to the least report heard in any of the great kingdoms of
+Europe.
+
+The cardinal was acquainted with the activity, and more particularly
+the hatred, of Buckingham. If the league which threatened France
+triumphed, all his influence would be lost. Spanish policy and Austrian
+policy would have their representatives in the cabinet of the Louvre,
+where they had as yet but partisans; and he, Richelieu—the French
+minister, the national minister—would be ruined. The king, even while
+obeying him like a child, hated him as a child hates his master, and
+would abandon him to the personal vengeance of Monsieur and the queen.
+He would then be lost, and France, perhaps, with him. All this must be
+prepared against.
+
+Courtiers, becoming every instant more numerous, succeeded one another,
+day and night, in the little house of the bridge of La Pierre, in which
+the cardinal had established his residence.
+
+There were monks who wore the frock with such an ill grace that it was
+easy to perceive they belonged to the church militant; women a little
+inconvenienced by their costume as pages and whose large trousers could
+not entirely conceal their rounded forms; and peasants with blackened
+hands but with fine limbs, savoring of the man of quality a league off.
+
+There were also less agreeable visits—for two or three times reports
+were spread that the cardinal had nearly been assassinated.
+
+It is true that the enemies of the cardinal said that it was he himself
+who set these bungling assassins to work, in order to have, if wanted,
+the right of using reprisals; but we must not believe everything
+ministers say, nor everything their enemies say.
+
+These attempts did not prevent the cardinal, to whom his most
+inveterate detractors have never denied personal bravery, from making
+nocturnal excursions, sometimes to communicate to the Duc d’Angoulême
+important orders, sometimes to confer with the king, and sometimes to
+have an interview with a messenger whom he did not wish to see at home.
+
+On their part the Musketeers, who had not much to do with the siege,
+were not under very strict orders and led a joyous life. This was the
+more easy for our three companions in particular; for being friends of
+M. de Tréville, they obtained from him special permission to be absent
+after the closing of the camp.
+
+Now, one evening when D’Artagnan, who was in the trenches, was not able
+to accompany them, Athos, Porthos, and Aramis, mounted on their battle
+steeds, enveloped in their war cloaks, with their hands upon their
+pistol butts, were returning from a drinking place called the Red
+Dovecot, which Athos had discovered two days before upon the route to
+Jarrie, following the road which led to the camp and quite on their
+guard, as we have stated, for fear of an ambuscade, when, about a
+quarter of a league from the village of Boisnau, they fancied they
+heard the sound of horses approaching them. They immediately all three
+halted, closed in, and waited, occupying the middle of the road. In an
+instant, and as the moon broke from behind a cloud, they saw at a
+turning of the road two horsemen who, on perceiving them, stopped in
+their turn, appearing to deliberate whether they should continue their
+route or go back. The hesitation created some suspicion in the three
+friends, and Athos, advancing a few paces in front of the others, cried
+in a firm voice, “Who goes there?”
+
+“Who goes there, yourselves?” replied one of the horsemen.
+
+“That is not an answer,” replied Athos. “Who goes there? Answer, or we
+charge.”
+
+“Beware of what you are about, gentlemen!” said a clear voice which
+seemed accustomed to command.
+
+“It is some superior officer making his night rounds,” said Athos.
+“What do you wish, gentlemen?”
+
+“Who are you?” said the same voice, in the same commanding tone.
+“Answer in your turn, or you may repent of your disobedience.”
+
+“King’s Musketeers,” said Athos, more and more convinced that he who
+interrogated them had the right to do so.
+
+“What company?”
+
+“Company of Tréville.”
+
+“Advance, and give an account of what you are doing here at this hour.”
+
+The three companions advanced rather humbly—for all were now convinced
+that they had to do with someone more powerful than themselves—leaving
+Athos the post of speaker.
+
+One of the two riders, he who had spoken second, was ten paces in front
+of his companion. Athos made a sign to Porthos and Aramis also to
+remain in the rear, and advanced alone.
+
+“Your pardon, my officer,” said Athos; “but we were ignorant with whom
+we had to do, and you may see that we were keeping good guard.”
+
+“Your name?” said the officer, who covered a part of his face with his
+cloak.
+
+“But yourself, monsieur,” said Athos, who began to be annoyed by this
+inquisition, “give me, I beg you, the proof that you have the right to
+question me.”
+
+“Your name?” repeated the cavalier a second time, letting his cloak
+fall, and leaving his face uncovered.
+
+“Monsieur the Cardinal!” cried the stupefied Musketeer.
+
+“Your name?” cried his Eminence, for the third time.
+
+“Athos,” said the Musketeer.
+
+The cardinal made a sign to his attendant, who drew near. “These three
+Musketeers shall follow us,” said he, in an undertone. “I am not
+willing it should be known I have left the camp; and if they follow us
+we shall be certain they will tell nobody.”
+
+“We are gentlemen, monseigneur,” said Athos; “require our parole, and
+give yourself no uneasiness. Thank God, we can keep a secret.”
+
+The cardinal fixed his piercing eyes on this courageous speaker.
+
+“You have a quick ear, Monsieur Athos,” said the cardinal; “but now
+listen to this. It is not from mistrust that I request you to follow
+me, but for my security. Your companions are no doubt Messieurs Porthos
+and Aramis.”
+
+“Yes, your Eminence,” said Athos, while the two Musketeers who had
+remained behind advanced hat in hand.
+
+“I know you, gentlemen,” said the cardinal, “I know you. I know you are
+not quite my friends, and I am sorry you are not so; but I know you are
+brave and loyal gentlemen, and that confidence may be placed in you.
+Monsieur Athos, do me, then, the honor to accompany me; you and your
+two friends, and then I shall have an escort to excite envy in his
+Majesty, if we should meet him.”
+
+The three Musketeers bowed to the necks of their horses.
+
+“Well, upon my honor,” said Athos, “your Eminence is right in taking us
+with you; we have seen several ill-looking faces on the road, and we
+have even had a quarrel at the Red Dovecot with four of those faces.”
+
+“A quarrel, and what for, gentlemen?” said the cardinal; “you know I
+don’t like quarrelers.”
+
+“And that is the reason why I have the honor to inform your Eminence of
+what has happened; for you might learn it from others, and upon a false
+account believe us to be in fault.”
+
+“What have been the results of your quarrel?” said the cardinal,
+knitting his brow.
+
+“My friend, Aramis, here, has received a slight sword wound in the arm,
+but not enough to prevent him, as your Eminence may see, from mounting
+to the assault tomorrow, if your Eminence orders an escalade.”
+
+“But you are not the men to allow sword wounds to be inflicted upon you
+thus,” said the cardinal. “Come, be frank, gentlemen, you have settled
+accounts with somebody! Confess; you know I have the right of giving
+absolution.”
+
+“I, monseigneur?” said Athos. “I did not even draw my sword, but I took
+him who offended me round the body, and threw him out of the window. It
+appears that in falling,” continued Athos, with some hesitation, “he
+broke his thigh.”
+
+“Ah, ah!” said the cardinal; “and you, Monsieur Porthos?”
+
+“I, monseigneur, knowing that dueling is prohibited—I seized a bench,
+and gave one of those brigands such a blow that I believe his shoulder
+is broken.”
+
+“Very well,” said the cardinal; “and you, Monsieur Aramis?”
+
+“Monseigneur, being of a very mild disposition, and being, likewise, of
+which Monseigneur perhaps is not aware, about to enter into orders, I
+endeavored to appease my comrades, when one of these wretches gave me a
+wound with a sword, treacherously, across my left arm. Then I admit my
+patience failed me; I drew my sword in my turn, and as he came back to
+the charge, I fancied I felt that in throwing himself upon me, he let
+it pass through his body. I only know for a certainty that he fell; and
+it seemed to me that he was borne away with his two companions.”
+
+“The devil, gentlemen!” said the cardinal, “three men placed _hors de
+combat_ in a cabaret squabble! You don’t do your work by halves. And
+pray what was this quarrel about?”
+
+“These fellows were drunk,” said Athos, “and knowing there was a lady
+who had arrived at the cabaret this evening, they wanted to force her
+door.”
+
+“Force her door!” said the cardinal, “and for what purpose?”
+
+“To do her violence, without doubt,” said Athos. “I have had the honor
+of informing your Eminence that these men were drunk.”
+
+“And was this lady young and handsome?” asked the cardinal, with a
+certain degree of anxiety.
+
+“We did not see her, monseigneur,” said Athos.
+
+“You did not see her? Ah, very well,” replied the cardinal, quickly.
+“You did well to defend the honor of a woman; and as I am going to the
+Red Dovecot myself, I shall know if you have told me the truth.”
+
+“Monseigneur,” said Athos, haughtily, “we are gentlemen, and to save
+our heads we would not be guilty of a falsehood.”
+
+“Therefore I do not doubt what you say, Monsieur Athos, I do not doubt
+it for a single instant; but,” added he, “to change the conversation,
+was this lady alone?”
+
+“The lady had a cavalier shut up with her,” said Athos, “but as
+notwithstanding the noise, this cavalier did not show himself, it is to
+be presumed that he is a coward.”
+
+“‘Judge not rashly’, says the Gospel,” replied the cardinal.
+
+Athos bowed.
+
+“And now, gentlemen, that’s well,” continued the cardinal. “I know what
+I wish to know; follow me.”
+
+The three Musketeers passed behind his Eminence, who again enveloped
+his face in his cloak, and put his horse in motion, keeping from eight
+to ten paces in advance of his four companions.
+
+They soon arrived at the silent, solitary inn. No doubt the host knew
+what illustrious visitor was expected, and had consequently sent
+intruders out of the way.
+
+Ten paces from the door the cardinal made a sign to his esquire and the
+three Musketeers to halt. A saddled horse was fastened to the window
+shutter. The cardinal knocked three times, and in a peculiar manner.
+
+A man, enveloped in a cloak, came out immediately, and exchanged some
+rapid words with the cardinal; after which he mounted his horse, and
+set off in the direction of Surgères, which was likewise the way to
+Paris.
+
+“Advance, gentlemen,” said the cardinal.
+
+“You have told me the truth, my gentlemen,” said he, addressing the
+Musketeers, “and it will not be my fault if our encounter this evening
+be not advantageous to you. In the meantime, follow me.”
+
+The cardinal alighted; the three Musketeers did likewise. The cardinal
+threw the bridle of his horse to his esquire; the three Musketeers
+fastened the horses to the shutters.
+
+The host stood at the door. For him, the cardinal was only an officer
+coming to visit a lady.
+
+“Have you any chamber on the ground floor where these gentlemen can
+wait near a good fire?” said the cardinal.
+
+The host opened the door of a large room, in which an old stove had
+just been replaced by a large and excellent chimney.
+
+“I have this,” said he.
+
+“That will do,” replied the cardinal. “Enter, gentlemen, and be kind
+enough to wait for me; I shall not be more than half an hour.”
+
+And while the three Musketeers entered the ground floor room, the
+cardinal, without asking further information, ascended the staircase
+like a man who has no need of having his road pointed out to him.
+
+
+
+
+Chapter XLIV.
+THE UTILITY OF STOVEPIPES
+
+
+It was evident that without suspecting it, and actuated solely by their
+chivalrous and adventurous character, our three friends had just
+rendered a service to someone the cardinal honored with his special
+protection.
+
+Now, who was that someone? That was the question the three Musketeers
+put to one another. Then, seeing that none of their replies could throw
+any light on the subject, Porthos called the host and asked for dice.
+
+Porthos and Aramis placed themselves at the table and began to play.
+Athos walked about in a contemplative mood.
+
+While thinking and walking, Athos passed and repassed before the pipe
+of the stove, broken in halves, the other extremity passing into the
+chamber above; and every time he passed and repassed he heard a murmur
+of words, which at length fixed his attention. Athos went close to it,
+and distinguished some words that appeared to merit so great an
+interest that he made a sign to his friends to be silent, remaining
+himself bent with his ear directed to the opening of the lower orifice.
+
+“Listen, Milady,” said the cardinal, “the affair is important. Sit
+down, and let us talk it over.”
+
+“Milady!” murmured Athos.
+
+“I listen to your Eminence with greatest attention,” replied a female
+voice which made the Musketeer start.
+
+“A small vessel with an English crew, whose captain is on my side,
+awaits you at the mouth of Charente, at Fort La Pointe*. He will set
+sail tomorrow morning.”
+
+* Fort La Pointe, or Fort Vasou, was not built until 1672, nearly 50
+years later.
+
+
+“I must go thither tonight?”
+
+“Instantly! That is to say, when you have received my instructions. Two
+men, whom you will find at the door on going out, will serve you as
+escort. You will allow me to leave first; then, after half an hour, you
+can go away in your turn.”
+
+“Yes, monseigneur. Now let us return to the mission with which you wish
+to charge me; and as I desire to continue to merit the confidence of
+your Eminence, deign to unfold it to me in terms clear and precise,
+that I may not commit an error.”
+
+There was an instant of profound silence between the two interlocutors.
+It was evident that the cardinal was weighing beforehand the terms in
+which he was about to speak, and that Milady was collecting all her
+intellectual faculties to comprehend the things he was about to say,
+and to engrave them in her memory when they should be spoken.
+
+Athos took advantage of this moment to tell his two companions to
+fasten the door inside, and to make them a sign to come and listen with
+him.
+
+The two Musketeers, who loved their ease, brought a chair for each of
+themselves and one for Athos. All three then sat down with their heads
+together and their ears on the alert.
+
+“You will go to London,” continued the cardinal. “Arrived in London,
+you will seek Buckingham.”
+
+“I must beg your Eminence to observe,” said Milady, “that since the
+affair of the diamond studs, about which the duke always suspected me,
+his Grace distrusts me.”
+
+“Well, this time,” said the cardinal, “it is not necessary to steal his
+confidence, but to present yourself frankly and loyally as a
+negotiator.”
+
+“Frankly and loyally,” repeated Milady, with an unspeakable expression
+of duplicity.
+
+“Yes, frankly and loyally,” replied the cardinal, in the same tone.
+“All this negotiation must be carried on openly.”
+
+“I will follow your Eminence’s instructions to the letter. I only wait
+till you give them.”
+
+“You will go to Buckingham in my behalf, and you will tell him I am
+acquainted with all the preparations he has made; but that they give me
+no uneasiness, since at the first step he takes I will ruin the queen.”
+
+“Will he believe that your Eminence is in a position to accomplish the
+threat thus made?”
+
+“Yes; for I have the proofs.”
+
+“I must be able to present these proofs for his appreciation.”
+
+“Without doubt. And you will tell him I will publish the report of
+Bois-Robert and the Marquis de Beautru, upon the interview which the
+duke had at the residence of Madame the Constable with the queen on the
+evening Madame the Constable gave a masquerade. You will tell him, in
+order that he may not doubt, that he came there in the costume of the
+Great Mogul, which the Chevalier de Guise was to have worn, and that he
+purchased this exchange for the sum of three thousand pistoles.”
+
+“Well, monseigneur?”
+
+“All the details of his coming into and going out of the palace—on the
+night when he introduced himself in the character of an Italian fortune
+teller—you will tell him, that he may not doubt the correctness of my
+information; that he had under his cloak a large white robe dotted with
+black tears, death’s heads, and crossbones—for in case of a surprise,
+he was to pass for the phantom of the White Lady who, as all the world
+knows, appears at the Louvre every time any great event is impending.”
+
+“Is that all, monseigneur?”
+
+“Tell him also that I am acquainted with all the details of the
+adventure at Amiens; that I will have a little romance made of it,
+wittily turned, with a plan of the garden and portraits of the
+principal actors in that nocturnal romance.”
+
+“I will tell him that.”
+
+“Tell him further that I hold Montague in my power; that Montague is in
+the Bastille; that no letters were found upon him, it is true, but that
+torture may make him tell much of what he knows, and even what he does
+not know.”
+
+“Exactly.”
+
+“Then add that his Grace has, in the precipitation with which he quit
+the Isle of Ré, forgotten and left behind him in his lodging a certain
+letter from Madame de Chevreuse which singularly compromises the queen,
+inasmuch as it proves not only that her Majesty can love the enemies of
+the king but that she can conspire with the enemies of France. You
+recollect perfectly all I have told you, do you not?”
+
+“Your Eminence will judge: the ball of Madame the Constable; the night
+at the Louvre; the evening at Amiens; the arrest of Montague; the
+letter of Madame de Chevreuse.”
+
+“That’s it,” said the cardinal, “that’s it. You have an excellent
+memory, Milady.”
+
+“But,” resumed she to whom the cardinal addressed this flattering
+compliment, “if, in spite of all these reasons, the duke does not give
+way and continues to menace France?”
+
+“The duke is in love to madness, or rather to folly,” replied
+Richelieu, with great bitterness. “Like the ancient paladins, he has
+only undertaken this war to obtain a look from his lady love. If he
+becomes certain that this war will cost the honor, and perhaps the
+liberty, of the lady of his thoughts, as he says, I will answer for it
+he will look twice.”
+
+“And yet,” said Milady, with a persistence that proved she wished to
+see clearly to the end of the mission with which she was about to be
+charged, “if he persists?”
+
+“If he persists?” said the cardinal. “That is not probable.”
+
+“It is possible,” said Milady.
+
+“If he persists—” His Eminence made a pause, and resumed: “If he
+persists—well, then I shall hope for one of those events which change
+the destinies of states.”
+
+“If your Eminence would quote to me some one of these events in
+history,” said Milady, “perhaps I should partake of your confidence as
+to the future.”
+
+“Well, here, for example,” said Richelieu: “when, in 1610, for a cause
+similar to that which moves the duke, King Henry IV., of glorious
+memory, was about, at the same time, to invade Flanders and Italy, in
+order to attack Austria on both sides. Well, did there not happen an
+event which saved Austria? Why should not the king of France have the
+same chance as the emperor?”
+
+“Your Eminence means, I presume, the knife stab in the Rue de la
+Feronnerie?”
+
+“Precisely,” said the cardinal.
+
+“Does not your Eminence fear that the punishment inflicted upon
+Ravaillac may deter anyone who might entertain the idea of imitating
+him?”
+
+“There will be, in all times and in all countries, particularly if
+religious divisions exist in those countries, fanatics who ask nothing
+better than to become martyrs. Ay, and observe—it just occurs to me
+that the Puritans are furious against Buckingham, and their preachers
+designate him as the Antichrist.”
+
+“Well?” said Milady.
+
+“Well,” continued the cardinal, in an indifferent tone, “the only thing
+to be sought for at this moment is some woman, handsome, young, and
+clever, who has cause of quarrel with the duke. The duke has had many
+affairs of gallantry; and if he has fostered his amours by promises of
+eternal constancy, he must likewise have sown the seeds of hatred by
+his eternal infidelities.”
+
+“No doubt,” said Milady, coolly, “such a woman may be found.”
+
+“Well, such a woman, who would place the knife of Jacques Clément or of
+Ravaillac in the hands of a fanatic, would save France.”
+
+“Yes; but she would then be the accomplice of an assassination.”
+
+“Were the accomplices of Ravaillac or of Jacques Clément ever known?”
+
+“No; for perhaps they were too high-placed for anyone to dare look for
+them where they were. The Palace of Justice would not be burned down
+for everybody, monseigneur.”
+
+“You think, then, that the fire at the Palace of Justice was not caused
+by chance?” asked Richelieu, in the tone with which he would have put a
+question of no importance.
+
+“I, monseigneur?” replied Milady. “I think nothing; I quote a fact,
+that is all. Only I say that if I were named Madame de Montpensier, or
+the Queen Marie de Médicis, I should use less precautions than I take,
+being simply called Milady Clarik.”
+
+“That is just,” said Richelieu. “What do you require, then?”
+
+“I require an order which would ratify beforehand all that I should
+think proper to do for the greatest good of France.”
+
+“But in the first place, this woman I have described must be found who
+is desirous of avenging herself upon the duke.”
+
+“She is found,” said Milady.
+
+“Then the miserable fanatic must be found who will serve as an
+instrument of God’s justice.”
+
+“He will be found.”
+
+“Well,” said the cardinal, “then it will be time to claim the order
+which you just now required.”
+
+“Your Eminence is right,” replied Milady; “and I have been wrong in
+seeing in the mission with which you honor me anything but that which
+it really is—that is, to announce to his Grace, on the part of your
+Eminence, that you are acquainted with the different disguises by means
+of which he succeeded in approaching the queen during the fête given by
+Madame the Constable; that you have proofs of the interview granted at
+the Louvre by the queen to a certain Italian astrologer who was no
+other than the Duke of Buckingham; that you have ordered a little
+romance of a satirical nature to be written upon the adventures of
+Amiens, with a plan of the gardens in which those adventures took
+place, and portraits of the actors who figured in them; that Montague
+is in the Bastille, and that the torture may make him say things he
+remembers, and even things he has forgotten; that you possess a certain
+letter from Madame de Chevreuse, found in his Grace’s lodging, which
+singularly compromises not only her who wrote it, but her in whose name
+it was written. Then, if he persists, notwithstanding all this—as that
+is, as I have said, the limit of my mission—I shall have nothing to do
+but to pray God to work a miracle for the salvation of France. That is
+it, is it not, monseigneur, and I shall have nothing else to do?”
+
+“That is it,” replied the cardinal, dryly.
+
+“And now,” said Milady, without appearing to remark the change of the
+duke’s tone toward her—“now that I have received the instructions of
+your Eminence as concerns your enemies, Monseigneur will permit me to
+say a few words to him of mine?”
+
+“Have you enemies, then?” asked Richelieu.
+
+“Yes, monseigneur, enemies against whom you owe me all your support,
+for I made them by serving your Eminence.”
+
+“Who are they?” replied the duke.
+
+“In the first place, there is a little _intrigante_ named Bonacieux.”
+
+“She is in the prison of Nantes.”
+
+“That is to say, she was there,” replied Milady; “but the queen has
+obtained an order from the king by means of which she has been conveyed
+to a convent.”
+
+“To a convent?” said the duke.
+
+“Yes, to a convent.”
+
+“And to which?”
+
+“I don’t know; the secret has been well kept.”
+
+“But _I_ will know!”
+
+“And your Eminence will tell me in what convent that woman is?”
+
+“I can see nothing inconvenient in that,” said the cardinal.
+
+“Well, now I have an enemy much more to be dreaded by me than this
+little Madame Bonacieux.”
+
+“Who is that?”
+
+“Her lover.”
+
+“What is his name?”
+
+“Oh, your Eminence knows him well,” cried Milady, carried away by her
+anger. “He is the evil genius of both of us. It is he who in an
+encounter with your Eminence’s Guards decided the victory in favor of
+the king’s Musketeers; it is he who gave three desperate wounds to De
+Wardes, your emissary, and who caused the affair of the diamond studs
+to fail; it is he who, knowing it was I who had Madame Bonacieux
+carried off, has sworn my death.”
+
+“Ah, ah!” said the cardinal, “I know of whom you speak.”
+
+“I mean that miserable D’Artagnan.”
+
+“He is a bold fellow,” said the cardinal.
+
+“And it is exactly because he is a bold fellow that he is the more to
+be feared.”
+
+“I must have,” said the duke, “a proof of his connection with
+Buckingham.”
+
+“A proof?” cried Milady; “I will have ten.”
+
+“Well, then, it becomes the simplest thing in the world; get me that
+proof, and I will send him to the Bastille.”
+
+“So far good, monseigneur; but afterwards?”
+
+“When once in the Bastille, there is no afterward!” said the cardinal,
+in a low voice. “Ah, _pardieu!_” continued he, “if it were as easy for
+me to get rid of my enemy as it is easy to get rid of yours, and if it
+were against such people you require impunity—”
+
+“Monseigneur,” replied Milady, “a fair exchange. Life for life, man for
+man; give me one, I will give you the other.”
+
+“I don’t know what you mean, nor do I even desire to know what you
+mean,” replied the cardinal; “but I wish to please you, and see nothing
+out of the way in giving you what you demand with respect to so
+infamous a creature—the more so as you tell me this D’Artagnan is a
+libertine, a duelist, and a traitor.”
+
+“An infamous scoundrel, monseigneur, a scoundrel!”
+
+“Give me paper, a quill, and some ink, then,” said the cardinal.
+
+“Here they are, monseigneur.”
+
+There was a moment of silence, which proved that the cardinal was
+employed in seeking the terms in which he should write the note, or
+else in writing it. Athos, who had not lost a word of the conversation,
+took his two companions by the hand, and led them to the other end of
+the room.
+
+“Well,” said Porthos, “what do you want, and why do you not let us
+listen to the end of the conversation?”
+
+“Hush!” said Athos, speaking in a low voice. “We have heard all it was
+necessary we should hear; besides, I don’t prevent you from listening,
+but I must be gone.”
+
+“You must be gone!” said Porthos; “and if the cardinal asks for you,
+what answer can we make?”
+
+“You will not wait till he asks; you will speak first, and tell him
+that I am gone on the lookout, because certain expressions of our host
+have given me reason to think the road is not safe. I will say two
+words about it to the cardinal’s esquire likewise. The rest concerns
+myself; don’t be uneasy about that.”
+
+“Be prudent, Athos,” said Aramis.
+
+“Be easy on that head,” replied Athos; “you know I am cool enough.”
+
+Porthos and Aramis resumed their places by the stovepipe.
+
+As to Athos, he went out without any mystery, took his horse, which was
+tied with those of his friends to the fastenings of the shutters, in
+four words convinced the attendant of the necessity of a vanguard for
+their return, carefully examined the priming of his pistols, drew his
+sword, and took, like a forlorn hope, the road to the camp.
+
+
+
+
+Chapter XLV.
+A CONJUGAL SCENE
+
+
+As Athos had foreseen, it was not long before the cardinal came down.
+He opened the door of the room in which the Musketeers were, and found
+Porthos playing an earnest game of dice with Aramis. He cast a rapid
+glance around the room, and perceived that one of his men was missing.
+
+“What has become of Monseigneur Athos?” asked he.
+
+“Monseigneur,” replied Porthos, “he has gone as a scout, on account of
+some words of our host, which made him believe the road was not safe.”
+
+“And you, what have you done, Monsieur Porthos?”
+
+“I have won five pistoles of Aramis.”
+
+“Well; now will you return with me?”
+
+“We are at your Eminence’s orders.”
+
+“To horse, then, gentlemen; for it is getting late.”
+
+The attendant was at the door, holding the cardinal’s horse by the
+bridle. At a short distance a group of two men and three horses
+appeared in the shade. These were the two men who were to conduct
+Milady to Fort La Pointe, and superintend her embarkation.
+
+The attendant confirmed to the cardinal what the two Musketeers had
+already said with respect to Athos. The cardinal made an approving
+gesture, and retraced his route with the same precautions he had used
+in coming.
+
+Let us leave him to follow the road to the camp protected by his
+esquire and the two Musketeers, and return to Athos.
+
+For a hundred paces he maintained the speed at which he started; but
+when out of sight he turned his horse to the right, made a circuit, and
+came back within twenty paces of a high hedge to watch the passage of
+the little troop. Having recognized the laced hats of his companions
+and the golden fringe of the cardinal’s cloak, he waited till the
+horsemen had turned the angle of the road, and having lost sight of
+them, he returned at a gallop to the inn, which was opened to him
+without hesitation.
+
+The host recognized him.
+
+“My officer,” said Athos, “has forgotten to give a piece of very
+important information to the lady, and has sent me back to repair his
+forgetfulness.”
+
+“Go up,” said the host; “she is still in her chamber.”
+
+Athos availed himself of the permission, ascended the stairs with his
+lightest step, gained the landing, and through the open door perceived
+Milady putting on her hat.
+
+He entered the chamber and closed the door behind him. At the noise he
+made in pushing the bolt, Milady turned round.
+
+Athos was standing before the door, enveloped in his cloak, with his
+hat pulled down over his eyes. On seeing this figure, mute and
+immovable as a statue, Milady was frightened.
+
+“Who are you, and what do you want?” cried she.
+
+“Humph,” murmured Athos, “it is certainly she!”
+
+And letting fall his cloak and raising his hat, he advanced toward
+Milady.
+
+“Do you know me, madame?” said he.
+
+Milady made one step forward, and then drew back as if she had seen a
+serpent.
+
+“So far, well,” said Athos, “I perceive you know me.”
+
+“The Comte de la Fère!” murmured Milady, becoming exceedingly pale, and
+drawing back till the wall prevented her from going any farther.
+
+“Yes, Milady,” replied Athos; “the Comte de la Fère in person, who
+comes expressly from the other world to have the pleasure of paying you
+a visit. Sit down, madame, and let us talk, as the cardinal said.”
+
+Milady, under the influence of inexpressible terror, sat down without
+uttering a word.
+
+“You certainly are a demon sent upon the earth!” said Athos. “Your
+power is great, I know; but you also know that with the help of God men
+have often conquered the most terrible demons. You have once before
+thrown yourself in my path. I thought I had crushed you, madame; but
+either I was deceived or hell has resuscitated you!”
+
+Milady at these words, which recalled frightful remembrances, hung down
+her head with a suppressed groan.
+
+“Yes, hell has resuscitated you,” continued Athos. “Hell has made you
+rich, hell has given you another name, hell has almost made you another
+face; but it has neither effaced the stains from your soul nor the
+brand from your body.”
+
+Milady arose as if moved by a powerful spring, and her eyes flashed
+lightning. Athos remained sitting.
+
+“You believed me to be dead, did you not, as I believed you to be? And
+the name of Athos as well concealed the Comte de la Fère, as the name
+Milady Clarik concealed Anne de Breuil. Was it not so you were called
+when your honored brother married us? Our position is truly a strange
+one,” continued Athos, laughing. “We have only lived up to the present
+time because we believed each other dead, and because a remembrance is
+less oppressive than a living creature, though a remembrance is
+sometimes devouring.”
+
+“But,” said Milady, in a hollow, faint voice, “what brings you back to
+me, and what do you want with me?”
+
+“I wish to tell you that though remaining invisible to your eyes, I
+have not lost sight of you.”
+
+“You know what I have done?”
+
+“I can relate to you, day by day, your actions from your entrance to
+the service of the cardinal to this evening.”
+
+A smile of incredulity passed over the pale lips of Milady.
+
+“Listen! It was you who cut off the two diamond studs from the shoulder
+of the Duke of Buckingham; it was you who had Madame Bonacieux carried
+off; it was you who, in love with De Wardes and thinking to pass the
+night with him, opened the door to Monsieur d’Artagnan; it was you who,
+believing that De Wardes had deceived you, wished to have him killed by
+his rival; it was you who, when this rival had discovered your infamous
+secret, wished to have him killed in his turn by two assassins, whom
+you sent in pursuit of him; it was you who, finding the balls had
+missed their mark, sent poisoned wine with a forged letter, to make
+your victim believe that the wine came from his friends. In short, it
+was you who have but now in this chamber, seated in this chair I now
+fill, made an engagement with Cardinal Richelieu to cause the Duke of
+Buckingham to be assassinated, in exchange for the promise he has made
+you to allow you to assassinate D’Artagnan.”
+
+Milady was livid.
+
+“You must be Satan!” cried she.
+
+“Perhaps,” said Athos; “But at all events listen well to this.
+Assassinate the Duke of Buckingham, or cause him to be assassinated—I
+care very little about that! I don’t know him. Besides, he is an
+Englishman. But do not touch with the tip of your finger a single hair
+of D’Artagnan, who is a faithful friend whom I love and defend, or I
+swear to you by the head of my father the crime which you shall have
+endeavored to commit, or shall have committed, shall be the last.”
+
+“Monsieur d’Artagnan has cruelly insulted me,” said Milady, in a hollow
+tone; “Monsieur d’Artagnan shall die!”
+
+“Indeed! Is it possible to insult you, madame?” said Athos, laughing;
+“he has insulted you, and he shall die!”
+
+“He shall die!” replied Milady; “she first, and he afterward.”
+
+Athos was seized with a kind of vertigo. The sight of this creature,
+who had nothing of the woman about her, recalled awful remembrances. He
+thought how one day, in a less dangerous situation than the one in
+which he was now placed, he had already endeavored to sacrifice her to
+his honor. His desire for blood returned, burning his brain and
+pervading his frame like a raging fever; he arose in his turn, reached
+his hand to his belt, drew forth a pistol, and cocked it.
+
+Milady, pale as a corpse, endeavored to cry out; but her swollen tongue
+could utter no more than a hoarse sound which had nothing human in it
+and resembled the rattle of a wild beast. Motionless against the dark
+tapestry, with her hair in disorder, she appeared like a horrid image
+of terror.
+
+Athos slowly raised his pistol, stretched out his arm so that the
+weapon almost touched Milady’s forehead, and then, in a voice the more
+terrible from having the supreme calmness of a fixed resolution,
+“Madame,” said he, “you will this instant deliver to me the paper the
+cardinal signed; or upon my soul, I will blow your brains out.”
+
+With another man, Milady might have preserved some doubt; but she knew
+Athos. Nevertheless, she remained motionless.
+
+“You have one second to decide,” said he.
+
+Milady saw by the contraction of his countenance that the trigger was
+about to be pulled; she reached her hand quickly to her bosom, drew out
+a paper, and held it toward Athos.
+
+“Take it,” said she, “and be accursed!”
+
+Athos took the paper, returned the pistol to his belt, approached the
+lamp to be assured that it was the paper, unfolded it, and read:
+
+“Dec. 3, 1627
+
+
+“It is by my order and for the good of the state that the bearer of
+this has done what he has done.
+
+
+“RICHELIEU”
+
+
+“And now,” said Athos, resuming his cloak and putting on his hat, “now
+that I have drawn your teeth, viper, bite if you can.”
+
+And he left the chamber without once looking behind him.
+
+At the door he found the two men and the spare horse which they held.
+
+“Gentlemen,” said he, “Monseigneur’s order is, you know, to conduct
+that woman, without losing time, to Fort La Pointe, and never to leave
+her till she is on board.”
+
+As these words agreed wholly with the order they had received, they
+bowed their heads in sign of assent.
+
+With regard to Athos, he leaped lightly into the saddle and set out at
+full gallop; only instead of following the road, he went across the
+fields, urging his horse to the utmost and stopping occasionally to
+listen.
+
+In one of those halts he heard the steps of several horses on the road.
+He had no doubt it was the cardinal and his escort. He immediately made
+a new point in advance, rubbed his horse down with some heath and
+leaves of trees, and placed himself across the road, about two hundred
+paces from the camp.
+
+“Who goes there?” cried he, as soon as he perceived the horsemen.
+
+“That is our brave Musketeer, I think,” said the cardinal.
+
+“Yes, monseigneur,” said Porthos, “it is he.”
+
+“Monsieur Athos,” said Richelieu, “receive my thanks for the good guard
+you have kept. Gentlemen, we are arrived; take the gate on the left.
+The watchword is, ‘King and Ré.’”
+
+Saying these words, the cardinal saluted the three friends with an
+inclination of his head, and took the right hand, followed by his
+attendant—for that night he himself slept in the camp.
+
+“Well!” said Porthos and Aramis together, as soon as the cardinal was
+out of hearing, “well, he signed the paper she required!”
+
+“I know it,” said Athos, coolly, “since here it is.”
+
+And the three friends did not exchange another word till they reached
+their quarters, except to give the watchword to the sentinels. Only
+they sent Mousqueton to tell Planchet that his master was requested,
+the instant that he left the trenches, to come to the quarters of the
+Musketeers.
+
+Milady, as Athos had foreseen, on finding the two men that awaited her,
+made no difficulty in following them. She had had for an instant an
+inclination to be reconducted to the cardinal, and relate everything to
+him; but a revelation on her part would bring about a revelation on the
+part of Athos. She might say that Athos had hanged her; but then Athos
+would tell that she was branded. She thought it was best to preserve
+silence, to discreetly set off to accomplish her difficult mission with
+her usual skill; and then, all things being accomplished to the
+satisfaction of the cardinal, to come to him and claim her vengeance.
+
+In consequence, after having traveled all night, at seven o’clock she
+was at the fort of the Point; at eight o’clock she had embarked; and at
+nine, the vessel, which with letters of marque from the cardinal was
+supposed to be sailing for Bayonne, raised anchor, and steered its
+course toward England.
+
+
+
+
+Chapter XLVI.
+THE BASTION SAINT-GERVAIS
+
+
+On arriving at the lodgings of his three friends, D’Artagnan found them
+assembled in the same chamber. Athos was meditating; Porthos was
+twisting his mustache; Aramis was saying his prayers in a charming
+little Book of Hours, bound in blue velvet.
+
+“_Pardieu_, gentlemen,” said he. “I hope what you have to tell me is
+worth the trouble, or else, I warn you, I will not pardon you for
+making me come here instead of getting a little rest after a night
+spent in taking and dismantling a bastion. Ah, why were you not there,
+gentlemen? It was warm work.”
+
+“We were in a place where it was not very cold,” replied Porthos,
+giving his mustache a twist which was peculiar to him.
+
+“Hush!” said Athos.
+
+“Oh, oh!” said D’Artagnan, comprehending the slight frown of the
+Musketeer. “It appears there is something fresh aboard.”
+
+“Aramis,” said Athos, “you went to breakfast the day before yesterday
+at the inn of the Parpaillot, I believe?”
+
+“Yes.”
+
+“How did you fare?”
+
+“For my part, I ate but little. The day before yesterday was a fish
+day, and they had nothing but meat.”
+
+“What,” said Athos, “no fish at a seaport?”
+
+“They say,” said Aramis, resuming his pious reading, “that the dyke
+which the cardinal is making drives them all out into the open sea.”
+
+“But that is not quite what I mean to ask you, Aramis,” replied Athos.
+“I want to know if you were left alone, and nobody interrupted you.”
+
+“Why, I think there were not many intruders. Yes, Athos, I know what
+you mean: we shall do very well at the Parpaillot.”
+
+“Let us go to the Parpaillot, then, for here the walls are like sheets
+of paper.”
+
+D’Artagnan, who was accustomed to his friend’s manner of acting, and
+who perceived immediately, by a word, a gesture, or a sign from him,
+that the circumstances were serious, took Athos’s arm, and went out
+without saying anything. Porthos followed, chatting with Aramis.
+
+On their way they met Grimaud. Athos made him a sign to come with them.
+Grimaud, according to custom, obeyed in silence; the poor lad had
+nearly come to the pass of forgetting how to speak.
+
+They arrived at the drinking room of the Parpaillot. It was seven
+o’clock in the morning, and daylight began to appear. The three friends
+ordered breakfast, and went into a room in which the host said they
+would not be disturbed.
+
+Unfortunately, the hour was badly chosen for a private conference. The
+morning drum had just been beaten; everyone shook off the drowsiness of
+night, and to dispel the humid morning air, came to take a drop at the
+inn. Dragoons, Swiss, Guardsmen, Musketeers, light-horsemen, succeeded
+one another with a rapidity which might answer the purpose of the host
+very well, but agreed badly with the views of the four friends. Thus
+they applied very curtly to the salutations, healths, and jokes of
+their companions.
+
+“I see how it will be,” said Athos: “we shall get into some pretty
+quarrel or other, and we have no need of one just now. D’Artagnan, tell
+us what sort of a night you have had, and we will describe ours
+afterward.”
+
+“Ah, yes,” said a light-horseman, with a glass of brandy in his hand,
+which he sipped slowly. “I hear you gentlemen of the Guards have been
+in the trenches tonight, and that you did not get much the best of the
+Rochellais.”
+
+D’Artagnan looked at Athos to know if he ought to reply to this
+intruder who thus mixed unasked in their conversation.
+
+“Well,” said Athos, “don’t you hear Monsieur de Busigny, who does you
+the honor to ask you a question? Relate what has passed during the
+night, since these gentlemen desire to know it.”
+
+“Have you not taken a bastion?” said a Swiss, who was drinking rum out
+of a beer glass.
+
+“Yes, monsieur,” said D’Artagnan, bowing, “we have had that honor. We
+even have, as you may have heard, introduced a barrel of powder under
+one of the angles, which in blowing up made a very pretty breach.
+Without reckoning that as the bastion was not built yesterday all the
+rest of the building was badly shaken.”
+
+“And what bastion is it?” asked a dragoon, with his saber run through a
+goose which he was taking to be cooked.
+
+“The bastion St. Gervais,” replied D’Artagnan, “from behind which the
+Rochellais annoyed our workmen.”
+
+“Was that affair hot?”
+
+“Yes, moderately so. We lost five men, and the Rochellais eight or
+ten.”
+
+“_Balzempleu!_” said the Swiss, who, notwithstanding the admirable
+collection of oaths possessed by the German language, had acquired a
+habit of swearing in French.
+
+“But it is probable,” said the light-horseman, “that they will send
+pioneers this morning to repair the bastion.”
+
+“Yes, that’s probable,” said D’Artagnan.
+
+“Gentlemen,” said Athos, “a wager!”
+
+“Ah, _wooi_, a vager!” cried the Swiss.
+
+“What is it?” said the light-horseman.
+
+“Stop a bit,” said the dragoon, placing his saber like a spit upon the
+two large iron dogs which held the firebrands in the chimney, “stop a
+bit, I am in it. You cursed host! a dripping pan immediately, that I
+may not lose a drop of the fat of this estimable bird.”
+
+“You was right,” said the Swiss; “goose grease is kood with basdry.”
+
+“There!” said the dragoon. “Now for the wager! We listen, Monsieur
+Athos.”
+
+“Yes, the wager!” said the light-horseman.
+
+“Well, Monsieur de Busigny, I will bet you,” said Athos, “that my three
+companions, Messieurs Porthos, Aramis, and D’Artagnan, and myself, will
+go and breakfast in the bastion St. Gervais, and we will remain there
+an hour, by the watch, whatever the enemy may do to dislodge us.”
+
+Porthos and Aramis looked at each other; they began to comprehend.
+
+“But,” said D’Artagnan, in the ear of Athos, “you are going to get us
+all killed without mercy.”
+
+“We are much more likely to be killed,” said Athos, “if we do not go.”
+
+“My faith, gentlemen,” said Porthos, turning round upon his chair and
+twisting his mustache, “that’s a fair bet, I hope.”
+
+“I take it,” said M. de Busigny; “so let us fix the stake.”
+
+“You are four gentlemen,” said Athos, “and we are four; an unlimited
+dinner for eight. Will that do?”
+
+“Capitally,” replied M. de Busigny.
+
+“Perfectly,” said the dragoon.
+
+“That shoots me,” said the Swiss.
+
+The fourth auditor, who during all this conversation had played a mute
+part, made a sign of the head in proof that he acquiesced in the
+proposition.
+
+“The breakfast for these gentlemen is ready,” said the host.
+
+“Well, bring it,” said Athos.
+
+The host obeyed. Athos called Grimaud, pointed to a large basket which
+lay in a corner, and made a sign to him to wrap the viands up in the
+napkins.
+
+Grimaud understood that it was to be a breakfast on the grass, took the
+basket, packed up the viands, added the bottles, and then took the
+basket on his arm.
+
+“But where are you going to eat my breakfast?” asked the host.
+
+“What matter, if you are paid for it?” said Athos, and he threw two
+pistoles majestically on the table.
+
+“Shall I give you the change, my officer?” said the host.
+
+“No, only add two bottles of champagne, and the difference will be for
+the napkins.”
+
+The host had not quite so good a bargain as he at first hoped for, but
+he made amends by slipping in two bottles of Anjou wine instead of two
+bottles of champagne.
+
+“Monsieur de Busigny,” said Athos, “will you be so kind as to set your
+watch with mine, or permit me to regulate mine by yours?”
+
+“Which you please, monsieur!” said the light-horseman, drawing from his
+fob a very handsome watch, studded with diamonds; “half past seven.”
+
+“Thirty-five minutes after seven,” said Athos, “by which you perceive I
+am five minutes faster than you.”
+
+And bowing to all the astonished persons present, the young men took
+the road to the bastion St. Gervais, followed by Grimaud, who carried
+the basket, ignorant of where he was going but in the passive obedience
+which Athos had taught him not even thinking of asking.
+
+As long as they were within the circle of the camp, the four friends
+did not exchange one word; besides, they were followed by the curious,
+who, hearing of the wager, were anxious to know how they would come out
+of it. But when once they passed the line of circumvallation and found
+themselves in the open plain, D’Artagnan, who was completely ignorant
+of what was going forward, thought it was time to demand an
+explanation.
+
+“And now, my dear Athos,” said he, “do me the kindness to tell me where
+we are going?”
+
+“Why, you see plainly enough we are going to the bastion.”
+
+“But what are we going to do there?”
+
+“You know well that we go to breakfast there.”
+
+“But why did we not breakfast at the Parpaillot?”
+
+“Because we have very important matters to communicate to one another,
+and it was impossible to talk five minutes in that inn without being
+annoyed by all those importunate fellows, who keep coming in, saluting
+you, and addressing you. Here at least,” said Athos, pointing to the
+bastion, “they will not come and disturb us.”
+
+“It appears to me,” said D’Artagnan, with that prudence which allied
+itself in him so naturally with excessive bravery, “that we could have
+found some retired place on the downs or the seashore.”
+
+“Where we should have been seen all four conferring together, so that
+at the end of a quarter of an hour the cardinal would have been
+informed by his spies that we were holding a council.”
+
+“Yes,” said Aramis, “Athos is right: _Animadvertuntur in desertis_.”
+
+“A desert would not have been amiss,” said Porthos; “but it behooved us
+to find it.”
+
+“There is no desert where a bird cannot pass over one’s head, where a
+fish cannot leap out of the water, where a rabbit cannot come out of
+its burrow, and I believe that bird, fish, and rabbit each becomes a
+spy of the cardinal. Better, then, pursue our enterprise; from which,
+besides, we cannot retreat without shame. We have made a wager—a wager
+which could not have been foreseen, and of which I defy anyone to
+divine the true cause. We are going, in order to win it, to remain an
+hour in the bastion. Either we shall be attacked, or not. If we are
+not, we shall have all the time to talk, and nobody will hear us—for I
+guarantee the walls of the bastion have no ears; if we are, we will
+talk of our affairs just the same. Moreover, in defending ourselves, we
+shall cover ourselves with glory. You see that everything is to our
+advantage.”
+
+“Yes,” said D’Artagnan; “but we shall indubitably attract a ball.”
+
+“Well, my dear,” replied Athos, “you know well that the balls most to
+be dreaded are not from the enemy.”
+
+“But for such an expedition we surely ought to have brought our
+muskets.”
+
+“You are stupid, friend Porthos. Why should we load ourselves with a
+useless burden?”
+
+“I don’t find a good musket, twelve cartridges, and a powder flask very
+useless in the face of an enemy.”
+
+“Well,” replied Athos, “have you not heard what D’Artagnan said?”
+
+“What did he say?” demanded Porthos.
+
+“D’Artagnan said that in the attack of last night eight or ten
+Frenchmen were killed, and as many Rochellais.”
+
+“What then?”
+
+“The bodies were not plundered, were they? It appears the conquerors
+had something else to do.”
+
+“Well?”
+
+“Well, we shall find their muskets, their cartridges, and their flasks;
+and instead of four musketoons and twelve balls, we shall have fifteen
+guns and a hundred charges to fire.”
+
+“Oh, Athos!” said Aramis, “truly you are a great man.”
+
+Porthos nodded in sign of agreement. D’Artagnan alone did not seem
+convinced.
+
+Grimaud no doubt shared the misgivings of the young man, for seeing
+that they continued to advance toward the bastion—something he had till
+then doubted—he pulled his master by the skirt of his coat.
+
+“Where are we going?” asked he, by a gesture.
+
+Athos pointed to the bastion.
+
+“But,” said Grimaud, in the same silent dialect, “we shall leave our
+skins there.”
+
+Athos raised his eyes and his finger toward heaven.
+
+Grimaud put his basket on the ground and sat down with a shake of the
+head.
+
+Athos took a pistol from his belt, looked to see if it was properly
+primed, cocked it, and placed the muzzle close to Grimaud’s ear.
+
+Grimaud was on his legs again as if by a spring. Athos then made him a
+sign to take up his basket and to walk on first. Grimaud obeyed. All
+that Grimaud gained by this momentary pantomime was to pass from the
+rear guard to the vanguard.
+
+Arrived at the bastion, the four friends turned round.
+
+More than three hundred soldiers of all kinds were assembled at the
+gate of the camp; and in a separate group might be distinguished M. de
+Busigny, the dragoon, the Swiss, and the fourth bettor.
+
+Athos took off his hat, placed it on the end of his sword, and waved it
+in the air.
+
+All the spectators returned him his salute, accompanying this courtesy
+with a loud hurrah which was audible to the four; after which all four
+disappeared in the bastion, whither Grimaud had preceded them.
+
+
+
+
+Chapter XLVII.
+THE COUNCIL OF THE MUSKETEERS
+
+
+As Athos had foreseen, the bastion was only occupied by a dozen
+corpses, French and Rochellais.
+
+“Gentlemen,” said Athos, who had assumed the command of the expedition,
+“while Grimaud spreads the table, let us begin by collecting the guns
+and cartridges together. We can talk while performing that necessary
+task. These gentlemen,” added he, pointing to the bodies, “cannot hear
+us.”
+
+“But we could throw them into the ditch,” said Porthos, “after having
+assured ourselves they have nothing in their pockets.”
+
+“Yes,” said Athos, “that’s Grimaud’s business.”
+
+“Well, then,” cried D’Artagnan, “pray let Grimaud search them and throw
+them over the walls.”
+
+“Heaven forfend!” said Athos; “they may serve us.”
+
+“These bodies serve us?” said Porthos. “You are mad, dear friend.”
+
+“Judge not rashly, say the gospel and the cardinal,” replied Athos.
+“How many guns, gentlemen?”
+
+“Twelve,” replied Aramis.
+
+“How many shots?”
+
+“A hundred.”
+
+“That’s quite as many as we shall want. Let us load the guns.”
+
+The four Musketeers went to work; and as they were loading the last
+musket Grimaud announced that the breakfast was ready.
+
+Athos replied, always by gestures, that that was well, and indicated to
+Grimaud, by pointing to a turret that resembled a pepper caster, that
+he was to stand as sentinel. Only, to alleviate the tediousness of the
+duty, Athos allowed him to take a loaf, two cutlets, and a bottle of
+wine.
+
+“And now to table,” said Athos.
+
+The four friends seated themselves on the ground with their legs
+crossed like Turks, or even tailors.
+
+“And now,” said D’Artagnan, “as there is no longer any fear of being
+overheard, I hope you are going to let me into your secret.”
+
+“I hope at the same time to procure you amusement and glory,
+gentlemen,” said Athos. “I have induced you to take a charming
+promenade; here is a delicious breakfast; and yonder are five hundred
+persons, as you may see through the loopholes, taking us for heroes or
+madmen—two classes of imbeciles greatly resembling each other.”
+
+“But the secret!” said D’Artagnan.
+
+“The secret is,” said Athos, “that I saw Milady last night.”
+
+D’Artagnan was lifting a glass to his lips; but at the name of Milady,
+his hand trembled so, that he was obliged to put the glass on the
+ground again for fear of spilling the contents.”
+
+“You saw your wi—”
+
+“Hush!” interrupted Athos. “You forget, my dear, you forget that these
+gentlemen are not initiated into my family affairs like yourself. I
+have seen Milady.”
+
+“Where?” demanded D’Artagnan.
+
+“Within two leagues of this place, at the inn of the Red Dovecot.”
+
+“In that case I am lost,” said D’Artagnan.
+
+“Not so bad yet,” replied Athos; “for by this time she must have quit
+the shores of France.”
+
+D’Artagnan breathed again.
+
+“But after all,” asked Porthos, “who is Milady?”
+
+“A charming woman!” said Athos, sipping a glass of sparkling wine.
+“Villainous host!” cried he, “he has given us Anjou wine instead of
+champagne, and fancies we know no better! Yes,” continued he, “a
+charming woman, who entertained kind views toward our friend
+D’Artagnan, who, on his part, has given her some offense for which she
+tried to revenge herself a month ago by having him killed by two musket
+shots, a week ago by trying to poison him, and yesterday by demanding
+his head of the cardinal.”
+
+“What! by demanding my head of the cardinal?” cried D’Artagnan, pale
+with terror.
+
+“Yes, that is true as the Gospel,” said Porthos; “I heard her with my
+own ears.”
+
+“I also,” said Aramis.
+
+“Then,” said D’Artagnan, letting his arm fall with discouragement, “it
+is useless to struggle longer. I may as well blow my brains out, and
+all will be over.”
+
+“That’s the last folly to be committed,” said Athos, “seeing it is the
+only one for which there is no remedy.”
+
+“But I can never escape,” said D’Artagnan, “with such enemies. First,
+my stranger of Meung; then De Wardes, to whom I have given three sword
+wounds; next Milady, whose secret I have discovered; finally, the
+cardinal, whose vengeance I have balked.”
+
+“Well,” said Athos, “that only makes four; and we are four—one for one.
+_Pardieu!_ if we may believe the signs Grimaud is making, we are about
+to have to do with a very different number of people. What is it,
+Grimaud? Considering the gravity of the occasion, I permit you to
+speak, my friend; but be laconic, I beg. What do you see?”
+
+“A troop.”
+
+“Of how many persons?”
+
+“Twenty men.”
+
+“What sort of men?”
+
+“Sixteen pioneers, four soldiers.”
+
+“How far distant?”
+
+“Five hundred paces.”
+
+“Good! We have just time to finish this fowl and to drink one glass of
+wine to your health, D’Artagnan.”
+
+“To your health!” repeated Porthos and Aramis.
+
+“Well, then, to my health! although I am very much afraid that your
+good wishes will not be of great service to me.”
+
+“Bah!” said Athos, “God is great, as say the followers of Mohammed, and
+the future is in his hands.”
+
+Then, swallowing the contents of his glass, which he put down close to
+him, Athos arose carelessly, took the musket next to him, and drew near
+to one of the loopholes.
+
+Porthos, Aramis and D’Artagnan followed his example. As to Grimaud, he
+received orders to place himself behind the four friends in order to
+reload their weapons.
+
+“_Pardieu!_” said Athos, “it was hardly worth while to distribute
+ourselves for twenty fellows armed with pickaxes, mattocks, and
+shovels. Grimaud had only to make them a sign to go away, and I am
+convinced they would have left us in peace.”
+
+“I doubt that,” replied D’Artagnan, “for they are advancing very
+resolutely. Besides, in addition to the pioneers, there are four
+soldiers and a brigadier, armed with muskets.”
+
+“That’s because they don’t see us,” said Athos.
+
+“My faith,” said Aramis, “I must confess I feel a great repugnance to
+fire on these poor devils of civilians.”
+
+“He is a bad priest,” said Porthos, “who has pity for heretics.”
+
+“In truth,” said Athos, “Aramis is right. I will warn them.”
+
+“What the devil are you going to do?” cried D’Artagnan, “you will be
+shot.”
+
+But Athos heeded not his advice. Mounting on the breach, with his
+musket in one hand and his hat in the other, he said, bowing
+courteously and addressing the soldiers and the pioneers, who,
+astonished at this apparition, stopped fifty paces from the bastion:
+“Gentlemen, a few friends and myself are about to breakfast in this
+bastion. Now, you know nothing is more disagreeable than being
+disturbed when one is at breakfast. We request you, then, if you really
+have business here, to wait till we have finished our repast, or to
+come again a short time hence; unless, which would be far better, you
+form the salutary resolution to quit the side of the rebels, and come
+and drink with us to the health of the King of France.”
+
+“Take care, Athos!” cried D’Artagnan; “don’t you see they are aiming?”
+
+“Yes, yes,” said Athos; “but they are only civilians—very bad marksmen,
+who will be sure not to hit me.”
+
+In fact, at the same instant four shots were fired, and the balls were
+flattened against the wall around Athos, but not one touched him.
+
+Four shots replied to them almost instantaneously, but much better
+aimed than those of the aggressors; three soldiers fell dead, and one
+of the pioneers was wounded.
+
+“Grimaud,” said Athos, still on the breach, “another musket!”
+
+Grimaud immediately obeyed. On their part, the three friends had
+reloaded their arms; a second discharge followed the first. The
+brigadier and two pioneers fell dead; the rest of the troop took to
+flight.
+
+“Now, gentlemen, a _sortie!_” cried Athos.
+
+And the four friends rushed out of the fort, gained the field of
+battle, picked up the four muskets of the privates and the half-pike of
+the brigadier, and convinced that the fugitives would not stop till
+they reached the city, turned again toward the bastion, bearing with
+them the trophies of their victory.
+
+“Reload the muskets, Grimaud,” said Athos, “and we, gentlemen, will go
+on with our breakfast, and resume our conversation. Where were we?”
+
+“I recollect you were saying,” said D’Artagnan, “that after having
+demanded my head of the cardinal, Milady had quit the shores of France.
+Whither goes she?” added he, strongly interested in the route Milady
+followed.
+
+“She goes into England,” said Athos.
+
+“With what view?”
+
+“With the view of assassinating, or causing to be assassinated, the
+Duke of Buckingham.”
+
+D’Artagnan uttered an exclamation of surprise and indignation.
+
+“But this is infamous!” cried he.
+
+“As to that,” said Athos, “I beg you to believe that I care very little
+about it. Now you have done, Grimaud, take our brigadier’s half-pike,
+tie a napkin to it, and plant it on top of our bastion, that these
+rebels of Rochellais may see that they have to deal with brave and
+loyal soldiers of the king.”
+
+Grimaud obeyed without replying. An instant afterward, the white flag
+was floating over the heads of the four friends. A thunder of applause
+saluted its appearance; half the camp was at the barrier.
+
+“How?” replied D’Artagnan, “you care little if she kills Buckingham or
+causes him to be killed? But the duke is our friend.”
+
+“The duke is English; the duke fights against us. Let her do what she
+likes with the duke; I care no more about him than an empty bottle.”
+And Athos threw fifteen paces from him an empty bottle from which he
+had poured the last drop into his glass.
+
+“A moment,” said D’Artagnan. “I will not abandon Buckingham thus. He
+gave us some very fine horses.”
+
+“And moreover, very handsome saddles,” said Porthos, who at the moment
+wore on his cloak the lace of his own.
+
+“Besides,” said Aramis, “God desires the conversion and not the death
+of a sinner.”
+
+“Amen!” said Athos, “and we will return to that subject later, if such
+be your pleasure; but what for the moment engaged my attention most
+earnestly, and I am sure you will understand me, D’Artagnan, was the
+getting from this woman a kind of _carte blanche_ which she had
+extorted from the cardinal, and by means of which she could with
+impunity get rid of you and perhaps of us.”
+
+“But this creature must be a demon!” said Porthos, holding out his
+plate to Aramis, who was cutting up a fowl.
+
+“And this _carte blanche_,” said D’Artagnan, “this _carte blanche_,
+does it remain in her hands?”
+
+“No, it passed into mine; I will not say without trouble, for if I did
+I should tell a lie.”
+
+“My dear Athos, I shall no longer count the number of times I am
+indebted to you for my life.”
+
+“Then it was to go to her that you left us?” said Aramis.
+
+“Exactly.”
+
+“And you have that letter of the cardinal?” said D’Artagnan.
+
+“Here it is,” said Athos; and he took the invaluable paper from the
+pocket of his uniform. D’Artagnan unfolded it with one hand, whose
+trembling he did not even attempt to conceal, to read:
+
+“Dec. 3, 1627
+
+
+“It is by my order and for the good of the state that the bearer of
+this has done what he has done.
+
+
+“RICHELIEU”
+
+
+“In fact,” said Aramis, “it is an absolution according to rule.”
+
+“That paper must be torn to pieces,” said D’Artagnan, who fancied he
+read in it his sentence of death.
+
+“On the contrary,” said Athos, “it must be preserved carefully. I would
+not give up this paper if covered with as many gold pieces.”
+
+“And what will she do now?” asked the young man.
+
+“Why,” replied Athos, carelessly, “she is probably going to write to
+the cardinal that a damned Musketeer, named Athos, has taken her
+safe-conduct from her by force; she will advise him in the same letter
+to get rid of his two friends, Aramis and Porthos, at the same time.
+The cardinal will remember that these are the same men who have often
+crossed his path; and then some fine morning he will arrest D’Artagnan,
+and for fear he should feel lonely, he will send us to keep him company
+in the Bastille.”
+
+“Go to! It appears to me you make dull jokes, my dear,” said Porthos.
+
+“I do not jest,” said Athos.
+
+“Do you know,” said Porthos, “that to twist that damned Milady’s neck
+would be a smaller sin than to twist those of these poor devils of
+Huguenots, who have committed no other crime than singing in French the
+psalms we sing in Latin?”
+
+“What says the abbé?” asked Athos, quietly.
+
+“I say I am entirely of Porthos’s opinion,” replied Aramis.
+
+“And I, too,” said D’Artagnan.
+
+“Fortunately, she is far off,” said Porthos, “for I confess she would
+worry me if she were here.”
+
+“She worries me in England as well as in France,” said Athos.
+
+“She worries me everywhere,” said D’Artagnan.
+
+“But when you held her in your power, why did you not drown her,
+strangle her, hang her?” said Porthos. “It is only the dead who do not
+return.”
+
+“You think so, Porthos?” replied the Musketeer, with a sad smile which
+D’Artagnan alone understood.
+
+“I have an idea,” said D’Artagnan.
+
+“What is it?” said the Musketeers.
+
+“To arms!” cried Grimaud.
+
+The young men sprang up, and seized their muskets.
+
+This time a small troop advanced, consisting of from twenty to
+twenty-five men; but they were not pioneers, they were soldiers of the
+garrison.
+
+“Shall we return to the camp?” said Porthos. “I don’t think the sides
+are equal.”
+
+“Impossible, for three reasons,” replied Athos. “The first, that we
+have not finished breakfast; the second, that we still have some very
+important things to say; and the third, that it yet wants ten minutes
+before the lapse of the hour.”
+
+“Well, then,” said Aramis, “we must form a plan of battle.”
+
+“That’s very simple,” replied Athos. “As soon as the enemy are within
+musket shot, we must fire upon them. If they continue to advance, we
+must fire again. We must fire as long as we have loaded guns. If those
+who remain of the troop persist in coming to the assault, we will allow
+the besiegers to get as far as the ditch, and then we will push down
+upon their heads that strip of wall which keeps its perpendicular by a
+miracle.”
+
+“Bravo!” cried Porthos. “Decidedly, Athos, you were born to be a
+general, and the cardinal, who fancies himself a great soldier, is
+nothing beside you.”
+
+“Gentlemen,” said Athos, “no divided attention, I beg; let each one
+pick out his man.”
+
+“I cover mine,” said D’Artagnan.
+
+“And I mine,” said Porthos.
+
+“And I _idem_,” said Aramis.
+
+“Fire, then,” said Athos.
+
+The four muskets made but one report, but four men fell.
+
+The drum immediately beat, and the little troop advanced at charging
+pace.
+
+Then the shots were repeated without regularity, but always aimed with
+the same accuracy. Nevertheless, as if they had been aware of the
+numerical weakness of the friends, the Rochellais continued to advance
+in quick time.
+
+With every three shots at least two men fell; but the march of those
+who remained was not slackened.
+
+Arrived at the foot of the bastion, there were still more than a dozen
+of the enemy. A last discharge welcomed them, but did not stop them;
+they jumped into the ditch, and prepared to scale the breach.
+
+“Now, my friends,” said Athos, “finish them at a blow. To the wall; to
+the wall!”
+
+And the four friends, seconded by Grimaud, pushed with the barrels of
+their muskets an enormous sheet of the wall, which bent as if pushed by
+the wind, and detaching itself from its base, fell with a horrible
+crash into the ditch. Then a fearful crash was heard; a cloud of dust
+mounted toward the sky—and all was over!
+
+“Can we have destroyed them all, from the first to the last?” said
+Athos.
+
+“My faith, it appears so!” said D’Artagnan.
+
+“No,” cried Porthos; “there go three or four, limping away.”
+
+In fact, three or four of these unfortunate men, covered with dirt and
+blood, fled along the hollow way, and at length regained the city.
+These were all who were left of the little troop.
+
+Athos looked at his watch.
+
+“Gentlemen,” said he, “we have been here an hour, and our wager is won;
+but we will be fair players. Besides, D’Artagnan has not told us his
+idea yet.”
+
+And the Musketeer, with his usual coolness, reseated himself before the
+remains of the breakfast.
+
+“My idea?” said D’Artagnan.
+
+“Yes; you said you had an idea,” said Athos.
+
+“Oh, I remember,” said D’Artagnan. “Well, I will go to England a second
+time; I will go and find Buckingham.”
+
+“You shall not do that, D’Artagnan,” said Athos, coolly.
+
+“And why not? Have I not been there once?”
+
+“Yes; but at that period we were not at war. At that period Buckingham
+was an ally, and not an enemy. What you would now do amounts to
+treason.”
+
+D’Artagnan perceived the force of this reasoning, and was silent.
+
+“But,” said Porthos, “I think I have an idea, in my turn.”
+
+“Silence for Monsieur Porthos’s idea!” said Aramis.
+
+“I will ask leave of absence of Monsieur de Tréville, on some pretext
+or other which you must invent; I am not very clever at pretexts.
+Milady does not know me; I will get access to her without her
+suspecting me, and when I catch my beauty, I will strangle her.”
+
+“Well,” replied Athos, “I am not far from approving the idea of
+Monsieur Porthos.”
+
+“For shame!” said Aramis. “Kill a woman? No, listen to me; I have the
+true idea.”
+
+“Let us see your idea, Aramis,” said Athos, who felt much deference for
+the young Musketeer.
+
+“We must inform the queen.”
+
+“Ah, my faith, yes!” said Porthos and D’Artagnan, at the same time; “we
+are coming nearer to it now.”
+
+“Inform the queen!” said Athos; “and how? Have we relations with the
+court? Could we send anyone to Paris without its being known in the
+camp? From here to Paris it is a hundred and forty leagues; before our
+letter was at Angers we should be in a dungeon.”
+
+“As to remitting a letter with safety to her Majesty,” said Aramis,
+coloring, “I will take that upon myself. I know a clever person at
+Tours—”
+
+Aramis stopped on seeing Athos smile.
+
+“Well, do you not adopt this means, Athos?” said D’Artagnan.
+
+“I do not reject it altogether,” said Athos; “but I wish to remind
+Aramis that he cannot quit the camp, and that nobody but one of
+ourselves is trustworthy; that two hours after the messenger has set
+out, all the Capuchins, all the police, all the black caps of the
+cardinal, will know your letter by heart, and you and your clever
+person will be arrested.”
+
+“Without reckoning,” objected Porthos, “that the queen would save
+Monsieur de Buckingham, but would take no heed of us.”
+
+“Gentlemen,” said D’Artagnan, “what Porthos says is full of sense.”
+
+“Ah, ah! but what’s going on in the city yonder?” said Athos.
+
+“They are beating the general alarm.”
+
+The four friends listened, and the sound of the drum plainly reached
+them.
+
+“You see, they are going to send a whole regiment against us,” said
+Athos.
+
+“You don’t think of holding out against a whole regiment, do you?” said
+Porthos.
+
+“Why not?” said the Musketeer. “I feel myself quite in a humor for it;
+and I would hold out before an army if we had taken the precaution to
+bring a dozen more bottles of wine.”
+
+“Upon my word, the drum draws near,” said D’Artagnan.
+
+“Let it come,” said Athos. “It is a quarter of an hour’s journey from
+here to the city, consequently a quarter of an hour’s journey from the
+city to hither. That is more than time enough for us to devise a plan.
+If we go from this place we shall never find another so suitable. Ah,
+stop! I have it, gentlemen; the right idea has just occurred to me.”
+
+“Tell us.”
+
+“Allow me to give Grimaud some indispensable orders.”
+
+Athos made a sign for his lackey to approach.
+
+“Grimaud,” said Athos, pointing to the bodies which lay under the wall
+of the bastion, “take those gentlemen, set them up against the wall,
+put their hats upon their heads, and their guns in their hands.”
+
+“Oh, the great man!” cried D’Artagnan. “I comprehend now.”
+
+“You comprehend?” said Porthos.
+
+“And do you comprehend, Grimaud?” said Aramis.
+
+Grimaud made a sign in the affirmative.
+
+“That’s all that is necessary,” said Athos; “now for my idea.”
+
+“I should like, however, to comprehend,” said Porthos.
+
+“That is useless.”
+
+“Yes, yes! Athos’s idea!” cried Aramis and D’Artagnan, at the same
+time.
+
+“This Milady, this woman, this creature, this demon, has a
+brother-in-law, as I think you told me, D’Artagnan?”
+
+“Yes, I know him very well; and I also believe that he has not a very
+warm affection for his sister-in-law.”
+
+“There is no harm in that. If he detested her, it would be all the
+better,” replied Athos.
+
+“In that case we are as well off as we wish.”
+
+“And yet,” said Porthos, “I would like to know what Grimaud is about.”
+
+“Silence, Porthos!” said Aramis.
+
+“What is her brother-in-law’s name?”
+
+“Lord de Winter.”
+
+“Where is he now?”
+
+“He returned to London at the first sound of war.”
+
+“Well, there’s just the man we want,” said Athos. “It is he whom we
+must warn. We will have him informed that his sister-in-law is on the
+point of having someone assassinated, and beg him not to lose sight of
+her. There is in London, I hope, some establishment like that of the
+Magdalens, or of the Repentant Daughters. He must place his sister in
+one of these, and we shall be in peace.”
+
+“Yes,” said D’Artagnan, “till she comes out.”
+
+“Ah, my faith!” said Athos, “you require too much, D’Artagnan. I have
+given you all I have, and I beg leave to tell you that this is the
+bottom of my sack.”
+
+“But I think it would be still better,” said Aramis, “to inform the
+queen and Lord de Winter at the same time.”
+
+“Yes; but who is to carry the letter to Tours, and who to London?”
+
+“I answer for Bazin,” said Aramis.
+
+“And I for Planchet,” said D’Artagnan.
+
+“Ay,” said Porthos, “if we cannot leave the camp, our lackeys may.”
+
+“To be sure they may; and this very day we will write the letters,”
+said Aramis. “Give the lackeys money, and they will start.”
+
+“We will give them money?” replied Athos. “Have you any money?”
+
+The four friends looked at one another, and a cloud came over the brows
+which but lately had been so cheerful.
+
+“Look out!” cried D’Artagnan, “I see black points and red points moving
+yonder. Why did you talk of a regiment, Athos? It is a veritable army!”
+
+“My faith, yes,” said Athos; “there they are. See the sneaks come,
+without drum or trumpet. Ah, ah! have you finished, Grimaud?”
+
+Grimaud made a sign in the affirmative, and pointed to a dozen bodies
+which he had set up in the most picturesque attitudes. Some carried
+arms, others seemed to be taking aim, and the remainder appeared merely
+to be sword in hand.
+
+“Bravo!” said Athos; “that does honor to your imagination.”
+
+“All very well,” said Porthos, “but I should like to understand.”
+
+“Let us decamp first, and you will understand afterward.”
+
+“A moment, gentlemen, a moment; give Grimaud time to clear away the
+breakfast.”
+
+“Ah, ah!” said Aramis, “the black points and the red points are visibly
+enlarging. I am of D’Artagnan’s opinion; we have no time to lose in
+regaining our camp.”
+
+“My faith,” said Athos, “I have nothing to say against a retreat. We
+bet upon one hour, and we have stayed an hour and a half. Nothing can
+be said; let us be off, gentlemen, let us be off!”
+
+Grimaud was already ahead, with the basket and the dessert. The four
+friends followed, ten paces behind him.
+
+“What the devil shall we do now, gentlemen?” cried Athos.
+
+“Have you forgotten anything?” said Aramis.
+
+“The white flag, _morbleu!_ We must not leave a flag in the hands of
+the enemy, even if that flag be but a napkin.”
+
+And Athos ran back to the bastion, mounted the platform, and bore off
+the flag; but as the Rochellais had arrived within musket range, they
+opened a terrible fire upon this man, who appeared to expose himself
+for pleasure’s sake.
+
+But Athos might be said to bear a charmed life. The balls passed and
+whistled all around him; not one struck him.
+
+Athos waved his flag, turning his back on the guards of the city, and
+saluting those of the camp. On both sides loud cries arose—on the one
+side cries of anger, on the other cries of enthusiasm.
+
+A second discharge followed the first, and three balls, by passing
+through it, made the napkin really a flag. Cries were heard from the
+camp, “Come down! come down!”
+
+Athos came down; his friends, who anxiously awaited him, saw him
+returned with joy.
+
+“Come along, Athos, come along!” cried D’Artagnan; “now we have found
+everything except money, it would be stupid to be killed.”
+
+But Athos continued to march majestically, whatever remarks his
+companions made; and they, finding their remarks useless, regulated
+their pace by his.
+
+Grimaud and his basket were far in advance, out of the range of the
+balls.
+
+At the end of an instant they heard a furious fusillade.
+
+“What’s that?” asked Porthos, “what are they firing at now? I hear no
+balls whistle, and I see nobody!”
+
+“They are firing at the corpses,” replied Athos.
+
+“But the dead cannot return their fire.”
+
+“Certainly not! They will then fancy it is an ambuscade, they will
+deliberate; and by the time they have found out the pleasantry, we
+shall be out of the range of their balls. That renders it useless to
+get a pleurisy by too much haste.”
+
+“Oh, I comprehend now,” said the astonished Porthos.
+
+“That’s lucky,” said Athos, shrugging his shoulders.
+
+On their part, the French, on seeing the four friends return at such a
+step, uttered cries of enthusiasm.
+
+At length a fresh discharge was heard, and this time the balls came
+rattling among the stones around the four friends, and whistling
+sharply in their ears. The Rochellais had at last taken possession of
+the bastion.
+
+“These Rochellais are bungling fellows,” said Athos; “how many have we
+killed of them—a dozen?”
+
+“Or fifteen.”
+
+“How many did we crush under the wall?”
+
+“Eight or ten.”
+
+“And in exchange for all that not even a scratch! Ah, but what is the
+matter with your hand, D’Artagnan? It bleeds, seemingly.”
+
+“Oh, it’s nothing,” said D’Artagnan.
+
+“A spent ball?”
+
+“Not even that.”
+
+“What is it, then?”
+
+We have said that Athos loved D’Artagnan like a child, and this somber
+and inflexible personage felt the anxiety of a parent for the young
+man.
+
+“Only grazed a little,” replied D’Artagnan; “my fingers were caught
+between two stones—that of the wall and that of my ring—and the skin
+was broken.”
+
+“That comes of wearing diamonds, my master,” said Athos, disdainfully.
+
+“Ah, to be sure,” cried Porthos, “there is a diamond. Why the devil,
+then, do we plague ourselves about money, when there is a diamond?”
+
+“Stop a bit!” said Aramis.
+
+“Well thought of, Porthos; this time you have an idea.”
+
+“Undoubtedly,” said Porthos, drawing himself up at Athos’s compliment;
+“as there is a diamond, let us sell it.”
+
+“But,” said D’Artagnan, “it is the queen’s diamond.”
+
+“The stronger reason why it should be sold,” replied Athos. “The queen
+saving Monsieur de Buckingham, her lover; nothing more just. The queen
+saving us, her friends; nothing more moral. Let us sell the diamond.
+What says Monsieur the Abbé? I don’t ask Porthos; his opinion has been
+given.”
+
+“Why, I think,” said Aramis, blushing as usual, “that his ring not
+coming from a mistress, and consequently not being a love token,
+D’Artagnan may sell it.”
+
+“My dear Aramis, you speak like theology personified. Your advice,
+then, is—”
+
+“To sell the diamond,” replied Aramis.
+
+“Well, then,” said D’Artagnan, gaily, “let us sell the diamond, and say
+no more about it.”
+
+The fusillade continued; but the four friends were out of reach, and
+the Rochellais only fired to appease their consciences.
+
+“My faith, it was time that idea came into Porthos’s head. Here we are
+at the camp; therefore, gentlemen, not a word more of this affair. We
+are observed; they are coming to meet us. We shall be carried in
+triumph.”
+
+In fact, as we have said, the whole camp was in motion. More than two
+thousand persons had assisted, as at a spectacle, in this fortunate but
+wild undertaking of the four friends—an undertaking of which they were
+far from suspecting the real motive. Nothing was heard but cries of
+“Live the Musketeers! Live the Guards!” M. de Busigny was the first to
+come and shake Athos by the hand, and acknowledge that the wager was
+lost. The dragoon and the Swiss followed him, and all their comrades
+followed the dragoon and the Swiss. There was nothing but
+felicitations, pressures of the hand, and embraces; there was no end to
+the inextinguishable laughter at the Rochellais. The tumult at length
+became so great that the cardinal fancied there must be some riot, and
+sent La Houdinière, his captain of the Guards, to inquire what was
+going on.
+
+The affair was described to the messenger with all the effervescence of
+enthusiasm.
+
+“Well?” asked the cardinal, on seeing La Houdinière return.
+
+“Well, monseigneur,” replied the latter, “three Musketeers and a
+Guardsman laid a wager with Monsieur de Busigny that they would go and
+breakfast in the bastion St. Gervais; and while breakfasting they held
+it for two hours against the enemy, and have killed I don’t know how
+many Rochellais.”
+
+“Did you inquire the names of those three Musketeers?”
+
+“Yes, monseigneur.”
+
+“What are their names?”
+
+“Messieurs Athos, Porthos, and Aramis.”
+
+“Still my three brave fellows!” murmured the cardinal. “And the
+Guardsman?”
+
+“D’Artagnan.”
+
+“Still my young scapegrace. Positively, these four men must be on my
+side.”
+
+The same evening the cardinal spoke to M. de Tréville of the exploit of
+the morning, which was the talk of the whole camp. M. de Tréville, who
+had received the account of the adventure from the mouths of the heroes
+of it, related it in all its details to his Eminence, not forgetting
+the episode of the napkin.
+
+“That’s well, Monsieur de Tréville,” said the cardinal; “pray let that
+napkin be sent to me. I will have three _fleur-de-lis_ embroidered on
+it in gold, and will give it to your company as a standard.”
+
+“Monseigneur,” said M. de Tréville, “that will be unjust to the
+Guardsmen. Monsieur d’Artagnan is not with me; he serves under Monsieur
+Dessessart.”
+
+“Well, then, take him,” said the cardinal; “when four men are so much
+attached to one another, it is only fair that they should serve in the
+same company.”
+
+That same evening M. de Tréville announced this good news to the three
+Musketeers and D’Artagnan, inviting all four to breakfast with him next
+morning.
+
+D’Artagnan was beside himself with joy. We know that the dream of his
+life had been to become a Musketeer. The three friends were likewise
+greatly delighted.
+
+“My faith,” said D’Artagnan to Athos, “you had a triumphant idea! As
+you said, we have acquired glory, and were enabled to carry on a
+conversation of the highest importance.”
+
+“Which we can resume now without anybody suspecting us, for, with the
+help of God, we shall henceforth pass for cardinalists.”
+
+That evening D’Artagnan went to present his respects to M. Dessessart,
+and inform him of his promotion.
+
+M. Dessessart, who esteemed D’Artagnan, made him offers of help, as
+this change would entail expenses for equipment.
+
+D’Artagnan refused; but thinking the opportunity a good one, he begged
+him to have the diamond he put into his hand valued, as he wished to
+turn it into money.
+
+The next day, M. Dessessart’s valet came to D’Artagnan’s lodging, and
+gave him a bag containing seven thousand livres.
+
+This was the price of the queen’s diamond.
+
+
+
+
+Chapter XLVIII.
+A FAMILY AFFAIR
+
+
+Athos had invented the phrase, family affair. A family affair was not
+subject to the investigation of the cardinal; a family affair concerned
+nobody. People might employ themselves in a family affair before all
+the world. Therefore Athos had invented the phrase, _family affair_.
+
+Aramis had discovered the idea, _the lackeys_.
+
+Porthos had discovered the means, _the diamond_.
+
+D’Artagnan alone had discovered nothing—he, ordinarily the most
+inventive of the four; but it must be also said that the very name of
+Milady paralyzed him.
+
+Ah! no, we were mistaken; he had discovered a purchaser for his
+diamond.
+
+The breakfast at M. de Tréville’s was as gay and cheerful as possible.
+D’Artagnan already wore his uniform—for being nearly of the same size
+as Aramis, and as Aramis was so liberally paid by the publisher who
+purchased his poem as to allow him to buy everything double, he sold
+his friend a complete outfit.
+
+D’Artagnan would have been at the height of his wishes if he had not
+constantly seen Milady like a dark cloud hovering in the horizon.
+
+After breakfast, it was agreed that they should meet again in the
+evening at Athos’s lodging, and there finish their plans.
+
+D’Artagnan passed the day in exhibiting his Musketeer’s uniform in
+every street of the camp.
+
+In the evening, at the appointed hour, the four friends met. There only
+remained three things to decide—what they should write to Milady’s
+brother; what they should write to the clever person at Tours; and
+which should be the lackeys to carry the letters.
+
+Everyone offered his own. Athos talked of the discretion of Grimaud,
+who never spoke a word but when his master unlocked his mouth. Porthos
+boasted of the strength of Mousqueton, who was big enough to thrash
+four men of ordinary size. Aramis, confiding in the address of Bazin,
+made a pompous eulogium on his candidate. Finally, D’Artagnan had
+entire faith in the bravery of Planchet, and reminded them of the
+manner in which he had conducted himself in the ticklish affair of
+Boulogne.
+
+These four virtues disputed the prize for a length of time, and gave
+birth to magnificent speeches which we do not repeat here for fear they
+should be deemed too long.
+
+“Unfortunately,” said Athos, “he whom we send must possess in himself
+alone the four qualities united.”
+
+“But where is such a lackey to be found?”
+
+“Not to be found!” cried Athos. “I know it well, so take Grimaud.”
+
+“Take Mousqueton.”
+
+“Take Bazin.”
+
+“Take Planchet. Planchet is brave and shrewd; they are two qualities
+out of the four.”
+
+“Gentlemen,” said Aramis, “the principal question is not to know which
+of our four lackeys is the most discreet, the most strong, the most
+clever, or the most brave; the principal thing is to know which loves
+money the best.”
+
+“What Aramis says is very sensible,” replied Athos; “we must speculate
+upon the faults of people, and not upon their virtues. Monsieur Abbé,
+you are a great moralist.”
+
+“Doubtless,” said Aramis, “for we not only require to be well served in
+order to succeed, but moreover, not to fail; for in case of failure,
+heads are in question, not for our lackeys—”
+
+“Speak lower, Aramis,” said Athos.
+
+“That’s wise—not for the lackeys,” resumed Aramis, “but for the
+master—for the _masters_, we may say. Are our lackeys sufficiently
+devoted to us to risk their lives for us? No.”
+
+“My faith,” said D’Artagnan. “I would almost answer for Planchet.”
+
+“Well, my dear friend, add to his natural devotedness a good sum of
+money, and then, instead of answering for him once, answer for him
+twice.”
+
+“Why, good God! you will be deceived just the same,” said Athos, who
+was an optimist when things were concerned, and a pessimist when men
+were in question. “They will promise everything for the sake of the
+money, and on the road fear will prevent them from acting. Once taken,
+they will be pressed; when pressed, they will confess everything. What
+the devil! we are not children. To reach England”—Athos lowered his
+voice—“all France, covered with spies and creatures of the cardinal,
+must be crossed. A passport for embarkation must be obtained; and the
+party must be acquainted with English in order to ask the way to
+London. Really, I think the thing very difficult.”
+
+“Not at all,” cried D’Artagnan, who was anxious the matter should be
+accomplished; “on the contrary, I think it very easy. It would be, no
+doubt, _parbleu_, if we write to Lord de Winter about affairs of vast
+importance, of the horrors of the cardinal—”
+
+“Speak lower!” said Athos.
+
+“—of intrigues and secrets of state,” continued D’Artagnan, complying
+with the recommendation. “There can be no doubt we would all be broken
+on the wheel; but for God’s sake, do not forget, as you yourself said,
+Athos, that we only write to him concerning a family affair; that we
+only write to him to entreat that as soon as Milady arrives in London
+he will put it out of her power to injure us. I will write to him,
+then, nearly in these terms.”
+
+“Let us see,” said Athos, assuming in advance a critical look.
+
+“_Monsieur and dear friend_—”
+
+“Ah, yes! _Dear friend_ to an Englishman,” interrupted Athos; “well
+commenced! Bravo, D’Artagnan! Only with that word you would be
+quartered instead of being broken on the wheel.”
+
+“Well, perhaps. I will say, then, _Monsieur_, quite short.”
+
+“You may even say, _My Lord_,” replied Athos, who stickled for
+propriety.
+
+“_My Lord, do you remember the little goat pasture of the Luxembourg?_”
+
+“Good, _the Luxembourg!_ One might believe this is an allusion to the
+queen-mother! That’s ingenious,” said Athos.
+
+“Well, then, we will put simply, _My Lord, do you remember a certain
+little enclosure where your life was spared?_”
+
+“My dear D’Artagnan, you will never make anything but a very bad
+secretary. _Where your life was spared!_ For shame! that’s unworthy. A
+man of spirit is not to be reminded of such services. A benefit
+reproached is an offense committed.”
+
+“The devil!” said D’Artagnan, “you are insupportable. If the letter
+must be written under your censure, my faith, I renounce the task.”
+
+“And you will do right. Handle the musket and the sword, my dear
+fellow. You will come off splendidly at those two exercises; but pass
+the pen over to Monsieur Abbé. That’s his province.”
+
+“Ay, ay!” said Porthos; “pass the pen to Aramis, who writes theses in
+Latin.”
+
+“Well, so be it,” said D’Artagnan. “Draw up this note for us, Aramis;
+but by our Holy Father the Pope, cut it short, for I shall prune you in
+my turn, I warn you.”
+
+“I ask no better,” said Aramis, with that ingenious air of confidence
+which every poet has in himself; “but let me be properly acquainted
+with the subject. I have heard here and there that this sister-in-law
+was a hussy. I have obtained proof of it by listening to her
+conversation with the cardinal.”
+
+“Lower! _sacré bleu!_” said Athos.
+
+“But,” continued Aramis, “the details escape me.”
+
+“And me also,” said Porthos.
+
+D’Artagnan and Athos looked at each other for some time in silence. At
+length Athos, after serious reflection and becoming more pale than
+usual, made a sign of assent to D’Artagnan, who by it understood he was
+at liberty to speak.
+
+“Well, this is what you have to say,” said D’Artagnan: “_My Lord, your
+sister-in-law is an infamous woman, who wished to have you killed that
+she might inherit your wealth; but she could not marry your brother,
+being already married in France, and having been_—” D’Artagnan stopped,
+as if seeking for the word, and looked at Athos.
+
+“Repudiated by her husband,” said Athos.
+
+“Because she had been branded,” continued D’Artagnan.
+
+“Bah!” cried Porthos. “Impossible! What do you say—that she wanted to
+have her brother-in-law killed?”
+
+“Yes.”
+
+“She was married?” asked Aramis.
+
+“Yes.”
+
+“And her husband found out that she had a _fleur-de-lis_ on her
+shoulder?” cried Porthos.
+
+“Yes.”
+
+These three _yeses_ had been pronounced by Athos, each with a sadder
+intonation.
+
+“And who has seen this _fleur-de-lis?_” inquired Aramis.
+
+“D’Artagnan and I. Or rather, to observe the chronological order, I and
+D’Artagnan,” replied Athos.
+
+“And does the husband of this frightful creature still live?” said
+Aramis.
+
+“He still lives.”
+
+“Are you quite sure of it?”
+
+“I am he.”
+
+There was a moment of cold silence, during which everyone was affected
+according to his nature.
+
+“This time,” said Athos, first breaking the silence, “D’Artagnan has
+given us an excellent program, and the letter must be written at once.”
+
+“The devil! You are right, Athos,” said Aramis; “and it is a rather
+difficult matter. The chancellor himself would be puzzled how to write
+such a letter, and yet the chancellor draws up an official report very
+readily. Never mind! Be silent, I will write.”
+
+Aramis accordingly took the quill, reflected for a few moments, wrote
+eight or ten lines in a charming little female hand, and then with a
+voice soft and slow, as if each word had been scrupulously weighed, he
+read the following:
+
+“My Lord, The person who writes these few lines had the honor of
+crossing swords with you in the little enclosure of the Rue d’Enfer. As
+you have several times since declared yourself the friend of that
+person, he thinks it his duty to respond to that friendship by sending
+you important information. Twice you have nearly been the victim of a
+near relative, whom you believe to be your heir because you are
+ignorant that before she contracted a marriage in England she was
+already married in France. But the third time, which is the present,
+you may succumb. Your relative left La Rochelle for England during the
+night. Watch her arrival, for she has great and terrible projects. If
+you require to know positively what she is capable of, read her past
+history on her left shoulder.”
+
+
+“Well, now that will do wonderfully well,” said Athos. “My dear Aramis,
+you have the pen of a secretary of state. Lord de Winter will now be
+upon his guard if the letter should reach him; and even if it should
+fall into the hands of the cardinal, we shall not be compromised. But
+as the lackey who goes may make us believe he has been to London and
+may stop at Châtellerault, let us give him only half the sum promised
+him, with the letter, with an agreement that he shall have the other
+half in exchange for the reply. Have you the diamond?” continued Athos.
+
+“I have what is still better. I have the price;” and D’Artagnan threw
+the bag upon the table. At the sound of the gold Aramis raised his eyes
+and Porthos started. As to Athos, he remained unmoved.
+
+“How much in that little bag?”
+
+“Seven thousand livres, in louis of twelve francs.”
+
+“Seven thousand livres!” cried Porthos. “That poor little diamond was
+worth seven thousand livres?”
+
+“It appears so,” said Athos, “since here they are. I don’t suppose that
+our friend D’Artagnan has added any of his own to the amount.”
+
+“But, gentlemen, in all this,” said D’Artagnan, “we do not think of the
+queen. Let us take some heed of the welfare of her dear Buckingham.
+That is the least we owe her.”
+
+“That’s true,” said Athos; “but that concerns Aramis.”
+
+“Well,” replied the latter, blushing, “what must I say?”
+
+“Oh, that’s simple enough!” replied Athos. “Write a second letter for
+that clever personage who lives at Tours.”
+
+Aramis resumed his pen, reflected a little, and wrote the following
+lines, which he immediately submitted to the approbation of his
+friends.
+
+“_My dear cousin_.”
+
+“Ah, ah!” said Athos. “This clever person is your relative, then?”
+
+“Cousin-german.”
+
+“Go on, to your cousin, then!”
+
+Aramis continued:
+
+“MY DEAR COUSIN, His Eminence, the cardinal, whom God preserve for the
+happiness of France and the confusion of the enemies of the kingdom, is
+on the point of putting an end to the hectic rebellion of La Rochelle.
+It is probable that the succor of the English fleet will never even
+arrive in sight of the place. I will even venture to say that I am
+certain M. de Buckingham will be prevented from setting out by some
+great event. His Eminence is the most illustrious politician of times
+past, of times present, and probably of times to come. He would
+extinguish the sun if the sun incommoded him. Give these happy tidings
+to your sister, my dear cousin. I have dreamed that the unlucky
+Englishman was dead. I cannot recollect whether it was by steel or by
+poison; only of this I am sure, I have dreamed he was dead, and you
+know my dreams never deceive me. Be assured, then, of seeing me soon
+return.”
+
+
+“Capital!” cried Athos; “you are the king of poets, my dear Aramis. You
+speak like the Apocalypse, and you are as true as the Gospel. There is
+nothing now to do but to put the address to this letter.”
+
+“That is easily done,” said Aramis.
+
+He folded the letter fancifully, and took up his pen and wrote:
+
+“_To Mlle. Michon, seamstress, Tours_.”
+
+
+The three friends looked at one another and laughed; they were caught.
+
+“Now,” said Aramis, “you will please to understand, gentlemen, that
+Bazin alone can carry this letter to Tours. My cousin knows nobody but
+Bazin, and places confidence in nobody but him; any other person would
+fail. Besides, Bazin is ambitious and learned; Bazin has read history,
+gentlemen, he knows that Sixtus the Fifth became Pope after having kept
+pigs. Well, as he means to enter the Church at the same time as myself,
+he does not despair of becoming Pope in his turn, or at least a
+cardinal. You can understand that a man who has such views will never
+allow himself to be taken, or if taken, will undergo martyrdom rather
+than speak.”
+
+“Very well,” said D’Artagnan, “I consent to Bazin with all my heart,
+but grant me Planchet. Milady had him one day turned out of doors, with
+sundry blows of a good stick to accelerate his motions. Now, Planchet
+has an excellent memory; and I will be bound that sooner than
+relinquish any possible means of vengeance, he will allow himself to be
+beaten to death. If your arrangements at Tours are your arrangements,
+Aramis, those of London are mine. I request, then, that Planchet may be
+chosen, more particularly as he has already been to London with me, and
+knows how to speak correctly: _London, sir, if you please, and my
+master, Lord D’Artagnan_. With that you may be satisfied he can make
+his way, both going and returning.”
+
+“In that case,” said Athos, “Planchet must receive seven hundred livres
+for going, and seven hundred livres for coming back; and Bazin, three
+hundred livres for going, and three hundred livres for returning—that
+will reduce the sum to five thousand livres. We will each take a
+thousand livres to be employed as seems good, and we will leave a fund
+of a thousand livres under the guardianship of Monsieur Abbé here, for
+extraordinary occasions or common wants. Will that do?”
+
+“My dear Athos,” said Aramis, “you speak like Nestor, who was, as
+everyone knows, the wisest among the Greeks.”
+
+“Well, then,” said Athos, “it is agreed. Planchet and Bazin shall go.
+Everything considered, I am not sorry to retain Grimaud; he is
+accustomed to my ways, and I am particular. Yesterday’s affair must
+have shaken him a little; his voyage would upset him quite.”
+
+Planchet was sent for, and instructions were given him. The matter had
+been named to him by D’Artagnan, who in the first place pointed out the
+money to him, then the glory, and then the danger.
+
+“I will carry the letter in the lining of my coat,” said Planchet; “and
+if I am taken I will swallow it.”
+
+“Well, but then you will not be able to fulfill your commission,” said
+D’Artagnan.
+
+“You will give me a copy this evening, which I shall know by heart
+tomorrow.”
+
+D’Artagnan looked at his friends, as if to say, “Well, what did I tell
+you?”
+
+“Now,” continued he, addressing Planchet, “you have eight days to get
+an interview with Lord de Winter; you have eight days to return—in all
+sixteen days. If, on the sixteenth day after your departure, at eight
+o’clock in the evening you are not here, no money—even if it be but
+five minutes past eight.”
+
+“Then, monsieur,” said Planchet, “you must buy me a watch.”
+
+“Take this,” said Athos, with his usual careless generosity, giving him
+his own, “and be a good lad. Remember, if you talk, if you babble, if
+you get drunk, you risk your master’s head, who has so much confidence
+in your fidelity, and who answers for you. But remember, also, that if
+by your fault any evil happens to D’Artagnan, I will find you, wherever
+you may be, for the purpose of ripping up your belly.”
+
+“Oh, monsieur!” said Planchet, humiliated by the suspicion, and
+moreover, terrified at the calm air of the Musketeer.
+
+“And I,” said Porthos, rolling his large eyes, “remember, I will skin
+you alive.”
+
+“Ah, monsieur!”
+
+“And I,” said Aramis, with his soft, melodius voice, “remember that I
+will roast you at a slow fire, like a savage.”
+
+“Ah, monsieur!”
+
+Planchet began to weep. We will not venture to say whether it was from
+terror created by the threats or from tenderness at seeing four friends
+so closely united.
+
+D’Artagnan took his hand. “See, Planchet,” said he, “these gentlemen
+only say this out of affection for me, but at bottom they all like
+you.”
+
+“Ah, monsieur,” said Planchet, “I will succeed or I will consent to be
+cut in quarters; and if they do cut me in quarters, be assured that not
+a morsel of me will speak.”
+
+It was decided that Planchet should set out the next day, at eight
+o’clock in the morning, in order, as he had said, that he might during
+the night learn the letter by heart. He gained just twelve hours by
+this engagement; he was to be back on the sixteenth day, by eight
+o’clock in the evening.
+
+In the morning, as he was mounting his horse, D’Artagnan, who felt at
+the bottom of his heart a partiality for the duke, took Planchet aside.
+
+“Listen,” said he to him. “When you have given the letter to Lord de
+Winter and he has read it, you will further say to him: _Watch over his
+Grace Lord Buckingham, for they wish to assassinate him_. But this,
+Planchet, is so serious and important that I have not informed my
+friends that I would entrust this secret to you; and for a captain’s
+commission I would not write it.”
+
+“Be satisfied, monsieur,” said Planchet, “you shall see if confidence
+can be placed in me.”
+
+Mounted on an excellent horse, which he was to leave at the end of
+twenty leagues in order to take the post, Planchet set off at a gallop,
+his spirits a little depressed by the triple promise made him by the
+Musketeers, but otherwise as light-hearted as possible.
+
+Bazin set out the next day for Tours, and was allowed eight days for
+performing his commission.
+
+The four friends, during the period of these two absences, had, as may
+well be supposed, the eye on the watch, the nose to the wind, and the
+ear on the hark. Their days were passed in endeavoring to catch all
+that was said, in observing the proceeding of the cardinal, and in
+looking out for all the couriers who arrived. More than once an
+involuntary trembling seized them when called upon for some unexpected
+service. They had, besides, to look constantly to their own proper
+safety; Milady was a phantom which, when it had once appeared to
+people, did not allow them to sleep very quietly.
+
+On the morning of the eighth day, Bazin, fresh as ever, and smiling,
+according to custom, entered the cabaret of the Parpaillot as the four
+friends were sitting down to breakfast, saying, as had been agreed
+upon: “Monsieur Aramis, the answer from your cousin.”
+
+The four friends exchanged a joyful glance; half of the work was done.
+It is true, however, that it was the shorter and easier part.
+
+Aramis, blushing in spite of himself, took the letter, which was in a
+large, coarse hand and not particular for its orthography.
+
+“Good God!” cried he, laughing, “I quite despair of my poor Michon; she
+will never write like Monsieur de Voiture.”
+
+“What does you mean by boor Michon?” said the Swiss, who was chatting
+with the four friends when the letter came.
+
+“Oh, _pardieu_, less than nothing,” said Aramis; “a charming little
+seamstress, whom I love dearly and from whose hand I requested a few
+lines as a sort of keepsake.”
+
+“The duvil!” said the Swiss, “if she is as great a lady as her writing
+is large, you are a lucky fellow, gomrade!”
+
+Aramis read the letter, and passed it to Athos.
+
+“See what she writes to me, Athos,” said he.
+
+Athos cast a glance over the epistle, and to disperse all the
+suspicions that might have been created, read aloud:
+
+“MY COUSIN, My sister and I are skillful in interpreting dreams, and
+even entertain great fear of them; but of yours it may be said, I hope,
+every dream is an illusion. Adieu! Take care of yourself, and act so
+that we may from time to time hear you spoken of.
+
+
+“MARIE MICHON”
+
+
+“And what dream does she mean?” asked the dragoon, who had approached
+during the reading.
+
+“Yez; what’s the dream?” said the Swiss.
+
+“Well, _pardieu!_” said Aramis, “it was only this: I had a dream, and I
+related it to her.”
+
+“Yez, yez,” said the Swiss; “it’s simple enough to dell a dream, but I
+neffer dream.”
+
+“You are very fortunate,” said Athos, rising; “I wish I could say as
+much!”
+
+“Neffer,” replied the Swiss, enchanted that a man like Athos could envy
+him anything. “Neffer, neffer!”
+
+D’Artagnan, seeing Athos rise, did likewise, took his arm, and went
+out.
+
+Porthos and Aramis remained behind to encounter the jokes of the
+dragoon and the Swiss.
+
+As to Bazin, he went and lay down on a truss of straw; and as he had
+more imagination than the Swiss, he dreamed that Aramis, having become
+pope, adorned his head with a cardinal’s hat.
+
+But, as we have said, Bazin had not, by his fortunate return, removed
+more than a part of the uneasiness which weighed upon the four friends.
+The days of expectation are long, and D’Artagnan, in particular, would
+have wagered that the days were forty-four hours. He forgot the
+necessary slowness of navigation; he exaggerated to himself the power
+of Milady. He credited this woman, who appeared to him the equal of a
+demon, with agents as supernatural as herself; at the least noise, he
+imagined himself about to be arrested, and that Planchet was being
+brought back to be confronted with himself and his friends. Still
+further, his confidence in the worthy Picard, at one time so great,
+diminished day by day. This anxiety became so great that it even
+extended to Aramis and Porthos. Athos alone remained unmoved, as if no
+danger hovered over him, and as if he breathed his customary
+atmosphere.
+
+On the sixteenth day, in particular, these signs were so strong in
+D’Artagnan and his two friends that they could not remain quiet in one
+place, and wandered about like ghosts on the road by which Planchet was
+expected.
+
+“Really,” said Athos to them, “you are not men but children, to let a
+woman terrify you so! And what does it amount to, after all? To be
+imprisoned. Well, but we should be taken out of prison; Madame
+Bonacieux was released. To be decapitated? Why, every day in the
+trenches we go cheerfully to expose ourselves to worse than that—for a
+bullet may break a leg, and I am convinced a surgeon would give us more
+pain in cutting off a thigh than an executioner in cutting off a head.
+Wait quietly, then; in two hours, in four, in six hours at latest,
+Planchet will be here. He promised to be here, and I have very great
+faith in Planchet, who appears to me to be a very good lad.”
+
+“But if he does not come?” said D’Artagnan.
+
+“Well, if he does not come, it will be because he has been delayed,
+that’s all. He may have fallen from his horse, he may have cut a caper
+from the deck; he may have traveled so fast against the wind as to have
+brought on a violent catarrh. Eh, gentlemen, let us reckon upon
+accidents! Life is a chaplet of little miseries which the philosopher
+counts with a smile. Be philosophers, as I am, gentlemen; sit down at
+the table and let us drink. Nothing makes the future look so bright as
+surveying it through a glass of chambertin.”
+
+“That’s all very well,” replied D’Artagnan; “but I am tired of fearing
+when I open a fresh bottle that the wine may come from the cellar of
+Milady.”
+
+“You are very fastidious,” said Athos; “such a beautiful woman!”
+
+“A woman of mark!” said Porthos, with his loud laugh.
+
+Athos started, passed his hand over his brow to remove the drops of
+perspiration that burst forth, and rose in his turn with a nervous
+movement he could not repress.
+
+The day, however, passed away; and the evening came on slowly, but
+finally it came. The bars were filled with drinkers. Athos, who had
+pocketed his share of the diamond, seldom quit the Parpaillot. He had
+found in M. de Busigny, who, by the by, had given them a magnificent
+dinner, a partner worthy of his company. They were playing together, as
+usual, when seven o’clock sounded; the patrol was heard passing to
+double the posts. At half past seven the retreat was sounded.
+
+“We are lost,” said D’Artagnan, in the ear of Athos.
+
+“You mean to say we _have lost_,” said Athos, quietly, drawing four
+pistoles from his pocket and throwing them upon the table. “Come,
+gentlemen,” said he, “they are beating the tattoo. Let us to bed!”
+
+And Athos went out of the Parpaillot, followed by D’Artagnan. Aramis
+came behind, giving his arm to Porthos. Aramis mumbled verses to
+himself, and Porthos from time to time pulled a hair or two from his
+mustache, in sign of despair.
+
+But all at once a shadow appeared in the darkness the outline of which
+was familiar to D’Artagnan, and a well-known voice said, “Monsieur, I
+have brought your cloak; it is chilly this evening.”
+
+“Planchet!” cried D’Artagnan, beside himself with joy.
+
+“Planchet!” repeated Aramis and Porthos.
+
+“Well, yes, Planchet, to be sure,” said Athos, “what is there so
+astonishing in that? He promised to be back by eight o’clock, and eight
+is striking. Bravo, Planchet, you are a lad of your word, and if ever
+you leave your master, I will promise you a place in my service.”
+
+“Oh, no, never,” said Planchet, “I will never leave Monsieur
+d’Artagnan.”
+
+At the same time D’Artagnan felt that Planchet slipped a note into his
+hand.
+
+D’Artagnan felt a strong inclination to embrace Planchet as he had
+embraced him on his departure; but he feared lest this mark of
+affection, bestowed upon his lackey in the open street, might appear
+extraordinary to passers-by, and he restrained himself.
+
+“I have the note,” said he to Athos and to his friends.
+
+“That’s well,” said Athos, “let us go home and read it.”
+
+The note burned the hand of D’Artagnan. He wished to hasten their
+steps; but Athos took his arm and passed it under his own, and the
+young man was forced to regulate his pace by that of his friend.
+
+At length they reached the tent, lit a lamp, and while Planchet stood
+at the entrance that the four friends might not be surprised,
+D’Artagnan, with a trembling hand, broke the seal and opened the so
+anxiously expected letter.
+
+It contained half a line, in a hand perfectly British, and with a
+conciseness as perfectly Spartan:
+
+_Thank you; be easy_.
+
+
+D’Artagnan translated this for the others.
+
+Athos took the letter from the hands of D’Artagnan, approached the
+lamp, set fire to the paper, and did not let go till it was reduced to
+a cinder.
+
+Then, calling Planchet, he said, “Now, my lad, you may claim your seven
+hundred livres, but you did not run much risk with such a note as
+that.”
+
+“I am not to blame for having tried every means to compress it,” said
+Planchet.
+
+“Well!” cried D’Artagnan, “tell us all about it.”
+
+“_Dame_, that’s a long job, monsieur.”
+
+“You are right, Planchet,” said Athos; “besides, the tattoo has been
+sounded, and we should be observed if we kept a light burning much
+longer than the others.”
+
+“So be it,” said D’Artagnan. “Go to bed, Planchet, and sleep soundly.”
+
+“My faith, monsieur! that will be the first time I have done so for
+sixteen days.”
+
+“And me, too!” said D’Artagnan.
+
+“And me, too!” said Porthos.
+
+“And me, too!” said Aramis.
+
+“Well, if you will have the truth, and me, too!” said Athos.
+
+
+
+
+Chapter XLIX.
+FATALITY
+
+
+Meantime Milady, drunk with passion, roaring on the deck like a lioness
+that has been embarked, had been tempted to throw herself into the sea
+that she might regain the coast, for she could not get rid of the
+thought that she had been insulted by D’Artagnan, threatened by Athos,
+and that she had quit France without being revenged on them. This idea
+soon became so insupportable to her that at the risk of whatever
+terrible consequences might result to herself from it, she implored the
+captain to put her on shore; but the captain, eager to escape from his
+false position—placed between French and English cruisers, like the bat
+between the mice and the birds—was in great haste to regain England,
+and positively refused to obey what he took for a woman’s caprice,
+promising his passenger, who had been particularly recommended to him
+by the cardinal, to land her, if the sea and the French permitted him,
+at one of the ports of Brittany, either at Lorient or Brest. But the
+wind was contrary, the sea bad; they tacked and kept offshore. Nine
+days after leaving the Charente, pale with fatigue and vexation, Milady
+saw only the blue coasts of Finisterre appear.
+
+She calculated that to cross this corner of France and return to the
+cardinal it would take her at least three days. Add another day for
+landing, and that would make four. Add these four to the nine others,
+that would be thirteen days lost—thirteen days, during which so many
+important events might pass in London. She reflected likewise that the
+cardinal would be furious at her return, and consequently would be more
+disposed to listen to the complaints brought against her than to the
+accusations she brought against others.
+
+She allowed the vessel to pass Lorient and Brest without repeating her
+request to the captain, who, on his part, took care not to remind her
+of it. Milady therefore continued her voyage, and on the very day that
+Planchet embarked at Portsmouth for France, the messenger of his
+Eminence entered the port in triumph.
+
+All the city was agitated by an extraordinary movement. Four large
+vessels, recently built, had just been launched. At the end of the
+jetty, his clothes richly laced with gold, glittering, as was customary
+with him, with diamonds and precious stones, his hat ornamented with a
+white feather which drooped upon his shoulder, Buckingham was seen
+surrounded by a staff almost as brilliant as himself.
+
+It was one of those rare and beautiful days in winter when England
+remembers that there is a sun. The star of day, pale but nevertheless
+still splendid, was setting in the horizon, glorifying at once the
+heavens and the sea with bands of fire, and casting upon the towers and
+the old houses of the city a last ray of gold which made the windows
+sparkle like the reflection of a conflagration. Breathing that sea
+breeze, so much more invigorating and balsamic as the land is
+approached, contemplating all the power of those preparations she was
+commissioned to destroy, all the power of that army which she was to
+combat alone—she, a woman with a few bags of gold—Milady compared
+herself mentally to Judith, the terrible Jewess, when she penetrated
+the camp of the Assyrians and beheld the enormous mass of chariots,
+horses, men, and arms, which a gesture of her hand was to dissipate
+like a cloud of smoke.
+
+They entered the roadstead; but as they drew near in order to cast
+anchor, a little cutter, looking like a coastguard formidably armed,
+approached the merchant vessel and dropped into the sea a boat which
+directed its course to the ladder. This boat contained an officer, a
+mate, and eight rowers. The officer alone went on board, where he was
+received with all the deference inspired by the uniform.
+
+The officer conversed a few instants with the captain, gave him several
+papers, of which he was the bearer, to read, and upon the order of the
+merchant captain the whole crew of the vessel, both passengers and
+sailors, were called upon deck.
+
+When this species of summons was made the officer inquired aloud the
+point of the brig’s departure, its route, its landings; and to all
+these questions the captain replied without difficulty and without
+hesitation. Then the officer began to pass in review all the people,
+one after the other, and stopping when he came to Milady, surveyed her
+very closely, but without addressing a single word to her.
+
+He then returned to the captain, said a few words to him, and as if
+from that moment the vessel was under his command, he ordered a
+maneuver which the crew executed immediately. Then the vessel resumed
+its course, still escorted by the little cutter, which sailed side by
+side with it, menacing it with the mouths of its six cannon. The boat
+followed in the wake of the ship, a speck near the enormous mass.
+
+During the examination of Milady by the officer, as may well be
+imagined, Milady on her part was not less scrutinizing in her glances.
+But however great was the power of this woman with eyes of flame in
+reading the hearts of those whose secrets she wished to divine, she met
+this time with a countenance of such impassivity that no discovery
+followed her investigation. The officer who had stopped in front of her
+and studied her with so much care might have been twenty-five or
+twenty-six years of age. He was of pale complexion, with clear blue
+eyes, rather deeply set; his mouth, fine and well cut, remained
+motionless in its correct lines; his chin, strongly marked, denoted
+that strength of will which in the ordinary Britannic type denotes
+mostly nothing but obstinacy; a brow a little receding, as is proper
+for poets, enthusiasts, and soldiers, was scarcely shaded by short thin
+hair which, like the beard which covered the lower part of his face,
+was of a beautiful deep chestnut color.
+
+When they entered the port, it was already night. The fog increased the
+darkness, and formed round the sternlights and lanterns of the jetty a
+circle like that which surrounds the moon when the weather threatens to
+become rainy. The air they breathed was heavy, damp, and cold.
+
+Milady, that woman so courageous and firm, shivered in spite of
+herself.
+
+The officer desired to have Milady’s packages pointed out to him, and
+ordered them to be placed in the boat. When this operation was
+complete, he invited her to descend by offering her his hand.
+
+Milady looked at this man, and hesitated. “Who are you, sir,” asked
+she, “who has the kindness to trouble yourself so particularly on my
+account?”
+
+“You may perceive, madame, by my uniform, that I am an officer in the
+English navy,” replied the young man.
+
+“But is it the custom for the officers in the English navy to place
+themselves at the service of their female compatriots when they land in
+a port of Great Britain, and carry their gallantry so far as to conduct
+them ashore?”
+
+“Yes, madame, it is the custom, not from gallantry but prudence, that
+in time of war foreigners should be conducted to particular hôtels, in
+order that they may remain under the eye of the government until full
+information can be obtained about them.”
+
+These words were pronounced with the most exact politeness and the most
+perfect calmness. Nevertheless, they had not the power of convincing
+Milady.
+
+“But I am not a foreigner, sir,” said she, with an accent as pure as
+ever was heard between Portsmouth and Manchester; “my name is Lady
+Clarik, and this measure—”
+
+“This measure is general, madame; and you will seek in vain to evade
+it.”
+
+“I will follow you, then, sir.”
+
+Accepting the hand of the officer, she began the descent of the ladder,
+at the foot of which the boat waited. The officer followed her. A large
+cloak was spread at the stern; the officer requested her to sit down
+upon this cloak, and placed himself beside her.
+
+“Row!” said he to the sailors.
+
+The eight oars fell at once into the sea, making but a single sound,
+giving but a single stroke, and the boat seemed to fly over the surface
+of the water.
+
+In five minutes they gained the land.
+
+The officer leaped to the pier, and offered his hand to Milady. A
+carriage was in waiting.
+
+“Is this carriage for us?” asked Milady.
+
+“Yes, madame,” replied the officer.
+
+“The hôtel, then, is far away?”
+
+“At the other end of the town.”
+
+“Very well,” said Milady; and she resolutely entered the carriage.
+
+The officer saw that the baggage was fastened carefully behind the
+carriage; and this operation ended, he took his place beside Milady,
+and shut the door.
+
+Immediately, without any order being given or his place of destination
+indicated, the coachman set off at a rapid pace, and plunged into the
+streets of the city.
+
+So strange a reception naturally gave Milady ample matter for
+reflection; so seeing that the young officer did not seem at all
+disposed for conversation, she reclined in her corner of the carriage,
+and one after the other passed in review all the surmises which
+presented themselves to her mind.
+
+At the end of a quarter of an hour, however, surprised at the length of
+the journey, she leaned forward toward the door to see whither she was
+being conducted. Houses were no longer to be seen; trees appeared in
+the darkness like great black phantoms chasing one another. Milady
+shuddered.
+
+“But we are no longer in the city, sir,” said she.
+
+The young officer preserved silence.
+
+“I beg you to understand, sir, I will go no farther unless you tell me
+whither you are taking me.”
+
+This threat brought no reply.
+
+“Oh, this is too much,” cried Milady. “Help! help!”
+
+No voice replied to hers; the carriage continued to roll on with
+rapidity; the officer seemed a statue.
+
+Milady looked at the officer with one of those terrible expressions
+peculiar to her countenance, and which so rarely failed of their
+effect; anger made her eyes flash in the darkness.
+
+The young man remained immovable.
+
+Milady tried to open the door in order to throw herself out.
+
+“Take care, madame,” said the young man, coolly, “you will kill
+yourself in jumping.”
+
+Milady reseated herself, foaming. The officer leaned forward, looked at
+her in his turn, and appeared surprised to see that face, just before
+so beautiful, distorted with passion and almost hideous. The artful
+creature at once comprehended that she was injuring herself by allowing
+him thus to read her soul; she collected her features, and in a
+complaining voice said: “In the name of heaven, sir, tell me if it is
+to you, if it is to your government, if it is to an enemy I am to
+attribute the violence that is done me?”
+
+“No violence will be offered to you, madame, and what happens to you is
+the result of a very simple measure which we are obliged to adopt with
+all who land in England.”
+
+“Then you don’t know me, sir?”
+
+“It is the first time I have had the honor of seeing you.”
+
+“And on your honor, you have no cause of hatred against me?”
+
+“None, I swear to you.”
+
+There was so much serenity, coolness, mildness even, in the voice of
+the young man, that Milady felt reassured.
+
+At length after a journey of nearly an hour, the carriage stopped
+before an iron gate, which closed an avenue leading to a castle severe
+in form, massive, and isolated. Then, as the wheels rolled over a fine
+gravel, Milady could hear a vast roaring, which she at once recognized
+as the noise of the sea dashing against some steep cliff.
+
+The carriage passed under two arched gateways, and at length stopped in
+a court large, dark, and square. Almost immediately the door of the
+carriage was opened, the young man sprang lightly out and presented his
+hand to Milady, who leaned upon it, and in her turn alighted with
+tolerable calmness.
+
+“Still, then, I am a prisoner,” said Milady, looking around her, and
+bringing back her eyes with a most gracious smile to the young officer;
+“but I feel assured it will not be for long,” added she. “My own
+conscience and your politeness, sir, are the guarantees of that.”
+
+However flattering this compliment, the officer made no reply; but
+drawing from his belt a little silver whistle, such as boatswains use
+in ships of war, he whistled three times, with three different
+modulations. Immediately several men appeared, who unharnessed the
+smoking horses, and put the carriage into a coach house.
+
+Then the officer, with the same calm politeness, invited his prisoner
+to enter the house. She, with a still-smiling countenance, took his
+arm, and passed with him under a low arched door, which by a vaulted
+passage, lighted only at the farther end, led to a stone staircase
+around an angle of stone. They then came to a massive door, which after
+the introduction into the lock of a key which the young man carried
+with him, turned heavily upon its hinges, and disclosed the chamber
+destined for Milady.
+
+With a single glance the prisoner took in the apartment in its minutest
+details. It was a chamber whose furniture was at once appropriate for a
+prisoner or a free man; and yet bars at the windows and outside bolts
+at the door decided the question in favor of the prison.
+
+In an instant all the strength of mind of this creature, though drawn
+from the most vigorous sources, abandoned her; she sank into a large
+easy chair, with her arms crossed, her head lowered, and expecting
+every instant to see a judge enter to interrogate her.
+
+But no one entered except two or three marines, who brought her trunks
+and packages, deposited them in a corner, and retired without speaking.
+
+The officer superintended all these details with the same calmness
+Milady had constantly seen in him, never pronouncing a word himself,
+and making himself obeyed by a gesture of his hand or a sound of his
+whistle.
+
+It might have been said that between this man and his inferiors spoken
+language did not exist, or had become useless.
+
+At length Milady could hold out no longer; she broke the silence. “In
+the name of heaven, sir,” cried she, “what means all that is passing?
+Put an end to my doubts; I have courage enough for any danger I can
+foresee, for every misfortune which I understand. Where am I, and why
+am I here? If I am free, why these bars and these doors? If I am a
+prisoner, what crime have I committed?”
+
+“You are here in the apartment destined for you, madame. I received
+orders to go and take charge of you on the sea, and to conduct you to
+this castle. This order I believe I have accomplished with all the
+exactness of a soldier, but also with the courtesy of a gentleman.
+There terminates, at least to the present moment, the duty I had to
+fulfill toward you; the rest concerns another person.”
+
+“And who is that other person?” asked Milady, warmly. “Can you not tell
+me his name?”
+
+At the moment a great jingling of spurs was heard on the stairs. Some
+voices passed and faded away, and the sound of a single footstep
+approached the door.
+
+“That person is here, madame,” said the officer, leaving the entrance
+open, and drawing himself up in an attitude of respect.
+
+At the same time the door opened; a man appeared on the threshold. He
+was without a hat, carried a sword, and flourished a handkerchief in
+his hand.
+
+Milady thought she recognized this shadow in the gloom; she supported
+herself with one hand upon the arm of the chair, and advanced her head
+as if to meet a certainty.
+
+The stranger advanced slowly, and as he advanced, after entering into
+the circle of light projected by the lamp, Milady involuntarily drew
+back.
+
+Then when she had no longer any doubt, she cried, in a state of stupor,
+“What, my brother, is it you?”
+
+“Yes, fair lady!” replied Lord de Winter, making a bow, half courteous,
+half ironical; “it is I, myself.”
+
+“But this castle, then?”
+
+“Is mine.”
+
+“This chamber?”
+
+“Is yours.”
+
+“I am, then, your prisoner?”
+
+“Nearly so.”
+
+“But this is a frightful abuse of power!”
+
+“No high-sounding words! Let us sit down and chat quietly, as brother
+and sister ought to do.”
+
+Then, turning toward the door, and seeing that the young officer was
+waiting for his last orders, he said. “All is well, I thank you; now
+leave us alone, Mr. Felton.”
+
+
+
+
+Chapter L.
+CHAT BETWEEN BROTHER AND SISTER
+
+
+During the time which Lord de Winter took to shut the door, close a
+shutter, and draw a chair near to his sister-in-law’s _fauteuil_,
+Milady, anxiously thoughtful, plunged her glance into the depths of
+possibility, and discovered all the plan, of which she could not even
+obtain a glance as long as she was ignorant into whose hands she had
+fallen. She knew her brother-in-law to be a worthy gentleman, a bold
+hunter, an intrepid player, enterprising with women, but by no means
+remarkable for his skill in intrigues. How had he discovered her
+arrival, and caused her to be seized? Why did he detain her?
+
+Athos had dropped some words which proved that the conversation she had
+with the cardinal had fallen into outside ears; but she could not
+suppose that he had dug a countermine so promptly and so boldly. She
+rather feared that her preceding operations in England might have been
+discovered. Buckingham might have guessed that it was she who had cut
+off the two studs, and avenge himself for that little treachery; but
+Buckingham was incapable of going to any excess against a woman,
+particularly if that woman was supposed to have acted from a feeling of
+jealousy.
+
+This supposition appeared to her most reasonable. It seemed to her that
+they wanted to revenge the past, and not to anticipate the future. At
+all events, she congratulated herself upon having fallen into the hands
+of her brother-in-law, with whom she reckoned she could deal very
+easily, rather than into the hands of an acknowledged and intelligent
+enemy.
+
+“Yes, let us chat, brother,” said she, with a kind of cheerfulness,
+decided as she was to draw from the conversation, in spite of all the
+dissimulation Lord de Winter could bring, the revelations of which she
+stood in need to regulate her future conduct.
+
+“You have, then, decided to come to England again,” said Lord de
+Winter, “in spite of the resolutions you so often expressed in Paris
+never to set your feet on British ground?”
+
+Milady replied to this question by another question. “To begin with,
+tell me,” said she, “how have you watched me so closely as to be aware
+beforehand not only of my arrival, but even of the day, the hour, and
+the port at which I should arrive?”
+
+Lord de Winter adopted the same tactics as Milady, thinking that as his
+sister-in-law employed them they must be the best.
+
+“But tell me, my dear sister,” replied he, “what makes you come to
+England?”
+
+“I come to see you,” replied Milady, without knowing how much she
+aggravated by this reply the suspicions to which D’Artagnan’s letter
+had given birth in the mind of her brother-in-law, and only desiring to
+gain the good will of her auditor by a falsehood.
+
+“Ah, to see me?” said de Winter, cunningly.
+
+“To be sure, to see you. What is there astonishing in that?”
+
+“And you had no other object in coming to England but to see me?”
+
+“No.”
+
+“So it was for me alone you have taken the trouble to cross the
+Channel?”
+
+“For you alone.”
+
+“The deuce! What tenderness, my sister!”
+
+“But am I not your nearest relative?” demanded Milady, with a tone of
+the most touching ingenuousness.
+
+“And my only heir, are you not?” said Lord de Winter in his turn,
+fixing his eyes on those of Milady.
+
+Whatever command she had over herself, Milady could not help starting;
+and as in pronouncing the last words Lord de Winter placed his hand
+upon the arm of his sister, this start did not escape him.
+
+In fact, the blow was direct and severe. The first idea that occurred
+to Milady’s mind was that she had been betrayed by Kitty, and that she
+had recounted to the baron the selfish aversion toward himself of which
+she had imprudently allowed some marks to escape before her servant.
+She also recollected the furious and imprudent attack she had made upon
+D’Artagnan when he spared the life of her brother.
+
+“I do not understand, my Lord,” said she, in order to gain time and
+make her adversary speak out. “What do you mean to say? Is there any
+secret meaning concealed beneath your words?”
+
+“Oh, my God, no!” said Lord de Winter, with apparent good nature. “You
+wish to see me, and you come to England. I learn this desire, or rather
+I suspect that you feel it; and in order to spare you all the
+annoyances of a nocturnal arrival in a port and all the fatigues of
+landing, I send one of my officers to meet you, I place a carriage at
+his orders, and he brings you hither to this castle, of which I am
+governor, whither I come every day, and where, in order to satisfy our
+mutual desire of seeing each other, I have prepared you a chamber. What
+is there more astonishing in all that I have said to you than in what
+you have told me?”
+
+“No; what I think astonishing is that you should expect my coming.”
+
+“And yet that is the most simple thing in the world, my dear sister.
+Have you not observed that the captain of your little vessel, on
+entering the roadstead, sent forward, in order to obtain permission to
+enter the port, a little boat bearing his logbook and the register of
+his voyagers? I am commandant of the port. They brought me that book. I
+recognized your name in it. My heart told me what your mouth has just
+confirmed—that is to say, with what view you have exposed yourself to
+the dangers of a sea so perilous, or at least so troublesome at this
+moment—and I sent my cutter to meet you. You know the rest.”
+
+Milady knew that Lord de Winter lied, and she was the more alarmed.
+
+“My brother,” continued she, “was not that my Lord Buckingham whom I
+saw on the jetty this evening as we arrived?”
+
+“Himself. Ah, I can understand how the sight of him struck you,”
+replied Lord de Winter. “You came from a country where he must be very
+much talked of, and I know that his armaments against France greatly
+engage the attention of your friend the cardinal.”
+
+“My friend the cardinal!” cried Milady, seeing that on this point as on
+the other Lord de Winter seemed well instructed.
+
+“Is he not your friend?” replied the baron, negligently. “Ah, pardon! I
+thought so; but we will return to my Lord Duke presently. Let us not
+depart from the sentimental turn our conversation had taken. You came,
+you say, to see me?”
+
+“Yes.”
+
+“Well, I reply that you shall be served to the height of your wishes,
+and that we shall see each other every day.”
+
+“Am I, then, to remain here eternally?” demanded Milady, with a certain
+terror.
+
+“Do you find yourself badly lodged, sister? Demand anything you want,
+and I will hasten to have you furnished with it.”
+
+“But I have neither my women nor my servants.”
+
+“You shall have all, madame. Tell me on what footing your household was
+established by your first husband, and although I am only your
+brother-in-law, I will arrange one similar.”
+
+“My first husband!” cried Milady, looking at Lord de Winter with eyes
+almost starting from their sockets.
+
+“Yes, your French husband. I don’t speak of my brother. If you have
+forgotten, as he is still living, I can write to him and he will send
+me information on the subject.”
+
+A cold sweat burst from the brow of Milady.
+
+“You jest!” said she, in a hollow voice.
+
+“Do I look so?” asked the baron, rising and going a step backward.
+
+“Or rather you insult me,” continued she, pressing with her stiffened
+hands the two arms of her easy chair, and raising herself upon her
+wrists.
+
+“I insult you!” said Lord de Winter, with contempt. “In truth, madame,
+do you think that can be possible?”
+
+“Indeed, sir,” said Milady, “you must be either drunk or mad. Leave the
+room, and send me a woman.”
+
+“Women are very indiscreet, my sister. Cannot I serve you as a waiting
+maid? By that means all our secrets will remain in the family.”
+
+“Insolent!” cried Milady; and as if acted upon by a spring, she bounded
+toward the baron, who awaited her attack with his arms crossed, but
+nevertheless with one hand on the hilt of his sword.
+
+“Come!” said he. “I know you are accustomed to assassinate people; but
+I warn you I shall defend myself, even against you.”
+
+“You are right,” said Milady. “You have all the appearance of being
+cowardly enough to lift your hand against a woman.”
+
+“Perhaps so; and I have an excuse, for mine would not be the first hand
+of a man that has been placed upon you, I imagine.”
+
+And the baron pointed, with a slow and accusing gesture, to the left
+shoulder of Milady, which he almost touched with his finger.
+
+Milady uttered a deep, inward shriek, and retreated to a corner of the
+room like a panther which crouches for a spring.
+
+“Oh, growl as much as you please,” cried Lord de Winter, “but don’t try
+to bite, for I warn you that it would be to your disadvantage. There
+are here no procurators who regulate successions beforehand. There is
+no knight-errant to come and seek a quarrel with me on account of the
+fair lady I detain a prisoner; but I have judges quite ready who will
+quickly dispose of a woman so shameless as to glide, a bigamist, into
+the bed of Lord de Winter, my brother. And these judges, I warn you,
+will soon send you to an executioner who will make both your shoulders
+alike.”
+
+The eyes of Milady darted such flashes that although he was a man and
+armed before an unarmed woman, he felt the chill of fear glide through
+his whole frame. However, he continued all the same, but with
+increasing warmth: “Yes, I can very well understand that after having
+inherited the fortune of my brother it would be very agreeable to you
+to be my heir likewise; but know beforehand, if you kill me or cause me
+to be killed, my precautions are taken. Not a penny of what I possess
+will pass into your hands. Were you not already rich enough—you who
+possess nearly a million? And could you not stop your fatal career, if
+you did not do evil for the infinite and supreme joy of doing it? Oh,
+be assured, if the memory of my brother were not sacred to me, you
+should rot in a state dungeon or satisfy the curiosity of sailors at
+Tyburn. I will be silent, but you must endure your captivity quietly.
+In fifteen or twenty days I shall set out for La Rochelle with the
+army; but on the eve of my departure a vessel which I shall see depart
+will take you hence and convey you to our colonies in the south. And be
+assured that you shall be accompanied by one who will blow your brains
+out at the first attempt you make to return to England or the
+Continent.”
+
+Milady listened with an attention that dilated her inflamed eyes.
+
+“Yes, at present,” continued Lord de Winter, “you will remain in this
+castle. The walls are thick, the doors strong, and the bars solid;
+besides, your window opens immediately over the sea. The men of my
+crew, who are devoted to me for life and death, mount guard around this
+apartment, and watch all the passages that lead to the courtyard. Even
+if you gained the yard, there would still be three iron gates for you
+to pass. The order is positive. A step, a gesture, a word, on your
+part, denoting an effort to escape, and you are to be fired upon. If
+they kill you, English justice will be under an obligation to me for
+having saved it trouble. Ah! I see your features regain their calmness,
+your countenance recovers its assurance. You are saying to yourself:
+‘Fifteen days, twenty days? Bah! I have an inventive mind; before that
+is expired some idea will occur to me. I have an infernal spirit. I
+shall meet with a victim. Before fifteen days are gone by I shall be
+away from here.’ Ah, try it!”
+
+Milady, finding her thoughts betrayed, dug her nails into her flesh to
+subdue every emotion that might give to her face any expression except
+agony.
+
+Lord de Winter continued: “The officer who commands here in my absence
+you have already seen, and therefore know him. He knows how, as you
+must have observed, to obey an order—for you did not, I am sure, come
+from Portsmouth hither without endeavoring to make him speak. What do
+you say of him? Could a statue of marble have been more impassive and
+more mute? You have already tried the power of your seductions upon
+many men, and unfortunately you have always succeeded; but I give you
+leave to try them upon this one. _Pardieu!_ if you succeed with him, I
+pronounce you the demon himself.”
+
+He went toward the door and opened it hastily.
+
+“Call Mr. Felton,” said he. “Wait a minute longer, and I will introduce
+him to you.”
+
+There followed between these two personages a strange silence, during
+which the sound of a slow and regular step was heard approaching.
+Shortly a human form appeared in the shade of the corridor, and the
+young lieutenant, with whom we are already acquainted, stopped at the
+threshold to receive the orders of the baron.
+
+“Come in, my dear John,” said Lord de Winter, “come in, and shut the
+door.”
+
+The young officer entered.
+
+“Now,” said the baron, “look at this woman. She is young; she is
+beautiful; she possesses all earthly seductions. Well, she is a
+monster, who, at twenty-five years of age, has been guilty of as many
+crimes as you could read of in a year in the archives of our tribunals.
+Her voice prejudices her hearers in her favor; her beauty serves as a
+bait to her victims; her body even pays what she promises—I must do her
+that justice. She will try to seduce you, perhaps she will try to kill
+you. I have extricated you from misery, Felton; I have caused you to be
+named lieutenant; I once saved your life, you know on what occasion. I
+am for you not only a protector, but a friend; not only a benefactor,
+but a father. This woman has come back again into England for the
+purpose of conspiring against my life. I hold this serpent in my hands.
+Well, I call you, and say to you: Friend Felton, John, my child, guard
+me, and more particularly guard yourself, against this woman. Swear, by
+your hopes of salvation, to keep her safely for the chastisement she
+has merited. John Felton, I trust your word! John Felton, I put faith
+in your loyalty!”
+
+“My Lord,” said the young officer, summoning to his mild countenance
+all the hatred he could find in his heart, “my Lord, I swear all shall
+be done as you desire.”
+
+Milady received this look like a resigned victim; it was impossible to
+imagine a more submissive or a more mild expression than that which
+prevailed on her beautiful countenance. Lord de Winter himself could
+scarcely recognize the tigress who, a minute before, prepared
+apparently for a fight.
+
+“She is not to leave this chamber, understand, John,” continued the
+baron. “She is to correspond with nobody; she is to speak to no one but
+you—if you will do her the honor to address a word to her.”
+
+“That is sufficient, my Lord! I have sworn.”
+
+“And now, madame, try to make your peace with God, for you are judged
+by men!”
+
+Milady let her head sink, as if crushed by this sentence. Lord de
+Winter went out, making a sign to Felton, who followed him, shutting
+the door after him.
+
+One instant after, the heavy step of a marine who served as sentinel
+was heard in the corridor—his ax in his girdle and his musket on his
+shoulder.
+
+Milady remained for some minutes in the same position, for she thought
+they might perhaps be examining her through the keyhole; she then
+slowly raised her head, which had resumed its formidable expression of
+menace and defiance, ran to the door to listen, looked out of her
+window, and returning to bury herself again in her large armchair, she
+reflected.
+
+
+
+
+Chapter LI.
+OFFICER
+
+
+Meanwhile, the cardinal looked anxiously for news from England; but no
+news arrived that was not annoying and threatening.
+
+Although La Rochelle was invested, however certain success might
+appear—thanks to the precautions taken, and above all to the dyke,
+which prevented the entrance of any vessel into the besieged city—the
+blockade might last a long time yet. This was a great affront to the
+king’s army, and a great inconvenience to the cardinal, who had no
+longer, it is true, to embroil Louis XIII. with Anne of Austria—for that
+affair was over—but he had to adjust matters for M. de Bassompierre,
+who was embroiled with the Duc d’Angoulême.
+
+As to Monsieur, who had begun the siege, he left to the cardinal the
+task of finishing it.
+
+The city, notwithstanding the incredible perseverance of its mayor, had
+attempted a sort of mutiny for a surrender; the mayor had hanged the
+mutineers. This execution quieted the ill-disposed, who resolved to
+allow themselves to die of hunger—this death always appearing to them
+more slow and less sure than strangulation.
+
+On their side, from time to time, the besiegers took the messengers
+which the Rochellais sent to Buckingham, or the spies which Buckingham
+sent to the Rochellais. In one case or the other, the trial was soon
+over. The cardinal pronounced the single word, “Hanged!” The king was
+invited to come and see the hanging. He came languidly, placing himself
+in a good situation to see all the details. This amused him sometimes a
+little, and made him endure the siege with patience; but it did not
+prevent his getting very tired, or from talking at every moment of
+returning to Paris—so that if the messengers and the spies had failed,
+his Eminence, notwithstanding all his inventiveness, would have found
+himself much embarrassed.
+
+Nevertheless, time passed on, and the Rochellais did not surrender. The
+last spy that was taken was the bearer of a letter. This letter told
+Buckingham that the city was at an extremity; but instead of adding,
+“If your succor does not arrive within fifteen days, we will
+surrender,” it added, quite simply, “If your succor comes not within
+fifteen days, we shall all be dead with hunger when it comes.”
+
+The Rochellais, then, had no hope but in Buckingham. Buckingham was
+their Messiah. It was evident that if they one day learned positively
+that they must not count on Buckingham, their courage would fail with
+their hope.
+
+The cardinal looked, then, with great impatience for the news from
+England which would announce to him that Buckingham would not come.
+
+The question of carrying the city by assault, though often debated in
+the council of the king, had been always rejected. In the first place,
+La Rochelle appeared impregnable. Then the cardinal, whatever he said,
+very well knew that the horror of bloodshed in this encounter, in which
+Frenchman would combat against Frenchman, was a retrograde movement of
+sixty years impressed upon his policy; and the cardinal was at that
+period what we now call a man of progress. In fact, the sack of La
+Rochelle, and the assassination of three of four thousand Huguenots who
+allowed themselves to be killed, would resemble too closely, in 1628,
+the massacre of St. Bartholomew in 1572; and then, above all this, this
+extreme measure, which was not at all repugnant to the king, good
+Catholic as he was, always fell before this argument of the besieging
+generals—La Rochelle is impregnable except to famine.
+
+The cardinal could not drive from his mind the fear he entertained of
+his terrible emissary—for he comprehended the strange qualities of this
+woman, sometimes a serpent, sometimes a lion. Had she betrayed him? Was
+she dead? He knew her well enough in all cases to know that, whether
+acting for or against him, as a friend or an enemy, she would not
+remain motionless without great impediments; but whence did these
+impediments arise? That was what he could not know.
+
+And yet he reckoned, and with reason, on Milady. He had divined in the
+past of this woman terrible things which his red mantle alone could
+cover; and he felt, from one cause or another, that this woman was his
+own, as she could look to no other but himself for a support superior
+to the danger which threatened her.
+
+He resolved, then, to carry on the war alone, and to look for no
+success foreign to himself, but as we look for a fortunate chance. He
+continued to press the raising of the famous dyke which was to starve
+La Rochelle. Meanwhile, he cast his eyes over that unfortunate city,
+which contained so much deep misery and so many heroic virtues, and
+recalling the saying of Louis XI., his political predecessor, as he
+himself was the predecessor of Robespierre, he repeated this maxim of
+Tristan’s gossip: “Divide in order to reign.”
+
+Henry IV., when besieging Paris, had loaves and provisions thrown over
+the walls. The cardinal had little notes thrown over in which he
+represented to the Rochellais how unjust, selfish, and barbarous was
+the conduct of their leaders. These leaders had corn in abundance, and
+would not let them partake of it; they adopted as a maxim—for they,
+too, had maxims—that it was of very little consequence that women,
+children, and old men should die, so long as the men who were to defend
+the walls remained strong and healthy. Up to that time, whether from
+devotedness or from want of power to act against it, this maxim,
+without being generally adopted, nevertheless passed from theory into
+practice; but the notes did it injury. The notes reminded the men that
+the children, women, and old men whom they allowed to die were their
+sons, their wives, and their fathers, and that it would be more just
+for everyone to be reduced to the common misery, in order that equal
+conditions should give birth to unanimous resolutions.
+
+These notes had all the effect that he who wrote them could expect, in
+that they induced a great number of the inhabitants to open private
+negotiations with the royal army.
+
+But at the moment when the cardinal saw his means already bearing
+fruit, and applauded himself for having put it in action, an inhabitant
+of La Rochelle who had contrived to pass the royal lines—God knows how,
+such was the watchfulness of Bassompierre, Schomberg, and the Duc
+d’Angoulême, themselves watched over by the cardinal—an inhabitant of
+La Rochelle, we say, entered the city, coming from Portsmouth, and
+saying that he had seen a magnificent fleet ready to sail within eight
+days. Still further, Buckingham announced to the mayor that at length
+the great league was about to declare itself against France, and that
+the kingdom would be at once invaded by the English, Imperial, and
+Spanish armies. This letter was read publicly in all parts of the city.
+Copies were put up at the corners of the streets; and even they who had
+begun to open negotiations interrupted them, being resolved to await
+the succor so pompously announced.
+
+This unexpected circumstance brought back Richelieu’s former anxiety,
+and forced him in spite of himself once more to turn his eyes to the
+other side of the sea.
+
+During this time, exempt from the anxiety of its only and true chief,
+the royal army led a joyous life, neither provisions nor money being
+wanting in the camp. All the corps rivaled one another in audacity and
+gaiety. To take spies and hang them, to make hazardous expeditions upon
+the dyke or the sea, to imagine wild plans, and to execute them
+coolly—such were the pastimes which made the army find these days short
+which were not only so long to the Rochellais, a prey to famine and
+anxiety, but even to the cardinal, who blockaded them so closely.
+
+Sometimes when the cardinal, always on horseback, like the lowest
+_gendarme_ of the army, cast a pensive glance over those works, so
+slowly keeping pace with his wishes, which the engineers, brought from
+all the corners of France, were executing under his orders, if he met a
+Musketeer of the company of Tréville, he drew near and looked at him in
+a peculiar manner, and not recognizing in him one of our four
+companions, he turned his penetrating look and profound thoughts in
+another direction.
+
+One day when oppressed with a mortal weariness of mind, without hope in
+the negotiations with the city, without news from England, the cardinal
+went out, without any other aim than to be out of doors, and
+accompanied only by Cahusac and La Houdinière, strolled along the
+beach. Mingling the immensity of his dreams with the immensity of the
+ocean, he came, his horse going at a foot’s pace, to a hill from the
+top of which he perceived behind a hedge, reclining on the sand and
+catching in its passage one of those rays of the sun so rare at this
+period of the year, seven men surrounded by empty bottles. Four of
+these men were our Musketeers, preparing to listen to a letter one of
+them had just received. This letter was so important that it made them
+forsake their cards and their dice on the drumhead.
+
+The other three were occupied in opening an enormous flagon of
+Collicure wine; these were the lackeys of these gentlemen.
+
+The cardinal was, as we have said, in very low spirits; and nothing
+when he was in that state of mind increased his depression so much as
+gaiety in others. Besides, he had another strange fancy, which was
+always to believe that the causes of his sadness created the gaiety of
+others. Making a sign to La Houdinière and Cahusac to stop, he alighted
+from his horse, and went toward these suspected merry companions,
+hoping, by means of the sand which deadened the sound of his steps and
+of the hedge which concealed his approach, to catch some words of this
+conversation which appeared so interesting. At ten paces from the hedge
+he recognized the talkative Gascon; and as he had already perceived
+that these men were Musketeers, he did not doubt that the three others
+were those called the Inseparables; that is to say, Athos, Porthos, and
+Aramis.
+
+It may be supposed that his desire to hear the conversation was
+augmented by this discovery. His eyes took a strange expression, and
+with the step of a tiger-cat he advanced toward the hedge; but he had
+not been able to catch more than a few vague syllables without any
+positive sense, when a sonorous and short cry made him start, and
+attracted the attention of the Musketeers.
+
+“Officer!” cried Grimaud.
+
+“You are speaking, you scoundrel!” said Athos, rising upon his elbow,
+and transfixing Grimaud with his flaming look.
+
+Grimaud therefore added nothing to his speech, but contented himself
+with pointing his index finger in the direction of the hedge,
+announcing by this gesture the cardinal and his escort.
+
+With a single bound the Musketeers were on their feet, and saluted with
+respect.
+
+The cardinal seemed furious.
+
+“It appears that Messieurs the Musketeers keep guard,” said he. “Are
+the English expected by land, or do the Musketeers consider themselves
+superior officers?”
+
+“Monseigneur,” replied Athos, for amid the general fright he alone had
+preserved the noble calmness and coolness that never forsook him,
+“Monseigneur, the Musketeers, when they are not on duty, or when their
+duty is over, drink and play at dice, and they are certainly superior
+officers to their lackeys.”
+
+“Lackeys?” grumbled the cardinal. “Lackeys who have the order to warn
+their masters when anyone passes are not lackeys, they are sentinels.”
+
+“Your Eminence may perceive that if we had not taken this precaution,
+we should have been exposed to allowing you to pass without presenting
+you our respects or offering you our thanks for the favor you have done
+us in uniting us. D’Artagnan,” continued Athos, “you, who but lately
+were so anxious for such an opportunity for expressing your gratitude
+to Monseigneur, here it is; avail yourself of it.”
+
+These words were pronounced with that imperturbable phlegm which
+distinguished Athos in the hour of danger, and with that excessive
+politeness which made of him at certain moments a king more majestic
+than kings by birth.
+
+D’Artagnan came forward and stammered out a few words of gratitude
+which soon expired under the gloomy looks of the cardinal.
+
+“It does not signify, gentlemen,” continued the cardinal, without
+appearing to be in the least swerved from his first intention by the
+diversion which Athos had started, “it does not signify, gentlemen. I
+do not like to have simple soldiers, because they have the advantage of
+serving in a privileged corps, thus to play the great lords; discipline
+is the same for them as for everybody else.”
+
+Athos allowed the cardinal to finish his sentence completely, and bowed
+in sign of assent. Then he resumed in his turn: “Discipline,
+Monseigneur, has, I hope, in no way been forgotten by us. We are not on
+duty, and we believed that not being on duty we were at liberty to
+dispose of our time as we pleased. If we are so fortunate as to have
+some particular duty to perform for your Eminence, we are ready to obey
+you. Your Eminence may perceive,” continued Athos, knitting his brow,
+for this sort of investigation began to annoy him, “that we have not
+come out without our arms.”
+
+And he showed the cardinal, with his finger, the four muskets piled
+near the drum, on which were the cards and dice.
+
+“Your Eminence may believe,” added D’Artagnan, “that we would have come
+to meet you, if we could have supposed it was Monseigneur coming toward
+us with so few attendants.”
+
+The cardinal bit his mustache, and even his lips a little.
+
+“Do you know what you look like, all together, as you are armed and
+guarded by your lackeys?” said the cardinal. “You look like four
+conspirators.”
+
+“Oh, as to that, Monseigneur, it is true,” said Athos; “we do conspire,
+as your Eminence might have seen the other morning. Only we conspire
+against the Rochellais.”
+
+“Ah, you gentlemen of policy!” replied the cardinal, knitting his brow
+in his turn, “the secret of many unknown things might perhaps be found
+in your brains, if we could read them as you read that letter which you
+concealed as soon as you saw me coming.”
+
+The color mounted to the face of Athos, and he made a step toward his
+Eminence.
+
+“One might think you really suspected us, monseigneur, and we were
+undergoing a real interrogatory. If it be so, we trust your Eminence
+will deign to explain yourself, and we should then at least be
+acquainted with our real position.”
+
+“And if it were an interrogatory!” replied the cardinal. “Others
+besides you have undergone such, Monsieur Athos, and have replied
+thereto.”
+
+“Thus I have told your Eminence that you had but to question us, and we
+are ready to reply.”
+
+“What was that letter you were about to read, Monsieur Aramis, and
+which you so promptly concealed?”
+
+“A woman’s letter, monseigneur.”
+
+“Ah, yes, I see,” said the cardinal; “we must be discreet with this
+sort of letters; but nevertheless, we may show them to a confessor, and
+you know I have taken orders.”
+
+“Monseigneur,” said Athos, with a calmness the more terrible because he
+risked his head in making this reply, “the letter is a woman’s letter,
+but it is neither signed Marion de Lorme, nor Madame d’Aiguillon.”
+
+The cardinal became as pale as death; lightning darted from his eyes.
+He turned round as if to give an order to Cahusac and Houdinière. Athos
+saw the movement; he made a step toward the muskets, upon which the
+other three friends had fixed their eyes, like men ill-disposed to
+allow themselves to be taken. The cardinalists were three; the
+Musketeers, lackeys included, were seven. He judged that the match
+would be so much the less equal, if Athos and his companions were
+really plotting; and by one of those rapid turns which he always had at
+command, all his anger faded away into a smile.
+
+“Well, well!” said he, “you are brave young men, proud in daylight,
+faithful in darkness. We can find no fault with you for watching over
+yourselves, when you watch so carefully over others. Gentlemen, I have
+not forgotten the night in which you served me as an escort to the Red
+Dovecot. If there were any danger to be apprehended on the road I am
+going, I would request you to accompany me; but as there is none,
+remain where you are, finish your bottles, your game, and your letter.
+Adieu, gentlemen!”
+
+And remounting his horse, which Cahusac led to him, he saluted them
+with his hand, and rode away.
+
+The four young men, standing and motionless, followed him with their
+eyes without speaking a single word until he had disappeared. Then they
+looked at one another.
+
+The countenances of all gave evidence of terror, for notwithstanding
+the friendly adieu of his Eminence, they plainly perceived that the
+cardinal went away with rage in his heart.
+
+Athos alone smiled, with a self-possessed, disdainful smile.
+
+When the cardinal was out of hearing and sight, “That Grimaud kept bad
+watch!” cried Porthos, who had a great inclination to vent his
+ill-humor on somebody.
+
+Grimaud was about to reply to excuse himself. Athos lifted his finger,
+and Grimaud was silent.
+
+“Would you have given up the letter, Aramis?” said D’Artagnan.
+
+“I,” said Aramis, in his most flutelike tone, “I had made up my mind.
+If he had insisted upon the letter being given up to him, I would have
+presented the letter to him with one hand, and with the other I would
+have run my sword through his body.”
+
+“I expected as much,” said Athos; “and that was why I threw myself
+between you and him. Indeed, this man is very much to blame for talking
+thus to other men; one would say he had never had to do with any but
+women and children.”
+
+“My dear Athos, I admire you, but nevertheless we were in the wrong,
+after all.”
+
+“How, in the wrong?” said Athos. “Whose, then, is the air we breathe?
+Whose is the ocean upon which we look? Whose is the sand upon which we
+were reclining? Whose is that letter of your mistress? Do these belong
+to the cardinal? Upon my honor, this man fancies the world belongs to
+him. There you stood, stammering, stupefied, annihilated. One might
+have supposed the Bastille appeared before you, and that the gigantic
+Medusa had converted you into stone. Is being in love conspiring? You
+are in love with a woman whom the cardinal has caused to be shut up,
+and you wish to get her out of the hands of the cardinal. That’s a
+match you are playing with his Eminence; this letter is your game. Why
+should you expose your game to your adversary? That is never done. Let
+him find it out if he can! We can find out his!”
+
+“Well, that’s all very sensible, Athos,” said D’Artagnan.
+
+“In that case, let there be no more question of what’s past, and let
+Aramis resume the letter from his cousin where the cardinal interrupted
+him.”
+
+Aramis drew the letter from his pocket; the three friends surrounded
+him, and the three lackeys grouped themselves again near the wine jar.
+
+“You had only read a line or two,” said D’Artagnan; “read the letter
+again from the commencement.”
+
+“Willingly,” said Aramis.
+
+“MY DEAR COUSIN, I think I shall make up my mind to set out for
+Béthune, where my sister has placed our little servant in the convent
+of the Carmelites; this poor child is quite resigned, as she knows she
+cannot live elsewhere without the salvation of her soul being in
+danger. Nevertheless, if the affairs of our family are arranged, as we
+hope they will be, I believe she will run the risk of being damned, and
+will return to those she regrets, particularly as she knows they are
+always thinking of her. Meanwhile, she is not very wretched; what she
+most desires is a letter from her intended. I know that such viands
+pass with difficulty through convent gratings; but after all, as I have
+given you proofs, my dear cousin, I am not unskilled in such affairs,
+and I will take charge of the commission. My sister thanks you for your
+good and eternal remembrance. She has experienced much anxiety; but she
+is now at length a little reassured, having sent her secretary away in
+order that nothing may happen unexpectedly.
+    “Adieu, my dear cousin. Tell us news of yourself as often as you
+    can; that is to say, as often as you can with safety. I embrace
+    you.
+
+
+“MARIE MICHON”
+
+
+“Oh, what do I not owe you, Aramis?” said D’Artagnan. “Dear Constance!
+I have at length, then, intelligence of you. She lives; she is in
+safety in a convent; she is at Béthune! Where is Béthune, Athos?”
+
+“Why, upon the frontiers of Artois and of Flanders. The siege once
+over, we shall be able to make a tour in that direction.”
+
+“And that will not be long, it is to be hoped,” said Porthos; “for they
+have this morning hanged a spy who confessed that the Rochellais were
+reduced to the leather of their shoes. Supposing that after having
+eaten the leather they eat the soles, I cannot see much that is left
+unless they eat one another.”
+
+“Poor fools!” said Athos, emptying a glass of excellent Bordeaux wine
+which, without having at that period the reputation it now enjoys,
+merited it no less, “poor fools! As if the Catholic religion was not
+the most advantageous and the most agreeable of all religions! All the
+same,” resumed he, after having clicked his tongue against his palate,
+“they are brave fellows! But what the devil are you about, Aramis?”
+continued Athos. “Why, you are squeezing that letter into your pocket!”
+
+“Yes,” said D’Artagnan, “Athos is right, it must be burned. And yet if
+we burn it, who knows whether Monsieur Cardinal has not a secret to
+interrogate ashes?”
+
+“He must have one,” said Athos.
+
+“What will you do with the letter, then?” asked Porthos.
+
+“Come here, Grimaud,” said Athos. Grimaud rose and obeyed. “As a
+punishment for having spoken without permission, my friend, you will
+please to eat this piece of paper; then to recompense you for the
+service you will have rendered us, you shall afterward drink this glass
+of wine. First, here is the letter. Eat heartily.”
+
+Grimaud smiled; and with his eyes fixed upon the glass which Athos held
+in his hand, he ground the paper well between his teeth and then
+swallowed it.
+
+“Bravo, Monsieur Grimaud!” said Athos; “and now take this. That’s well.
+We dispense with your saying grace.”
+
+Grimaud silently swallowed the glass of Bordeaux wine; but his eyes,
+raised toward heaven during this delicious occupation, spoke a language
+which, though mute, was not the less expressive.
+
+“And now,” said Athos, “unless Monsieur Cardinal should form the
+ingenious idea of ripping up Grimaud, I think we may be pretty much at
+our ease respecting the letter.”
+
+Meantime, his Eminence continued his melancholy ride, murmuring between
+his mustaches, “These four men must positively be mine.”
+
+
+
+
+Chapter LII.
+CAPTIVITY: THE FIRST DAY
+
+
+Let us return to Milady, whom a glance thrown upon the coast of France
+has made us lose sight of for an instant.
+
+We shall find her still in the despairing attitude in which we left
+her, plunged in an abyss of dismal reflection—a dark hell at the gate
+of which she has almost left hope behind, because for the first time
+she doubts, for the first time she fears.
+
+On two occasions her fortune has failed her, on two occasions she has
+found herself discovered and betrayed; and on these two occasions it
+was to one fatal genius, sent doubtlessly by the Lord to combat her,
+that she has succumbed. D’Artagnan has conquered her—her, that
+invincible power of evil.
+
+He has deceived her in her love, humbled her in her pride, thwarted her
+in her ambition; and now he ruins her fortune, deprives her of liberty,
+and even threatens her life. Still more, he has lifted the corner of
+her mask—that shield with which she covered herself and which rendered
+her so strong.
+
+D’Artagnan has turned aside from Buckingham, whom she hates as she
+hates everyone she has loved, the tempest with which Richelieu
+threatened him in the person of the queen. D’Artagnan had passed
+himself upon her as De Wardes, for whom she had conceived one of those
+tigerlike fancies common to women of her character. D’Artagnan knows
+that terrible secret which she has sworn no one shall know without
+dying. In short, at the moment in which she has just obtained from
+Richelieu a _carte blanche_ by the means of which she is about to take
+vengeance on her enemy, this precious paper is torn from her hands, and
+it is D’Artagnan who holds her prisoner and is about to send her to
+some filthy Botany Bay, some infamous Tyburn of the Indian Ocean.
+
+All this she owes to D’Artagnan, without doubt. From whom can come so
+many disgraces heaped upon her head, if not from him? He alone could
+have transmitted to Lord de Winter all these frightful secrets which he
+has discovered, one after another, by a train of fatalities. He knows
+her brother-in-law. He must have written to him.
+
+What hatred she distills! Motionless, with her burning and fixed
+glances, in her solitary apartment, how well the outbursts of passion
+which at times escape from the depths of her chest with her
+respiration, accompany the sound of the surf which rises, growls,
+roars, and breaks itself like an eternal and powerless despair against
+the rocks on which is built this dark and lofty castle! How many
+magnificent projects of vengeance she conceives by the light of the
+flashes which her tempestuous passion casts over her mind against Mme.
+Bonacieux, against Buckingham, but above all against
+D’Artagnan—projects lost in the distance of the future.
+
+Yes; but in order to avenge herself she must be free. And to be free, a
+prisoner has to pierce a wall, detach bars, cut through a floor—all
+undertakings which a patient and strong man may accomplish, but before
+which the feverish irritations of a woman must give way. Besides, to do
+all this, time is necessary—months, years; and she has ten or twelve
+days, as Lord de Winter, her fraternal and terrible jailer, has told
+her.
+
+And yet, if she were a man she would attempt all this, and perhaps
+might succeed; why, then, did heaven make the mistake of placing that
+manlike soul in that frail and delicate body?
+
+The first moments of her captivity were terrible; a few convulsions of
+rage which she could not suppress paid her debt of feminine weakness to
+nature. But by degrees she overcame the outbursts of her mad passion;
+and nervous tremblings which agitated her frame disappeared, and she
+remained folded within herself like a fatigued serpent in repose.
+
+“Go to, go to! I must have been mad to allow myself to be carried away
+so,” says she, gazing into the glass, which reflects back to her eyes
+the burning glance by which she appears to interrogate herself. “No
+violence; violence is the proof of weakness. In the first place, I have
+never succeeded by that means. Perhaps if I employed my strength
+against women I might perchance find them weaker than myself, and
+consequently conquer them; but it is with men that I struggle, and I am
+but a woman to them. Let me fight like a woman, then; my strength is in
+my weakness.”
+
+Then, as if to render an account to herself of the changes she could
+place upon her countenance, so mobile and so expressive, she made it
+take all expressions from that of passionate anger, which convulsed her
+features, to that of the most sweet, most affectionate, and most
+seducing smile. Then her hair assumed successively, under her skillful
+hands, all the undulations she thought might assist the charms of her
+face. At length she murmured, satisfied with herself, “Come, nothing is
+lost; I am still beautiful.”
+
+It was then nearly eight o’clock in the evening. Milady perceived a
+bed; she calculated that the repose of a few hours would not only
+refresh her head and her ideas, but still further, her complexion. A
+better idea, however, came into her mind before going to bed. She had
+heard something said about supper. She had already been an hour in this
+apartment; they could not long delay bringing her a repast. The
+prisoner did not wish to lose time; and she resolved to make that very
+evening some attempts to ascertain the nature of the ground she had to
+work upon, by studying the characters of the men to whose guardianship
+she was committed.
+
+A light appeared under the door; this light announced the reappearance
+of her jailers. Milady, who had arisen, threw herself quickly into the
+armchair, her head thrown back, her beautiful hair unbound and
+disheveled, her bosom half bare beneath her crumpled lace, one hand on
+her heart, and the other hanging down.
+
+The bolts were drawn; the door groaned upon its hinges. Steps sounded
+in the chamber, and drew near.
+
+“Place that table there,” said a voice which the prisoner recognized as
+that of Felton.
+
+The order was executed.
+
+“You will bring lights, and relieve the sentinel,” continued Felton.
+
+And this double order which the young lieutenant gave to the same
+individuals proved to Milady that her servants were the same men as her
+guards; that is to say, soldiers.
+
+Felton’s orders were, for the rest, executed with a silent rapidity
+that gave a good idea of the way in which he maintained discipline.
+
+At length Felton, who had not yet looked at Milady, turned toward her.
+
+“Ah, ah!” said he, “she is asleep; that’s well. When she wakes she can
+sup.” And he made some steps toward the door.
+
+“But, my lieutenant,” said a soldier, less stoical than his chief, and
+who had approached Milady, “this woman is not asleep.”
+
+“What, not asleep!” said Felton; “what is she doing, then?”
+
+“She has fainted. Her face is very pale, and I have listened in vain; I
+do not hear her breathe.”
+
+“You are right,” said Felton, after having looked at Milady from the
+spot on which he stood without moving a step toward her. “Go and tell
+Lord de Winter that his prisoner has fainted—for this event not having
+been foreseen, I don’t know what to do.”
+
+The soldier went out to obey the orders of his officer. Felton sat down
+upon an armchair which happened to be near the door, and waited without
+speaking a word, without making a gesture. Milady possessed that great
+art, so much studied by women, of looking through her long eyelashes
+without appearing to open the lids. She perceived Felton, who sat with
+his back toward her. She continued to look at him for nearly ten
+minutes, and in these ten minutes the immovable guardian never turned
+round once.
+
+She then thought that Lord de Winter would come, and by his presence
+give fresh strength to her jailer. Her first trial was lost; she acted
+like a woman who reckons up her resources. As a result she raised her
+head, opened her eyes, and sighed deeply.
+
+At this sigh Felton turned round.
+
+“Ah, you are awake, madame,” he said; “then I have nothing more to do
+here. If you want anything you can ring.”
+
+“Oh, my God, my God! how I have suffered!” said Milady, in that
+harmonious voice which, like that of the ancient enchantresses, charmed
+all whom she wished to destroy.
+
+And she assumed, upon sitting up in the armchair, a still more graceful
+and abandoned position than when she reclined.
+
+Felton arose.
+
+“You will be served, thus, madame, three times a day,” said he. “In the
+morning at nine o’clock, in the day at one o’clock, and in the evening
+at eight. If that does not suit you, you can point out what other hours
+you prefer, and in this respect your wishes will be complied with.”
+
+“But am I to remain always alone in this vast and dismal chamber?”
+asked Milady.
+
+“A woman of the neighbourhood has been sent for, who will be tomorrow
+at the castle, and will return as often as you desire her presence.”
+
+“I thank you, sir,” replied the prisoner, humbly.
+
+Felton made a slight bow, and directed his steps toward the door. At
+the moment he was about to go out, Lord de Winter appeared in the
+corridor, followed by the soldier who had been sent to inform him of
+the swoon of Milady. He held a vial of salts in his hand.
+
+“Well, what is it—what is going on here?” said he, in a jeering voice,
+on seeing the prisoner sitting up and Felton about to go out. “Is this
+corpse come to life already? Felton, my lad, did you not perceive that
+you were taken for a novice, and that the first act was being performed
+of a comedy of which we shall doubtless have the pleasure of following
+out all the developments?”
+
+“I thought so, my lord,” said Felton; “but as the prisoner is a woman,
+after all, I wish to pay her the attention that every man of gentle
+birth owes to a woman, if not on her account, at least on my own.”
+
+Milady shuddered through her whole system. These words of Felton’s
+passed like ice through her veins.
+
+“So,” replied de Winter, laughing, “that beautiful hair so skillfully
+disheveled, that white skin, and that languishing look, have not yet
+seduced you, you heart of stone?”
+
+“No, my Lord,” replied the impassive young man; “your Lordship may be
+assured that it requires more than the tricks and coquetry of a woman
+to corrupt me.”
+
+“In that case, my brave lieutenant, let us leave Milady to find out
+something else, and go to supper; but be easy! She has a fruitful
+imagination, and the second act of the comedy will not delay its steps
+after the first.”
+
+And at these words Lord de Winter passed his arm through that of
+Felton, and led him out, laughing.
+
+“Oh, I will be a match for you!” murmured Milady, between her teeth;
+“be assured of that, you poor spoiled monk, you poor converted soldier,
+who has cut his uniform out of a monk’s frock!”
+
+“By the way,” resumed de Winter, stopping at the threshold of the door,
+“you must not, Milady, let this check take away your appetite. Taste
+that fowl and those fish. On my honor, they are not poisoned. I have a
+very good cook, and he is not to be my heir; I have full and perfect
+confidence in him. Do as I do. Adieu, dear sister, till your next
+swoon!”
+
+This was all that Milady could endure. Her hands clutched her armchair;
+she ground her teeth inwardly; her eyes followed the motion of the door
+as it closed behind Lord de Winter and Felton, and the moment she was
+alone a fresh fit of despair seized her. She cast her eyes upon the
+table, saw the glittering of a knife, rushed toward it and clutched it;
+but her disappointment was cruel. The blade was round, and of flexible
+silver.
+
+A burst of laughter resounded from the other side of the ill-closed
+door, and the door reopened.
+
+“Ha, ha!” cried Lord de Winter; “ha, ha! Don’t you see, my brave
+Felton; don’t you see what I told you? That knife was for you, my lad;
+she would have killed you. Observe, this is one of her peculiarities,
+to get rid thus, after one fashion or another, of all the people who
+bother her. If I had listened to you, the knife would have been pointed
+and of steel. Then no more of Felton; she would have cut your throat,
+and after that everybody else’s. See, John, see how well she knows how
+to handle a knife.”
+
+In fact, Milady still held the harmless weapon in her clenched hand;
+but these last words, this supreme insult, relaxed her hands, her
+strength, and even her will. The knife fell to the ground.
+
+“You were right, my Lord,” said Felton, with a tone of profound disgust
+which sounded to the very bottom of the heart of Milady, “you were
+right, my Lord, and I was wrong.”
+
+And both again left the room.
+
+But this time Milady lent a more attentive ear than the first, and she
+heard their steps die away in the distance of the corridor.
+
+“I am lost,” murmured she; “I am lost! I am in the power of men upon
+whom I can have no more influence than upon statues of bronze or
+granite; they know me by heart, and are steeled against all my weapons.
+It is, however, impossible that this should end as they have decreed!”
+
+In fact, as this last reflection indicated—this instinctive return to
+hope—sentiments of weakness or fear did not dwell long in her ardent
+spirit. Milady sat down to table, ate from several dishes, drank a
+little Spanish wine, and felt all her resolution return.
+
+Before she went to bed she had pondered, analyzed, turned on all sides,
+examined on all points, the words, the steps, the gestures, the signs,
+and even the silence of her interlocutors; and of this profound,
+skillful, and anxious study the result was that Felton, everything
+considered, appeared the more vulnerable of her two persecutors.
+
+One expression above all recurred to the mind of the prisoner: “If I
+had listened to you,” Lord de Winter had said to Felton.
+
+Felton, then, had spoken in her favor, since Lord de Winter had not
+been willing to listen to him.
+
+“Weak or strong,” repeated Milady, “that man has, then, a spark of pity
+in his soul; of that spark I will make a flame that shall devour him.
+As to the other, he knows me, he fears me, and knows what he has to
+expect of me if ever I escape from his hands. It is useless, then, to
+attempt anything with him. But Felton—that’s another thing. He is a
+young, ingenuous, pure man who seems virtuous; him there are means of
+destroying.”
+
+And Milady went to bed and fell asleep with a smile upon her lips.
+Anyone who had seen her sleeping might have said she was a young girl
+dreaming of the crown of flowers she was to wear on her brow at the
+next festival.
+
+
+
+
+Chapter LIII.
+CAPTIVITY: THE SECOND DAY
+
+
+Milady dreamed that she at length had D’Artagnan in her power, that she
+was present at his execution; and it was the sight of his odious blood,
+flowing beneath the ax of the headsman, which spread that charming
+smile upon her lips.
+
+She slept as a prisoner sleeps, rocked by his first hope.
+
+In the morning, when they entered her chamber she was still in bed.
+Felton remained in the corridor. He brought with him the woman of whom
+he had spoken the evening before, and who had just arrived; this woman
+entered, and approaching Milady’s bed, offered her services.
+
+Milady was habitually pale; her complexion might therefore deceive a
+person who saw her for the first time.
+
+“I am in a fever,” said she; “I have not slept a single instant during
+all this long night. I suffer horribly. Are you likely to be more
+humane to me than others were yesterday? All I ask is permission to
+remain abed.”
+
+“Would you like to have a physician called?” said the woman.
+
+Felton listened to this dialogue without speaking a word.
+
+Milady reflected that the more people she had around her the more she
+would have to work upon, and Lord de Winter would redouble his watch.
+Besides, the physician might declare the ailment feigned; and Milady,
+after having lost the first trick, was not willing to lose the second.
+
+“Go and fetch a physician?” said she. “What could be the good of that?
+These gentlemen declared yesterday that my illness was a comedy; it
+would be just the same today, no doubt—for since yesterday evening they
+have had plenty of time to send for a doctor.”
+
+“Then,” said Felton, who became impatient, “say yourself, madame, what
+treatment you wish followed.”
+
+“Eh, how can I tell? My God! I know that I suffer, that’s all. Give me
+anything you like, it is of little consequence.”
+
+“Go and fetch Lord de Winter,” said Felton, tired of these eternal
+complaints.
+
+“Oh, no, no!” cried Milady; “no, sir, do not call him, I conjure you. I
+am well, I want nothing; do not call him.”
+
+She gave so much vehemence, such magnetic eloquence to this
+exclamation, that Felton in spite of himself advanced some steps into
+the room.
+
+“He has come!” thought Milady.
+
+“Meanwhile, madame, if you really suffer,” said Felton, “a physician
+shall be sent for; and if you deceive us—well, it will be the worse for
+you. But at least we shall not have to reproach ourselves with
+anything.”
+
+Milady made no reply, but turning her beautiful head round upon her
+pillow, she burst into tears, and uttered heartbreaking sobs.
+
+Felton surveyed her for an instant with his usual impassiveness; then,
+seeing that the crisis threatened to be prolonged, he went out. The
+woman followed him, and Lord de Winter did not appear.
+
+“I fancy I begin to see my way,” murmured Milady, with a savage joy,
+burying herself under the clothes to conceal from anybody who might be
+watching her this burst of inward satisfaction.
+
+Two hours passed away.
+
+“Now it is time that the malady should be over,” said she; “let me
+rise, and obtain some success this very day. I have but ten days, and
+this evening two of them will be gone.”
+
+In the morning, when they entered Milady’s chamber they had brought her
+breakfast. Now, she thought, they could not long delay coming to clear
+the table, and that Felton would then reappear.
+
+Milady was not deceived. Felton reappeared, and without observing
+whether Milady had or had not touched her repast, made a sign that the
+table should be carried out of the room, it having been brought in
+ready spread.
+
+Felton remained behind; he held a book in his hand.
+
+Milady, reclining in an armchair near the chimney, beautiful, pale, and
+resigned, looked like a holy virgin awaiting martyrdom.
+
+Felton approached her, and said, “Lord de Winter, who is a Catholic,
+like yourself, madame, thinking that the deprivation of the rites and
+ceremonies of your church might be painful to you, has consented that
+you should read every day the ordinary of your Mass; and here is a book
+which contains the ritual.”
+
+At the manner in which Felton laid the book upon the little table near
+which Milady was sitting, at the tone in which he pronounced the two
+words, _your Mass_, at the disdainful smile with which he accompanied
+them, Milady raised her head, and looked more attentively at the
+officer.
+
+By that plain arrangement of the hair, by that costume of extreme
+simplicity, by the brow polished like marble and as hard and
+impenetrable, she recognized one of those gloomy Puritans she had so
+often met, not only in the court of King James, but in that of the King
+of France, where, in spite of the remembrance of the St. Bartholomew,
+they sometimes came to seek refuge.
+
+She then had one of those sudden inspirations which only people of
+genius receive in great crises, in supreme moments which are to decide
+their fortunes or their lives.
+
+Those two words, _your Mass_, and a simple glance cast upon Felton,
+revealed to her all the importance of the reply she was about to make;
+but with that rapidity of intelligence which was peculiar to her, this
+reply, ready arranged, presented itself to her lips:
+
+“I?” said she, with an accent of disdain in unison with that which she
+had remarked in the voice of the young officer, “I, sir? _My Mass?_
+Lord de Winter, the corrupted Catholic, knows very well that I am not
+of his religion, and this is a snare he wishes to lay for me!”
+
+“And of what religion are you, then, madame?” asked Felton, with an
+astonishment which in spite of the empire he held over himself he could
+not entirely conceal.
+
+“I will tell it,” cried Milady, with a feigned exultation, “on the day
+when I shall have suffered sufficiently for my faith.”
+
+The look of Felton revealed to Milady the full extent of the space she
+had opened for herself by this single word.
+
+The young officer, however, remained mute and motionless; his look
+alone had spoken.
+
+“I am in the hands of my enemies,” continued she, with that tone of
+enthusiasm which she knew was familiar to the Puritans. “Well, let my
+God save me, or let me perish for my God! That is the reply I beg you
+to make to Lord de Winter. And as to this book,” added she, pointing to
+the manual with her finger but without touching it, as if she must be
+contaminated by it, “you may carry it back and make use of it yourself,
+for doubtless you are doubly the accomplice of Lord de Winter—the
+accomplice in his persecutions, the accomplice in his heresies.”
+
+Felton made no reply, took the book with the same appearance of
+repugnance which he had before manifested, and retired pensively.
+
+Lord de Winter came toward five o’clock in the evening. Milady had had
+time, during the whole day, to trace her plan of conduct. She received
+him like a woman who had already recovered all her advantages.
+
+“It appears,” said the baron, seating himself in the armchair opposite
+that occupied by Milady, and stretching out his legs carelessly upon
+the hearth, “it appears we have made a little apostasy!”
+
+“What do you mean, sir!”
+
+“I mean to say that since we last met you have changed your religion.
+You have not by chance married a Protestant for a third husband, have
+you?”
+
+“Explain yourself, my Lord,” replied the prisoner, with majesty; “for
+though I hear your words, I declare I do not understand them.”
+
+“Then you have no religion at all; I like that best,” replied Lord de
+Winter, laughing.
+
+“Certainly that is most in accord with your own principles,” replied
+Milady, frigidly.
+
+“Oh, I confess it is all the same to me.”
+
+“Oh, you need not avow this religious indifference, my Lord; your
+debaucheries and crimes would vouch for it.”
+
+“What, you talk of debaucheries, Madame Messalina, Lady Macbeth! Either
+I misunderstand you or you are very shameless!”
+
+“You only speak thus because you are overheard,” coolly replied Milady;
+“and you wish to interest your jailers and your hangmen against me.”
+
+“My jailers and my hangmen! Heyday, madame! you are taking a poetical
+tone, and the comedy of yesterday turns to a tragedy this evening. As
+to the rest, in eight days you will be where you ought to be, and my
+task will be completed.”
+
+“Infamous task! impious task!” cried Milady, with the exultation of a
+victim who provokes his judge.
+
+“My word,” said de Winter, rising, “I think the hussy is going mad!
+Come, come, calm yourself, Madame Puritan, or I’ll remove you to a
+dungeon. It’s my Spanish wine that has got into your head, is it not?
+But never mind; that sort of intoxication is not dangerous, and will
+have no bad effects.”
+
+And Lord de Winter retired swearing, which at that period was a very
+knightly habit.
+
+Felton was indeed behind the door, and had not lost one word of this
+scene. Milady had guessed aright.
+
+“Yes, go, go!” said she to her brother; “the effects _are_ drawing
+near, on the contrary; but you, weak fool, will not see them until it
+is too late to shun them.”
+
+Silence was re-established. Two hours passed away. Milady’s supper was
+brought in, and she was found deeply engaged in saying her prayers
+aloud—prayers which she had learned of an old servant of her second
+husband, a most austere Puritan. She appeared to be in ecstasy, and did
+not pay the least attention to what was going on around her. Felton
+made a sign that she should not be disturbed; and when all was
+arranged, he went out quietly with the soldiers.
+
+Milady knew she might be watched, so she continued her prayers to the
+end; and it appeared to her that the soldier who was on duty at her
+door did not march with the same step, and seemed to listen. For the
+moment she wished nothing better. She arose, came to the table, ate but
+little, and drank only water.
+
+An hour after, her table was cleared; but Milady remarked that this
+time Felton did not accompany the soldiers. He feared, then, to see her
+too often.
+
+She turned toward the wall to smile—for there was in this smile such an
+expression of triumph that this smile alone would have betrayed her.
+
+She allowed, therefore, half an hour to pass away; and as at that
+moment all was silence in the old castle, as nothing was heard but the
+eternal murmur of the waves—that immense breaking of the ocean—with her
+pure, harmonious, and powerful voice, she began the first couplet of
+the psalm then in great favor with the Puritans:
+
+“Thou leavest thy servants, Lord,
+    To see if they be strong;
+But soon thou dost afford
+    Thy hand to lead them on.”
+
+
+These verses were not excellent—very far from it; but as it is well
+known, the Puritans did not pique themselves upon their poetry.
+
+While singing, Milady listened. The soldier on guard at her door
+stopped, as if he had been changed into stone. Milady was then able to
+judge of the effect she had produced.
+
+Then she continued her singing with inexpressible fervor and feeling.
+It appeared to her that the sounds spread to a distance beneath the
+vaulted roofs, and carried with them a magic charm to soften the hearts
+of her jailers. It however likewise appeared that the soldier on duty—a
+zealous Catholic, no doubt—shook off the charm, for through the door he
+called: “Hold your tongue, madame! Your song is as dismal as a ‘De
+profundis’; and if besides the pleasure of being in garrison here, we
+must hear such things as these, no mortal can hold out.”
+
+“Silence!” then exclaimed another stern voice which Milady recognized
+as that of Felton. “What are you meddling with, stupid? Did anybody
+order you to prevent that woman from singing? No. You were told to
+guard her—to fire at her if she attempted to fly. Guard her! If she
+flies, kill her; but don’t exceed your orders.”
+
+An expression of unspeakable joy lightened the countenance of Milady;
+but this expression was fleeting as the reflection of lightning.
+Without appearing to have heard the dialogue, of which she had not lost
+a word, she began again, giving to her voice all the charm, all the
+power, all the seduction the demon had bestowed upon it:
+
+“For all my tears, my cares,
+    My exile, and my chains,
+I have my youth, my prayers,
+    And God, who counts my pains.”
+
+
+Her voice, of immense power and sublime expression, gave to the rude,
+unpolished poetry of these psalms a magic and an effect which the most
+exalted Puritans rarely found in the songs of their brethren, and which
+they were forced to ornament with all the resources of their
+imagination. Felton believed he heard the singing of the angel who
+consoled the three Hebrews in the furnace.
+
+Milady continued:
+
+“One day our doors will ope,
+    With God come our desire;
+And if betrays that hope,
+    To death we can aspire.”
+
+
+This verse, into which the terrible enchantress threw her whole soul,
+completed the trouble which had seized the heart of the young officer.
+He opened the door quickly; and Milady saw him appear, pale as usual,
+but with his eye inflamed and almost wild.
+
+“Why do you sing thus, and with such a voice?” said he.
+
+“Your pardon, sir,” said Milady, with mildness. “I forgot that my songs
+are out of place in this castle. I have perhaps offended you in your
+creed; but it was without wishing to do so, I swear. Pardon me, then, a
+fault which is perhaps great, but which certainly was involuntary.”
+
+Milady was so beautiful at this moment, the religious ecstasy in which
+she appeared to be plunged gave such an expression to her countenance,
+that Felton was so dazzled that he fancied he beheld the angel whom he
+had only just before heard.
+
+“Yes, yes,” said he; “you disturb, you agitate the people who live in
+the castle.”
+
+The poor, senseless young man was not aware of the incoherence of his
+words, while Milady was reading with her lynx’s eyes the very depths of
+his heart.
+
+“I will be silent, then,” said Milady, casting down her eyes with all
+the sweetness she could give to her voice, with all the resignation she
+could impress upon her manner.
+
+“No, no, madame,” said Felton, “only do not sing so loud, particularly
+at night.”
+
+And at these words Felton, feeling that he could not long maintain his
+severity toward his prisoner, rushed out of the room.
+
+“You have done right, Lieutenant,” said the soldier. “Such songs
+disturb the mind; and yet we become accustomed to them, her voice is so
+beautiful.”
+
+
+
+
+Chapter LIV.
+CAPTIVITY: THE THIRD DAY
+
+
+Felton had fallen; but there was still another step to be taken. He
+must be retained, or rather he must be left quite alone; and Milady but
+obscurely perceived the means which could lead to this result.
+
+Still more must be done. He must be made to speak, in order that he
+might be spoken to—for Milady very well knew that her greatest
+seduction was in her voice, which so skillfully ran over the whole
+gamut of tones from human speech to language celestial.
+
+Yet in spite of all this seduction Milady might fail—for Felton was
+forewarned, and that against the least chance. From that moment she
+watched all his actions, all his words, from the simplest glance of his
+eyes to his gestures—even to a breath that could be interpreted as a
+sigh. In short, she studied everything, as a skillful comedian does to
+whom a new part has been assigned in a line to which he is not
+accustomed.
+
+Face to face with Lord de Winter her plan of conduct was more easy. She
+had laid that down the preceding evening. To remain silent and
+dignified in his presence; from time to time to irritate him by
+affected disdain, by a contemptuous word; to provoke him to threats and
+violence which would produce a contrast with her own resignation—such
+was her plan. Felton would see all; perhaps he would say nothing, but
+he would see.
+
+In the morning, Felton came as usual; but Milady allowed him to preside
+over all the preparations for breakfast without addressing a word to
+him. At the moment when he was about to retire, she was cheered with a
+ray of hope, for she thought he was about to speak; but his lips moved
+without any sound leaving his mouth, and making a powerful effort to
+control himself, he sent back to his heart the words that were about to
+escape from his lips, and went out. Toward midday, Lord de Winter
+entered.
+
+It was a tolerably fine winter’s day, and a ray of that pale English
+sun which lights but does not warm came through the bars of her prison.
+
+Milady was looking out at the window, and pretended not to hear the
+door as it opened.
+
+“Ah, ah!” said Lord de Winter, “after having played comedy, after
+having played tragedy, we are now playing melancholy?”
+
+The prisoner made no reply.
+
+“Yes, yes,” continued Lord de Winter, “I understand. You would like
+very well to be at liberty on that beach! You would like very well to
+be in a good ship dancing upon the waves of that emerald-green sea; you
+would like very well, either on land or on the ocean, to lay for me one
+of those nice little ambuscades you are so skillful in planning.
+Patience, patience! In four days’ time the shore will be beneath your
+feet, the sea will be open to you—more open than will perhaps be
+agreeable to you, for in four days England will be relieved of you.”
+
+Milady folded her hands, and raising her fine eyes toward heaven,
+“Lord, Lord,” said she, with an angelic meekness of gesture and tone,
+“pardon this man, as I myself pardon him.”
+
+“Yes, pray, accursed woman!” cried the baron; “your prayer is so much
+the more generous from your being, I swear to you, in the power of a
+man who will never pardon you!” and he went out.
+
+At the moment he went out a piercing glance darted through the opening
+of the nearly closed door, and she perceived Felton, who drew quickly
+to one side to prevent being seen by her.
+
+Then she threw herself upon her knees, and began to pray.
+
+“My God, my God!” said she, “thou knowest in what holy cause I suffer;
+give me, then, strength to suffer.”
+
+The door opened gently; the beautiful supplicant pretended not to hear
+the noise, and in a voice broken by tears, she continued:
+
+“God of vengeance! God of goodness! wilt thou allow the frightful
+projects of this man to be accomplished?”
+
+Then only she pretended to hear the sound of Felton’s steps, and rising
+quick as thought, she blushed, as if ashamed of being surprised on her
+knees.
+
+“I do not like to disturb those who pray, madame,” said Felton,
+seriously; “do not disturb yourself on my account, I beseech you.”
+
+“How do you know I was praying, sir?” said Milady, in a voice broken by
+sobs. “You were deceived, sir; I was not praying.”
+
+“Do you think, then, madame,” replied Felton, in the same serious
+voice, but with a milder tone, “do you think I assume the right of
+preventing a creature from prostrating herself before her Creator? God
+forbid! Besides, repentance becomes the guilty; whatever crimes they
+may have committed, for me the guilty are sacred at the feet of God!”
+
+“Guilty? I?” said Milady, with a smile which might have disarmed the
+angel of the last judgment. “Guilty? Oh, my God, thou knowest whether I
+am guilty! Say I am condemned, sir, if you please; but you know that
+God, who loves martyrs, sometimes permits the innocent to be
+condemned.”
+
+“Were you condemned, were you innocent, were you a martyr,” replied
+Felton, “the greater would be the necessity for prayer; and I myself
+would aid you with my prayers.”
+
+“Oh, you are a just man!” cried Milady, throwing herself at his feet.
+“I can hold out no longer, for I fear I shall be wanting in strength at
+the moment when I shall be forced to undergo the struggle, and confess
+my faith. Listen, then, to the supplication of a despairing woman. You
+are abused, sir; but that is not the question. I only ask you one
+favor; and if you grant it me, I will bless you in this world and in
+the next.”
+
+“Speak to the master, madame,” said Felton; “happily I am neither
+charged with the power of pardoning nor punishing. It is upon one
+higher placed than I am that God has laid this responsibility.”
+
+“To you—no, to you alone! Listen to me, rather than add to my
+destruction, rather than add to my ignominy!”
+
+“If you have merited this shame, madame, if you have incurred this
+ignominy, you must submit to it as an offering to God.”
+
+“What do you say? Oh, you do not understand me! When I speak of
+ignominy, you think I speak of some chastisement, of imprisonment or
+death. Would to heaven! Of what consequence to me is imprisonment or
+death?”
+
+“It is I who no longer understand you, madame,” said Felton.
+
+“Or, rather, who pretend not to understand me, sir!” replied the
+prisoner, with a smile of incredulity.
+
+“No, madame, on the honor of a soldier, on the faith of a Christian.”
+
+“What, you are ignorant of Lord de Winter’s designs upon me?”
+
+“I am.”
+
+“Impossible; you are his confidant!”
+
+“I never lie, madame.”
+
+“Oh, he conceals them too little for you not to divine them.”
+
+“I seek to divine nothing, madame; I wait till I am confided in, and
+apart from that which Lord de Winter has said to me before you, he has
+confided nothing to me.”
+
+“Why, then,” cried Milady, with an incredible tone of truthfulness,
+“you are not his accomplice; you do not know that he destines me to a
+disgrace which all the punishments of the world cannot equal in
+horror?”
+
+“You are deceived, madame,” said Felton, blushing; “Lord de Winter is
+not capable of such a crime.”
+
+“Good,” said Milady to herself; “without thinking what it is, he calls
+it a crime!” Then aloud, “The friend of that wretch is capable of
+everything.”
+
+“Whom do you call _that wretch?_” asked Felton.
+
+“Are there, then, in England two men to whom such an epithet can be
+applied?”
+
+“You mean George Villiers?” asked Felton, whose looks became excited.
+
+“Whom Pagans and unbelieving Gentiles call Duke of Buckingham,” replied
+Milady. “I could not have thought that there was an Englishman in all
+England who would have required so long an explanation to make him
+understand of whom I was speaking.”
+
+“The hand of the Lord is stretched over him,” said Felton; “he will not
+escape the chastisement he deserves.”
+
+Felton only expressed, with regard to the duke, the feeling of
+execration which all the English had declared toward him whom the
+Catholics themselves called the extortioner, the pillager, the
+debauchee, and whom the Puritans styled simply Satan.
+
+“Oh, my God, my God!” cried Milady; “when I supplicate thee to pour
+upon this man the chastisement which is his due, thou knowest it is not
+my own vengeance I pursue, but the deliverance of a whole nation that I
+implore!”
+
+“Do you know him, then?” asked Felton.
+
+“At length he interrogates me!” said Milady to herself, at the height
+of joy at having obtained so quickly such a great result. “Oh, know
+him? Yes, yes! to my misfortune, to my eternal misfortune!” and Milady
+twisted her arms as if in a paroxysm of grief.
+
+Felton no doubt felt within himself that his strength was abandoning
+him, and he made several steps toward the door; but the prisoner, whose
+eye never left him, sprang in pursuit of him and stopped him.
+
+“Sir,” cried she, “be kind, be clement, listen to my prayer! That
+knife, which the fatal prudence of the baron deprived me of, because he
+knows the use I would make of it! Oh, hear me to the end! that knife,
+give it to me for a minute only, for mercy’s, for pity’s sake! I will
+embrace your knees! You shall shut the door that you may be certain I
+contemplate no injury to you! My God! to you—the only just, good, and
+compassionate being I have met with! To you—my preserver, perhaps! One
+minute that knife, one minute, a single minute, and I will restore it
+to you through the grating of the door. Only one minute, Mr. Felton,
+and you will have saved my honor!”
+
+“To kill yourself?” cried Felton, with terror, forgetting to withdraw
+his hands from the hands of the prisoner, “to kill yourself?”
+
+“I have told, sir,” murmured Milady, lowering her voice, and allowing
+herself to sink overpowered to the ground; “I have told my secret! He
+knows all! My God, I am lost!”
+
+Felton remained standing, motionless and undecided.
+
+“He still doubts,” thought Milady; “I have not been earnest enough.”
+
+Someone was heard in the corridor; Milady recognized the step of Lord
+de Winter.
+
+Felton recognized it also, and made a step toward the door.
+
+Milady sprang toward him. “Oh, not a word,” said she in a concentrated
+voice, “not a word of all that I have said to you to this man, or I am
+lost, and it would be you—you—”
+
+Then as the steps drew near, she became silent for fear of being heard,
+applying, with a gesture of infinite terror, her beautiful hand to
+Felton’s mouth.
+
+Felton gently repulsed Milady, and she sank into a chair.
+
+Lord de Winter passed before the door without stopping, and they heard
+the noise of his footsteps soon die away.
+
+Felton, as pale as death, remained some instants with his ear bent and
+listening; then, when the sound was quite extinct, he breathed like a
+man awaking from a dream, and rushed out of the apartment.
+
+“Ah!” said Milady, listening in her turn to the noise of Felton’s
+steps, which withdrew in a direction opposite to those of Lord de
+Winter; “at length you are mine!”
+
+Then her brow darkened. “If he tells the baron,” said she, “I am
+lost—for the baron, who knows very well that I shall not kill myself,
+will place me before him with a knife in my hand, and he will discover
+that all this despair is but acted.”
+
+She placed herself before the glass, and regarded herself attentively;
+never had she appeared more beautiful.
+
+“Oh, yes,” said she, smiling, “but we won’t tell him!”
+
+In the evening Lord de Winter accompanied the supper.
+
+“Sir,” said Milady, “is your presence an indispensable accessory of my
+captivity? Could you not spare me the increase of torture which your
+visits cause me?”
+
+“How, dear sister!” said Lord de Winter. “Did not you sentimentally
+inform me with that pretty mouth of yours, so cruel to me today, that
+you came to England solely for the pleasure of seeing me at your ease,
+an enjoyment of which you told me you so sensibly felt the deprivation
+that you had risked everything for it—seasickness, tempest, captivity?
+Well, here I am; be satisfied. Besides, this time, my visit has a
+motive.”
+
+Milady trembled; she thought Felton had told all. Perhaps never in her
+life had this woman, who had experienced so many opposite and powerful
+emotions, felt her heart beat so violently.
+
+She was seated. Lord de Winter took a chair, drew it toward her, and
+sat down close beside her. Then taking a paper out of his pocket, he
+unfolded it slowly.
+
+“Here,” said he, “I want to show you the kind of passport which I have
+drawn up, and which will serve you henceforward as the rule of order in
+the life I consent to leave you.”
+
+Then turning his eyes from Milady to the paper, he read: “‘Order to
+conduct—’ The name is blank,” interrupted Lord de Winter. “If you have
+any preference you can point it out to me; and if it be not within a
+thousand leagues of London, attention will be paid to your wishes. I
+will begin again, then:
+
+“‘Order to conduct to—the person named Charlotte Backson, branded by
+the justice of the kingdom of France, but liberated after chastisement.
+She is to dwell in this place without ever going more than three
+leagues from it. In case of any attempt to escape, the penalty of death
+is to be applied. She will receive five shillings per day for lodging
+and food’”.
+
+
+“That order does not concern me,” replied Milady, coldly, “since it
+bears another name than mine.”
+
+“A name? Have you a name, then?”
+
+“I bear that of your brother.”
+
+“Ay, but you are mistaken. My brother is only your second husband; and
+your first is still living. Tell me his name, and I will put it in the
+place of the name of Charlotte Backson. No? You will not? You are
+silent? Well, then you must be registered as Charlotte Backson.”
+
+Milady remained silent; only this time it was no longer from
+affectation, but from terror. She believed the order ready for
+execution. She thought that Lord de Winter had hastened her departure;
+she thought she was condemned to set off that very evening. Everything
+in her mind was lost for an instant; when all at once she perceived
+that no signature was attached to the order. The joy she felt at this
+discovery was so great she could not conceal it.
+
+“Yes, yes,” said Lord de Winter, who perceived what was passing in her
+mind; “yes, you look for the signature, and you say to yourself: ‘All
+is not lost, for that order is not signed. It is only shown to me to
+terrify me, that’s all.’ You are mistaken. Tomorrow this order will be
+sent to the Duke of Buckingham. The day after tomorrow it will return
+signed by his hand and marked with his seal; and four-and-twenty hours
+afterward I will answer for its being carried into execution. Adieu,
+madame. That is all I had to say to you.”
+
+“And I reply to you, sir, that this abuse of power, this exile under a
+fictitious name, are infamous!”
+
+“Would you like better to be hanged in your true name, Milady? You know
+that the English laws are inexorable on the abuse of marriage. Speak
+freely. Although my name, or rather that of my brother, would be mixed
+up with the affair, I will risk the scandal of a public trial to make
+myself certain of getting rid of you.”
+
+Milady made no reply, but became as pale as a corpse.
+
+“Oh, I see you prefer peregrination. That’s well madame; and there is
+an old proverb that says, ‘Traveling trains youth.’ My faith! you are
+not wrong after all, and life is sweet. That’s the reason why I take
+such care you shall not deprive me of mine. There only remains, then,
+the question of the five shillings to be settled. You think me rather
+parsimonious, don’t you? That’s because I don’t care to leave you the
+means of corrupting your jailers. Besides, you will always have your
+charms left to seduce them with. Employ them, if your check with regard
+to Felton has not disgusted you with attempts of that kind.”
+
+“Felton has not told him,” said Milady to herself. “Nothing is lost,
+then.”
+
+“And now, madame, till I see you again! Tomorrow I will come and
+announce to you the departure of my messenger.”
+
+Lord de Winter rose, saluted her ironically, and went out.
+
+Milady breathed again. She had still four days before her. Four days
+would quite suffice to complete the seduction of Felton.
+
+A terrible idea, however, rushed into her mind. She thought that Lord
+de Winter would perhaps send Felton himself to get the order signed by
+the Duke of Buckingham. In that case Felton would escape her—for in
+order to secure success, the magic of a continuous seduction was
+necessary. Nevertheless, as we have said, one circumstance reassured
+her. Felton had not spoken.
+
+As she would not appear to be agitated by the threats of Lord de
+Winter, she placed herself at the table and ate.
+
+Then, as she had done the evening before, she fell on her knees and
+repeated her prayers aloud. As on the evening before, the soldier
+stopped his march to listen to her.
+
+Soon after she heard lighter steps than those of the sentinel, which
+came from the end of the corridor and stopped before her door.
+
+“It is he,” said she. And she began the same religious chant which had
+so strongly excited Felton the evening before.
+
+But although her voice—sweet, full, and sonorous—vibrated as
+harmoniously and as affectingly as ever, the door remained shut. It
+appeared however to Milady that in one of the furtive glances she
+darted from time to time at the grating of the door she thought she saw
+the ardent eyes of the young man through the narrow opening. But
+whether this was reality or vision, he had this time sufficient
+self-command not to enter.
+
+However, a few instants after she had finished her religious song,
+Milady thought she heard a profound sigh. Then the same steps she had
+heard approach slowly withdrew, as if with regret.
+
+
+
+
+Chapter LV.
+CAPTIVITY: THE FOURTH DAY
+
+
+The next day, when Felton entered Milady’s apartment he found her
+standing, mounted upon a chair, holding in her hands a cord made by
+means of torn cambric handkerchiefs, twisted into a kind of rope one
+with another, and tied at the ends. At the noise Felton made in
+entering, Milady leaped lightly to the ground, and tried to conceal
+behind her the improvised cord she held in her hand.
+
+The young man was more pale than usual, and his eyes, reddened by want
+of sleep, denoted that he had passed a feverish night. Nevertheless,
+his brow was armed with a severity more austere than ever.
+
+He advanced slowly toward Milady, who had seated herself, and taking an
+end of the murderous rope which by neglect, or perhaps by design, she
+allowed to be seen, “What is this, madame?” he asked coldly.
+
+“That? Nothing,” said Milady, smiling with that painful expression
+which she knew so well how to give to her smile. “Ennui is the mortal
+enemy of prisoners; I had ennui, and I amused myself with twisting that
+rope.”
+
+Felton turned his eyes toward the part of the wall of the apartment
+before which he had found Milady standing in the armchair in which she
+was now seated, and over her head he perceived a gilt-headed screw,
+fixed in the wall for the purpose of hanging up clothes or weapons.
+
+He started, and the prisoner saw that start—for though her eyes were
+cast down, nothing escaped her.
+
+“What were you doing on that armchair?” asked he.
+
+“Of what consequence?” replied Milady.
+
+“But,” replied Felton, “I wish to know.”
+
+“Do not question me,” said the prisoner; “you know that we who are true
+Christians are forbidden to lie.”
+
+“Well, then,” said Felton, “I will tell you what you were doing, or
+rather what you meant to do; you were going to complete the fatal
+project you cherish in your mind. Remember, madame, if our God forbids
+falsehood, he much more severely condemns suicide.”
+
+“When God sees one of his creatures persecuted unjustly, placed between
+suicide and dishonor, believe me, sir,” replied Milady, in a tone of
+deep conviction, “God pardons suicide, for then suicide becomes
+martyrdom.”
+
+“You say either too much or too little; speak, madame. In the name of
+heaven, explain yourself.”
+
+“That I may relate my misfortunes for you to treat them as fables; that
+I may tell you my projects for you to go and betray them to my
+persecutor? No, sir. Besides, of what importance to you is the life or
+death of a condemned wretch? You are only responsible for my body, is
+it not so? And provided you produce a carcass that may be recognized as
+mine, they will require no more of you; nay, perhaps you will even have
+a double reward.”
+
+“I, madame, I?” cried Felton. “You suppose that I would ever accept the
+price of your life? Oh, you cannot believe what you say!”
+
+“Let me act as I please, Felton, let me act as I please,” said Milady,
+elated. “Every soldier must be ambitious, must he not? You are a
+lieutenant? Well, you will follow me to the grave with the rank of
+captain.”
+
+“What have I, then, done to you,” said Felton, much agitated, “that you
+should load me with such a responsibility before God and before men? In
+a few days you will be away from this place; your life, madame, will
+then no longer be under my care, and,” added he, with a sigh, “then you
+can do what you will with it.”
+
+“So,” cried Milady, as if she could not resist giving utterance to a
+holy indignation, “you, a pious man, you who are called a just man, you
+ask but one thing—and that is that you may not be inculpated, annoyed,
+by my death!”
+
+“It is my duty to watch over your life, madame, and I will watch.”
+
+“But do you understand the mission you are fulfilling? Cruel enough, if
+I am guilty; but what name can you give it, what name will the Lord
+give it, if I am innocent?”
+
+“I am a soldier, madame, and fulfill the orders I have received.”
+
+“Do you believe, then, that at the day of the Last Judgment God will
+separate blind executioners from iniquitous judges? You are not willing
+that I should kill my body, and you make yourself the agent of him who
+would kill my soul.”
+
+“But I repeat it again to you,” replied Felton, in great emotion, “no
+danger threatens you; I will answer for Lord de Winter as for myself.”
+
+“Dunce,” cried Milady, “dunce! who dares to answer for another man,
+when the wisest, when those most after God’s own heart, hesitate to
+answer for themselves, and who ranges himself on the side of the
+strongest and the most fortunate, to crush the weakest and the most
+unfortunate.”
+
+“Impossible, madame, impossible,” murmured Felton, who felt to the
+bottom of his heart the justness of this argument. “A prisoner, you
+will not recover your liberty through me; living, you will not lose
+your life through me.”
+
+“Yes,” cried Milady, “but I shall lose that which is much dearer to me
+than life, I shall lose my honor, Felton; and it is you, you whom I
+make responsible, before God and before men, for my shame and my
+infamy.”
+
+This time Felton, immovable as he was, or appeared to be, could not
+resist the secret influence which had already taken possession of him.
+To see this woman, so beautiful, fair as the brightest vision, to see
+her by turns overcome with grief and threatening; to resist at once the
+ascendancy of grief and beauty—it was too much for a visionary; it was
+too much for a brain weakened by the ardent dreams of an ecstatic
+faith; it was too much for a heart furrowed by the love of heaven that
+burns, by the hatred of men that devours.
+
+Milady saw the trouble. She felt by intuition the flame of the opposing
+passions which burned with the blood in the veins of the young fanatic.
+As a skillful general, seeing the enemy ready to surrender, marches
+toward him with a cry of victory, she rose, beautiful as an antique
+priestess, inspired like a Christian virgin, her arms extended, her
+throat uncovered, her hair disheveled, holding with one hand her robe
+modestly drawn over her breast, her look illumined by that fire which
+had already created such disorder in the veins of the young Puritan,
+and went toward him, crying out with a vehement air, and in her
+melodious voice, to which on this occasion she communicated a terrible
+energy:
+
+“Let this victim to Baal be sent,
+    To the lions the martyr be thrown!
+Thy God shall teach thee to repent!
+    From th’ abyss he’ll give ear to my moan.”
+
+
+Felton stood before this strange apparition like one petrified.
+
+“Who art thou? Who art thou?” cried he, clasping his hands. “Art thou a
+messenger from God; art thou a minister from hell; art thou an angel or
+a demon; callest thou thyself Eloa or Astarte?”
+
+“Do you not know me, Felton? I am neither an angel nor a demon; I am a
+daughter of earth, I am a sister of thy faith, that is all.”
+
+“Yes, yes!” said Felton, “I doubted, but now I believe.”
+
+“You believe, and still you are an accomplice of that child of Belial
+who is called Lord de Winter! You believe, and yet you leave me in the
+hands of mine enemies, of the enemy of England, of the enemy of God!
+You believe, and yet you deliver me up to him who fills and defiles the
+world with his heresies and debaucheries—to that infamous Sardanapalus
+whom the blind call the Duke of Buckingham, and whom believers name
+Antichrist!”
+
+“I deliver you up to Buckingham? I? what mean you by that?”
+
+“They have eyes,” cried Milady, “but they see not; ears have they, but
+they hear not.”
+
+“Yes, yes!” said Felton, passing his hands over his brow, covered with
+sweat, as if to remove his last doubt. “Yes, I recognize the voice
+which speaks to me in my dreams; yes, I recognize the features of the
+angel who appears to me every night, crying to my soul, which cannot
+sleep: ‘Strike, save England, save thyself—for thou wilt die without
+having appeased God!’ Speak, speak!” cried Felton, “I can understand
+you now.”
+
+A flash of terrible joy, but rapid as thought, gleamed from the eyes of
+Milady.
+
+However fugitive this homicide flash, Felton saw it, and started as if
+its light had revealed the abysses of this woman’s heart. He recalled,
+all at once, the warnings of Lord de Winter, the seductions of Milady,
+her first attempts after her arrival. He drew back a step, and hung
+down his head, without, however, ceasing to look at her, as if,
+fascinated by this strange creature, he could not detach his eyes from
+her eyes.
+
+Milady was not a woman to misunderstand the meaning of this hesitation.
+Under her apparent emotions her icy coolness never abandoned her.
+Before Felton replied, and before she should be forced to resume this
+conversation, so difficult to be sustained in the same exalted tone,
+she let her hands fall; and as if the weakness of the woman overpowered
+the enthusiasm of the inspired fanatic, she said: “But no, it is not
+for me to be the Judith to deliver Bethulia from this Holofernes. The
+sword of the eternal is too heavy for my arm. Allow me, then, to avoid
+dishonor by death; let me take refuge in martyrdom. I do not ask you
+for liberty, as a guilty one would, nor for vengeance, as would a
+pagan. Let me die; that is all. I supplicate you, I implore you on my
+knees—let me die, and my last sigh shall be a blessing for my
+preserver.”
+
+Hearing that voice, so sweet and suppliant, seeing that look, so timid
+and downcast, Felton reproached himself. By degrees the enchantress had
+clothed herself with that magic adornment which she assumed and threw
+aside at will; that is to say, beauty, meekness, and tears—and above
+all, the irresistible attraction of mystical voluptuousness, the most
+devouring of all voluptuousness.
+
+“Alas!” said Felton, “I can do but one thing, which is to pity you if
+you prove to me you are a victim! But Lord de Winter makes cruel
+accusations against you. You are a Christian; you are my sister in
+religion. I feel myself drawn toward you—I, who have never loved anyone
+but my benefactor—I who have met with nothing but traitors and impious
+men. But you, madame, so beautiful in reality, you, so pure in
+appearance, must have committed great iniquities for Lord de Winter to
+pursue you thus.”
+
+“They have eyes,” repeated Milady, with an accent of indescribable
+grief, “but they see not; ears have they, but they hear not.”
+
+“But,” cried the young officer, “speak, then, speak!”
+
+“Confide my shame to you,” cried Milady, with the blush of modesty upon
+her countenance, “for often the crime of one becomes the shame of
+another—confide my shame to you, a man, and I a woman? Oh,” continued
+she, placing her hand modestly over her beautiful eyes, “never!
+never!—I could not!”
+
+“To me, to a brother?” said Felton.
+
+Milady looked at him for some time with an expression which the young
+man took for doubt, but which, however, was nothing but observation, or
+rather the wish to fascinate.
+
+Felton, in his turn a suppliant, clasped his hands.
+
+“Well, then,” said Milady, “I confide in my brother; I will dare to—”
+
+At this moment the steps of Lord de Winter were heard; but this time
+the terrible brother-in-law of Milady did not content himself, as on
+the preceding day, with passing before the door and going away again.
+He paused, exchanged two words with the sentinel; then the door opened,
+and he appeared.
+
+During the exchange of these two words Felton drew back quickly, and
+when Lord de Winter entered, he was several paces from the prisoner.
+
+The baron entered slowly, sending a scrutinizing glance from Milady to
+the young officer.
+
+“You have been here a very long time, John,” said he. “Has this woman
+been relating her crimes to you? In that case I can comprehend the
+length of the conversation.”
+
+Felton started; and Milady felt she was lost if she did not come to the
+assistance of the disconcerted Puritan.
+
+“Ah, you fear your prisoner should escape!” said she. “Well, ask your
+worthy jailer what favor I this instant solicited of him.”
+
+“You demanded a favor?” said the baron, suspiciously.
+
+“Yes, my Lord,” replied the young man, confused.
+
+“And what favor, pray?” asked Lord de Winter.
+
+“A knife, which she would return to me through the grating of the door
+a minute after she had received it,” replied Felton.
+
+“There is someone, then, concealed here whose throat this amiable lady
+is desirous of cutting,” said de Winter, in an ironical, contemptuous
+tone.
+
+“There is myself,” replied Milady.
+
+“I have given you the choice between America and Tyburn,” replied Lord
+de Winter. “Choose Tyburn, madame. Believe me, the cord is more certain
+than the knife.”
+
+Felton grew pale, and made a step forward, remembering that at the
+moment he entered Milady had a rope in her hand.
+
+“You are right,” said she, “I have often thought of it.” Then she added
+in a low voice, “And I will think of it again.”
+
+Felton felt a shudder run to the marrow of his bones; probably Lord de
+Winter perceived this emotion.
+
+“Mistrust yourself, John,” said he. “I have placed reliance upon you,
+my friend. Beware! I have warned you! But be of good courage, my lad;
+in three days we shall be delivered from this creature, and where I
+shall send her she can harm nobody.”
+
+“You hear him!” cried Milady, with vehemence, so that the baron might
+believe she was addressing heaven, and that Felton might understand she
+was addressing him.
+
+Felton lowered his head and reflected.
+
+The baron took the young officer by the arm, and turned his head over
+his shoulder, so as not to lose sight of Milady till he was gone out.
+
+“Well,” said the prisoner, when the door was shut, “I am not so far
+advanced as I believed. De Winter has changed his usual stupidity into
+a strange prudence. It is the desire of vengeance, and how desire molds
+a man! As to Felton, he hesitates. Ah, he is not a man like that cursed
+D’Artagnan. A Puritan only adores virgins, and he adores them by
+clasping his hands. A Musketeer loves women, and he loves them by
+clasping his arms round them.”
+
+Milady waited, then, with much impatience, for she feared the day would
+pass away without her seeing Felton again. At last, in an hour after
+the scene we have just described, she heard someone speaking in a low
+voice at the door. Presently the door opened, and she perceived Felton.
+
+The young man advanced rapidly into the chamber, leaving the door open
+behind him, and making a sign to Milady to be silent; his face was much
+agitated.
+
+“What do you want with me?” said she.
+
+“Listen,” replied Felton, in a low voice. “I have just sent away the
+sentinel that I might remain here without anybody knowing it, in order
+to speak to you without being overheard. The baron has just related a
+frightful story to me.”
+
+Milady assumed her smile of a resigned victim, and shook her head.
+
+“Either you are a demon,” continued Felton, “or the baron—my
+benefactor, my father—is a monster. I have known you four days; I have
+loved him four years. I therefore may hesitate between you. Be not
+alarmed at what I say; I want to be convinced. Tonight, after twelve, I
+will come and see you, and you shall convince me.”
+
+“No, Felton, no, my brother,” said she; “the sacrifice is too great,
+and I feel what it must cost you. No, I am lost; do not be lost with
+me. My death will be much more eloquent than my life, and the silence
+of the corpse will convince you much better than the words of the
+prisoner.”
+
+“Be silent, madame,” cried Felton, “and do not speak to me thus; I came
+to entreat you to promise me upon your honor, to swear to me by what
+you hold most sacred, that you will make no attempt upon your life.”
+
+“I will not promise,” said Milady, “for no one has more respect for a
+promise or an oath than I have; and if I make a promise I must keep
+it.”
+
+“Well,” said Felton, “only promise till you have seen me again. If,
+when you have seen me again, you still persist—well, then you shall be
+free, and I myself will give you the weapon you desire.”
+
+“Well,” said Milady, “for you I will wait.”
+
+“Swear.”
+
+“I swear it, by our God. Are you satisfied?”
+
+“Well,” said Felton, “till tonight.”
+
+And he darted out of the room, shut the door, and waited in the
+corridor, the soldier’s half-pike in his hand, and as if he had mounted
+guard in his place.
+
+The soldier returned, and Felton gave him back his weapon.
+
+Then, through the grating to which she had drawn near, Milady saw the
+young man make a sign with delirious fervor, and depart in an apparent
+transport of joy.
+
+As for her, she returned to her place with a smile of savage contempt
+upon her lips, and repeated, blaspheming, that terrible name of God, by
+whom she had just sworn without ever having learned to know Him.
+
+“My God,” said she, “what a senseless fanatic! My God, it is I—I—and
+this fellow who will help me to avenge myself.”
+
+
+
+
+Chapter LVI.
+CAPTIVITY: THE FIFTH DAY
+
+
+Milady had however achieved a half-triumph, and success doubled her
+forces.
+
+It was not difficult to conquer, as she had hitherto done, men prompt
+to let themselves be seduced, and whom the gallant education of a court
+led quickly into her net. Milady was handsome enough not to find much
+resistance on the part of the flesh, and she was sufficiently skillful
+to prevail over all the obstacles of the mind.
+
+But this time she had to contend with an unpolished nature,
+concentrated and insensible by force of austerity. Religion and its
+observances had made Felton a man inaccessible to ordinary seductions.
+There fermented in that sublimated brain plans so vast, projects so
+tumultuous, that there remained no room for any capricious or material
+love—that sentiment which is fed by leisure and grows with corruption.
+Milady had, then, made a breach by her false virtue in the opinion of a
+man horribly prejudiced against her, and by her beauty in the heart of
+a man hitherto chaste and pure. In short, she had taken the measure of
+motives hitherto unknown to herself, through this experiment, made upon
+the most rebellious subject that nature and religion could submit to
+her study.
+
+Many a time, nevertheless, during the evening she despaired of fate and
+of herself. She did not invoke God, we very well know, but she had
+faith in the genius of evil—that immense sovereignty which reigns in
+all the details of human life, and by which, as in the Arabian fable, a
+single pomegranate seed is sufficient to reconstruct a ruined world.
+
+Milady, being well prepared for the reception of Felton, was able to
+erect her batteries for the next day. She knew she had only two days
+left; that when once the order was signed by Buckingham—and Buckingham
+would sign it the more readily from its bearing a false name, and he
+could not, therefore, recognize the woman in question—once this order
+was signed, we say, the baron would make her embark immediately, and
+she knew very well that women condemned to exile employ arms much less
+powerful in their seductions than the pretendedly virtuous woman whose
+beauty is lighted by the sun of the world, whose style the voice of
+fashion lauds, and whom a halo of aristocracy gilds with enchanting
+splendors. To be a woman condemned to a painful and disgraceful
+punishment is no impediment to beauty, but it is an obstacle to the
+recovery of power. Like all persons of real genius, Milady knew what
+suited her nature and her means. Poverty was repugnant to her;
+degradation took away two-thirds of her greatness. Milady was only a
+queen while among queens. The pleasure of satisfied pride was necessary
+to her domination. To command inferior beings was rather a humiliation
+than a pleasure for her.
+
+She should certainly return from her exile—she did not doubt that a
+single instant; but how long might this exile last? For an active,
+ambitious nature, like that of Milady, days not spent in climbing are
+inauspicious days. What word, then, can be found to describe the days
+which they occupy in descending? To lose a year, two years, three
+years, is to talk of an eternity; to return after the death or disgrace
+of the cardinal, perhaps; to return when D’Artagnan and his friends,
+happy and triumphant, should have received from the queen the reward
+they had well acquired by the services they had rendered her—these were
+devouring ideas that a woman like Milady could not endure. For the
+rest, the storm which raged within her doubled her strength, and she
+would have burst the walls of her prison if her body had been able to
+take for a single instant the proportions of her mind.
+
+Then that which spurred her on additionally in the midst of all this
+was the remembrance of the cardinal. What must the mistrustful,
+restless, suspicious cardinal think of her silence—the cardinal, not
+merely her only support, her only prop, her only protector at present,
+but still further, the principal instrument of her future fortune and
+vengeance? She knew him; she knew that at her return from a fruitless
+journey it would be in vain to tell him of her imprisonment, in vain to
+enlarge upon the sufferings she had undergone. The cardinal would
+reply, with the sarcastic calmness of the skeptic, strong at once by
+power and genius, “You should not have allowed yourself to be taken.”
+
+Then Milady collected all her energies, murmuring in the depths of her
+soul the name of Felton—the only beam of light that penetrated to her
+in the hell into which she had fallen; and like a serpent which folds
+and unfolds its rings to ascertain its strength, she enveloped Felton
+beforehand in the thousand meshes of her inventive imagination.
+
+Time, however, passed away; the hours, one after another, seemed to
+awaken the clock as they passed, and every blow of the brass hammer
+resounded upon the heart of the prisoner. At nine o’clock, Lord de
+Winter made his customary visit, examined the window and the bars,
+sounded the floor and the walls, looked to the chimney and the doors,
+without, during this long and minute examination, he or Milady
+pronouncing a single word.
+
+Doubtless both of them understood that the situation had become too
+serious to lose time in useless words and aimless wrath.
+
+“Well,” said the baron, on leaving her “you will not escape tonight!”
+
+At ten o’clock Felton came and placed the sentinel. Milady recognized
+his step. She was as well acquainted with it now as a mistress is with
+that of the lover of her heart; and yet Milady at the same time
+detested and despised this weak fanatic.
+
+That was not the appointed hour. Felton did not enter.
+
+Two hours after, as midnight sounded, the sentinel was relieved. This
+time it _was_ the hour, and from this moment Milady waited with
+impatience. The new sentinel commenced his walk in the corridor. At the
+expiration of ten minutes Felton came.
+
+Milady was all attention.
+
+“Listen,” said the young man to the sentinel. “On no pretense leave the
+door, for you know that last night my Lord punished a soldier for
+having quit his post for an instant, although I, during his absence,
+watched in his place.”
+
+“Yes, I know it,” said the soldier.
+
+“I recommend you therefore to keep the strictest watch. For my part I
+am going to pay a second visit to this woman, who I fear entertains
+sinister intentions upon her own life, and I have received orders to
+watch her.”
+
+“Good!” murmured Milady; “the austere Puritan lies.”
+
+As to the soldier, he only smiled.
+
+“Zounds, Lieutenant!” said he; “you are not unlucky in being charged
+with such commissions, particularly if my Lord has authorized you to
+look into her bed.”
+
+Felton blushed. Under any other circumstances he would have reprimanded
+the soldier for indulging in such pleasantry, but his conscience
+murmured too loud for his mouth to dare speak.
+
+“If I call, come,” said he. “If anyone comes, call me.”
+
+“I will, Lieutenant,” said the soldier.
+
+Felton entered Milady’s apartment. Milady arose.
+
+“You are here!” said she.
+
+“I promised to come,” said Felton, “and I have come.”
+
+“You promised me something else.”
+
+“What, my God!” said the young man, who in spite of his self-command
+felt his knees tremble and the sweat start from his brow.
+
+“You promised to bring a knife, and to leave it with me after our
+interview.”
+
+“Say no more of that, madame,” said Felton. “There is no situation,
+however terrible it may be, which can authorize a creature of God to
+inflict death upon himself. I have reflected, and I cannot, must not be
+guilty of such a sin.”
+
+“Ah, you have reflected!” said the prisoner, sitting down in her
+armchair, with a smile of disdain; “and I also have reflected.”
+
+“Upon what?”
+
+“That I can have nothing to say to a man who does not keep his word.”
+
+“Oh, my God!” murmured Felton.
+
+“You may retire,” said Milady. “I will not talk.”
+
+“Here is the knife,” said Felton, drawing from his pocket the weapon
+which he had brought, according to his promise, but which he hesitated
+to give to his prisoner.
+
+“Let me see it,” said Milady.
+
+“For what purpose?”
+
+“Upon my honor, I will instantly return it to you. You shall place it
+on that table, and you may remain between it and me.”
+
+Felton offered the weapon to Milady, who examined the temper of it
+attentively, and who tried the point on the tip of her finger.
+
+“Well,” said she, returning the knife to the young officer, “this is
+fine and good steel. You are a faithful friend, Felton.”
+
+Felton took back the weapon, and laid it upon the table, as he had
+agreed with the prisoner.
+
+Milady followed him with her eyes, and made a gesture of satisfaction.
+
+“Now,” said she, “listen to me.”
+
+The request was needless. The young officer stood upright before her,
+awaiting her words as if to devour them.
+
+“Felton,” said Milady, with a solemnity full of melancholy, “imagine
+that your sister, the daughter of your father, speaks to you. While yet
+young, unfortunately handsome, I was dragged into a snare. I resisted.
+Ambushes and violences multiplied around me, but I resisted. The
+religion I serve, the God I adore, were blasphemed because I called
+upon that religion and that God, but still I resisted. Then outrages
+were heaped upon me, and as my soul was not subdued they wished to
+defile my body forever. Finally—”
+
+Milady stopped, and a bitter smile passed over her lips.
+
+“Finally,” said Felton, “finally, what did they do?”
+
+“At length, one evening my enemy resolved to paralyze the resistance he
+could not conquer. One evening he mixed a powerful narcotic with my
+water. Scarcely had I finished my repast, when I felt myself sink by
+degrees into a strange torpor. Although I was without mistrust, a vague
+fear seized me, and I tried to struggle against sleepiness. I arose. I
+wished to run to the window and call for help, but my legs refused
+their office. It appeared as if the ceiling sank upon my head and
+crushed me with its weight. I stretched out my arms. I tried to speak.
+I could only utter inarticulate sounds, and irresistible faintness came
+over me. I supported myself by a chair, feeling that I was about to
+fall, but this support was soon insufficient on account of my weak
+arms. I fell upon one knee, then upon both. I tried to pray, but my
+tongue was frozen. God doubtless neither heard nor saw me, and I sank
+upon the floor a prey to a slumber which resembled death.
+
+“Of all that passed in that sleep, or the time which glided away while
+it lasted, I have no remembrance. The only thing I recollect is that I
+awoke in bed in a round chamber, the furniture of which was sumptuous,
+and into which light only penetrated by an opening in the ceiling. No
+door gave entrance to the room. It might be called a magnificent
+prison.
+
+“It was a long time before I was able to make out what place I was in,
+or to take account of the details I describe. My mind appeared to
+strive in vain to shake off the heavy darkness of the sleep from which
+I could not rouse myself. I had vague perceptions of space traversed,
+of the rolling of a carriage, of a horrible dream in which my strength
+had become exhausted; but all this was so dark and so indistinct in my
+mind that these events seemed to belong to another life than mine, and
+yet mixed with mine in fantastic duality.
+
+“At times the state into which I had fallen appeared so strange that I
+believed myself dreaming. I arose trembling. My clothes were near me on
+a chair; I neither remembered having undressed myself nor going to bed.
+Then by degrees the reality broke upon me, full of chaste terrors. I
+was no longer in the house where I had dwelt. As well as I could judge
+by the light of the sun, the day was already two-thirds gone. It was
+the evening before when I had fallen asleep; my sleep, then, must have
+lasted twenty-four hours! What had taken place during this long sleep?
+
+“I dressed myself as quickly as possible; my slow and stiff motions all
+attested that the effects of the narcotic were not yet entirely
+dissipated. The chamber was evidently furnished for the reception of a
+woman; and the most finished coquette could not have formed a wish, but
+on casting her eyes about the apartment, she would have found that wish
+accomplished.
+
+“Certainly I was not the first captive that had been shut up in this
+splendid prison; but you may easily comprehend, Felton, that the more
+superb the prison, the greater was my terror.
+
+“Yes, it was a prison, for I tried in vain to get out of it. I sounded
+all the walls, in the hopes of discovering a door, but everywhere the
+walls returned a full and flat sound.
+
+“I made the tour of the room at least twenty times, in search of an
+outlet of some kind; but there was none. I sank exhausted with fatigue
+and terror into an armchair.
+
+“Meantime, night came on rapidly, and with night my terrors increased.
+I did not know but I had better remain where I was seated. It appeared
+that I was surrounded with unknown dangers into which I was about to
+fall at every instant. Although I had eaten nothing since the evening
+before, my fears prevented my feeling hunger.
+
+“No noise from without by which I could measure the time reached me; I
+only supposed it must be seven or eight o’clock in the evening, for it
+was in the month of October and it was quite dark.
+
+“All at once the noise of a door, turning on its hinges, made me start.
+A globe of fire appeared above the glazed opening of the ceiling,
+casting a strong light into my chamber; and I perceived with terror
+that a man was standing within a few paces of me.
+
+“A table, with two covers, bearing a supper ready prepared, stood, as
+if by magic, in the middle of the apartment.
+
+“That man was he who had pursued me during a whole year, who had vowed
+my dishonor, and who, by the first words that issued from his mouth,
+gave me to understand he had accomplished it the preceding night.”
+
+“Scoundrel!” murmured Felton.
+
+“Oh, yes, scoundrel!” cried Milady, seeing the interest which the young
+officer, whose soul seemed to hang on her lips, took in this strange
+recital. “Oh, yes, scoundrel! He believed, having triumphed over me in
+my sleep, that all was completed. He came, hoping that I would accept
+my shame, as my shame was consummated; he came to offer his fortune in
+exchange for my love.
+
+“All that the heart of a woman could contain of haughty contempt and
+disdainful words, I poured out upon this man. Doubtless he was
+accustomed to such reproaches, for he listened to me calm and smiling,
+with his arms crossed over his breast. Then, when he thought I had said
+all, he advanced toward me; I sprang toward the table, I seized a
+knife, I placed it to my breast.
+
+“Take one step more,” said I, “and in addition to my dishonor, you
+shall have my death to reproach yourself with.”
+
+“There was, no doubt, in my look, my voice, my whole person, that
+sincerity of gesture, of attitude, of accent, which carries conviction
+to the most perverse minds, for he paused.
+
+“‘Your death?’ said he; ‘oh, no, you are too charming a mistress to
+allow me to consent to lose you thus, after I have had the happiness to
+possess you only a single time. Adieu, my charmer; I will wait to pay
+you my next visit till you are in a better humor.’
+
+“At these words he blew a whistle; the globe of fire which lighted the
+room reascended and disappeared. I found myself again in complete
+darkness. The same noise of a door opening and shutting was repeated
+the instant afterward; the flaming globe descended afresh, and I was
+completely alone.
+
+“This moment was frightful; if I had any doubts as to my misfortune,
+these doubts had vanished in an overwhelming reality. I was in the
+power of a man whom I not only detested, but despised—of a man capable
+of anything, and who had already given me a fatal proof of what he was
+able to do.”
+
+“But who, then, was this man?” asked Felton.
+
+“I passed the night on a chair, starting at the least noise, for toward
+midnight the lamp went out, and I was again in darkness. But the night
+passed away without any fresh attempt on the part of my persecutor. Day
+came; the table had disappeared, only I had still the knife in my hand.
+
+“This knife was my only hope.
+
+“I was worn out with fatigue. Sleeplessness inflamed my eyes; I had not
+dared to sleep a single instant. The light of day reassured me; I went
+and threw myself on the bed, without parting with the emancipating
+knife, which I concealed under my pillow.
+
+“When I awoke, a fresh meal was served.
+
+“This time, in spite of my terrors, in spite of my agony, I began to
+feel a devouring hunger. It was forty-eight hours since I had taken any
+nourishment. I ate some bread and some fruit; then, remembering the
+narcotic mixed with the water I had drunk, I would not touch that which
+was placed on the table, but filled my glass at a marble fountain fixed
+in the wall over my dressing table.
+
+“And yet, notwithstanding these precautions, I remained for some time
+in a terrible agitation of mind. But my fears were this time
+ill-founded; I passed the day without experiencing anything of the kind
+I dreaded.
+
+“I took the precaution to half empty the _carafe_, in order that my
+suspicions might not be noticed.
+
+“The evening came on, and with it darkness; but however profound was
+this darkness, my eyes began to accustom themselves to it. I saw, amid
+the shadows, the table sink through the floor; a quarter of an hour
+later it reappeared, bearing my supper. In an instant, thanks to the
+lamp, my chamber was once more lighted.
+
+“I was determined to eat only such things as could not possibly have
+anything soporific introduced into them. Two eggs and some fruit
+composed my repast; then I drew another glass of water from my
+protecting fountain, and drank it.
+
+“At the first swallow, it appeared to me not to have the same taste as
+in the morning. Suspicion instantly seized me. I paused, but I had
+already drunk half a glass.
+
+“I threw the rest away with horror, and waited, with the dew of fear
+upon my brow.
+
+“No doubt some invisible witness had seen me draw the water from that
+fountain, and had taken advantage of my confidence in it, the better to
+assure my ruin, so coolly resolved upon, so cruelly pursued.
+
+“Half an hour had not passed when the same symptoms began to appear;
+but as I had only drunk half a glass of the water, I contended longer,
+and instead of falling entirely asleep, I sank into a state of
+drowsiness which left me a perception of what was passing around me,
+while depriving me of the strength either to defend myself or to fly.
+
+“I dragged myself toward the bed, to seek the only defense I had
+left—my saving knife; but I could not reach the bolster. I sank on my
+knees, my hands clasped round one of the bedposts; then I felt that I
+was lost.”
+
+Felton became frightfully pale, and a convulsive tremor crept through
+his whole body.
+
+“And what was most frightful,” continued Milady, her voice altered, as
+if she still experienced the same agony as at that awful minute, “was
+that at this time I retained a consciousness of the danger that
+threatened me; was that my soul, if I may say so, waked in my sleeping
+body; was that I saw, that I heard. It is true that all was like a
+dream, but it was not the less frightful.
+
+“I saw the lamp ascend, and leave me in darkness; then I heard the
+well-known creaking of the door although I had heard that door open but
+twice.
+
+“I felt instinctively that someone approached me; it is said that the
+doomed wretch in the deserts of America thus feels the approach of the
+serpent.
+
+“I wished to make an effort; I attempted to cry out. By an incredible
+effort of will I even raised myself up, but only to sink down again
+immediately, and to fall into the arms of my persecutor.”
+
+“Tell me who this man was!” cried the young officer.
+
+Milady saw at a single glance all the painful feelings she inspired in
+Felton by dwelling on every detail of her recital; but she would not
+spare him a single pang. The more profoundly she wounded his heart, the
+more certainly he would avenge her. She continued, then, as if she had
+not heard his exclamation, or as if she thought the moment was not yet
+come to reply to it.
+
+“Only this time it was no longer an inert body, without feeling, that
+the villain had to deal with. I have told you that without being able
+to regain the complete exercise of my faculties, I retained the sense
+of my danger. I struggled, then, with all my strength, and doubtless
+opposed, weak as I was, a long resistance, for I heard him cry out,
+‘These miserable Puritans! I knew very well that they tired out their
+executioners, but I did not believe them so strong against their
+lovers!’
+
+“Alas! this desperate resistance could not last long. I felt my
+strength fail, and this time it was not my sleep that enabled the
+coward to prevail, but my swoon.”
+
+Felton listened without uttering any word or sound, except an inward
+expression of agony. The sweat streamed down his marble forehead, and
+his hand, under his coat, tore his breast.
+
+“My first impulse, on coming to myself, was to feel under my pillow for
+the knife I had not been able to reach; if it had not been useful for
+defense, it might at least serve for expiation.
+
+“But on taking this knife, Felton, a terrible idea occurred to me. I
+have sworn to tell you all, and I will tell you all. I have promised
+you the truth; I will tell it, were it to destroy me.”
+
+“The idea came into your mind to avenge yourself on this man, did it
+not?” cried Felton.
+
+“Yes,” said Milady. “The idea was not that of a Christian, I knew; but
+without doubt, that eternal enemy of our souls, that lion roaring
+constantly around us, breathed it into my mind. In short, what shall I
+say to you, Felton?” continued Milady, in the tone of a woman accusing
+herself of a crime. “This idea occurred to me, and did not leave me; it
+is of this homicidal thought that I now bear the punishment.”
+
+“Continue, continue!” said Felton; “I am eager to see you attain your
+vengeance!”
+
+“Oh, I resolved that it should take place as soon as possible. I had no
+doubt he would return the following night. During the day I had nothing
+to fear.
+
+“When the hour of breakfast came, therefore, I did not hesitate to eat
+and drink. I had determined to make believe sup, but to eat nothing. I
+was forced, then, to combat the fast of the evening with the
+nourishment of the morning.
+
+“Only I concealed a glass of water, which remained after my breakfast,
+thirst having been the chief of my sufferings when I remained
+forty-eight hours without eating or drinking.
+
+“The day passed away without having any other influence on me than to
+strengthen the resolution I had formed; only I took care that my face
+should not betray the thoughts of my heart, for I had no doubt I was
+watched. Several times, even, I felt a smile on my lips. Felton, I dare
+not tell you at what idea I smiled; you would hold me in horror—”
+
+“Go on! go on!” said Felton; “you see plainly that I listen, and that I
+am anxious to know the end.”
+
+“Evening came; the ordinary events took place. During the darkness, as
+before, my supper was brought. Then the lamp was lighted, and I sat
+down to table. I only ate some fruit. I pretended to pour out water
+from the jug, but I only drank that which I had saved in my glass. The
+substitution was made so carefully that my spies, if I had any, could
+have no suspicion of it.
+
+“After supper I exhibited the same marks of languor as on the preceding
+evening; but this time, as I yielded to fatigue, or as if I had become
+familiarized with danger, I dragged myself toward my bed, let my robe
+fall, and lay down.
+
+“I found my knife where I had placed it, under my pillow, and while
+feigning to sleep, my hand grasped the handle of it convulsively.
+
+“Two hours passed away without anything fresh happening. Oh, my God!
+who could have said so the evening before? I began to fear that he
+would not come.
+
+“At length I saw the lamp rise softly, and disappear in the depths of
+the ceiling; my chamber was filled with darkness and obscurity, but I
+made a strong effort to penetrate this darkness and obscurity.
+
+“Nearly ten minutes passed; I heard no other noise but the beating of
+my own heart. I implored heaven that he might come.
+
+“At length I heard the well-known noise of the door, which opened and
+shut; I heard, notwithstanding the thickness of the carpet, a step
+which made the floor creak; I saw, notwithstanding the darkness, a
+shadow which approached my bed.”
+
+“Haste! haste!” said Felton; “do you not see that each of your words
+burns me like molten lead?”
+
+“Then,” continued Milady, “then I collected all my strength; I recalled
+to my mind that the moment of vengeance, or rather, of justice, had
+struck. I looked upon myself as another Judith; I gathered myself up,
+my knife in my hand, and when I saw him near me, stretching out his
+arms to find his victim, then, with the last cry of agony and despair,
+I struck him in the middle of his breast.
+
+“The miserable villain! He had foreseen all. His breast was covered
+with a coat-of-mail; the knife was bent against it.
+
+“‘Ah, ah!’ cried he, seizing my arm, and wresting from me the weapon
+that had so badly served me, ‘you want to take my life, do you, my
+pretty Puritan? But that’s more than dislike, that’s ingratitude! Come,
+come, calm yourself, my sweet girl! I thought you had softened. I am
+not one of those tyrants who detain women by force. You don’t love me.
+With my usual fatuity I doubted it; now I am convinced. Tomorrow you
+shall be free.’
+
+“I had but one wish; that was that he should kill me.
+
+“‘Beware!’ said I, ‘for my liberty is your dishonor.’
+
+“‘Explain yourself, my pretty sibyl!’
+
+“‘Yes; for as soon as I leave this place I will tell everything. I will
+proclaim the violence you have used toward me. I will describe my
+captivity. I will denounce this place of infamy. You are placed on
+high, my Lord, but tremble! Above you there is the king; above the king
+there is God!’
+
+“However perfect master he was over himself, my persecutor allowed a
+movement of anger to escape him. I could not see the expression of his
+countenance, but I felt the arm tremble upon which my hand was placed.
+
+“‘Then you shall not leave this place,’ said he.
+
+“‘Very well,’ cried I, ‘then the place of my punishment will be that of
+my tomb. I will die here, and you will see if a phantom that accuses is
+not more terrible than a living being that threatens!’
+
+“‘You shall have no weapon left in your power.’
+
+“‘There is a weapon which despair has placed within the reach of every
+creature who has the courage to use it. I will allow myself to die with
+hunger.’
+
+“‘Come,’ said the wretch, ‘is not peace much better than such a war as
+that? I will restore you to liberty this moment; I will proclaim you a
+piece of immaculate virtue; I will name you the Lucretia of England.’
+
+“‘And I will say that you are the Sextus. I will denounce you before
+men, as I have denounced you before God; and if it be necessary that,
+like Lucretia, I should sign my accusation with my blood, I will sign
+it.’
+
+“‘Ah!’ said my enemy, in a jeering tone, ‘that’s quite another thing.
+My faith! everything considered, you are very well off here. You shall
+want for nothing, and if you let yourself die of hunger that will be
+your own fault.’
+
+“At these words he retired. I heard the door open and shut, and I
+remained overwhelmed, less, I confess it, by my grief than by the
+mortification of not having avenged myself.
+
+“He kept his word. All the day, all the next night passed away without
+my seeing him again. But I also kept my word with him, and I neither
+ate nor drank. I was, as I told him, resolved to die of hunger.
+
+“I passed the day and the night in prayer, for I hoped that God would
+pardon me my suicide.
+
+“The second night the door opened; I was lying on the floor, for my
+strength began to abandon me.
+
+“At the noise I raised myself up on one hand.
+
+“‘Well,’ said a voice which vibrated in too terrible a manner in my ear
+not to be recognized, ‘well! Are we softened a little? Will we not pay
+for our liberty with a single promise of silence? Come, I am a good
+sort of a prince,’ added he, ‘and although I like not Puritans I do
+them justice; and it is the same with Puritanesses, when they are
+pretty. Come, take a little oath for me on the cross; I won’t ask
+anything more of you.’
+
+“‘On the cross,’ cried I, rising, for at that abhorred voice I had
+recovered all my strength, ‘on the cross I swear that no promise, no
+menace, no force, no torture, shall close my mouth! On the cross I
+swear to denounce you everywhere as a murderer, as a thief of honor, as
+a base coward! On the cross I swear, if I ever leave this place, to
+call down vengeance upon you from the whole human race!’
+
+“‘Beware!’ said the voice, in a threatening accent that I had never yet
+heard. ‘I have an extraordinary means which I will not employ but in
+the last extremity to close your mouth, or at least to prevent anyone
+from believing a word you may utter.’
+
+“I mustered all my strength to reply to him with a burst of laughter.
+
+“He saw that it was a merciless war between us—a war to the death.
+
+“‘Listen!’ said he. ‘I give you the rest of tonight and all day
+tomorrow. Reflect: promise to be silent, and riches, consideration,
+even honor, shall surround you; threaten to speak, and I will condemn
+you to infamy.’
+
+“‘You?’ cried I. ‘You?’
+
+“‘To interminable, ineffaceable infamy!’
+
+“‘You?’ repeated I. Oh, I declare to you, Felton, I thought him mad!
+
+“‘Yes, yes, I!’ replied he.
+
+“‘Oh, leave me!’ said I. ‘Begone, if you do not desire to see me dash
+my head against that wall before your eyes!’
+
+“‘Very well, it is your own doing. Till tomorrow evening, then!’
+
+“‘Till tomorrow evening, then!’ replied I, allowing myself to fall, and
+biting the carpet with rage.”
+
+Felton leaned for support upon a piece of furniture; and Milady saw,
+with the joy of a demon, that his strength would fail him perhaps
+before the end of her recital.
+
+
+
+
+Chapter LVII.
+MEANS FOR CLASSICAL TRAGEDY
+
+
+After a moment of silence employed by Milady in observing the young man
+who listened to her, Milady continued her recital.
+
+“It was nearly three days since I had eaten or drunk anything. I
+suffered frightful torments. At times there passed before me clouds
+which pressed my brow, which veiled my eyes; this was delirium.
+
+“When the evening came I was so weak that every time I fainted I
+thanked God, for I thought I was about to die.
+
+“In the midst of one of these swoons I heard the door open. Terror
+recalled me to myself.
+
+“He entered the apartment followed by a man in a mask. He was masked
+likewise; but I knew his step, I knew his voice, I knew him by that
+imposing bearing which hell has bestowed upon his person for the curse
+of humanity.
+
+“‘Well,’ said he to me, ‘have you made your mind up to take the oath I
+requested of you?’
+
+“‘You have said Puritans have but one word. Mine you have heard, and
+that is to pursue you—on earth to the tribunal of men, in heaven to the
+tribunal of God.’
+
+“‘You persist, then?’
+
+“‘I swear it before the God who hears me. I will take the whole world
+as a witness of your crime, and that until I have found an avenger.’
+
+“‘You are a prostitute,’ said he, in a voice of thunder, ‘and you shall
+undergo the punishment of prostitutes! Branded in the eyes of the world
+you invoke, try to prove to that world that you are neither guilty nor
+mad!’
+
+“Then, addressing the man who accompanied him, ‘Executioner,’ said he,
+‘do your duty.’”
+
+“Oh, his name, his name!” cried Felton. “His name, tell it me!”
+
+“Then in spite of my cries, in spite of my resistance—for I began to
+comprehend that there was a question of something worse than death—the
+executioner seized me, threw me on the floor, fastened me with his
+bonds, and suffocated by sobs, almost without sense, invoking God, who
+did not listen to me, I uttered all at once a frightful cry of pain and
+shame. A burning fire, a red-hot iron, the iron of the executioner, was
+imprinted on my shoulder.”
+
+Felton uttered a groan.
+
+“Here,” said Milady, rising with the majesty of a queen, “here, Felton,
+behold the new martyrdom invented for a pure young girl, the victim of
+the brutality of a villain. Learn to know the heart of men, and
+henceforth make yourself less easily the instrument of their unjust
+vengeance.”
+
+Milady, with a rapid gesture, opened her robe, tore the cambric that
+covered her bosom, and red with feigned anger and simulated shame,
+showed the young man the ineffaceable impression which dishonored that
+beautiful shoulder.
+
+“But,” cried Felton, “that is a _fleur-de-lis_ which I see there.”
+
+“And therein consisted the infamy,” replied Milady. “The brand of
+England!—it would be necessary to prove what tribunal had imposed it on
+me, and I could have made a public appeal to all the tribunals of the
+kingdom; but the brand of France!—oh, by that, by _that_ I was branded
+indeed!”
+
+This was too much for Felton.
+
+Pale, motionless, overwhelmed by this frightful revelation, dazzled by
+the superhuman beauty of this woman who unveiled herself before him
+with an immodesty which appeared to him sublime, he ended by falling on
+his knees before her as the early Christians did before those pure and
+holy martyrs whom the persecution of the emperors gave up in the circus
+to the sanguinary sensuality of the populace. The brand disappeared;
+the beauty alone remained.
+
+“Pardon! Pardon!” cried Felton, “oh, pardon!”
+
+Milady read in his eyes _love! love!_
+
+“Pardon for what?” asked she.
+
+“Pardon me for having joined with your persecutors.”
+
+Milady held out her hand to him.
+
+“So beautiful! so young!” cried Felton, covering that hand with his
+kisses.
+
+Milady let one of those looks fall upon him which make a slave of a
+king.
+
+Felton was a Puritan; he abandoned the hand of this woman to kiss her
+feet.
+
+He no longer loved her; he adored her.
+
+When this crisis was past, when Milady appeared to have resumed her
+self-possession, which she had never lost; when Felton had seen her
+recover with the veil of chastity those treasures of love which were
+only concealed from him to make him desire them the more ardently, he
+said, “Ah, now! I have only one thing to ask of you; that is, the name
+of your true executioner. For to me there is but one; the other was an
+instrument, that was all.”
+
+“What, brother!” cried Milady, “must I name him again? Have you not yet
+divined who he is?”
+
+“What?” cried Felton, “he—again he—always he? What—the truly guilty?”
+
+“The truly guilty,” said Milady, “is the ravager of England, the
+persecutor of true believers, the base ravisher of the honor of so many
+women—he who, to satisfy a caprice of his corrupt heart, is about to
+make England shed so much blood, who protects the Protestants today and
+will betray them tomorrow—”
+
+“Buckingham! It is, then, Buckingham!” cried Felton, in a high state of
+excitement.
+
+Milady concealed her face in her hands, as if she could not endure the
+shame which this name recalled to her.
+
+“Buckingham, the executioner of this angelic creature!” cried Felton.
+“And thou hast not hurled thy thunder at him, my God! And thou hast
+left him noble, honored, powerful, for the ruin of us all!”
+
+“God abandons him who abandons himself,” said Milady.
+
+“But he will draw upon his head the punishment reserved for the
+damned!” said Felton, with increasing exultation. “He wills that human
+vengeance should precede celestial justice.”
+
+“Men fear him and spare him.”
+
+“I,” said Felton, “I do not fear him, nor will I spare him.”
+
+The soul of Milady was bathed in an infernal joy.
+
+“But how can Lord de Winter, my protector, my father,” asked Felton,
+“possibly be mixed up with all this?”
+
+“Listen, Felton,” resumed Milady, “for by the side of base and
+contemptible men there are often found great and generous natures. I
+had an affianced husband, a man whom I loved, and who loved me—a heart
+like yours, Felton, a man like you. I went to him and told him all; he
+knew me, that man did, and did not doubt an instant. He was a nobleman,
+a man equal to Buckingham in every respect. He said nothing; he only
+girded on his sword, wrapped himself in his cloak, and went straight to
+Buckingham Palace.
+
+“Yes, yes,” said Felton; “I understand how he would act. But with such
+men it is not the sword that should be employed; it is the poniard.”
+
+“Buckingham had left England the day before, sent as ambassador to
+Spain, to demand the hand of the Infanta for King Charles I., who was
+then only Prince of Wales. My affianced husband returned.
+
+“‘Hear me,’ said he; ‘this man has gone, and for the moment has
+consequently escaped my vengeance; but let us be united, as we were to
+have been, and then leave it to Lord de Winter to maintain his own
+honor and that of his wife.’”
+
+“Lord de Winter!” cried Felton.
+
+“Yes,” said Milady, “Lord de Winter; and now you can understand it all,
+can you not? Buckingham remained nearly a year absent. A week before
+his return Lord de Winter died, leaving me his sole heir. Whence came
+the blow? God who knows all, knows without doubt; but as for me, I
+accuse nobody.”
+
+“Oh, what an abyss; what an abyss!” cried Felton.
+
+“Lord de Winter died without revealing anything to his brother. The
+terrible secret was to be concealed till it burst, like a clap of
+thunder, over the head of the guilty. Your protector had seen with pain
+this marriage of his elder brother with a portionless girl. I was
+sensible that I could look for no support from a man disappointed in
+his hopes of an inheritance. I went to France, with a determination to
+remain there for the rest of my life. But all my fortune is in England.
+Communication being closed by the war, I was in want of everything. I
+was then obliged to come back again. Six days ago, I landed at
+Portsmouth.”
+
+“Well?” said Felton.
+
+“Well; Buckingham heard by some means, no doubt, of my return. He spoke
+of me to Lord de Winter, already prejudiced against me, and told him
+that his sister-in-law was a prostitute, a branded woman. The noble and
+pure voice of my husband was no longer here to defend me. Lord de
+Winter believed all that was told him with so much the more ease that
+it was his interest to believe it. He caused me to be arrested, had me
+conducted hither, and placed me under your guard. You know the rest.
+The day after tomorrow he banishes me, he transports me; the day after
+tomorrow he exiles me among the infamous. Oh, the train is well laid;
+the plot is clever. My honor will not survive it! You see, then,
+Felton, I can do nothing but die. Felton, give me that knife!”
+
+And at these words, as if all her strength was exhausted, Milady sank,
+weak and languishing, into the arms of the young officer, who,
+intoxicated with love, anger, and voluptuous sensations hitherto
+unknown, received her with transport, pressed her against his heart,
+all trembling at the breath from that charming mouth, bewildered by the
+contact with that palpitating bosom.
+
+“No, no,” said he. “No, you shall live honored and pure; you shall live
+to triumph over your enemies.”
+
+Milady put him from her slowly with her hand, while drawing him nearer
+with her look; but Felton, in his turn, embraced her more closely,
+imploring her like a divinity.
+
+“Oh, death, death!” said she, lowering her voice and her eyelids, “oh,
+death, rather than shame! Felton, my brother, my friend, I conjure
+you!”
+
+“No,” cried Felton, “no; you shall live and you shall be avenged.”
+
+“Felton, I bring misfortune to all who surround me! Felton, abandon me!
+Felton, let me die!”
+
+“Well, then, we will live and die together!” cried he, pressing his
+lips to those of the prisoner.
+
+Several strokes resounded on the door; this time Milady really pushed
+him away from her.
+
+“Hark,” said she, “we have been overheard! Someone is coming! All is
+over! We are lost!”
+
+“No,” said Felton; it is only the sentinel warning me that they are
+about to change the guard.”
+
+“Then run to the door, and open it yourself.”
+
+Felton obeyed; this woman was now his whole thought, his whole soul.
+
+He found himself face to face with a sergeant commanding a
+watch-patrol.
+
+“Well, what is the matter?” asked the young lieutenant.
+
+“You told me to open the door if I heard anyone cry out,” said the
+soldier; “but you forgot to leave me the key. I heard you cry out,
+without understanding what you said. I tried to open the door, but it
+was locked inside; then I called the sergeant.”
+
+“And here I am,” said the sergeant.
+
+Felton, quite bewildered, almost mad, stood speechless.
+
+Milady plainly perceived that it was now her turn to take part in the
+scene. She ran to the table, and seizing the knife which Felton had
+laid down, exclaimed, “And by what right will you prevent me from
+dying?”
+
+“Great God!” exclaimed Felton, on seeing the knife glitter in her hand.
+
+At that moment a burst of ironical laughter resounded through the
+corridor. The baron, attracted by the noise, in his chamber gown, his
+sword under his arm, stood in the doorway.
+
+“Ah,” said he, “here we are, at the last act of the tragedy. You see,
+Felton, the drama has gone through all the phases I named; but be easy,
+no blood will flow.”
+
+Milady perceived that all was lost unless she gave Felton an immediate
+and terrible proof of her courage.
+
+“You are mistaken, my Lord, blood will flow; and may that blood fall
+back on those who cause it to flow!”
+
+Felton uttered a cry, and rushed toward her. He was too late; Milady
+had stabbed herself.
+
+But the knife had fortunately, we ought to say skillfully, come in
+contact with the steel busk, which at that period, like a cuirass,
+defended the chests of women. It had glided down it, tearing the robe,
+and had penetrated slantingly between the flesh and the ribs. Milady’s
+robe was not the less stained with blood in a second.
+
+Milady fell down, and seemed to be in a swoon.
+
+Felton snatched away the knife.
+
+“See, my Lord,” said he, in a deep, gloomy tone, “here is a woman who
+was under my guard, and who has killed herself!”
+
+“Be at ease, Felton,” said Lord de Winter. “She is not dead; demons do
+not die so easily. Be tranquil, and go wait for me in my chamber.”
+
+“But, my Lord—”
+
+“Go, sir, I command you!”
+
+At this injunction from his superior, Felton obeyed; but in going out,
+he put the knife into his bosom.
+
+As to Lord de Winter, he contented himself with calling the woman who
+waited on Milady, and when she was come, he recommended the prisoner,
+who was still fainting, to her care, and left them alone.
+
+Meanwhile, all things considered and notwithstanding his suspicions, as
+the wound might be serious, he immediately sent off a mounted man to
+find a physician.
+
+
+
+
+Chapter LVIII.
+ESCAPE
+
+
+As Lord de Winter had thought, Milady’s wound was not dangerous. So
+soon as she was left alone with the woman whom the baron had summoned
+to her assistance she opened her eyes.
+
+It was, however, necessary to affect weakness and pain—not a very
+difficult task for so finished an actress as Milady. Thus the poor
+woman was completely the dupe of the prisoner, whom, notwithstanding
+her hints, she persisted in watching all night.
+
+But the presence of this woman did not prevent Milady from thinking.
+
+There was no longer a doubt that Felton was convinced; Felton was hers.
+If an angel appeared to that young man as an accuser of Milady, he
+would take him, in the mental disposition in which he now found
+himself, for a messenger sent by the devil.
+
+Milady smiled at this thought, for Felton was now her only hope—her
+only means of safety.
+
+But Lord de Winter might suspect him; Felton himself might now be
+watched!
+
+Toward four o’clock in the morning the doctor arrived; but since the
+time Milady stabbed herself, however short, the wound had closed. The
+doctor could therefore measure neither the direction nor the depth of
+it; he only satisfied himself by Milady’s pulse that the case was not
+serious.
+
+In the morning Milady, under the pretext that she had not slept well in
+the night and wanted rest, sent away the woman who attended her.
+
+She had one hope, which was that Felton would appear at the breakfast
+hour; but Felton did not come.
+
+Were her fears realized? Was Felton, suspected by the baron, about to
+fail her at the decisive moment? She had only one day left. Lord de
+Winter had announced her embarkation for the twenty-third, and it was
+now the morning of the twenty-second.
+
+Nevertheless she still waited patiently till the hour for dinner.
+
+Although she had eaten nothing in the morning, the dinner was brought
+in at its usual time. Milady then perceived, with terror, that the
+uniform of the soldiers who guarded her was changed.
+
+Then she ventured to ask what had become of Felton.
+
+She was told that he had left the castle an hour before on horseback.
+She inquired if the baron was still at the castle. The soldier replied
+that he was, and that he had given orders to be informed if the
+prisoner wished to speak to him.
+
+Milady replied that she was too weak at present, and that her only
+desire was to be left alone.
+
+The soldier went out, leaving the dinner served.
+
+Felton was sent away. The marines were removed. Felton was then
+mistrusted.
+
+This was the last blow to the prisoner.
+
+Left alone, she arose. The bed, which she had kept from prudence and
+that they might believe her seriously wounded, burned her like a bed of
+fire. She cast a glance at the door; the baron had had a plank nailed
+over the grating. He no doubt feared that by this opening she might
+still by some diabolical means corrupt her guards.
+
+Milady smiled with joy. She was free now to give way to her transports
+without being observed. She traversed her chamber with the excitement
+of a furious maniac or of a tigress shut up in an iron cage. _Certes_,
+if the knife had been left in her power, she would now have thought,
+not of killing herself, but of killing the baron.
+
+At six o’clock Lord de Winter came in. He was armed at all points. This
+man, in whom Milady till that time had only seen a very simple
+gentleman, had become an admirable jailer. He appeared to foresee all,
+to divine all, to anticipate all.
+
+A single look at Milady apprised him of all that was passing in her
+mind.
+
+“Ay!” said he, “I see; but you shall not kill me today. You have no
+longer a weapon; and besides, I am on my guard. You had begun to
+pervert my poor Felton. He was yielding to your infernal influence; but
+I will save him. He will never see you again; all is over. Get your
+clothes together. Tomorrow you will go. I had fixed the embarkation for
+the twenty-fourth; but I have reflected that the more promptly the
+affair takes place the more sure it will be. Tomorrow, by twelve
+o’clock, I shall have the order for your exile, signed, _Buckingham_.
+If you speak a single word to anyone before going aboard ship, my
+sergeant will blow your brains out. He has orders to do so. If when on
+the ship you speak a single word to anyone before the captain permits
+you, the captain will have you thrown into the sea. That is agreed
+upon.
+
+“_Au revoir_, then; that is all I have to say today. Tomorrow I will
+see you again, to take my leave.” With these words the baron went out.
+Milady had listened to all this menacing tirade with a smile of disdain
+on her lips, but rage in her heart.
+
+Supper was served. Milady felt that she stood in need of all her
+strength. She did not know what might take place during this night
+which approached so menacingly—for large masses of cloud rolled over
+the face of the sky, and distant lightning announced a storm.
+
+The storm broke about ten o’clock. Milady felt a consolation in seeing
+nature partake of the disorder of her heart. The thunder growled in the
+air like the passion and anger in her thoughts. It appeared to her that
+the blast as it swept along disheveled her brow, as it bowed the
+branches of the trees and bore away their leaves. She howled as the
+hurricane howled; and her voice was lost in the great voice of nature,
+which also seemed to groan with despair.
+
+All at once she heard a tap at her window, and by the help of a flash
+of lightning she saw the face of a man appear behind the bars.
+
+She ran to the window and opened it.
+
+“Felton!” cried she. “I am saved.”
+
+“Yes,” said Felton; “but silence, silence! I must have time to file
+through these bars. Only take care that I am not seen through the
+wicket.”
+
+“Oh, it is a proof that the Lord is on our side, Felton,” replied
+Milady. “They have closed up the grating with a board.”
+
+“That is well; God has made them senseless,” said Felton.
+
+“But what must I do?” asked Milady.
+
+“Nothing, nothing, only shut the window. Go to bed, or at least lie
+down in your clothes. As soon as I have done I will knock on one of the
+panes of glass. But will you be able to follow me?”
+
+“Oh, yes!”
+
+“Your wound?”
+
+“Gives me pain, but will not prevent my walking.”
+
+“Be ready, then, at the first signal.”
+
+Milady shut the window, extinguished the lamp, and went, as Felton had
+desired her, to lie down on the bed. Amid the moaning of the storm she
+heard the grinding of the file upon the bars, and by the light of every
+flash she perceived the shadow of Felton through the panes.
+
+She passed an hour without breathing, panting, with a cold sweat upon
+her brow, and her heart oppressed by frightful agony at every movement
+she heard in the corridor.
+
+There are hours which last a year.
+
+At the expiration of an hour, Felton tapped again.
+
+Milady sprang out of bed and opened the window. Two bars removed formed
+an opening for a man to pass through.
+
+“Are you ready?” asked Felton.
+
+“Yes. Must I take anything with me?”
+
+“Money, if you have any.”
+
+“Yes; fortunately they have left me all I had.”
+
+“So much the better, for I have expended all mine in chartering a
+vessel.”
+
+“Here!” said Milady, placing a bag full of louis in Felton’s hands.
+
+Felton took the bag and threw it to the foot of the wall.
+
+“Now,” said he, “will you come?”
+
+“I am ready.”
+
+Milady mounted upon a chair and passed the upper part of her body
+through the window. She saw the young officer suspended over the abyss
+by a ladder of ropes. For the first time an emotion of terror reminded
+her that she was a woman.
+
+The dark space frightened her.
+
+“I expected this,” said Felton.
+
+“It’s nothing, it’s nothing!” said Milady. “I will descend with my eyes
+shut.”
+
+“Have you confidence in me?” said Felton.
+
+“You ask that?”
+
+“Put your two hands together. Cross them; that’s right!”
+
+Felton tied her two wrists together with his handkerchief, and then
+with a cord over the handkerchief.
+
+“What are you doing?” asked Milady, with surprise.
+
+“Pass your arms around my neck, and fear nothing.”
+
+“But I shall make you lose your balance, and we shall both be dashed to
+pieces.”
+
+“Don’t be afraid. I am a sailor.”
+
+Not a second was to be lost. Milady passed her two arms round Felton’s
+neck, and let herself slip out of the window. Felton began to descend
+the ladder slowly, step by step. Despite the weight of two bodies, the
+blast of the hurricane shook them in the air.
+
+All at once Felton stopped.
+
+“What is the matter?” asked Milady.
+
+“Silence,” said Felton, “I hear footsteps.”
+
+“We are discovered!”
+
+There was a silence of several seconds.
+
+“No,” said Felton, “it is nothing.”
+
+“But what, then, is the noise?”
+
+“That of the patrol going their rounds.”
+
+“Where is their road?”
+
+“Just under us.”
+
+“They will discover us!”
+
+“No, if it does not lighten.”
+
+“But they will run against the bottom of the ladder.”
+
+“Fortunately it is too short by six feet.”
+
+“Here they are! My God!”
+
+“Silence!”
+
+Both remained suspended, motionless and breathless, within twenty paces
+of the ground, while the patrol passed beneath them laughing and
+talking. This was a terrible moment for the fugitives.
+
+The patrol passed. The noise of their retreating footsteps and the
+murmur of their voices soon died away.
+
+“Now,” said Felton, “we are safe.”
+
+Milady breathed a deep sigh and fainted.
+
+Felton continued to descend. Near the bottom of the ladder, when he
+found no more support for his feet, he clung with his hands; at length,
+arrived at the last step, he let himself hang by the strength of his
+wrists, and touched the ground. He stooped down, picked up the bag of
+money, and placed it between his teeth. Then he took Milady in his
+arms, and set off briskly in the direction opposite to that which the
+patrol had taken. He soon left the pathway of the patrol, descended
+across the rocks, and when arrived on the edge of the sea, whistled.
+
+A similar signal replied to him; and five minutes after, a boat
+appeared, rowed by four men.
+
+The boat approached as near as it could to the shore; but there was not
+depth enough of water for it to touch land. Felton walked into the sea
+up to his middle, being unwilling to trust his precious burden to
+anybody.
+
+Fortunately the storm began to subside, but still the sea was
+disturbed. The little boat bounded over the waves like a nut-shell.
+
+“To the sloop,” said Felton, “and row quickly.”
+
+The four men bent to their oars, but the sea was too high to let them
+get much hold of it.
+
+However, they left the castle behind; that was the principal thing. The
+night was extremely dark. It was almost impossible to see the shore
+from the boat; they would therefore be less likely to see the boat from
+the shore.
+
+A black point floated on the sea. That was the sloop. While the boat
+was advancing with all the speed its four rowers could give it, Felton
+untied the cord and then the handkerchief which bound Milady’s hands
+together. When her hands were loosed he took some sea water and
+sprinkled it over her face.
+
+Milady breathed a sigh, and opened her eyes.
+
+“Where am I?” said she.
+
+“Saved!” replied the young officer.
+
+“Oh, saved, saved!” cried she. “Yes, there is the sky; here is the sea!
+The air I breathe is the air of liberty! Ah, thanks, Felton, thanks!”
+
+The young man pressed her to his heart.
+
+“But what is the matter with my hands!” asked Milady; “it seems as if
+my wrists had been crushed in a vice.”
+
+Milady held out her arms; her wrists were bruised.
+
+“Alas!” said Felton, looking at those beautiful hands, and shaking his
+head sorrowfully.
+
+“Oh, it’s nothing, nothing!” cried Milady. “I remember now.”
+
+Milady looked around her, as if in search of something.
+
+“It is there,” said Felton, touching the bag of money with his foot.
+
+They drew near to the sloop. A sailor on watch hailed the boat; the
+boat replied.
+
+“What vessel is that?” asked Milady.
+
+“The one I have hired for you.”
+
+“Where will it take me?”
+
+“Where you please, after you have put me on shore at Portsmouth.”
+
+“What are you going to do at Portsmouth?” asked Milady.
+
+“Accomplish the orders of Lord de Winter,” said Felton, with a gloomy
+smile.
+
+“What orders?” asked Milady.
+
+“You do not understand?” asked Felton.
+
+“No; explain yourself, I beg.”
+
+“As he mistrusted me, he determined to guard you himself, and sent me
+in his place to get Buckingham to sign the order for your
+transportation.”
+
+“But if he mistrusted you, how could he confide such an order to you?”
+
+“How could I know what I was the bearer of?”
+
+“That’s true! And you are going to Portsmouth?”
+
+“I have no time to lose. Tomorrow is the twenty-third, and Buckingham
+sets sail tomorrow with his fleet.”
+
+“He sets sail tomorrow! Where for?”
+
+“For La Rochelle.”
+
+“He need not sail!” cried Milady, forgetting her usual presence of
+mind.
+
+“Be satisfied,” replied Felton; “he will not sail.”
+
+Milady started with joy. She could read to the depths of the heart of
+this young man; the death of Buckingham was written there at full
+length.
+
+“Felton,” cried she, “you are as great as Judas Maccabeus! If you die,
+I will die with you; that is all I can say to you.”
+
+“Silence!” cried Felton; “we are here.”
+
+In fact, they touched the sloop.
+
+Felton mounted the ladder first, and gave his hand to Milady, while the
+sailors supported her, for the sea was still much agitated.
+
+An instant after they were on the deck.
+
+“Captain,” said Felton, “this is the person of whom I spoke to you, and
+whom you must convey safe and sound to France.”
+
+“For a thousand pistoles,” said the captain.
+
+“I have paid you five hundred of them.”
+
+“That’s correct,” said the captain.
+
+“And here are the other five hundred,” replied Milady, placing her hand
+upon the bag of gold.
+
+“No,” said the captain, “I make but one bargain; and I have agreed with
+this young man that the other five hundred shall not be due to me till
+we arrive at Boulogne.”
+
+“And shall we arrive there?”
+
+“Safe and sound, as true as my name’s Jack Butler.”
+
+“Well,” said Milady, “if you keep your word, instead of five hundred, I
+will give you a thousand pistoles.”
+
+“Hurrah for you, then, my beautiful lady,” cried the captain; “and may
+God often send me such passengers as your Ladyship!”
+
+“Meanwhile,” said Felton, “convey me to the little bay of—; you know it
+was agreed you should put in there.”
+
+The captain replied by ordering the necessary maneuvers, and toward
+seven o’clock in the morning the little vessel cast anchor in the bay
+that had been named.
+
+During this passage, Felton related everything to Milady—how, instead
+of going to London, he had chartered the little vessel; how he had
+returned; how he had scaled the wall by fastening cramps in the
+interstices of the stones, as he ascended, to give him foothold; and
+how, when he had reached the bars, he fastened his ladder. Milady knew
+the rest.
+
+On her side, Milady tried to encourage Felton in his project; but at
+the first words which issued from her mouth, she plainly saw that the
+young fanatic stood more in need of being moderated than urged.
+
+It was agreed that Milady should wait for Felton till ten o’clock; if
+he did not return by ten o’clock she was to sail.
+
+In that case, and supposing he was at liberty, he was to rejoin her in
+France, at the convent of the Carmelites at Béthune.
+
+
+
+
+Chapter LIX.
+WHAT TOOK PLACE AT PORTSMOUTH
+AUGUST 23, 1628
+
+
+Felton took leave of Milady as a brother about to go for a mere walk
+takes leave of his sister, kissing her hand.
+
+His whole body appeared in its ordinary state of calmness, only an
+unusual fire beamed from his eyes, like the effects of a fever; his
+brow was more pale than it generally was; his teeth were clenched, and
+his speech had a short dry accent which indicated that something dark
+was at work within him.
+
+As long as he remained in the boat which conveyed him to land, he kept
+his face toward Milady, who, standing on the deck, followed him with
+her eyes. Both were free from the fear of pursuit; nobody ever came
+into Milady’s apartment before nine o’clock, and it would require three
+hours to go from the castle to London.
+
+Felton jumped onshore, climbed the little ascent which led to the top
+of the cliff, saluted Milady a last time, and took his course toward
+the city.
+
+At the end of a hundred paces, the ground began to decline, and he
+could only see the mast of the sloop.
+
+He immediately ran in the direction of Portsmouth, which he saw at
+nearly half a league before him, standing out in the haze of the
+morning, with its houses and towers.
+
+Beyond Portsmouth the sea was covered with vessels whose masts, like a
+forest of poplars despoiled by the winter, bent with each breath of the
+wind.
+
+Felton, in his rapid walk, reviewed in his mind all the accusations
+against the favorite of James I. and Charles I., furnished by two years
+of premature meditation and a long sojourn among the Puritans.
+
+When he compared the public crimes of this minister—startling crimes,
+European crimes, if so we may say—with the private and unknown crimes
+with which Milady had charged him, Felton found that the more culpable
+of the two men which formed the character of Buckingham was the one of
+whom the public knew not the life. This was because his love, so
+strange, so new, and so ardent, made him view the infamous and
+imaginary accusations of Milady de Winter as, through a magnifying
+glass, one views as frightful monsters atoms in reality imperceptible
+by the side of an ant.
+
+The rapidity of his walk heated his blood still more; the idea that he
+left behind him, exposed to a frightful vengeance, the woman he loved,
+or rather whom he adored as a saint, the emotion he had experienced,
+present fatigue—all together exalted his mind above human feeling.
+
+He entered Portsmouth about eight o’clock in the morning. The whole
+population was on foot; drums were beating in the streets and in the
+port; the troops about to embark were marching toward the sea.
+
+Felton arrived at the palace of the Admiralty, covered with dust, and
+streaming with perspiration. His countenance, usually so pale, was
+purple with heat and passion. The sentinel wanted to repulse him; but
+Felton called to the officer of the post, and drawing from his pocket
+the letter of which he was the bearer, he said, “A pressing message
+from Lord de Winter.”
+
+At the name of Lord de Winter, who was known to be one of his Grace’s
+most intimate friends, the officer of the post gave orders to let
+Felton pass, who, besides, wore the uniform of a naval officer.
+
+Felton darted into the palace.
+
+At the moment he entered the vestibule, another man was entering
+likewise, dusty, out of breath, leaving at the gate a post horse,
+which, on reaching the palace, tumbled on his foreknees.
+
+Felton and he addressed Patrick, the duke’s confidential lackey, at the
+same moment. Felton named Lord de Winter; the unknown would not name
+anybody, and pretended that it was to the duke alone he would make
+himself known. Each was anxious to gain admission before the other.
+
+Patrick, who knew Lord de Winter was in affairs of the service, and in
+relations of friendship with the duke, gave the preference to the one
+who came in his name. The other was forced to wait, and it was easily
+to be seen how he cursed the delay.
+
+The valet led Felton through a large hall in which waited the deputies
+from La Rochelle, headed by the Prince de Soubise, and introduced him
+into a closet where Buckingham, just out of the bath, was finishing his
+toilet, upon which, as at all times, he bestowed extraordinary
+attention.
+
+“Lieutenant Felton, from Lord de Winter,” said Patrick.
+
+“From Lord de Winter!” repeated Buckingham; “let him come in.”
+
+Felton entered. At that moment Buckingham was throwing upon a couch a
+rich toilet robe, worked with gold, in order to put on a blue velvet
+doublet embroidered with pearls.
+
+“Why didn’t the baron come himself?” demanded Buckingham. “I expected
+him this morning.”
+
+“He desired me to tell your Grace,” replied Felton, “that he very much
+regretted not having that honor, but that he was prevented by the guard
+he is obliged to keep at the castle.”
+
+“Yes, I know that,” said Buckingham; “he has a prisoner.”
+
+“It is of that prisoner that I wish to speak to your Grace,” replied
+Felton.
+
+“Well, then, speak!”
+
+“That which I have to say of her can only be heard by yourself, my
+Lord!”
+
+“Leave us, Patrick,” said Buckingham; “but remain within sound of the
+bell. I shall call you presently.”
+
+Patrick went out.
+
+“We are alone, sir,” said Buckingham; “speak!”
+
+“My Lord,” said Felton, “the Baron de Winter wrote to you the other day
+to request you to sign an order of embarkation relative to a young
+woman named Charlotte Backson.”
+
+“Yes, sir; and I answered him, to bring or send me that order and I
+would sign it.”
+
+“Here it is, my Lord.”
+
+“Give it to me,” said the duke.
+
+And taking it from Felton, he cast a rapid glance over the paper, and
+perceiving that it was the one that had been mentioned to him, he
+placed it on the table, took a pen, and prepared to sign it.
+
+“Pardon, my Lord,” said Felton, stopping the duke; “but does your Grace
+know that the name of Charlotte Backson is not the true name of this
+young woman?”
+
+“Yes, sir, I know it,” replied the duke, dipping the quill in the ink.
+
+“Then your Grace knows her real name?” asked Felton, in a sharp tone.
+
+“I know it”; and the duke put the quill to the paper. Felton grew pale.
+
+“And knowing that real name, my Lord,” replied Felton, “will you sign
+it all the same?”
+
+“Doubtless,” said Buckingham, “and rather twice than once.”
+
+“I cannot believe,” continued Felton, in a voice that became more sharp
+and rough, “that your Grace knows that it is to Milady de Winter this
+relates.”
+
+“I know it perfectly, although I am astonished that you know it.”
+
+“And will your Grace sign that order without remorse?”
+
+Buckingham looked at the young man haughtily.
+
+“Do you know, sir, that you are asking me very strange questions, and
+that I am very foolish to answer them?”
+
+“Reply to them, my Lord,” said Felton; “the circumstances are more
+serious than you perhaps believe.”
+
+Buckingham reflected that the young man, coming from Lord de Winter,
+undoubtedly spoke in his name, and softened.
+
+“Without remorse,” said he. “The baron knows, as well as myself, that
+Milady de Winter is a very guilty woman, and it is treating her very
+favorably to commute her punishment to transportation.” The duke put
+his pen to the paper.
+
+“You will not sign that order, my Lord!” said Felton, making a step
+toward the duke.
+
+“I will not sign this order! And why not?”
+
+“Because you will look into yourself, and you will do justice to the
+lady.”
+
+“I should do her justice by sending her to Tyburn,” said Buckingham.
+“This lady is infamous.”
+
+“My Lord, Milady de Winter is an angel; you know that she is, and I
+demand her liberty of you.”
+
+“Bah! Are you mad, to talk to me thus?” said Buckingham.
+
+“My Lord, excuse me! I speak as I can; I restrain myself. But, my Lord,
+think of what you’re about to do, and beware of going too far!”
+
+“What do you say? God pardon me!” cried Buckingham, “I really think he
+threatens me!”
+
+“No, my Lord, I still plead. And I say to you: one drop of water
+suffices to make the full vase overflow; one slight fault may draw down
+punishment upon the head spared, despite many crimes.”
+
+“Mr. Felton,” said Buckingham, “you will withdraw, and place yourself
+at once under arrest.”
+
+“You will hear me to the end, my Lord. You have seduced this young
+girl; you have outraged, defiled her. Repair your crimes toward her;
+let her go free, and I will exact nothing else from you.”
+
+“You will exact!” said Buckingham, looking at Felton with astonishment,
+and dwelling upon each syllable of the three words as he pronounced
+them.
+
+“My Lord,” continued Felton, becoming more excited as he spoke, “my
+Lord, beware! All England is tired of your iniquities; my Lord, you
+have abused the royal power, which you have almost usurped; my Lord,
+you are held in horror by God and men. God will punish you hereafter,
+but I will punish you here!”
+
+“Ah, this is too much!” cried Buckingham, making a step toward the
+door.
+
+Felton barred his passage.
+
+“I ask it humbly of you, my Lord,” said he; “sign the order for the
+liberation of Milady de Winter. Remember that she is a woman whom you
+have dishonored.”
+
+“Withdraw, sir,” said Buckingham, “or I will call my attendant, and
+have you placed in irons.”
+
+“You shall not call,” said Felton, throwing himself between the duke
+and the bell placed on a stand encrusted with silver. “Beware, my Lord,
+you are in the hands of God!”
+
+“In the hands of the devil, you mean!” cried Buckingham, raising his
+voice so as to attract the notice of his people, without absolutely
+shouting.
+
+“Sign, my Lord; sign the liberation of Milady de Winter,” said Felton,
+holding out a paper to the duke.
+
+“By force? You are joking! Holloa, Patrick!”
+
+“Sign, my Lord!”
+
+“Never.”
+
+“Never?”
+
+“Help!” shouted the duke; and at the same time he sprang toward his
+sword.
+
+But Felton did not give him time to draw it. He held the knife with
+which Milady had stabbed herself, open in his bosom; at one bound he
+was upon the duke.
+
+At that moment Patrick entered the room, crying, “A letter from France,
+my Lord.”
+
+“From France!” cried Buckingham, forgetting everything in thinking from
+whom that letter came.
+
+Felton took advantage of this moment, and plunged the knife into his
+side up to the handle.
+
+“Ah, traitor,” cried Buckingham, “you have killed me!”
+
+“Murder!” screamed Patrick.
+
+Felton cast his eyes round for means of escape, and seeing the door
+free, he rushed into the next chamber, in which, as we have said, the
+deputies from La Rochelle were waiting, crossed it as quickly as
+possible, and rushed toward the staircase; but upon the first step he
+met Lord de Winter, who, seeing him pale, confused, livid, and stained
+with blood both on his hands and face, seized him by the throat,
+crying, “I knew it! I guessed it! But too late by a minute,
+unfortunate, unfortunate that I am!”
+
+Felton made no resistance. Lord de Winter placed him in the hands of
+the guards, who led him, while awaiting further orders, to a little
+terrace commanding the sea; and then the baron hastened to the duke’s
+chamber.
+
+At the cry uttered by the duke and the scream of Patrick, the man whom
+Felton had met in the antechamber rushed into the chamber.
+
+He found the duke reclining upon a sofa, with his hand pressed upon the
+wound.
+
+“Laporte,” said the duke, in a dying voice, “Laporte, do you come from
+her?”
+
+“Yes, monseigneur,” replied the faithful cloak bearer of Anne of
+Austria, “but too late, perhaps.”
+
+“Silence, Laporte, you may be overheard. Patrick, let no one enter. Oh,
+I cannot tell what she says to me! My God, I am dying!”
+
+And the duke swooned.
+
+Meanwhile, Lord de Winter, the deputies, the leaders of the expedition,
+the officers of Buckingham’s household, had all made their way into the
+chamber. Cries of despair resounded on all sides. The news, which
+filled the palace with tears and groans, soon became known, and spread
+itself throughout the city.
+
+The report of a cannon announced that something new and unexpected had
+taken place.
+
+Lord de Winter tore his hair.
+
+“Too late by a minute!” cried he, “too late by a minute! Oh, my God, my
+God! what a misfortune!”
+
+He had been informed at seven o’clock in the morning that a rope ladder
+floated from one of the windows of the castle; he had hastened to
+Milady’s chamber, had found it empty, the window open, and the bars
+filed, had remembered the verbal caution D’Artagnan had transmitted to
+him by his messenger, had trembled for the duke, and running to the
+stable without taking time to have a horse saddled, had jumped upon the
+first he found, had galloped off like the wind, had alighted below in
+the courtyard, had ascended the stairs precipitately, and on the top
+step, as we have said, had encountered Felton.
+
+The duke, however, was not dead. He recovered a little, reopened his
+eyes, and hope revived in all hearts.
+
+“Gentlemen,” said he, “leave me alone with Patrick and Laporte—ah, is
+that you, De Winter? You sent me a strange madman this morning! See the
+state in which he has put me.”
+
+“Oh, my Lord!” cried the baron, “I shall never console myself.”
+
+“And you would be quite wrong, my dear De Winter,” said Buckingham,
+holding out his hand to him. “I do not know the man who deserves being
+regretted during the whole life of another man; but leave us, I pray
+you.”
+
+The baron went out sobbing.
+
+There only remained in the closet of the wounded duke Laporte and
+Patrick. A physician was sought for, but none was yet found.
+
+“You will live, my Lord, you will live!” repeated the faithful servant
+of Anne of Austria, on his knees before the duke’s sofa.
+
+“What has she written to me?” said Buckingham, feebly, streaming with
+blood, and suppressing his agony to speak of her he loved, “what has
+she written to me? Read me her letter.”
+
+“Oh, my Lord!” said Laporte.
+
+“Obey, Laporte, do you not see I have no time to lose?”
+
+Laporte broke the seal, and placed the paper before the eyes of the
+duke; but Buckingham in vain tried to make out the writing.
+
+“Read!” said he, “read! I cannot see. Read, then! For soon, perhaps, I
+shall not hear, and I shall die without knowing what she has written to
+me.”
+
+Laporte made no further objection, and read:
+
+“MY LORD, By that which, since I have known you, have suffered by you
+and for you, I conjure you, if you have any care for my repose, to
+countermand those great armaments which you are preparing against
+France, to put an end to a war of which it is publicly said religion is
+the ostensible cause, and of which, it is generally whispered, your
+love for me is the concealed cause. This war may not only bring great
+catastrophes upon England and France, but misfortune upon you, my Lord,
+for which I should never console myself.
+    “Be careful of your life, which is menaced, and which will be dear
+    to me from the moment I am not obliged to see an enemy in you.
+
+
+“Your affectionate
+“ANNE”
+
+
+Buckingham collected all his remaining strength to listen to the
+reading of the letter; then, when it was ended, as if he had met with a
+bitter disappointment, he asked, “Have you nothing else to say to me by
+the living voice, Laporte?”
+
+“The queen charged me to tell you to watch over yourself, for she had
+advice that your assassination would be attempted.”
+
+“And is that all—is that all?” replied Buckingham, impatiently.
+
+“She likewise charged me to tell you that she still loved you.”
+
+“Ah,” said Buckingham, “God be praised! My death, then, will not be to
+her as the death of a stranger!”
+
+Laporte burst into tears.
+
+“Patrick,” said the duke, “bring me the casket in which the diamond
+studs were kept.”
+
+Patrick brought the object desired, which Laporte recognized as having
+belonged to the queen.
+
+“Now the scent bag of white satin, on which her cipher is embroidered
+in pearls.”
+
+Patrick again obeyed.
+
+“Here, Laporte,” said Buckingham, “these are the only tokens I ever
+received from her—this silver casket and these two letters. You will
+restore them to her Majesty; and as a last memorial”—he looked round
+for some valuable object—“you will add—”
+
+He still sought; but his eyes, darkened by death, encountered only the
+knife which had fallen from the hand of Felton, still smoking with the
+blood spread over its blade.
+
+“And you will add to them this knife,” said the duke, pressing the hand
+of Laporte. He had just strength enough to place the scent bag at the
+bottom of the silver casket, and to let the knife fall into it, making
+a sign to Laporte that he was no longer able to speak; then, in a last
+convulsion, which this time he had not the power to combat, he slipped
+from the sofa to the floor.
+
+Patrick uttered a loud cry.
+
+Buckingham tried to smile a last time; but death checked his thought,
+which remained engraved on his brow like a last kiss of love.
+
+At this moment the duke’s surgeon arrived, quite terrified; he was
+already on board the admiral’s ship, where they had been obliged to
+seek him.
+
+He approached the duke, took his hand, held it for an instant in his
+own, and letting it fall, “All is useless,” said he, “he is dead.”
+
+“Dead, dead!” cried Patrick.
+
+At this cry all the crowd re-entered the apartment, and throughout the
+palace and town there was nothing but consternation and tumult.
+
+As soon as Lord de Winter saw Buckingham was dead, he ran to Felton,
+whom the soldiers still guarded on the terrace of the palace.
+
+“Wretch!” said he to the young man, who since the death of Buckingham
+had regained that coolness and self-possession which never after
+abandoned him, “wretch! what have you done?”
+
+“I have avenged myself!” said he.
+
+“Avenged yourself,” said the baron. “Rather say that you have served as
+an instrument to that accursed woman; but I swear to you that this
+crime shall be her last.”
+
+“I don’t know what you mean,” replied Felton, quietly, “and I am
+ignorant of whom you are speaking, my Lord. I killed the Duke of
+Buckingham because he twice refused you yourself to appoint me captain;
+I have punished him for his injustice, that is all.”
+
+De Winter, stupefied, looked on while the soldiers bound Felton, and
+could not tell what to think of such insensibility.
+
+One thing alone, however, threw a shade over the pallid brow of Felton.
+At every noise he heard, the simple Puritan fancied he recognized the
+step and voice of Milady coming to throw herself into his arms, to
+accuse herself, and die with him.
+
+All at once he started. His eyes became fixed upon a point of the sea,
+commanded by the terrace where he was. With the eagle glance of a
+sailor he had recognized there, where another would have seen only a
+gull hovering over the waves, the sail of a sloop which was directed
+toward the coast of France.
+
+He grew deadly pale, placed his hand upon his heart, which was
+breaking, and at once perceived all the treachery.
+
+“One last favor, my Lord!” said he to the baron.
+
+“What?” asked his Lordship.
+
+“What o’clock is it?”
+
+The baron drew out his watch. “It wants ten minutes to nine,” said he.
+
+Milady had hastened her departure by an hour and a half. As soon as she
+heard the cannon which announced the fatal event, she had ordered the
+anchor to be weighed. The vessel was making way under a blue sky, at
+great distance from the coast.
+
+“God has so willed it!” said he, with the resignation of a fanatic; but
+without, however, being able to take his eyes from that ship, on board
+of which he doubtless fancied he could distinguish the white outline of
+her to whom he had sacrificed his life.
+
+De Winter followed his look, observed his feelings, and guessed all.
+
+“Be punished _alone_, for the first, miserable man!” said Lord de
+Winter to Felton, who was being dragged away with his eyes turned
+toward the sea; “but I swear to you by the memory of my brother whom I
+have loved so much that your accomplice is not saved.”
+
+Felton lowered his head without pronouncing a syllable.
+
+As to Lord de Winter, he descended the stairs rapidly, and went
+straight to the port.
+
+
+
+
+Chapter LX.
+IN FRANCE
+
+
+The first fear of the King of England, Charles I., on learning of the
+death of the duke, was that such terrible news might discourage the
+Rochellais; he tried, says Richelieu in his _Memoirs_, to conceal it
+from them as long as possible, closing all the ports of his kingdom,
+and carefully keeping watch that no vessel should sail until the army
+which Buckingham was getting together had gone, taking upon himself, in
+default of Buckingham, to superintend the departure.
+
+He carried the strictness of this order so far as to detain in England
+the ambassadors of Denmark, who had taken their leave, and the regular
+ambassador of Holland, who was to take back to the port of Flushing the
+Indian merchantmen of which Charles I. had made restitution to the
+United Provinces.
+
+But as he did not think of giving this order till five hours after the
+event—that is to say, till two o’clock in the afternoon—two vessels had
+already left the port, the one bearing, as we know, Milady, who,
+already anticipating the event, was further confirmed in that belief by
+seeing the black flag flying at the masthead of the admiral’s ship.
+
+As to the second vessel, we will tell hereafter whom it carried, and
+how it set sail.
+
+During this time nothing new occurred in the camp at La Rochelle; only
+the king, who was bored, as always, but perhaps a little more so in
+camp than elsewhere, resolved to go incognito and spend the festival of
+St. Louis at St. Germain, and asked the cardinal to order him an escort
+of only twenty Musketeers. The cardinal, who sometimes became weary of
+the king, granted this leave of absence with great pleasure to his
+royal lieutenant, who promised to return about the fifteenth of
+September.
+
+M. de Tréville, being informed of this by his Eminence, packed his
+portmanteau; and as without knowing the cause he knew the great desire
+and even imperative need which his friends had of returning to Paris,
+it goes without saying that he fixed upon them to form part of the
+escort.
+
+The four young men heard the news a quarter of an hour after M. de
+Tréville, for they were the first to whom he communicated it. It was
+then that D’Artagnan appreciated the favor the cardinal had conferred
+upon him in making him at last enter the Musketeers—for without that
+circumstance he would have been forced to remain in the camp while his
+companions left it.
+
+It goes without saying that this impatience to return toward Paris had
+for a cause the danger which Mme. Bonacieux would run of meeting at the
+convent of Béthune with Milady, her mortal enemy. Aramis therefore had
+written immediately to Marie Michon, the seamstress at Tours who had
+such fine acquaintances, to obtain from the queen authority for Mme.
+Bonacieux to leave the convent, and to retire either into Lorraine or
+Belgium. They had not long to wait for an answer. Eight or ten days
+afterward Aramis received the following letter:
+
+“MY DEAR COUSIN, Here is the authorization from my sister to withdraw
+our little servant from the convent of Béthune, the air of which you
+think is bad for her. My sister sends you this authorization with great
+pleasure, for she is very partial to the little girl, to whom she
+intends to be more serviceable hereafter.
+
+
+“I salute you,
+“MARIE MICHON”
+
+
+To this letter was added an order, conceived in these terms:
+
+“At the Louvre, August 10, 1628
+
+
+“The superior of the convent of Béthune will place in the hands of the
+person who shall present this note to her the novice who entered the
+convent upon my recommendation and under my patronage.
+
+
+“ANNE”
+
+
+It may be easily imagined how the relationship between Aramis and a
+seamstress who called the queen her sister amused the young men; but
+Aramis, after having blushed two or three times up to the whites of his
+eyes at the gross pleasantry of Porthos, begged his friends not to
+revert to the subject again, declaring that if a single word more was
+said to him about it, he would never again implore his cousins to
+interfere in such affairs.
+
+There was no further question, therefore, about Marie Michon among the
+four Musketeers, who besides had what they wanted: that was, the order
+to withdraw Mme. Bonacieux from the convent of the Carmelites of
+Béthune. It was true that this order would not be of great use to them
+while they were in camp at La Rochelle; that is to say, at the other
+end of France. Therefore D’Artagnan was going to ask leave of absence
+of M. de Tréville, confiding to him candidly the importance of his
+departure, when the news was transmitted to him as well as to his three
+friends that the king was about to set out for Paris with an escort of
+twenty Musketeers, and that they formed part of the escort.
+
+Their joy was great. The lackeys were sent on before with the baggage,
+and they set out on the morning of the sixteenth.
+
+The cardinal accompanied his Majesty from Surgères to Mauzes; and there
+the king and his minister took leave of each other with great
+demonstrations of friendship.
+
+The king, however, who sought distraction, while traveling as fast as
+possible—for he was anxious to be in Paris by the twenty-third—stopped
+from time to time to fly the magpie, a pastime for which the taste had
+been formerly inspired in him by de Luynes, and for which he had always
+preserved a great predilection. Out of the twenty Musketeers sixteen,
+when this took place, rejoiced greatly at this relaxation; but the
+other four cursed it heartily. D’Artagnan, in particular, had a
+perpetual buzzing in his ears, which Porthos explained thus: “A very
+great lady has told me that this means that somebody is talking of you
+somewhere.”
+
+At length the escort passed through Paris on the twenty-third, in the
+night. The king thanked M. de Tréville, and permitted him to distribute
+furloughs for four days, on condition that the favored parties should
+not appear in any public place, under penalty of the Bastille.
+
+The first four furloughs granted, as may be imagined, were to our four
+friends. Still further, Athos obtained of M. de Tréville six days
+instead of four, and introduced into these six days two more nights—for
+they set out on the twenty-fourth at five o’clock in the evening, and
+as a further kindness M. de Tréville post-dated the leave to the
+morning of the twenty-fifth.
+
+“Good Lord!” said D’Artagnan, who, as we have often said, never
+stumbled at anything. “It appears to me that we are making a great
+trouble of a very simple thing. In two days, and by using up two or
+three horses (that’s nothing; I have plenty of money), I am at Béthune.
+I present my letter from the queen to the superior, and I bring back
+the dear treasure I go to seek—not into Lorraine, not into Belgium, but
+to Paris, where she will be much better concealed, particularly while
+the cardinal is at La Rochelle. Well, once returned from the country,
+half by the protection of her cousin, half through what we have
+personally done for her, we shall obtain from the queen what we desire.
+Remain, then, where you are, and do not exhaust yourselves with useless
+fatigue. Myself and Planchet are all that such a simple expedition
+requires.”
+
+To this Athos replied quietly: “We also have money left—for I have not
+yet drunk all my share of the diamond, and Porthos and Aramis have not
+eaten all theirs. We can therefore use up four horses as well as one.
+But consider, D’Artagnan,” added he, in a tone so solemn that it made
+the young man shudder, “consider that Béthune is a city where the
+cardinal has given rendezvous to a woman who, wherever she goes, brings
+misery with her. If you had only to deal with four men, D’Artagnan, I
+would allow you to go alone. You have to do with that woman! We four
+will go; and I hope to God that with our four lackeys we may be in
+sufficient number.”
+
+“You terrify me, Athos!” cried D’Artagnan. “My God! what do you fear?”
+
+“Everything!” replied Athos.
+
+D’Artagnan examined the countenances of his companions, which, like
+that of Athos, wore an impression of deep anxiety; and they continued
+their route as fast as their horses could carry them, but without
+adding another word.
+
+On the evening of the twenty-fifth, as they were entering Arras, and as
+D’Artagnan was dismounting at the inn of the Golden Harrow to drink a
+glass of wine, a horseman came out of the post yard, where he had just
+had a relay, started off at a gallop, and with a fresh horse took the
+road to Paris. At the moment he passed through the gateway into the
+street, the wind blew open the cloak in which he was wrapped, although
+it was in the month of August, and lifted his hat, which the traveler
+seized with his hand the moment it had left his head, pulling it
+eagerly over his eyes.
+
+D’Artagnan, who had his eyes fixed upon this man, became very pale, and
+let his glass fall.
+
+“What is the matter, monsieur?” said Planchet. “Oh, come, gentlemen, my
+master is ill!”
+
+The three friends hastened toward D’Artagnan, who, instead of being
+ill, ran toward his horse. They stopped him at the door.
+
+“Well, where the devil are you going now?” cried Athos.
+
+“It is he!” cried D’Artagnan, pale with anger, and with the sweat on
+his brow, “it is he! let me overtake him!”
+
+“He? What he?” asked Athos.
+
+“He, that man!”
+
+“What man?”
+
+“That cursed man, my evil genius, whom I have always met with when
+threatened by some misfortune, he who accompanied that horrible woman
+when I met her for the first time, he whom I was seeking when I
+offended our Athos, he whom I saw on the very morning Madame Bonacieux
+was abducted. I have seen him; that is he! I recognized him when the
+wind blew upon his cloak.”
+
+“The devil!” said Athos, musingly.
+
+“To saddle, gentlemen! to saddle! Let us pursue him, and we shall
+overtake him!”
+
+“My dear friend,” said Aramis, “remember that he goes in an opposite
+direction from that in which we are going, that he has a fresh horse,
+and ours are fatigued, so that we shall disable our own horses without
+even a chance of overtaking him. Let the man go, D’Artagnan; let us
+save the woman.”
+
+“Monsieur, monsieur!” cried a hostler, running out and looking after
+the stranger, “monsieur, here is a paper which dropped out of your hat!
+Eh, monsieur, eh!”
+
+“Friend,” said D’Artagnan, “a half-pistole for that paper!”
+
+“My faith, monsieur, with great pleasure! Here it is!”
+
+The hostler, enchanted with the good day’s work he had done, returned
+to the yard. D’Artagnan unfolded the paper.
+
+“Well?” eagerly demanded all his three friends.
+
+“Nothing but one word!” said D’Artagnan.
+
+“Yes,” said Aramis, “but that one word is the name of some town or
+village.”
+
+“_Armentières_,” read Porthos; “Armentières? I don’t know such a
+place.”
+
+“And that name of a town or village is written in her hand!” cried
+Athos.
+
+“Come on, come on!” said D’Artagnan; “let us keep that paper carefully,
+perhaps I have not thrown away my half-pistole. To horse, my friends,
+to horse!”
+
+And the four friends flew at a gallop along the road to Béthune.
+
+
+
+
+Chapter LXI.
+THE CARMELITE CONVENT AT BÉTHUNE
+
+
+Great criminals bear about them a kind of predestination which makes
+them surmount all obstacles, which makes them escape all dangers, up to
+the moment which a wearied Providence has marked as the rock of their
+impious fortunes.
+
+It was thus with Milady. She escaped the cruisers of both nations, and
+arrived at Boulogne without accident.
+
+When landing at Portsmouth, Milady was an Englishwoman whom the
+persecutions of the French drove from La Rochelle; when landing at
+Boulogne, after a two days’ passage, she passed for a Frenchwoman whom
+the English persecuted at Portsmouth out of their hatred for France.
+
+Milady had, likewise, the best of passports—her beauty, her noble
+appearance, and the liberality with which she distributed her pistoles.
+Freed from the usual formalities by the affable smile and gallant
+manners of an old governor of the port, who kissed her hand, she only
+remained long enough at Boulogne to put into the post a letter,
+conceived in the following terms:
+
+“_To his Eminence Monseigneur the Cardinal Richelieu, in his camp
+before La Rochelle_.
+
+
+“MONSEIGNEUR, Let your Eminence be reassured. His Grace the Duke of
+Buckingham _will not set out_ for France.
+
+
+“MILADY DE ——
+
+
+“BOULOGNE, evening of the twenty-fifth.
+“P.S.—According to the desire of your Eminence, I report to the convent
+of the Carmelites at Béthune, where I will await your orders.”
+
+
+Accordingly, that same evening Milady commenced her journey. Night
+overtook her; she stopped, and slept at an inn. At five o’clock the
+next morning she again proceeded, and in three hours after entered
+Béthune. She inquired for the convent of the Carmelites, and went
+thither immediately.
+
+The superior met her; Milady showed her the cardinal’s order. The
+abbess assigned her a chamber, and had breakfast served.
+
+All the past was effaced from the eyes of this woman; and her looks,
+fixed on the future, beheld nothing but the high fortunes reserved for
+her by the cardinal, whom she had so successfully served without his
+name being in any way mixed up with the sanguinary affair. The ever-new
+passions which consumed her gave to her life the appearance of those
+clouds which float in the heavens, reflecting sometimes azure,
+sometimes fire, sometimes the opaque blackness of the tempest, and
+which leave no traces upon the earth behind them but devastation and
+death.
+
+After breakfast, the abbess came to pay her a visit. There is very
+little amusement in the cloister, and the good superior was eager to
+make the acquaintance of her new boarder.
+
+Milady wished to please the abbess. This was a very easy matter for a
+woman so really superior as she was. She tried to be agreeable, and she
+was charming, winning the good superior by her varied conversation and
+by the graces of her whole personality.
+
+The abbess, who was the daughter of a noble house, took particular
+delight in stories of the court, which so seldom travel to the
+extremities of the kingdom, and which, above all, have so much
+difficulty in penetrating the walls of convents, at whose threshold the
+noise of the world dies away.
+
+Milady, on the contrary, was quite conversant with all aristocratic
+intrigues, amid which she had constantly lived for five or six years.
+She made it her business, therefore, to amuse the good abbess with the
+worldly practices of the court of France, mixed with the eccentric
+pursuits of the king; she made for her the scandalous chronicle of the
+lords and ladies of the court, whom the abbess knew perfectly by name,
+touched lightly on the amours of the queen and the Duke of Buckingham,
+talking a great deal to induce her auditor to talk a little.
+
+But the abbess contented herself with listening and smiling without
+replying a word. Milady, however, saw that this sort of narrative
+amused her very much, and kept at it; only she now let her conversation
+drift toward the cardinal.
+
+But she was greatly embarrassed. She did not know whether the abbess
+was a royalist or a cardinalist; she therefore confined herself to a
+prudent middle course. But the abbess, on her part, maintained a
+reserve still more prudent, contenting herself with making a profound
+inclination of the head every time the fair traveler pronounced the
+name of his Eminence.
+
+Milady began to think she should soon grow weary of a convent life; she
+resolved, then, to risk something in order that she might know how to
+act afterward. Desirous of seeing how far the discretion of the good
+abbess would go, she began to tell a story, obscure at first, but very
+circumstantial afterward, about the cardinal, relating the amours of
+the minister with Mme. d’Aiguillon, Marion de Lorme, and several other
+gay women.
+
+The abbess listened more attentively, grew animated by degrees, and
+smiled.
+
+“Good,” thought Milady; “she takes a pleasure in my conversation. If
+she is a cardinalist, she has no fanaticism, at least.”
+
+She then went on to describe the persecutions exercised by the cardinal
+upon his enemies. The abbess only crossed herself, without approving or
+disapproving.
+
+This confirmed Milady in her opinion that the abbess was rather
+royalist than cardinalist. Milady therefore continued, coloring her
+narrations more and more.
+
+“I am very ignorant of these matters,” said the abbess, at length; “but
+however distant from the court we may be, however remote from the
+interests of the world we may be placed, we have very sad examples of
+what you have related. And one of our boarders has suffered much from
+the vengeance and persecution of the cardinal!”
+
+“One of your boarders?” said Milady; “oh, my God! Poor woman! I pity
+her, then.”
+
+“And you have reason, for she is much to be pitied. Imprisonment,
+menaces, ill treatment—she has suffered everything. But after all,”
+resumed the abbess, “Monsieur Cardinal has perhaps plausible motives
+for acting thus; and though she has the look of an angel, we must not
+always judge people by the appearance.”
+
+“Good!” said Milady to herself; “who knows! I am about, perhaps, to
+discover something here; I am in the vein.”
+
+She tried to give her countenance an appearance of perfect candor.
+
+“Alas,” said Milady, “I know it is so. It is said that we must not
+trust to the face; but in what, then, shall we place confidence, if not
+in the most beautiful work of the Lord? As for me, I shall be deceived
+all my life perhaps, but I shall always have faith in a person whose
+countenance inspires me with sympathy.”
+
+“You would, then, be tempted to believe,” said the abbess, “that this
+young person is innocent?”
+
+“The cardinal pursues not only crimes,” said she: “there are certain
+virtues which he pursues more severely than certain offenses.”
+
+“Permit me, madame, to express my surprise,” said the abbess.
+
+“At what?” said Milady, with the utmost ingenuousness.
+
+“At the language you use.”
+
+“What do you find so astonishing in that language?” said Milady,
+smiling.
+
+“You are the friend of the cardinal, for he sends you hither, and yet—”
+
+“And yet I speak ill of him,” replied Milady, finishing the thought of
+the superior.
+
+“At least you don’t speak well of him.”
+
+“That is because I am not his friend,” said she, sighing, “but his
+victim!”
+
+“But this letter in which he recommends you to me?”
+
+“Is an order for me to confine myself to a sort of prison, from which
+he will release me by one of his satellites.”
+
+“But why have you not fled?”
+
+“Whither should I go? Do you believe there is a spot on the earth which
+the cardinal cannot reach if he takes the trouble to stretch forth his
+hand? If I were a man, that would barely be possible; but what can a
+woman do? This young boarder of yours, has she tried to fly?”
+
+“No, that is true; but she—that is another thing; I believe she is
+detained in France by some love affair.”
+
+“Ah,” said Milady, with a sigh, “if she loves she is not altogether
+wretched.”
+
+“Then,” said the abbess, looking at Milady with increasing interest, “I
+behold another poor victim?”
+
+“Alas, yes,” said Milady.
+
+The abbess looked at her for an instant with uneasiness, as if a fresh
+thought suggested itself to her mind.
+
+“You are not an enemy of our holy faith?” said she, hesitatingly.
+
+“Who—I?” cried Milady; “I a Protestant? Oh, no! I call to witness the
+God who hears us, that on the contrary I am a fervent Catholic!”
+
+“Then, madame,” said the abbess, smiling, “be reassured; the house in
+which you are shall not be a very hard prison, and we will do all in
+our power to make you cherish your captivity. You will find here,
+moreover, the young woman of whom I spoke, who is persecuted, no doubt,
+in consequence of some court intrigue. She is amiable and
+well-behaved.”
+
+“What is her name?”
+
+“She was sent to me by someone of high rank, under the name of Kitty. I
+have not tried to discover her other name.”
+
+“Kitty!” cried Milady. “What? Are you sure?”
+
+“That she is called so? Yes, madame. Do you know her?”
+
+Milady smiled to herself at the idea which had occurred to her that
+this might be her old chambermaid. There was connected with the
+remembrance of this girl a remembrance of anger; and a desire of
+vengeance disordered the features of Milady, which, however,
+immediately recovered the calm and benevolent expression which this
+woman of a hundred faces had for a moment allowed them to lose.
+
+“And when can I see this young lady, for whom I already feel so great a
+sympathy?” asked Milady.
+
+“Why, this evening,” said the abbess; “today even. But you have been
+traveling these four days, as you told me yourself. This morning you
+rose at five o’clock; you must stand in need of repose. Go to bed and
+sleep; at dinnertime we will rouse you.”
+
+Although Milady would very willingly have gone without sleep, sustained
+as she was by all the excitements which a new adventure awakened in her
+heart, ever thirsting for intrigues, she nevertheless accepted the
+offer of the superior. During the last fifteen days she had experienced
+so many and such various emotions that if her frame of iron was still
+capable of supporting fatigue, her mind required repose.
+
+She therefore took leave of the abbess, and went to bed, softly rocked
+by the ideas of vengeance which the name of Kitty had naturally brought
+to her thoughts. She remembered that almost unlimited promise which the
+cardinal had given her if she succeeded in her enterprise. She had
+succeeded; D’Artagnan was then in her power!
+
+One thing alone frightened her; that was the remembrance of her
+husband, the Comte de la Fère, whom she had believed dead, or at least
+expatriated, and whom she found again in Athos—the best friend of
+D’Artagnan.
+
+But alas, if he was the friend of D’Artagnan, he must have lent him his
+assistance in all the proceedings by whose aid the queen had defeated
+the project of his Eminence; if he was the friend of D’Artagnan, he was
+the enemy of the cardinal; and she doubtless would succeed in involving
+him in the vengeance by which she hoped to destroy the young Musketeer.
+
+All these hopes were so many sweet thoughts for Milady; so, rocked by
+them, she soon fell asleep.
+
+She was awakened by a soft voice which sounded at the foot of her bed.
+She opened her eyes, and saw the abbess, accompanied by a young woman
+with light hair and delicate complexion, who fixed upon her a look full
+of benevolent curiosity.
+
+The face of the young woman was entirely unknown to her. Each examined
+the other with great attention, while exchanging the customary
+compliments; both were very handsome, but of quite different styles of
+beauty. Milady, however, smiled in observing that she excelled the
+young woman by far in her high air and aristocratic bearing. It is true
+that the habit of a novice, which the young woman wore, was not very
+advantageous in a contest of this kind.
+
+The abbess introduced them to each other. When this formality was
+ended, as her duties called her to chapel, she left the two young women
+alone.
+
+The novice, seeing Milady in bed, was about to follow the example of
+the superior; but Milady stopped her.
+
+“How, madame,” said she, “I have scarcely seen you, and you already
+wish to deprive me of your company, upon which I had counted a little,
+I must confess, for the time I have to pass here?”
+
+“No, madame,” replied the novice, “only I thought I had chosen my time
+ill; you were asleep, you are fatigued.”
+
+“Well,” said Milady, “what can those who sleep wish for—a happy
+awakening? This awakening you have given me; allow me, then, to enjoy
+it at my ease,” and taking her hand, she drew her toward the armchair
+by the bedside.
+
+The novice sat down.
+
+“How unfortunate I am!” said she; “I have been here six months without
+the shadow of recreation. You arrive, and your presence was likely to
+afford me delightful company; yet I expect, in all probability, to quit
+the convent at any moment.”
+
+“How, you are going soon?” asked Milady.
+
+“At least I hope so,” said the novice, with an expression of joy which
+she made no effort to disguise.
+
+“I think I learned you had suffered persecutions from the cardinal,”
+continued Milady; “that would have been another motive for sympathy
+between us.”
+
+“What I have heard, then, from our good mother is true; you have
+likewise been a victim of that wicked priest.”
+
+“Hush!” said Milady; “let us not, even here, speak thus of him. All my
+misfortunes arise from my having said nearly what you have said before
+a woman whom I thought my friend, and who betrayed me. Are you also the
+victim of a treachery?”
+
+“No,” said the novice, “but of my devotion—of a devotion to a woman I
+loved, for whom I would have laid down my life, for whom I would give
+it still.”
+
+“And who has abandoned you—is that it?”
+
+“I have been sufficiently unjust to believe so; but during the last two
+or three days I have obtained proof to the contrary, for which I thank
+God—for it would have cost me very dear to think she had forgotten me.
+But you, madame, you appear to be free,” continued the novice; “and if
+you were inclined to fly it only rests with yourself to do so.”
+
+“Whither would you have me go, without friends, without money, in a
+part of France with which I am unacquainted, and where I have never
+been before?”
+
+“Oh,” cried the novice, “as to friends, you would have them wherever
+you want, you appear so good and are so beautiful!”
+
+“That does not prevent,” replied Milady, softening her smile so as to
+give it an angelic expression, “my being alone or being persecuted.”
+
+“Hear me,” said the novice; “we must trust in heaven. There always
+comes a moment when the good you have done pleads your cause before
+God; and see, perhaps it is a happiness for you, humble and powerless
+as I am, that you have met with me, for if I leave this place, well—I
+have powerful friends, who, after having exerted themselves on my
+account, may also exert themselves for you.”
+
+“Oh, when I said I was alone,” said Milady, hoping to make the novice
+talk by talking of herself, “it is not for want of friends in high
+places; but these friends themselves tremble before the cardinal. The
+queen herself does not dare to oppose the terrible minister. I have
+proof that her Majesty, notwithstanding her excellent heart, has more
+than once been obliged to abandon to the anger of his Eminence persons
+who had served her.”
+
+“Trust me, madame; the queen may appear to have abandoned those
+persons, but we must not put faith in appearances. The more they are
+persecuted, the more she thinks of them; and often, when they least
+expect it, they have proof of a kind remembrance.”
+
+“Alas!” said Milady, “I believe so; the queen is so good!”
+
+“Oh, you know her, then, that lovely and noble queen, that you speak of
+her thus!” cried the novice, with enthusiasm.
+
+“That is to say,” replied Milady, driven into her entrenchment, “that I
+have not the honor of knowing her personally; but I know a great number
+of her most intimate friends. I am acquainted with Monsieur de Putange;
+I met Monsieur Dujart in England; I know Monsieur de Tréville.”
+
+“Monsieur de Tréville!” exclaimed the novice, “do you know Monsieur de
+Tréville?”
+
+“Yes, perfectly well—intimately even.”
+
+“The captain of the king’s Musketeers?”
+
+“The captain of the king’s Musketeers.”
+
+“Why, then, only see!” cried the novice; “we shall soon be well
+acquainted, almost friends. If you know Monsieur de Tréville, you must
+have visited him?”
+
+“Often!” said Milady, who, having entered this track, and perceiving
+that falsehood succeeded, was determined to follow it to the end.
+
+“With him, then, you must have seen some of his Musketeers?”
+
+“All those he is in the habit of receiving!” replied Milady, for whom
+this conversation began to have a real interest.
+
+“Name a few of those whom you know, and you will see if they are my
+friends.”
+
+“Well!” said Milady, embarrassed, “I know Monsieur de Louvigny,
+Monsieur de Courtivron, Monsieur de Ferussac.”
+
+The novice let her speak, then seeing that she paused, she said, “Don’t
+you know a gentleman named Athos?”
+
+Milady became as pale as the sheets in which she was lying, and
+mistress as she was of herself, could not help uttering a cry, seizing
+the hand of the novice, and devouring her with looks.
+
+“What is the matter? Good God!” asked the poor woman, “have I said
+anything that has wounded you?”
+
+“No; but the name struck me, because I also have known that gentleman,
+and it appeared strange to me to meet with a person who appears to know
+him well.”
+
+“Oh, yes, very well; not only him, but some of his friends, Messieurs
+Porthos and Aramis!”
+
+“Indeed! you know them likewise? I know them,” cried Milady, who began
+to feel a chill penetrate her heart.
+
+“Well, if you know them, you know that they are good and free
+companions. Why do you not apply to them, if you stand in need of
+help?”
+
+“That is to say,” stammered Milady, “I am not really very intimate with
+any of them. I know them from having heard one of their friends,
+Monsieur d’Artagnan, say a great deal about them.”
+
+“You know Monsieur d’Artagnan!” cried the novice, in her turn seizing
+the hands of Milady and devouring her with her eyes.
+
+Then remarking the strange expression of Milady’s countenance, she
+said, “Pardon me, madame; you know him by what title?”
+
+“Why,” replied Milady, embarrassed, “why, by the title of friend.”
+
+“You deceive me, madame,” said the novice; “you have been his
+mistress!”
+
+“It is you who have been his mistress, madame!” cried Milady, in her
+turn.
+
+“I?” said the novice.
+
+“Yes, you! I know you now. You are Madame Bonacieux!”
+
+The young woman drew back, filled with surprise and terror.
+
+“Oh, do not deny it! Answer!” continued Milady.
+
+“Well, yes, madame,” said the novice, “Are we rivals?”
+
+The countenance of Milady was illumined by so savage a joy that under
+any other circumstances Mme. Bonacieux would have fled in terror; but
+she was absorbed by jealousy.
+
+“Speak, madame!” resumed Mme. Bonacieux, with an energy of which she
+might not have been believed capable. “Have you been, or are you, his
+mistress?”
+
+“Oh, no!” cried Milady, with an accent that admitted no doubt of her
+truth. “Never, never!”
+
+“I believe you,” said Mme. Bonacieux; “but why, then, did you cry out
+so?”
+
+“Do you not understand?” said Milady, who had already overcome her
+agitation and recovered all her presence of mind.
+
+“How can I understand? I know nothing.”
+
+“Can you not understand that Monsieur d’Artagnan, being my friend,
+might take me into his confidence?”
+
+“Truly?”
+
+“Do you not perceive that I know all—your abduction from the little
+house at St. Germain, his despair, that of his friends, and their
+useless inquiries up to this moment? How could I help being astonished
+when, without having the least expectation of such a thing, I meet you
+face to face—you, of whom we have so often spoken together, you whom he
+loves with all his soul, you whom he had taught me to love before I had
+seen you! Ah, dear Constance, I have found you, then; I see you at
+last!”
+
+And Milady stretched out her arms to Mme. Bonacieux, who, convinced by
+what she had just said, saw nothing in this woman whom an instant
+before she had believed her rival but a sincere and devoted friend.
+
+“Oh, pardon me, pardon me!” cried she, sinking upon the shoulders of
+Milady. “Pardon me, I love him so much!”
+
+These two women held each other for an instant in a close embrace.
+Certainly, if Milady’s strength had been equal to her hatred, Mme.
+Bonacieux would never have left that embrace alive. But not being able
+to stifle her, she smiled upon her.
+
+“Oh, you beautiful, good little creature!” said Milady. “How delighted
+I am to have found you! Let me look at you!” and while saying these
+words, she absolutely devoured her by her looks. “Oh, yes it is you
+indeed! From what he has told me, I know you now. I recognize you
+perfectly.”
+
+The poor young woman could not possibly suspect what frightful cruelty
+was behind the rampart of that pure brow, behind those brilliant eyes
+in which she read nothing but interest and compassion.
+
+“Then you know what I have suffered,” said Mme. Bonacieux, “since he
+has told you what he has suffered; but to suffer for him is happiness.”
+
+Milady replied mechanically, “Yes, that is happiness.” She was thinking
+of something else.
+
+“And then,” continued Mme. Bonacieux, “my punishment is drawing to a
+close. Tomorrow, this evening, perhaps, I shall see him again; and then
+the past will no longer exist.”
+
+“This evening?” asked Milady, roused from her reverie by these words.
+“What do you mean? Do you expect news from him?”
+
+“I expect himself.”
+
+“Himself? D’Artagnan here?”
+
+“Himself!”
+
+“But that’s impossible! He is at the siege of La Rochelle with the
+cardinal. He will not return till after the taking of the city.”
+
+“Ah, you fancy so! But is there anything impossible for my D’Artagnan,
+the noble and loyal gentleman?”
+
+“Oh, I cannot believe you!”
+
+“Well, read, then!” said the unhappy young woman, in the excess of her
+pride and joy, presenting a letter to Milady.
+
+“The writing of Madame de Chevreuse!” said Milady to herself. “Ah, I
+always thought there was some secret understanding in that quarter!”
+And she greedily read the following few lines:
+
+MY DEAR CHILD, Hold yourself ready. _Our friend_ will see you soon, and
+he will only see you to release you from that imprisonment in which
+your safety required you should be concealed. Prepare, then, for your
+departure, and never despair of us.
+    Our charming Gascon has just proved himself as brave and faithful
+    as ever. Tell him that certain parties are grateful for the warning
+    he has given.
+
+
+“Yes, yes,” said Milady; “the letter is precise. Do you know what that
+warning was?”
+
+“No, I only suspect he has warned the queen against some fresh
+machinations of the cardinal.”
+
+“Yes, that’s it, no doubt!” said Milady, returning the letter to Mme.
+Bonacieux, and letting her head sink pensively upon her bosom.
+
+At that moment they heard the gallop of a horse.
+
+“Oh!” cried Mme. Bonacieux, darting to the window, “can it be he?”
+
+Milady remained still in bed, petrified by surprise; so many unexpected
+things happened to her all at once that for the first time she was at a
+loss.
+
+“He, he!” murmured she; “can it be he?” And she remained in bed with
+her eyes fixed.
+
+“Alas, no!” said Mme. Bonacieux; “it is a man I don’t know, although he
+seems to be coming here. Yes, he checks his pace; he stops at the gate;
+he rings.”
+
+Milady sprang out of bed.
+
+“You are sure it is not he?” said she.
+
+“Yes, yes, very sure!”
+
+“Perhaps you did not see well.”
+
+“Oh, if I were to see the plume of his hat, the end of his cloak, I
+should know _him!_”
+
+Milady was dressing herself all the time.
+
+“Yes, he has entered.”
+
+“It is for you or me!”
+
+“My God, how agitated you seem!”
+
+“Yes, I admit it. I have not your confidence; I fear the cardinal.”
+
+“Hush!” said Mme. Bonacieux; “somebody is coming.”
+
+Immediately the door opened, and the superior entered.
+
+“Did you come from Boulogne?” demanded she of Milady.
+
+“Yes,” replied she, trying to recover her self-possession. “Who wants
+me?”
+
+“A man who will not tell his name, but who comes from the cardinal.”
+
+“And who wishes to speak with me?”
+
+“Who wishes to speak to a lady recently come from Boulogne.”
+
+“Then let him come in, if you please.”
+
+“Oh, my God, my God!” cried Mme. Bonacieux. “Can it be bad news?”
+
+“I fear it.”
+
+“I will leave you with this stranger; but as soon as he is gone, if you
+will permit me, I will return.”
+
+“_Permit_ you? I _beseech_ you.”
+
+The superior and Mme. Bonacieux retired.
+
+Milady remained alone, with her eyes fixed upon the door. An instant
+later, the jingling of spurs was heard upon the stairs, steps drew
+near, the door opened, and a man appeared.
+
+Milady uttered a cry of joy; this man was the Comte de Rochefort—the
+demoniacal tool of his Eminence.
+
+
+
+
+Chapter LXII.
+TWO VARIETIES OF DEMONS
+
+
+Ah,” cried Milady and Rochefort together, “it is you!”
+
+“Yes, it is I.”
+
+“And you come?” asked Milady.
+
+“From La Rochelle; and you?”
+
+“From England.”
+
+“Buckingham?”
+
+“Dead or desperately wounded, as I left without having been able to
+hear anything of him. A fanatic has just assassinated him.”
+
+“Ah,” said Rochefort, with a smile; “this is a fortunate chance—one
+that will delight his Eminence! Have you informed him of it?”
+
+“I wrote to him from Boulogne. But what brings you here?”
+
+“His Eminence was uneasy, and sent me to find you.”
+
+“I only arrived yesterday.”
+
+“And what have you been doing since yesterday?”
+
+“I have not lost my time.”
+
+“Oh, I don’t doubt that.”
+
+“Do you know whom I have encountered here?”
+
+“No.”
+
+“Guess.”
+
+“How can I?”
+
+“That young woman whom the queen took out of prison.”
+
+“The mistress of that fellow D’Artagnan?”
+
+“Yes; Madame Bonacieux, with whose retreat the cardinal was
+unacquainted.”
+
+“Well, well,” said Rochefort, “here is a chance which may pair off with
+the other! Monsieur Cardinal is indeed a privileged man!”
+
+“Imagine my astonishment,” continued Milady, “when I found myself face
+to face with this woman!”
+
+“Does she know you?”
+
+“No.”
+
+“Then she looks upon you as a stranger?”
+
+Milady smiled. “I am her best friend.”
+
+“Upon my honor,” said Rochefort, “it takes you, my dear countess, to
+perform such miracles!”
+
+“And it is well I can, Chevalier,” said Milady, “for do you know what
+is going on here?”
+
+“No.”
+
+“They will come for her tomorrow or the day after, with an order from
+the queen.”
+
+“Indeed! And who?”
+
+“D’Artagnan and his friends.”
+
+“Indeed, they will go so far that we shall be obliged to send them to
+the Bastille.”
+
+“Why is it not done already?”
+
+“What would you? The cardinal has a weakness for these men which I
+cannot comprehend.”
+
+“Indeed!”
+
+“Yes.”
+
+“Well, then, tell him this, Rochefort. Tell him that our conversation
+at the inn of the Red Dovecot was overheard by these four men; tell him
+that after his departure one of them came up to me and took from me by
+violence the safe-conduct which he had given me; tell him they warned
+Lord de Winter of my journey to England; that this time they nearly
+foiled my mission as they foiled the affair of the studs; tell him that
+among these four men two only are to be feared—D’Artagnan and Athos;
+tell him that the third, Aramis, is the lover of Madame de Chevreuse—he
+may be left alone, we know his secret, and it may be useful; as to the
+fourth, Porthos, he is a fool, a simpleton, a blustering booby, not
+worth troubling himself about.”
+
+“But these four men must be now at the siege of La Rochelle?”
+
+“I thought so, too; but a letter which Madame Bonacieux has received
+from Madame the Constable, and which she has had the imprudence to show
+me, leads me to believe that these four men, on the contrary, are on
+the road hither to take her away.”
+
+“The devil! What’s to be done?”
+
+“What did the cardinal say about me?”
+
+“I was to take your dispatches, written or verbal, and return by post;
+and when he shall know what you have done, he will advise what you have
+to do.”
+
+“I must, then, remain here?”
+
+“Here, or in the neighborhood.”
+
+“You cannot take me with you?”
+
+“No, the order is imperative. Near the camp you might be recognized;
+and your presence, you must be aware, would compromise the cardinal.”
+
+“Then I must wait here, or in the neighborhood?”
+
+“Only tell me beforehand where you will wait for intelligence from the
+cardinal; let me know always where to find you.”
+
+“Observe, it is probable that I may not be able to remain here.”
+
+“Why?”
+
+“You forget that my enemies may arrive at any minute.”
+
+“That’s true; but is this little woman, then, to escape his Eminence?”
+
+“Bah!” said Milady, with a smile that belonged only to herself; “you
+forget that I am her best friend.”
+
+“Ah, that’s true! I may then tell the cardinal, with respect to this
+little woman—”
+
+“That he may be at ease.”
+
+“Is that all?”
+
+“He will know what that means.”
+
+“He will guess, at least. Now, then, what had I better do?”
+
+“Return instantly. It appears to me that the news you bear is worth the
+trouble of a little diligence.”
+
+“My chaise broke down coming into Lilliers.”
+
+“Capital!”
+
+“What, _capital?_”
+
+“Yes, I want your chaise.”
+
+“And how shall I travel, then?”
+
+“On horseback.”
+
+“You talk very comfortably,—a hundred and eighty leagues!”
+
+“What’s that?”
+
+“One can do it! Afterward?”
+
+“Afterward? Why, in passing through Lilliers you will send me your
+chaise, with an order to your servant to place himself at my disposal.”
+
+“Well.”
+
+“You have, no doubt, some order from the cardinal about you?”
+
+“I have my _full power_.”
+
+“Show it to the abbess, and tell her that someone will come and fetch
+me, either today or tomorrow, and that I am to follow the person who
+presents himself in your name.”
+
+“Very well.”
+
+“Don’t forget to treat me harshly in speaking of me to the abbess.”
+
+“To what purpose?”
+
+“I am a victim of the cardinal. It is necessary to inspire confidence
+in that poor little Madame Bonacieux.”
+
+“That’s true. Now, will you make me a report of all that has happened?”
+
+“Why, I have related the events to you. You have a good memory; repeat
+what I have told you. A paper may be lost.”
+
+“You are right; only let me know where to find you that I may not run
+needlessly about the neighborhood.”
+
+“That’s correct; wait!”
+
+“Do you want a map?”
+
+“Oh, I know this country marvelously!”
+
+“You? When were you here?”
+
+“I was brought up here.”
+
+“Truly?”
+
+“It is worth something, you see, to have been brought up somewhere.”
+
+“You will wait for me, then?”
+
+“Let me reflect a little! Ay, that will do—at Armentières.”
+
+“Where is that Armentières?”
+
+“A little town on the Lys; I shall only have to cross the river, and I
+shall be in a foreign country.”
+
+“Capital! but it is understood you will only cross the river in case of
+danger.”
+
+“That is well understood.”
+
+“And in that case, how shall I know where you are?”
+
+“You do not want your lackey?”
+
+“Is he a sure man?”
+
+“To the proof.”
+
+“Give him to me. Nobody knows him. I will leave him at the place I
+quit, and he will conduct you to me.”
+
+“And you say you will wait for me at Armentières?”
+
+“At Armentières.”
+
+“Write that name on a bit of paper, lest I should forget it. There is
+nothing compromising in the name of a town. Is it not so?”
+
+“Eh, who knows? Never mind,” said Milady, writing the name on half a
+sheet of paper; “I will compromise myself.”
+
+“Well,” said Rochefort, taking the paper from Milady, folding it, and
+placing it in the lining of his hat, “you may be easy. I will do as
+children do, for fear of losing the paper—repeat the name along the
+route. Now, is that all?”
+
+“I believe so.”
+
+“Let us see: Buckingham dead or grievously wounded; your conversation
+with the cardinal overheard by the four Musketeers; Lord de Winter
+warned of your arrival at Portsmouth; D’Artagnan and Athos to the
+Bastille; Aramis the lover of Madame de Chevreuse; Porthos an ass;
+Madame Bonacieux found again; to send you the chaise as soon as
+possible; to place my lackey at your disposal; to make you out a victim
+of the cardinal in order that the abbess may entertain no suspicion;
+Armentières, on the banks of the Lys. Is that all, then?”
+
+“In truth, my dear Chevalier, you are a miracle of memory. _A propos_,
+add one thing—”
+
+“What?”
+
+“I saw some very pretty woods which almost touch the convent garden.
+Say that I am permitted to walk in those woods. Who knows? Perhaps I
+shall stand in need of a back door for retreat.”
+
+“You think of everything.”
+
+“And you forget one thing.”
+
+“What?”
+
+“To ask me if I want money.”
+
+“That’s true. How much do you want?”
+
+“All you have in gold.”
+
+“I have five hundred pistoles, or thereabouts.”
+
+“I have as much. With a thousand pistoles one may face everything.
+Empty your pockets.”
+
+“There.”
+
+“Right. And you go—”
+
+“In an hour—time to eat a morsel, during which I shall send for a post
+horse.”
+
+“Capital! Adieu, Chevalier.”
+
+“Adieu, Countess.”
+
+“Commend me to the cardinal.”
+
+“Commend me to Satan.”
+
+Milady and Rochefort exchanged a smile and separated. An hour afterward
+Rochefort set out at a grand gallop; five hours after that he passed
+through Arras.
+
+Our readers already know how he was recognized by D’Artagnan, and how
+that recognition by inspiring fear in the four Musketeers had given
+fresh activity to their journey.
+
+
+
+
+Chapter LXIII.
+THE DROP OF WATER
+
+
+Rochefort had scarcely departed when Mme. Bonacieux re-entered. She
+found Milady with a smiling countenance.
+
+“Well,” said the young woman, “what you dreaded has happened. This
+evening, or tomorrow, the cardinal will send someone to take you away.”
+
+“Who told you that, my dear?” asked Milady.
+
+“I heard it from the mouth of the messenger himself.”
+
+“Come and sit down close to me,” said Milady.
+
+“Here I am.”
+
+“Wait till I assure myself that nobody hears us.”
+
+“Why all these precautions?”
+
+“You shall know.”
+
+Milady arose, went to the door, opened it, looked in the corridor, and
+then returned and seated herself close to Mme. Bonacieux.
+
+“Then,” said she, “he has well played his part.”
+
+“Who has?”
+
+“He who just now presented himself to the abbess as a messenger from
+the cardinal.”
+
+“It was, then, a part he was playing?”
+
+“Yes, my child.”
+
+“That man, then, was not—”
+
+“That man,” said Milady, lowering her voice, “is my brother.”
+
+“Your brother!” cried Mme. Bonacieux.
+
+“No one must know this secret, my dear, but yourself. If you reveal it
+to anyone in the world, I shall be lost, and perhaps yourself
+likewise.”
+
+“Oh, my God!”
+
+“Listen. This is what has happened: My brother, who was coming to my
+assistance to take me away by force if it were necessary, met with the
+emissary of the cardinal, who was coming in search of me. He followed
+him. At a solitary and retired part of the road he drew his sword, and
+required the messenger to deliver up to him the papers of which he was
+the bearer. The messenger resisted; my brother killed him.”
+
+“Oh!” said Mme. Bonacieux, shuddering.
+
+“Remember, that was the only means. Then my brother determined to
+substitute cunning for force. He took the papers, and presented himself
+here as the emissary of the cardinal, and in an hour or two a carriage
+will come to take me away by the orders of his Eminence.”
+
+“I understand. It is your brother who sends this carriage.”
+
+“Exactly; but that is not all. That letter you have received, and which
+you believe to be from Madame de Chevreuse—”
+
+“Well?”
+
+“It is a forgery.”
+
+“How can that be?”
+
+“Yes, a forgery; it is a snare to prevent your making any resistance
+when they come to fetch you.”
+
+“But it is D’Artagnan that will come.”
+
+“Do not deceive yourself. D’Artagnan and his friends are detained at
+the siege of La Rochelle.”
+
+“How do you know that?”
+
+“My brother met some emissaries of the cardinal in the uniform of
+Musketeers. You would have been summoned to the gate; you would have
+believed yourself about to meet friends; you would have been abducted,
+and conducted back to Paris.”
+
+“Oh, my God! My senses fail me amid such a chaos of iniquities. I feel,
+if this continues,” said Mme. Bonacieux, raising her hands to her
+forehead, “I shall go mad!”
+
+“Stop—”
+
+“What?”
+
+“I hear a horse’s steps; it is my brother setting off again. I should
+like to offer him a last salute. Come!”
+
+Milady opened the window, and made a sign to Mme. Bonacieux to join
+her. The young woman complied.
+
+Rochefort passed at a gallop.
+
+“Adieu, brother!” cried Milady.
+
+The chevalier raised his head, saw the two young women, and without
+stopping, waved his hand in a friendly way to Milady.
+
+“The good George!” said she, closing the window with an expression of
+countenance full of affection and melancholy. And she resumed her seat,
+as if plunged in reflections entirely personal.
+
+“Dear lady,” said Mme. Bonacieux, “pardon me for interrupting you; but
+what do you advise me to do? Good heaven! You have more experience than
+I have. Speak; I will listen.”
+
+“In the first place,” said Milady, “it is possible I may be deceived,
+and that D’Artagnan and his friends may really come to your
+assistance.”
+
+“Oh, that would be too much!” cried Mme. Bonacieux, “so much happiness
+is not in store for me!”
+
+“Then you comprehend it would be only a question of time, a sort of
+race, which should arrive first. If your friends are the more speedy,
+you are to be saved; if the satellites of the cardinal, you are lost.”
+
+“Oh, yes, yes; lost beyond redemption! What, then, to do? What to do?”
+
+“There would be a very simple means, very natural—”
+
+“Tell me what!”
+
+“To wait, concealed in the neighborhood, and assure yourself who are
+the men who come to ask for you.”
+
+“But where can I wait?”
+
+“Oh, there is no difficulty in that. I shall stop and conceal myself a
+few leagues hence until my brother can rejoin me. Well, I take you with
+me; we conceal ourselves, and wait together.”
+
+“But I shall not be allowed to go; I am almost a prisoner.”
+
+“As they believe that I go in consequence of an order from the
+cardinal, no one will believe you anxious to follow me.”
+
+“Well?”
+
+“Well! The carriage is at the door; you bid me adieu; you mount the
+step to embrace me a last time; my brother’s servant, who comes to
+fetch me, is told how to proceed; he makes a sign to the postillion,
+and we set off at a gallop.”
+
+“But D’Artagnan! D’Artagnan! if he comes?”
+
+“Shall we not know it?”
+
+“How?”
+
+“Nothing easier. We will send my brother’s servant back to Béthune,
+whom, as I told you, we can trust. He shall assume a disguise, and
+place himself in front of the convent. If the emissaries of the
+cardinal arrive, he will take no notice; if it is Monsieur d’Artagnan
+and his friends, he will bring them to us.”
+
+“He knows them, then?”
+
+“Doubtless. Has he not seen Monsieur d’Artagnan at my house?”
+
+“Oh, yes, yes; you are right. Thus all may go well—all may be for the
+best; but we do not go far from this place?”
+
+“Seven or eight leagues at the most. We will keep on the frontiers, for
+instance; and at the first alarm we can leave France.”
+
+“And what can we do there?”
+
+“Wait.”
+
+“But if they come?”
+
+“My brother’s carriage will be here first.”
+
+“If I should happen to be any distance from you when the carriage comes
+for you—at dinner or supper, for instance?”
+
+“Do one thing.”
+
+“What is that?”
+
+“Tell your good superior that in order that we may be as much together
+as possible, you ask her permission to share my repast.”
+
+“Will she permit it?”
+
+“What inconvenience can it be?”
+
+“Oh, delightful! In this way we shall not be separated for an instant.”
+
+“Well, go down to her, then, to make your request. I feel my head a
+little confused; I will take a turn in the garden.”
+
+“Go; and where shall I find you?”
+
+“Here, in an hour.”
+
+“Here, in an hour. Oh, you are so kind, and I am so grateful!”
+
+“How can I avoid interesting myself for one who is so beautiful and so
+amiable? Are you not the beloved of one of my best friends?”
+
+“Dear D’Artagnan! Oh, how he will thank you!”
+
+“I hope so. Now, then, all is agreed; let us go down.”
+
+“You are going into the garden?”
+
+“Yes.”
+
+“Go along this corridor, down a little staircase, and you are in it.”
+
+“Excellent; thank you!”
+
+And the two women parted, exchanging charming smiles.
+
+Milady had told the truth—her head was confused, for her ill-arranged
+plans clashed one another like chaos. She required to be alone that she
+might put her thoughts a little into order. She saw vaguely the future;
+but she stood in need of a little silence and quiet to give all her
+ideas, as yet confused, a distinct form and a regular plan.
+
+What was most pressing was to get Mme. Bonacieux away, and convey her
+to a place of safety, and there, if matters required, make her a
+hostage. Milady began to have doubts of the issue of this terrible
+duel, in which her enemies showed as much perseverance as she did
+animosity.
+
+Besides, she felt as we feel when a storm is coming on—that this issue
+was near, and could not fail to be terrible.
+
+The principal thing for her, then, was, as we have said, to keep Mme.
+Bonacieux in her power. Mme. Bonacieux was the very life of D’Artagnan.
+This was more than his life, the life of the woman he loved; this was,
+in case of ill fortune, a means of temporizing and obtaining good
+conditions.
+
+Now, this point was settled; Mme. Bonacieux, without any suspicion,
+accompanied her. Once concealed with her at Armentières, it would be
+easy to make her believe that D’Artagnan had not come to Béthune. In
+fifteen days at most, Rochefort would be back; besides, during that
+fifteen days she would have time to think how she could best avenge
+herself on the four friends. She would not be weary, thank God! for she
+should enjoy the sweetest pastime such events could accord a woman of
+her character—perfecting a beautiful vengeance.
+
+Revolving all this in her mind, she cast her eyes around her, and
+arranged the topography of the garden in her head. Milady was like a
+good general who contemplates at the same time victory and defeat, and
+who is quite prepared, according to the chances of the battle, to march
+forward or to beat a retreat.
+
+At the end of an hour she heard a soft voice calling her; it was Mme.
+Bonacieux’s. The good abbess had naturally consented to her request;
+and as a commencement, they were to sup together.
+
+On reaching the courtyard, they heard the noise of a carriage which
+stopped at the gate.
+
+Milady listened.
+
+“Do you hear anything?” said she.
+
+“Yes, the rolling of a carriage.”
+
+“It is the one my brother sends for us.”
+
+“Oh, my God!”
+
+“Come, come! courage!”
+
+The bell of the convent gate was sounded; Milady was not mistaken.
+
+“Go to your chamber,” said she to Mme. Bonacieux; “you have perhaps
+some jewels you would like to take.”
+
+“I have his letters,” said she.
+
+“Well, go and fetch them, and come to my apartment. We will snatch some
+supper; we shall perhaps travel part of the night, and must keep our
+strength up.”
+
+“Great God!” said Mme. Bonacieux, placing her hand upon her bosom, “my
+heart beats so I cannot walk.”
+
+“Courage, courage! remember that in a quarter of an hour you will be
+safe; and think that what you are about to do is for _his_ sake.”
+
+“Yes, yes, everything for him. You have restored my courage by a single
+word; go, I will rejoin you.”
+
+Milady ran up to her apartment quickly; she there found Rochefort’s
+lackey, and gave him his instructions.
+
+He was to wait at the gate; if by chance the Musketeers should appear,
+the carriage was to set off as fast as possible, pass around the
+convent, and go and wait for Milady at a little village which was
+situated at the other side of the wood. In this case Milady would cross
+the garden and gain the village on foot. As we have already said,
+Milady was admirably acquainted with this part of France.
+
+If the Musketeers did not appear, things were to go on as had been
+agreed; Mme. Bonacieux was to get into the carriage as if to bid her
+adieu, and she was to take away Mme. Bonacieux.
+
+Mme. Bonacieux came in; and to remove all suspicion, if she had any,
+Milady repeated to the lackey, before her, the latter part of her
+instructions.
+
+Milady asked some questions about the carriage. It was a chaise drawn
+by three horses, driven by a postillion; Rochefort’s lackey would
+precede it, as courier.
+
+Milady was wrong in fearing that Mme. Bonacieux would have any
+suspicion. The poor young woman was too pure to suppose that any female
+could be guilty of such perfidy; besides, the name of the Comtesse de
+Winter, which she had heard the abbess pronounce, was wholly unknown to
+her, and she was even ignorant that a woman had had so great and so
+fatal a share in the misfortune of her life.
+
+“You see,” said she, when the lackey had gone out, “everything is
+ready. The abbess suspects nothing, and believes that I am taken by
+order of the cardinal. This man goes to give his last orders; take the
+least thing, drink a finger of wine, and let us be gone.”
+
+“Yes,” said Mme. Bonacieux, mechanically, “yes, let us be gone.”
+
+Milady made her a sign to sit down opposite, poured her a small glass
+of Spanish wine, and helped her to the wing of a chicken.
+
+“See,” said she, “if everything does not second us! Here is night
+coming on; by daybreak we shall have reached our retreat, and nobody
+can guess where we are. Come, courage! take something.”
+
+Mme. Bonacieux ate a few mouthfuls mechanically, and just touched the
+glass with her lips.
+
+“Come, come!” said Milady, lifting hers to her mouth, “do as I do.”
+
+But at the moment the glass touched her lips, her hand remained
+suspended; she heard something on the road which sounded like the
+rattling of a distant gallop. Then it grew nearer, and it seemed to
+her, almost at the same time, that she heard the neighing of horses.
+
+This noise acted upon her joy like the storm which awakens the sleeper
+in the midst of a happy dream; she grew pale and ran to the window,
+while Mme. Bonacieux, rising all in a tremble, supported herself upon
+her chair to avoid falling. Nothing was yet to be seen, only they heard
+the galloping draw nearer.
+
+“Oh, my God!” said Mme. Bonacieux, “what is that noise?”
+
+“That of either our friends or our enemies,” said Milady, with her
+terrible coolness. “Stay where you are, I will tell you.”
+
+Mme. Bonacieux remained standing, mute, motionless, and pale as a
+statue.
+
+The noise became louder; the horses could not be more than a hundred
+and fifty paces distant. If they were not yet to be seen, it was
+because the road made an elbow. The noise became so distinct that the
+horses might be counted by the rattle of their hoofs.
+
+Milady gazed with all the power of her attention; it was just light
+enough for her to see who was coming.
+
+All at once, at the turning of the road she saw the glitter of laced
+hats and the waving of feathers; she counted two, then five, then eight
+horsemen. One of them preceded the rest by double the length of his
+horse.
+
+Milady uttered a stifled groan. In the first horseman she recognized
+D’Artagnan.
+
+“Oh, my God, my God,” cried Mme. Bonacieux, “what is it?”
+
+“It is the uniform of the cardinal’s Guards. Not an instant to be lost!
+Fly, fly!”
+
+“Yes, yes, let us fly!” repeated Mme. Bonacieux, but without being able
+to make a step, glued as she was to the spot by terror.
+
+They heard the horsemen pass under the windows.
+
+“Come, then, come, then!” cried Milady, trying to drag the young woman
+along by the arm. “Thanks to the garden, we yet can flee; I have the
+key, but make haste! in five minutes it will be too late!”
+
+Mme. Bonacieux tried to walk, made two steps, and sank upon her knees.
+Milady tried to raise and carry her, but could not do it.
+
+At this moment they heard the rolling of the carriage, which at the
+approach of the Musketeers set off at a gallop. Then three or four
+shots were fired.
+
+“For the last time, will you come?” cried Milady.
+
+“Oh, my God, my God! you see my strength fails me; you see plainly I
+cannot walk. Flee alone!”
+
+“Flee alone, and leave you here? No, no, never!” cried Milady.
+
+All at once she paused, a livid flash darted from her eyes; she ran to
+the table, emptied into Mme. Bonacieux’s glass the contents of a ring
+which she opened with singular quickness. It was a grain of a reddish
+color, which dissolved immediately.
+
+Then, taking the glass with a firm hand, she said, “Drink. This wine
+will give you strength, drink!” And she put the glass to the lips of
+the young woman, who drank mechanically.
+
+“This is not the way that I wished to avenge myself,” said Milady,
+replacing the glass upon the table, with an infernal smile, “but, my
+faith! we do what we can!” And she rushed out of the room.
+
+Mme. Bonacieux saw her go without being able to follow her; she was
+like people who dream they are pursued, and who in vain try to walk.
+
+A few moments passed; a great noise was heard at the gate. Every
+instant Mme. Bonacieux expected to see Milady, but she did not return.
+Several times, with terror, no doubt, the cold sweat burst from her
+burning brow.
+
+At length she heard the grating of the hinges of the opening gates; the
+noise of boots and spurs resounded on the stairs. There was a great
+murmur of voices which continued to draw near, amid which she seemed to
+hear her own name pronounced.
+
+All at once she uttered a loud cry of joy, and darted toward the door;
+she had recognized the voice of D’Artagnan.
+
+“D’Artagnan! D’Artagnan!” cried she, “is it you? This way! this way!”
+
+“Constance? Constance?” replied the young man, “where are you? where
+are you? My God!”
+
+At the same moment the door of the cell yielded to a shock, rather than
+opened; several men rushed into the chamber. Mme. Bonacieux had sunk
+into an armchair, without the power of moving.
+
+D’Artagnan threw down a yet-smoking pistol which he held in his hand,
+and fell on his knees before his mistress. Athos replaced his in his
+belt; Porthos and Aramis, who held their drawn swords in their hands,
+returned them to their scabbards.
+
+“Oh, D’Artagnan, my beloved D’Artagnan! You have come, then, at last!
+You have not deceived me! It is indeed thee!”
+
+“Yes, yes, Constance. Reunited!”
+
+“Oh, it was in vain she told me you would not come! I hoped in silence.
+I was not willing to fly. Oh, I have done well! How happy I am!”
+
+At this word _she_, Athos, who had seated himself quietly, started up.
+
+“_She!_ What she?” asked D’Artagnan.
+
+“Why, my companion. She who out of friendship for me wished to take me
+from my persecutors. She who, mistaking you for the cardinal’s Guards,
+has just fled away.”
+
+“Your companion!” cried D’Artagnan, becoming more pale than the white
+veil of his mistress. “Of what companion are you speaking, dear
+Constance?”
+
+“Of her whose carriage was at the gate; of a woman who calls herself
+your friend; of a woman to whom you have told everything.”
+
+“Her name, her name!” cried D’Artagnan. “My God, can you not remember
+her name?”
+
+“Yes, it was pronounced in my hearing once. Stop—but—it is very
+strange—oh, my God, my head swims! I cannot see!”
+
+“Help, help, my friends! her hands are icy cold,” cried D’Artagnan.
+“She is ill! Great God, she is losing her senses!”
+
+While Porthos was calling for help with all the power of his strong
+voice, Aramis ran to the table to get a glass of water; but he stopped
+at seeing the horrible alteration that had taken place in the
+countenance of Athos, who, standing before the table, his hair rising
+from his head, his eyes fixed in stupor, was looking at one of the
+glasses, and appeared a prey to the most horrible doubt.
+
+“Oh!” said Athos, “oh, no, it is impossible! God would not permit such
+a crime!”
+
+“Water, water!” cried D’Artagnan. “Water!”
+
+“Oh, poor woman, poor woman!” murmured Athos, in a broken voice.
+
+Mme. Bonacieux opened her eyes under the kisses of D’Artagnan.
+
+“She revives!” cried the young man. “Oh, my God, my God, I thank thee!”
+
+“Madame!” said Athos, “madame, in the name of heaven, whose empty glass
+is this?”
+
+“Mine, monsieur,” said the young woman, in a dying voice.
+
+“But who poured the wine for you that was in this glass?”
+
+“She.”
+
+“But who is _she?_”
+
+“Oh, I remember!” said Mme. Bonacieux, “the Comtesse de Winter.”
+
+The four friends uttered one and the same cry, but that of Athos
+dominated all the rest.
+
+At that moment the countenance of Mme. Bonacieux became livid; a
+fearful agony pervaded her frame, and she sank panting into the arms of
+Porthos and Aramis.
+
+D’Artagnan seized the hands of Athos with an anguish difficult to be
+described.
+
+“And what do you believe?” His voice was stifled by sobs.
+
+“I believe everything,” said Athos, biting his lips till the blood
+sprang to avoid sighing.
+
+“D’Artagnan, D’Artagnan!” cried Mme. Bonacieux, “where art thou? Do not
+leave me! You see I am dying!”
+
+D’Artagnan released the hands of Athos which he still held clasped in
+both his own, and hastened to her. Her beautiful face was distorted
+with agony; her glassy eyes had no longer their sight; a convulsive
+shuddering shook her whole body; the sweat rolled from her brow.
+
+“In the name of heaven, run, call! Aramis! Porthos! Call for help!”
+
+“Useless!” said Athos, “useless! For the poison which _she_ pours there
+is no antidote.”
+
+“Yes, yes! Help, help!” murmured Mme. Bonacieux; “help!”
+
+Then, collecting all her strength, she took the head of the young man
+between her hands, looked at him for an instant as if her whole soul
+passed into that look, and with a sobbing cry pressed her lips to his.
+
+“Constance, Constance!” cried D’Artagnan.
+
+A sigh escaped from the mouth of Mme. Bonacieux, and dwelt for an
+instant on the lips of D’Artagnan. That sigh was the soul, so chaste
+and so loving, which reascended to heaven.
+
+D’Artagnan pressed nothing but a corpse in his arms. The young man
+uttered a cry, and fell by the side of his mistress as pale and as icy
+as herself.
+
+Porthos wept; Aramis pointed toward heaven; Athos made the sign of the
+cross.
+
+At that moment a man appeared in the doorway, almost as pale as those
+in the chamber. He looked around him and saw Mme. Bonacieux dead, and
+D’Artagnan in a swoon. He appeared just at that moment of stupor which
+follows great catastrophes.
+
+“I was not deceived,” said he; “here is Monsieur d’Artagnan; and you
+are his friends, Messieurs Athos, Porthos, and Aramis.”
+
+The persons whose names were thus pronounced looked at the stranger
+with astonishment. It seemed to all three that they knew him.
+
+“Gentlemen,” resumed the newcomer, “you are, as I am, in search of a
+woman who,” added he, with a terrible smile, “must have passed this
+way, for I see a corpse.”
+
+The three friends remained mute—for although the voice as well as the
+countenance reminded them of someone they had seen, they could not
+remember under what circumstances.
+
+“Gentlemen,” continued the stranger, “since you do not recognize a man
+who probably owes his life to you twice, I must name myself. I am Lord
+de Winter, brother-in-law of that _woman_.”
+
+The three friends uttered a cry of surprise.
+
+Athos rose, and offering him his hand, “Be welcome, my Lord,” said he,
+“you are one of us.”
+
+“I set out five hours after her from Portsmouth,” said Lord de Winter.
+“I arrived three hours after her at Boulogne. I missed her by twenty
+minutes at St. Omer. Finally, at Lilliers I lost all trace of her. I
+was going about at random, inquiring of everybody, when I saw you
+gallop past. I recognized Monsieur d’Artagnan. I called to you, but you
+did not answer me; I wished to follow you, but my horse was too much
+fatigued to go at the same pace with yours. And yet it appears, in
+spite of all your diligence, you have arrived too late.”
+
+“You see!” said Athos, pointing to Mme. Bonacieux dead, and to
+D’Artagnan, whom Porthos and Aramis were trying to recall to life.
+
+“Are they both dead?” asked Lord de Winter, sternly.
+
+“No,” replied Athos, “fortunately Monsieur d’Artagnan has only
+fainted.”
+
+“Ah, indeed, so much the better!” said Lord de Winter.
+
+At that moment D’Artagnan opened his eyes. He tore himself from the
+arms of Porthos and Aramis, and threw himself like a madman on the
+corpse of his mistress.
+
+Athos rose, walked toward his friend with a slow and solemn step,
+embraced him tenderly, and as he burst into violent sobs, he said to
+him with his noble and persuasive voice, “Friend, be a man! Women weep
+for the dead; men avenge them!”
+
+“Oh, yes!” cried D’Artagnan, “yes! If it be to avenge her, I am ready
+to follow you.”
+
+Athos profited by this moment of strength which the hope of vengeance
+restored to his unfortunate friend to make a sign to Porthos and Aramis
+to go and fetch the superior.
+
+The two friends met her in the corridor, greatly troubled and much
+upset by such strange events; she called some of the nuns, who against
+all monastic custom found themselves in the presence of five men.
+
+“Madame,” said Athos, passing his arm under that of D’Artagnan, “we
+abandon to your pious care the body of that unfortunate woman. She was
+an angel on earth before being an angel in heaven. Treat her as one of
+your sisters. We will return someday to pray over her grave.”
+
+D’Artagnan concealed his face in the bosom of Athos, and sobbed aloud.
+
+“Weep,” said Athos, “weep, heart full of love, youth, and life! Alas,
+would I could weep like you!”
+
+And he drew away his friend, as affectionate as a father, as consoling
+as a priest, noble as a man who has suffered much.
+
+All five, followed by their lackeys leading their horses, took their
+way to the town of Béthune, whose outskirts they perceived, and stopped
+before the first inn they came to.
+
+“But,” said D’Artagnan, “shall we not pursue that woman?”
+
+“Later,” said Athos. “I have measures to take.”
+
+“She will escape us,” replied the young man; “she will escape us, and
+it will be your fault, Athos.”
+
+“I will be accountable for her,” said Athos.
+
+D’Artagnan had so much confidence in the word of his friend that he
+lowered his head, and entered the inn without reply.
+
+Porthos and Aramis regarded each other, not understanding this
+assurance of Athos.
+
+Lord de Winter believed he spoke in this manner to soothe the grief of
+D’Artagnan.
+
+“Now, gentlemen,” said Athos, when he had ascertained there were five
+chambers free in the hôtel, “let everyone retire to his own apartment.
+D’Artagnan needs to be alone, to weep and to sleep. I take charge of
+everything; be easy.”
+
+“It appears, however,” said Lord de Winter, “if there are any measures
+to take against the countess, it concerns me; she is my sister-in-law.”
+
+“And me,” said Athos, “—she is my wife!”
+
+D’Artagnan smiled—for he understood that Athos was sure of his
+vengeance when he revealed such a secret. Porthos and Aramis looked at
+each other, and grew pale. Lord de Winter thought Athos was mad.
+
+“Now, retire to your chambers,” said Athos, “and leave me to act. You
+must perceive that in my quality of a husband this concerns me. Only,
+D’Artagnan, if you have not lost it, give me the paper which fell from
+that man’s hat, upon which is written the name of the village of—”
+
+“Ah,” said D’Artagnan, “I comprehend! that name written in her hand.”
+
+“You see, then,” said Athos, “there is a god in heaven still!”
+
+
+
+
+Chapter LXIV.
+THE MAN IN THE RED CLOAK
+
+
+The despair of Athos had given place to a concentrated grief which only
+rendered more lucid the brilliant mental faculties of that
+extraordinary man.
+
+Possessed by one single thought—that of the promise he had made, and of
+the responsibility he had taken—he retired last to his chamber, begged
+the host to procure him a map of the province, bent over it, examined
+every line traced upon it, perceived that there were four different
+roads from Béthune to Armentières, and summoned the lackeys.
+
+Planchet, Grimaud, Bazin, and Mousqueton presented themselves, and
+received clear, positive, and serious orders from Athos.
+
+They must set out the next morning at daybreak, and go to
+Armentières—each by a different route. Planchet, the most intelligent
+of the four, was to follow that by which the carriage had gone upon
+which the four friends had fired, and which was accompanied, as may be
+remembered, by Rochefort’s servant.
+
+Athos set the lackeys to work first because, since these men had been
+in the service of himself and his friends he had discovered in each of
+them different and essential qualities. Then, lackeys who ask questions
+inspire less mistrust than masters, and meet with more sympathy among
+those to whom they address themselves. Besides, Milady knew the
+masters, and did not know the lackeys; on the contrary, the lackeys
+knew Milady perfectly.
+
+All four were to meet the next day at eleven o’clock. If they had
+discovered Milady’s retreat, three were to remain on guard; the fourth
+was to return to Béthune in order to inform Athos and serve as a guide
+to the four friends. These arrangements made, the lackeys retired.
+
+Athos then arose from his chair, girded on his sword, enveloped himself
+in his cloak, and left the hôtel. It was nearly ten o’clock. At ten
+o’clock in the evening, it is well known, the streets in provincial
+towns are very little frequented. Athos nevertheless was visibly
+anxious to find someone of whom he could ask a question. At length he
+met a belated passenger, went up to him, and spoke a few words to him.
+The man he addressed recoiled with terror, and only answered the few
+words of the Musketeer by pointing. Athos offered the man half a
+pistole to accompany him, but the man refused.
+
+Athos then plunged into the street the man had indicated with his
+finger; but arriving at four crossroads, he stopped again, visibly
+embarrassed. Nevertheless, as the crossroads offered him a better
+chance than any other place of meeting somebody, he stood still. In a
+few minutes a night watch passed. Athos repeated to him the same
+question he had asked the first person he met. The night watch evinced
+the same terror, refused, in his turn, to accompany Athos, and only
+pointed with his hand to the road he was to take.
+
+Athos walked in the direction indicated, and reached the suburb
+situated at the opposite extremity of the city from that by which he
+and his friends had entered it. There he again appeared uneasy and
+embarrassed, and stopped for the third time.
+
+Fortunately, a mendicant passed, who, coming up to Athos to ask
+charity, Athos offered him half a crown to accompany him where he was
+going. The mendicant hesitated at first, but at the sight of the piece
+of silver which shone in the darkness he consented, and walked on
+before Athos.
+
+Arrived at the angle of a street, he pointed to a small house,
+isolated, solitary, and dismal. Athos went toward the house, while the
+mendicant, who had received his reward, left as fast as his legs could
+carry him.
+
+Athos went round the house before he could distinguish the door, amid
+the red color in which the house was painted. No light appeared through
+the chinks of the shutters; no noise gave reason to believe that it was
+inhabited. It was dark and silent as the tomb.
+
+Three times Athos knocked without receiving an answer. At the third
+knock, however, steps were heard inside. The door at length was opened,
+and a man appeared, of high stature, pale complexion, and black hair
+and beard.
+
+Athos and he exchanged some words in a low voice, then the tall man
+made a sign to the Musketeer that he might come in. Athos immediately
+profited by the permission, and the door was closed behind him.
+
+The man whom Athos had come so far to seek, and whom he had found with
+so much trouble, introduced him into his laboratory, where he was
+engaged in fastening together with iron wire the dry bones of a
+skeleton. All the frame was adjusted except the head, which lay on the
+table.
+
+All the rest of the furniture indicated that the dweller in this house
+occupied himself with the study of natural science. There were large
+bottles filled with serpents, ticketed according to their species;
+dried lizards shone like emeralds set in great squares of black wood,
+and bunches of wild odoriferous herbs, doubtless possessed of virtues
+unknown to common men, were fastened to the ceiling and hung down in
+the corners of the apartment. There was no family, no servant; the tall
+man alone inhabited this house.
+
+Athos cast a cold and indifferent glance upon the objects we have
+described, and at the invitation of him whom he came to seek sat down
+near him.
+
+Then he explained to him the cause of his visit, and the service he
+required of him. But scarcely had he expressed his request when the
+unknown, who remained standing before the Musketeer, drew back with
+signs of terror, and refused. Then Athos took from his pocket a small
+paper, on which two lines were written, accompanied by a signature and
+a seal, and presented them to him who had made too prematurely these
+signs of repugnance. The tall man had scarcely read these lines, seen
+the signature, and recognized the seal, when he bowed to denote that he
+had no longer any objection to make, and that he was ready to obey.
+
+Athos required no more. He arose, bowed, went out, returned by the same
+way he came, re-entered the hôtel, and went to his apartment.
+
+At daybreak D’Artagnan entered the chamber, and demanded what was to be
+done.
+
+“To wait,” replied Athos.
+
+Some minutes after, the superior of the convent sent to inform the
+Musketeers that the burial would take place at midday. As to the
+poisoner, they had heard no tidings of her whatever, only that she must
+have made her escape through the garden, on the sand of which her
+footsteps could be traced, and the door of which had been found shut.
+As to the key, it had disappeared.
+
+At the hour appointed, Lord de Winter and the four friends repaired to
+the convent; the bells tolled, the chapel was open, the grating of the
+choir was closed. In the middle of the choir the body of the victim,
+clothed in her novitiate dress, was exposed. On each side of the choir
+and behind the gratings opening into the convent was assembled the
+whole community of the Carmelites, who listened to the divine service,
+and mingled their chant with the chant of the priests, without seeing
+the profane, or being seen by them.
+
+At the door of the chapel D’Artagnan felt his courage fall anew, and
+returned to look for Athos; but Athos had disappeared.
+
+Faithful to his mission of vengeance, Athos had requested to be
+conducted to the garden; and there upon the sand following the light
+steps of this woman, who left sharp tracks wherever she went, he
+advanced toward the gate which led into the wood, and causing it to be
+opened, he went out into the forest.
+
+Then all his suspicions were confirmed; the road by which the carriage
+had disappeared encircled the forest. Athos followed the road for some
+time, his eyes fixed upon the ground; slight stains of blood, which
+came from the wound inflicted upon the man who accompanied the carriage
+as a courier, or from one of the horses, dotted the road. At the end of
+three-quarters of a league, within fifty paces of Festubert, a larger
+bloodstain appeared; the ground was trampled by horses. Between the
+forest and this accursed spot, a little behind the trampled ground, was
+the same track of small feet as in the garden; the carriage had stopped
+here. At this spot Milady had come out of the wood, and entered the
+carriage.
+
+Satisfied with this discovery which confirmed all his suspicions, Athos
+returned to the hôtel, and found Planchet impatiently waiting for him.
+
+Everything was as Athos had foreseen.
+
+Planchet had followed the road; like Athos, he had discovered the
+stains of blood; like Athos, he had noted the spot where the horses had
+halted. But he had gone farther than Athos—for at the village of
+Festubert, while drinking at an inn, he had learned without needing to
+ask a question that the evening before, at half-past eight, a wounded
+man who accompanied a lady traveling in a post-chaise had been obliged
+to stop, unable to go further. The accident was set down to the account
+of robbers, who had stopped the chaise in the wood. The man remained in
+the village; the woman had had a relay of horses, and continued her
+journey.
+
+Planchet went in search of the postillion who had driven her, and found
+him. He had taken the lady as far as Fromelles; and from Fromelles she
+had set out for Armentières. Planchet took the crossroad, and by seven
+o’clock in the morning he was at Armentières.
+
+There was but one tavern, the Post. Planchet went and presented himself
+as a lackey out of a place, who was in search of a situation. He had
+not chatted ten minutes with the people of the tavern before he learned
+that a woman had come there alone about eleven o’clock the night
+before, had engaged a chamber, had sent for the master of the hôtel,
+and told him she desired to remain some time in the neighborhood.
+
+Planchet had no need to learn more. He hastened to the rendezvous,
+found the lackeys at their posts, placed them as sentinels at all the
+outlets of the hôtel, and came to find Athos, who had just received
+this information when his friends returned.
+
+All their countenances were melancholy and gloomy, even the mild
+countenance of Aramis.
+
+“What is to be done?” asked D’Artagnan.
+
+“To wait!” replied Athos.
+
+Each retired to his own apartment.
+
+At eight o’clock in the evening Athos ordered the horses to be saddled,
+and Lord de Winter and his friends notified that they must prepare for
+the expedition.
+
+In an instant all five were ready. Each examined his arms, and put them
+in order. Athos came down last, and found D’Artagnan already on
+horseback, and growing impatient.
+
+“Patience!” cried Athos; “one of our party is still wanting.”
+
+The four horsemen looked round them with astonishment, for they sought
+vainly in their minds to know who this other person could be.
+
+At this moment Planchet brought out Athos’s horse; the Musketeer leaped
+lightly into the saddle.
+
+“Wait for me,” cried he, “I will soon be back,” and he set off at a
+gallop.
+
+In a quarter of an hour he returned, accompanied by a tall man, masked,
+and wrapped in a large red cloak.
+
+Lord de Winter and the three Musketeers looked at one another
+inquiringly. Neither could give the others any information, for all
+were ignorant who this man could be; nevertheless, they felt convinced
+that all was as it should be, as it was done by the order of Athos.
+
+At nine o’clock, guided by Planchet, the little cavalcade set out,
+taking the route the carriage had taken.
+
+It was a melancholy sight—that of these six men, traveling in silence,
+each plunged in his own thoughts, sad as despair, gloomy as
+chastisement.
+
+
+
+
+Chapter LXV.
+TRIAL
+
+
+It was a stormy and dark night; vast clouds covered the heavens,
+concealing the stars; the moon would not rise till midnight.
+
+Occasionally, by the light of a flash of lightning which gleamed along
+the horizon, the road stretched itself before them, white and solitary;
+the flash extinct, all remained in darkness.
+
+Every minute Athos was forced to restrain D’Artagnan, constantly in
+advance of the little troop, and to beg him to keep in the line, which
+in an instant he again departed from. He had but one thought—to go
+forward; and he went.
+
+They passed in silence through the little village of Festubert, where
+the wounded servant was, and then skirted the wood of Richebourg. At
+Herlier, Planchet, who led the column, turned to the left.
+
+Several times Lord de Winter, Porthos, or Aramis tried to talk with the
+man in the red cloak; but to every interrogation which they put to him
+he bowed, without response. The travelers then comprehended that there
+must be some reason why the unknown preserved such a silence, and
+ceased to address themselves to him.
+
+The storm increased, the flashes succeeded one another more rapidly,
+the thunder began to growl, and the wind, the precursor of a hurricane,
+whistled in the plumes and the hair of the horsemen.
+
+The cavalcade trotted on more sharply.
+
+A little before they came to Fromelles the storm burst. They spread
+their cloaks. There remained three leagues to travel, and they did it
+amid torrents of rain.
+
+D’Artagnan took off his hat, and could not be persuaded to make use of
+his cloak. He found pleasure in feeling the water trickle over his
+burning brow and over his body, agitated by feverish shudders.
+
+The moment the little troop passed Goskal and were approaching the
+Post, a man sheltered beneath a tree detached himself from the trunk
+with which he had been confounded in the darkness, and advanced into
+the middle of the road, putting his finger on his lips.
+
+Athos recognized Grimaud.
+
+“What’s the manner?” cried Athos. “Has she left Armentières?”
+
+Grimaud made a sign in the affirmative. D’Artagnan ground his teeth.
+
+“Silence, D’Artagnan!” said Athos. “I have charged myself with this
+affair. It is for me, then, to interrogate Grimaud.”
+
+“Where is she?” asked Athos.
+
+Grimaud extended his hands in the direction of the Lys. “Far from
+here?” asked Athos.
+
+Grimaud showed his master his forefinger bent.
+
+“Alone?” asked Athos.
+
+Grimaud made the sign yes.
+
+“Gentlemen,” said Athos, “she is alone within half a league of us, in
+the direction of the river.”
+
+“That’s well,” said D’Artagnan. “Lead us, Grimaud.”
+
+Grimaud took his course across the country, and acted as guide to the
+cavalcade.
+
+At the end of five hundred paces, more or less, they came to a rivulet,
+which they forded.
+
+By the aid of the lightning they perceived the village of Erquinheim.
+
+“Is she there, Grimaud?” asked Athos.
+
+Grimaud shook his head negatively.
+
+“Silence, then!” cried Athos.
+
+And the troop continued their route.
+
+Another flash illuminated all around them. Grimaud extended his arm,
+and by the bluish splendor of the fiery serpent they distinguished a
+little isolated house on the banks of the river, within a hundred paces
+of a ferry.
+
+One window was lighted.
+
+“Here we are!” said Athos.
+
+At this moment a man who had been crouching in a ditch jumped up and
+came towards them. It was Mousqueton. He pointed his finger to the
+lighted window.
+
+“She is there,” said he.
+
+“And Bazin?” asked Athos.
+
+“While I watched the window, he guarded the door.”
+
+“Good!” said Athos. “You are good and faithful servants.”
+
+Athos sprang from his horse, gave the bridle to Grimaud, and advanced
+toward the window, after having made a sign to the rest of the troop to
+go toward the door.
+
+The little house was surrounded by a low, quickset hedge, two or three
+feet high. Athos sprang over the hedge and went up to the window, which
+was without shutters, but had the half-curtains closely drawn.
+
+He mounted the skirting stone that his eyes might look over the
+curtain.
+
+By the light of a lamp he saw a woman, wrapped in a dark mantle, seated
+upon a stool near a dying fire. Her elbows were placed upon a mean
+table, and she leaned her head upon her two hands, which were white as
+ivory.
+
+He could not distinguish her countenance, but a sinister smile passed
+over the lips of Athos. He was not deceived; it was she whom he sought.
+
+At this moment a horse neighed. Milady raised her head, saw close to
+the panes the pale face of Athos, and screamed.
+
+Athos, perceiving that she knew him, pushed the window with his knee
+and hand. The window yielded. The squares were broken to shivers; and
+Athos, like the spectre of vengeance, leaped into the room.
+
+Milady rushed to the door and opened it. More pale and menacing than
+Athos, D’Artagnan stood on the threshold.
+
+Milady recoiled, uttering a cry. D’Artagnan, believing she might have
+means of flight and fearing she should escape, drew a pistol from his
+belt; but Athos raised his hand.
+
+“Put back that weapon, D’Artagnan!” said he; “this woman must be tried,
+not assassinated. Wait an instant, my friend, and you shall be
+satisfied. Come in, gentlemen.”
+
+D’Artagnan obeyed; for Athos had the solemn voice and the powerful
+gesture of a judge sent by the Lord himself. Behind D’Artagnan entered
+Porthos, Aramis, Lord de Winter, and the man in the red cloak.
+
+The four lackeys guarded the door and the window.
+
+Milady had sunk into a chair, with her hands extended, as if to conjure
+this terrible apparition. Perceiving her brother-in-law, she uttered a
+terrible cry.
+
+“What do you want?” screamed Milady.
+
+“We want,” said Athos, “Charlotte Backson, who first was called
+Comtesse de la Fère, and afterwards Milady de Winter, Baroness of
+Sheffield.”
+
+“That is I! that is I!” murmured Milady, in extreme terror; “what do
+you want?”
+
+“We wish to judge you according to your crime,” said Athos; “you shall
+be free to defend yourself. Justify yourself if you can. M. d’Artagnan,
+it is for you to accuse her first.”
+
+D’Artagnan advanced.
+
+“Before God and before men,” said he, “I accuse this woman of having
+poisoned Constance Bonacieux, who died yesterday evening.”
+
+He turned towards Porthos and Aramis.
+
+“We bear witness to this,” said the two Musketeers, with one voice.
+
+D’Artagnan continued: “Before God and before men, I accuse this woman
+of having attempted to poison me, in wine which she sent me from
+Villeroy, with a forged letter, as if that wine came from my friends.
+God preserved me, but a man named Brisemont died in my place.”
+
+“We bear witness to this,” said Porthos and Aramis, in the same manner
+as before.
+
+“Before God and before men, I accuse this woman of having urged me to
+the murder of the Baron de Wardes; but as no one else can attest the
+truth of this accusation, I attest it myself. I have done.” And
+D’Artagnan passed to the other side of the room with Porthos and
+Aramis.
+
+“Your turn, my Lord,” said Athos.
+
+The baron came forward.
+
+“Before God and before men,” said he, “I accuse this woman of having
+caused the assassination of the Duke of Buckingham.”
+
+“The Duke of Buckingham assassinated!” cried all present, with one
+voice.
+
+“Yes,” said the baron, “assassinated. On receiving the warning letter
+you wrote to me, I had this woman arrested, and gave her in charge to a
+loyal servant. She corrupted this man; she placed the poniard in his
+hand; she made him kill the duke. And at this moment, perhaps, Felton
+is paying with his head for the crime of this fury!”
+
+A shudder crept through the judges at the revelation of these unknown
+crimes.
+
+“That is not all,” resumed Lord de Winter. “My brother, who made you
+his heir, died in three hours of a strange disorder which left livid
+traces all over the body. My sister, how did your husband die?”
+
+“Horror!” cried Porthos and Aramis.
+
+“Assassin of Buckingham, assassin of Felton, assassin of my brother, I
+demand justice upon you, and I swear that if it be not granted to me, I
+will execute it myself.”
+
+And Lord de Winter ranged himself by the side of D’Artagnan, leaving
+the place free for another accuser.
+
+Milady let her head sink between her two hands, and tried to recall her
+ideas, whirling in a mortal vertigo.
+
+“My turn,” said Athos, himself trembling as the lion trembles at the
+sight of the serpent—“my turn. I married that woman when she was a
+young girl; I married her in opposition to the wishes of all my family;
+I gave her my wealth, I gave her my name; and one day I discovered that
+this woman was branded—this woman was marked with a _fleur-de-lis_ on
+her left shoulder.”
+
+“Oh,” said Milady, raising herself, “I defy you to find any tribunal
+which pronounced that infamous sentence against me. I defy you to find
+him who executed it.”
+
+“Silence!” said a hollow voice. “It is for me to reply to that!” And
+the man in the red cloak came forward in his turn.
+
+“What man is that? What man is that?” cried Milady, suffocated by
+terror, her hair loosening itself, and rising above her livid
+countenance as if alive.
+
+All eyes were turned towards this man—for to all except Athos he was
+unknown.
+
+Even Athos looked at him with as much stupefaction as the others, for
+he knew not how he could in any way find himself mixed up with the
+horrible drama then unfolded.
+
+After approaching Milady with a slow and solemn step, so that the table
+alone separated them, the unknown took off his mask.
+
+Milady for some time examined with increasing terror that pale face,
+framed with black hair and whiskers, the only expression of which was
+icy impassibility. Then she suddenly cried, “Oh, no, no!” rising and
+retreating to the very wall. “No, no! it is an infernal apparition! It
+is not he! Help, help!” screamed she, turning towards the wall, as if
+she would tear an opening with her hands.
+
+“Who are you, then?” cried all the witnesses of this scene.
+
+“Ask that woman,” said the man in the red cloak, “for you may plainly
+see she knows me!”
+
+“The executioner of Lille, the executioner of Lille!” cried Milady, a
+prey to insensate terror, and clinging with her hands to the wall to
+avoid falling.
+
+Everyone drew back, and the man in the red cloak remained standing
+alone in the middle of the room.
+
+“Oh, grace, grace, pardon!” cried the wretch, falling on her knees.
+
+The unknown waited for silence, and then resumed, “I told you well that
+she would know me. Yes, I am the executioner of Lille, and this is my
+history.”
+
+All eyes were fixed upon this man, whose words were listened to with
+anxious attention.
+
+“That woman was once a young girl, as beautiful as she is today. She
+was a nun in the convent of the Benedictines of Templemar. A young
+priest, with a simple and trustful heart, performed the duties of the
+church of that convent. She undertook his seduction, and succeeded; she
+would have seduced a saint.
+
+“Their vows were sacred and irrevocable. Their connection could not
+last long without ruining both. She prevailed upon him to leave the
+country; but to leave the country, to fly together, to reach another
+part of France, where they might live at ease because unknown, money
+was necessary. Neither had any. The priest stole the sacred vases, and
+sold them; but as they were preparing to escape together, they were
+both arrested.
+
+“Eight days later she had seduced the son of the jailer, and escaped.
+The young priest was condemned to ten years of imprisonment, and to be
+branded. I was executioner of the city of Lille, as this woman has
+said. I was obliged to brand the guilty one; and he, gentlemen, was my
+brother!
+
+“I then swore that this woman who had ruined him, who was more than his
+accomplice, since she had urged him to the crime, should at least share
+his punishment. I suspected where she was concealed. I followed her, I
+caught her, I bound her; and I imprinted the same disgraceful mark upon
+her that I had imprinted upon my poor brother.
+
+“The day after my return to Lille, my brother in his turn succeeded in
+making his escape; I was accused of complicity, and was condemned to
+remain in his place till he should be again a prisoner. My poor brother
+was ignorant of this sentence. He rejoined this woman; they fled
+together into Berry, and there he obtained a little curacy. This woman
+passed for his sister.
+
+“The Lord of the estate on which the chapel of the curacy was situated
+saw this pretend sister, and became enamoured of her—amorous to such a
+degree that he proposed to marry her. Then she quitted him she had
+ruined for him she was destined to ruin, and became the Comtesse de la
+Fère—”
+
+All eyes were turned towards Athos, whose real name that was, and who
+made a sign with his head that all was true which the executioner had
+said.
+
+“Then,” resumed he, “mad, desperate, determined to get rid of an
+existence from which she had stolen everything, honor and happiness, my
+poor brother returned to Lille, and learning the sentence which had
+condemned me in his place, surrendered himself, and hanged himself that
+same night from the iron bar of the loophole of his prison.
+
+“To do justice to them who had condemned me, they kept their word. As
+soon as the identity of my brother was proved, I was set at liberty.
+
+“That is the crime of which I accuse her; that is the cause for which
+she was branded.”
+
+“Monsieur d’Artagnan,” said Athos, “what is the penalty you demand
+against this woman?”
+
+“The punishment of death,” replied D’Artagnan.
+
+“My Lord de Winter,” continued Athos, “what is the penalty you demand
+against this woman?”
+
+“The punishment of death,” replied Lord de Winter.
+
+“Messieurs Porthos and Aramis,” repeated Athos, “you who are her
+judges, what is the sentence you pronounce upon this woman?”
+
+“The punishment of death,” replied the Musketeers, in a hollow voice.
+
+Milady uttered a frightful shriek, and dragged herself along several
+paces upon her knees toward her judges.
+
+Athos stretched out his hand toward her.
+
+“Charlotte Backson, Comtesse de la Fère, Milady de Winter,” said he,
+“your crimes have wearied men on earth and God in heaven. If you know a
+prayer, say it—for you are condemned, and you shall die.”
+
+At these words, which left no hope, Milady raised herself in all her
+pride, and wished to speak; but her strength failed her. She felt that
+a powerful and implacable hand seized her by the hair, and dragged her
+away as irrevocably as fatality drags humanity. She did not, therefore,
+even attempt the least resistance, and went out of the cottage.
+
+Lord de Winter, D’Artagnan, Athos, Porthos, and Aramis, went out close
+behind her. The lackeys followed their masters, and the chamber was
+left solitary, with its broken window, its open door, and its smoky
+lamp burning sadly on the table.
+
+
+
+
+Chapter LXVI.
+EXECUTION
+
+
+It was near midnight; the moon, lessened by its decline, and reddened
+by the last traces of the storm, arose behind the little town of
+Armentières, which showed against its pale light the dark outline of
+its houses, and the skeleton of its high belfry. In front of them the
+Lys rolled its waters like a river of molten tin; while on the other
+side was a black mass of trees, profiled on a stormy sky, invaded by
+large coppery clouds which created a sort of twilight amid the night.
+On the left was an old abandoned mill, with its motionless wings, from
+the ruins of which an owl threw out its shrill, periodical, and
+monotonous cry. On the right and on the left of the road, which the
+dismal procession pursued, appeared a few low, stunted trees, which
+looked like deformed dwarfs crouching down to watch men traveling at
+this sinister hour.
+
+From time to time a broad sheet of lightning opened the horizon in its
+whole width, darted like a serpent over the black mass of trees, and
+like a terrible scimitar divided the heavens and the waters into two
+parts. Not a breath of wind now disturbed the heavy atmosphere. A
+deathlike silence oppressed all nature. The soil was humid and
+glittering with the rain which had recently fallen, and the refreshed
+herbs sent forth their perfume with additional energy.
+
+Two lackeys dragged Milady, whom each held by one arm. The executioner
+walked behind them, and Lord de Winter, D’Artagnan, Porthos, and Aramis
+walked behind the executioner. Planchet and Bazin came last.
+
+The two lackeys conducted Milady to the bank of the river. Her mouth
+was mute; but her eyes spoke with their inexpressible eloquence,
+supplicating by turns each of those on whom she looked.
+
+Being a few paces in advance she whispered to the lackeys, “A thousand
+pistoles to each of you, if you will assist my escape; but if you
+deliver me up to your masters, I have near at hand avengers who will
+make you pay dearly for my death.”
+
+Grimaud hesitated. Mousqueton trembled in all his members.
+
+Athos, who heard Milady’s voice, came sharply up. Lord de Winter did
+the same.
+
+“Change these lackeys,” said he; “she has spoken to them. They are no
+longer sure.”
+
+Planchet and Bazin were called, and took the places of Grimaud and
+Mousqueton.
+
+On the bank of the river the executioner approached Milady, and bound
+her hands and feet.
+
+Then she broke the silence to cry out, “You are cowards, miserable
+assassins—ten men combined to murder one woman. Beware! If I am not
+saved I shall be avenged.”
+
+“You are not a woman,” said Athos, coldly and sternly. “You do not
+belong to the human species; you are a demon escaped from hell, whither
+we send you back again.”
+
+“Ah, you virtuous men!” said Milady; “please to remember that he who
+shall touch a hair of my head is himself an assassin.”
+
+“The executioner may kill, without being on that account an assassin,”
+said the man in the red cloak, rapping upon his immense sword. “This is
+the last judge; that is all. _Nachrichter_, as say our neighbors, the
+Germans.”
+
+And as he bound her while saying these words, Milady uttered two or
+three savage cries, which produced a strange and melancholy effect in
+flying away into the night, and losing themselves in the depths of the
+woods.
+
+“If I am guilty, if I have committed the crimes you accuse me of,”
+shrieked Milady, “take me before a tribunal. You are not judges! You
+cannot condemn me!”
+
+“I offered you Tyburn,” said Lord de Winter. “Why did you not accept
+it?”
+
+“Because I am not willing to die!” cried Milady, struggling. “Because I
+am too young to die!”
+
+“The woman you poisoned at Béthune was still younger than you, madame,
+and yet she is dead,” said D’Artagnan.
+
+“I will enter a cloister; I will become a nun,” said Milady.
+
+“You were in a cloister,” said the executioner, “and you left it to
+ruin my brother.”
+
+Milady uttered a cry of terror and sank upon her knees. The executioner
+took her up in his arms and was carrying her toward the boat.
+
+“Oh, my God!” cried she, “my God! are you going to drown me?”
+
+These cries had something so heartrending in them that M. d’Artagnan,
+who had been at first the most eager in pursuit of Milady, sat down on
+the stump of a tree and hung his head, covering his ears with the palms
+of his hands; and yet, notwithstanding, he could still hear her cry and
+threaten.
+
+D’Artagnan was the youngest of all these men. His heart failed him.
+
+“Oh, I cannot behold this frightful spectacle!” said he. “I cannot
+consent that this woman should die thus!”
+
+Milady heard these few words and caught at a shadow of hope.
+
+“D’Artagnan, D’Artagnan!” cried she; “remember that I loved you!”
+
+The young man rose and took a step toward her.
+
+But Athos rose likewise, drew his sword, and placed himself in the way.
+
+“If you take one step farther, D’Artagnan,” said he, “we shall cross
+swords together.”
+
+D’Artagnan sank on his knees and prayed.
+
+“Come,” continued Athos, “executioner, do your duty.”
+
+“Willingly, monseigneur,” said the executioner; “for as I am a good
+Catholic, I firmly believe I am acting justly in performing my
+functions on this woman.”
+
+“That’s well.”
+
+Athos made a step toward Milady.
+
+“I pardon you,” said he, “the ill you have done me. I pardon you for my
+blasted future, my lost honor, my defiled love, and my salvation
+forever compromised by the despair into which you have cast me. Die in
+peace!”
+
+Lord de Winter advanced in his turn.
+
+“I pardon you,” said he, “for the poisoning of my brother, and the
+assassination of his Grace, Lord Buckingham. I pardon you for the death
+of poor Felton; I pardon you for the attempts upon my own person. Die
+in peace!”
+
+“And I,” said M. d’Artagnan. “Pardon me, madame, for having by a trick
+unworthy of a gentleman provoked your anger; and I, in exchange, pardon
+you the murder of my poor love and your cruel vengeance against me. I
+pardon you, and I weep for you. Die in peace!”
+
+“I am lost!” murmured Milady in English. “I must die!”
+
+Then she arose of herself, and cast around her one of those piercing
+looks which seemed to dart from an eye of flame.
+
+She saw nothing; she listened, and she heard nothing.
+
+“Where am I to die?” said she.
+
+“On the other bank,” replied the executioner.
+
+Then he placed her in the boat, and as he was going to set foot in it
+himself, Athos handed him a sum of silver.
+
+“Here,” said he, “is the price of the execution, that it may be plain
+we act as judges.”
+
+“That is correct,” said the executioner; “and now in her turn, let this
+woman see that I am not fulfilling my trade, but my debt.”
+
+And he threw the money into the river.
+
+The boat moved off toward the left-hand shore of the Lys, bearing the
+guilty woman and the executioner; all the others remained on the
+right-hand bank, where they fell on their knees.
+
+The boat glided along the ferry rope under the shadow of a pale cloud
+which hung over the water at that moment.
+
+The troop of friends saw it gain the opposite bank; the figures were
+defined like black shadows on the red-tinted horizon.
+
+Milady, during the passage had contrived to untie the cord which
+fastened her feet. On coming near the bank, she jumped lightly on shore
+and took to flight. But the soil was moist; on reaching the top of the
+bank, she slipped and fell upon her knees.
+
+She was struck, no doubt, with a superstitious idea; she conceived that
+heaven denied its aid, and she remained in the attitude in which she
+had fallen, her head drooping and her hands clasped.
+
+Then they saw from the other bank the executioner raise both his arms
+slowly; a moonbeam fell upon the blade of the large sword. The two arms
+fell with a sudden force; they heard the hissing of the scimitar and
+the cry of the victim, then a truncated mass sank beneath the blow.
+
+The executioner then took off his red cloak, spread it upon the ground,
+laid the body in it, threw in the head, tied all up by the four
+corners, lifted it on his back, and entered the boat again.
+
+In the middle of the stream he stopped the boat, and suspending his
+burden over the water cried in a loud voice, “Let the justice of God be
+done!” and he let the corpse drop into the depths of the waters, which
+closed over it.
+
+Three days afterward the four Musketeers were in Paris; they had not
+exceeded their leave of absence, and that same evening they went to pay
+their customary visit to M. de Tréville.
+
+“Well, gentlemen,” said the brave captain, “I hope you have been well
+amused during your excursion.”
+
+“Prodigiously,” replied Athos in the name of himself and his comrades.
+
+
+
+
+Chapter LXVII.
+CONCLUSION
+
+
+On the sixth of the following month the king, in compliance with the
+promise he had made the cardinal to return to La Rochelle, left his
+capital still in amazement at the news which began to spread itself of
+Buckingham’s assassination.
+
+Although warned that the man she had loved so much was in great danger,
+the queen, when his death was announced to her, would not believe the
+fact, and even imprudently exclaimed, “it is false; he has just written
+to me!”
+
+But the next day she was obliged to believe this fatal intelligence;
+Laporte, detained in England, as everyone else had been, by the orders
+of Charles I., arrived, and was the bearer of the duke’s dying gift to
+the queen.
+
+The joy of the king was lively. He did not even give himself the
+trouble to dissemble, and displayed it with affectation before the
+queen. Louis XIII., like every weak mind, was wanting in generosity.
+
+But the king soon again became dull and indisposed; his brow was not
+one of those that long remain clear. He felt that in returning to camp
+he should re-enter slavery; nevertheless, he did return.
+
+The cardinal was for him the fascinating serpent, and himself the bird
+which flies from branch to branch without power to escape.
+
+The return to La Rochelle, therefore, was profoundly dull. Our four
+friends, in particular, astonished their comrades; they traveled
+together, side by side, with sad eyes and heads lowered. Athos alone
+from time to time raised his expansive brow; a flash kindled in his
+eyes, and a bitter smile passed over his lips, then, like his comrades,
+he sank again into reverie.
+
+As soon as the escort arrived in a city, when they had conducted the
+king to his quarters the four friends either retired to their own or to
+some secluded cabaret, where they neither drank nor played; they only
+conversed in a low voice, looking around attentively to see that no one
+overheard them.
+
+One day, when the king had halted to fly the magpie, and the four
+friends, according to their custom, instead of following the sport had
+stopped at a cabaret on the high road, a man coming from la Rochelle on
+horseback pulled up at the door to drink a glass of wine, and darted a
+searching glance into the room where the four Musketeers were sitting.
+
+“Holloa, Monsieur d’Artagnan!” said he, “is not that you whom I see
+yonder?”
+
+D’Artagnan raised his head and uttered a cry of joy. It was the man he
+called his phantom; it was his stranger of Meung, of the Rue des
+Fossoyeurs and of Arras.
+
+D’Artagnan drew his sword, and sprang toward the door.
+
+But this time, instead of avoiding him the stranger jumped from his
+horse, and advanced to meet D’Artagnan.
+
+“Ah, monsieur!” said the young man, “I meet you, then, at last! This
+time you shall not escape me!”
+
+“Neither is it my intention, monsieur, for this time I was seeking you;
+in the name of the king, I arrest you.”
+
+“How! what do you say?” cried D’Artagnan.
+
+“I say that you must surrender your sword to me, monsieur, and that
+without resistance. This concerns your head, I warn you.”
+
+“Who are you, then?” demanded D’Artagnan, lowering the point of his
+sword, but without yet surrendering it.
+
+“I am the Chevalier de Rochefort,” answered the other, “the equerry of
+Monsieur le Cardinal Richelieu, and I have orders to conduct you to his
+Eminence.”
+
+“We are returning to his Eminence, monsieur the Chevalier,” said Athos,
+advancing; “and you will please to accept the word of Monsieur
+d’Artagnan that he will go straight to La Rochelle.”
+
+“I must place him in the hands of guards who will take him into camp.”
+
+“We will be his guards, monsieur, upon our word as gentlemen; but
+likewise, upon our word as gentlemen,” added Athos, knitting his brow,
+“Monsieur d’Artagnan shall not leave us.”
+
+The Chevalier de Rochefort cast a glance backward, and saw that Porthos
+and Aramis had placed themselves between him and the gate; he
+understood that he was completely at the mercy of these four men.
+
+“Gentlemen,” said he, “if Monsieur d’Artagnan will surrender his sword
+to me and join his word to yours, I shall be satisfied with your
+promise to convey Monsieur d’Artagnan to the quarters of Monseigneur
+the Cardinal.”
+
+“You have my word, monsieur, and here is my sword.”
+
+“This suits me the better,” said Rochefort, “as I wish to continue my
+journey.”
+
+“If it is for the purpose of rejoining Milady,” said Athos, coolly, “it
+is useless; you will not find her.”
+
+“What has become of her, then?” asked Rochefort, eagerly.
+
+“Return to camp and you shall know.”
+
+Rochefort remained for a moment in thought; then, as they were only a
+day’s journey from Surgères, whither the cardinal was to come to meet
+the king, he resolved to follow the advice of Athos and go with them.
+Besides, this return offered him the advantage of watching his
+prisoner.
+
+They resumed their route.
+
+On the morrow, at three o’clock in the afternoon, they arrived at
+Surgères. The cardinal there awaited Louis XIII. The minister and the
+king exchanged numerous caresses, felicitating each other upon the
+fortunate chance which had freed France from the inveterate enemy who
+set all Europe against her. After which, the cardinal, who had been
+informed that D’Artagnan was arrested and who was anxious to see him,
+took leave of the king, inviting him to come the next day to view the
+work already done upon the dyke.
+
+On returning in the evening to his quarters at the bridge of La Pierre,
+the cardinal found, standing before the house he occupied, D’Artagnan,
+without his sword, and the three Musketeers armed.
+
+This time, as he was well attended, he looked at them sternly, and made
+a sign with his eye and hand for D’Artagnan to follow him.
+
+D’Artagnan obeyed.
+
+“We shall wait for you, D’Artagnan,” said Athos, loud enough for the
+cardinal to hear him.
+
+His Eminence bent his brow, stopped for an instant, and then kept on
+his way without uttering a single word.
+
+D’Artagnan entered after the cardinal, and behind D’Artagnan the door
+was guarded.
+
+His Eminence entered the chamber which served him as a study, and made
+a sign to Rochefort to bring in the young Musketeer.
+
+Rochefort obeyed and retired.
+
+D’Artagnan remained alone in front of the cardinal; this was his second
+interview with Richelieu, and he afterward confessed that he felt well
+assured it would be his last.
+
+Richelieu remained standing, leaning against the mantelpiece; a table
+was between him and D’Artagnan.
+
+“Monsieur,” said the cardinal, “you have been arrested by my orders.”
+
+“So they tell me, monseigneur.”
+
+“Do you know why?”
+
+“No, monseigneur, for the only thing for which I could be arrested is
+still unknown to your Eminence.”
+
+Richelieu looked steadfastly at the young man.
+
+“Holloa!” said he, “what does that mean?”
+
+“If Monseigneur will have the goodness to tell me, in the first place,
+what crimes are imputed to me, I will then tell him the deeds I have
+really done.”
+
+“Crimes are imputed to you which had brought down far loftier heads
+than yours, monsieur,” said the cardinal.
+
+“What, monseigneur?” said D’Artagnan, with a calmness which astonished
+the cardinal himself.
+
+“You are charged with having corresponded with the enemies of the
+kingdom; you are charged with having surprised state secrets; you are
+charged with having tried to thwart the plans of your general.”
+
+“And who charges me with this, monseigneur?” said D’Artagnan, who had
+no doubt the accusation came from Milady, “a woman branded by the
+justice of the country; a woman who has espoused one man in France and
+another in England; a woman who poisoned her second husband and who
+attempted both to poison and assassinate me!”
+
+“What do you say, monsieur?” cried the cardinal, astonished; “and of
+what woman are you speaking thus?”
+
+“Of Milady de Winter,” replied D’Artagnan, “yes, of Milady de Winter,
+of whose crimes your Eminence is doubtless ignorant, since you have
+honored her with your confidence.”
+
+“Monsieur,” said the cardinal, “if Milady de Winter has committed the
+crimes you lay to her charge, she shall be punished.”
+
+“She has been punished, monseigneur.”
+
+“And who has punished her?”
+
+“We.”
+
+“She is in prison?”
+
+“She is dead.”
+
+“Dead!” repeated the cardinal, who could not believe what he heard,
+“dead! Did you not say she was dead?”
+
+“Three times she attempted to kill me, and I pardoned her; but she
+murdered the woman I loved. Then my friends and I took her, tried her,
+and condemned her.”
+
+D’Artagnan then related the poisoning of Mme. Bonacieux in the convent
+of the Carmelites at Béthune, the trial in the isolated house, and the
+execution on the banks of the Lys.
+
+A shudder crept through the body of the cardinal, who did not shudder
+readily.
+
+But all at once, as if undergoing the influence of an unspoken thought,
+the countenance of the cardinal, till then gloomy, cleared up by
+degrees, and recovered perfect serenity.
+
+“So,” said the cardinal, in a tone that contrasted strongly with the
+severity of his words, “you have constituted yourselves judges, without
+remembering that they who punish without license to punish are
+assassins?”
+
+“Monseigneur, I swear to you that I never for an instant had the
+intention of defending my head against you. I willingly submit to any
+punishment your Eminence may please to inflict upon me. I do not hold
+life dear enough to be afraid of death.”
+
+“Yes, I know you are a man of a stout heart, monsieur,” said the
+cardinal, with a voice almost affectionate; “I can therefore tell you
+beforehand you shall be tried, and even condemned.”
+
+“Another might reply to your Eminence that he had his pardon in his
+pocket. I content myself with saying: Command, monseigneur; I am
+ready.”
+
+“Your pardon?” said Richelieu, surprised.
+
+“Yes, monseigneur,” said D’Artagnan.
+
+“And signed by whom—by the king?” And the cardinal pronounced these
+words with a singular expression of contempt.
+
+“No, by your Eminence.”
+
+“By me? You are insane, monsieur.”
+
+“Monseigneur will doubtless recognize his own handwriting.”
+
+And D’Artagnan presented to the cardinal the precious piece of paper
+which Athos had forced from Milady, and which he had given to
+D’Artagnan to serve him as a safeguard.
+
+His Eminence took the paper, and read in a slow voice, dwelling upon
+every syllable:
+
+“Dec. 3, 1627
+
+
+“It is by my order and for the good of the state that the bearer of
+this has done what he has done.
+
+
+“RICHELIEU”
+
+
+The cardinal, after having read these two lines, sank into a profound
+reverie; but he did not return the paper to D’Artagnan.
+
+“He is meditating by what sort of punishment he shall cause me to die,”
+said the Gascon to himself. “Well, my faith! he shall see how a
+gentleman can die.”
+
+The young Musketeer was in excellent disposition to die heroically.
+
+Richelieu still continued thinking, rolling and unrolling the paper in
+his hands.
+
+At length he raised his head, fixed his eagle look upon that loyal,
+open, and intelligent countenance, read upon that face, furrowed with
+tears, all the sufferings its possessor had endured in the course of a
+month, and reflected for the third or fourth time how much there was in
+that youth of twenty-one years before him, and what resources his
+activity, his courage, and his shrewdness might offer to a good master.
+On the other side, the crimes, the power, and the infernal genius of
+Milady had more than once terrified him. He felt something like a
+secret joy at being forever relieved of this dangerous accomplice.
+
+Richelieu slowly tore the paper which D’Artagnan had generously
+relinquished.
+
+“I am lost!” said D’Artagnan to himself. And he bowed profoundly before
+the cardinal, like a man who says, “Lord, Thy will be done!”
+
+The cardinal approached the table, and without sitting down, wrote a
+few lines upon a parchment of which two-thirds were already filled, and
+affixed his seal.
+
+“That is my condemnation,” thought D’Artagnan; “he will spare me the
+_ennui_ of the Bastille, or the tediousness of a trial. That’s very
+kind of him.”
+
+“Here, monsieur,” said the cardinal to the young man. “I have taken
+from you one _carte blanche_ to give you another. The name is wanting
+in this commission; you can write it yourself.”
+
+D’Artagnan took the paper hesitatingly and cast his eyes over it; it
+was a lieutenant’s commission in the Musketeers.
+
+D’Artagnan fell at the feet of the cardinal.
+
+“Monseigneur,” said he, “my life is yours; henceforth dispose of it.
+But this favor which you bestow upon me I do not merit. I have three
+friends who are more meritorious and more worthy—”
+
+“You are a brave youth, D’Artagnan,” interrupted the cardinal, tapping
+him familiarly on the shoulder, charmed at having vanquished this
+rebellious nature. “Do with this commission what you will; only
+remember, though the name be blank, it is to you I give it.”
+
+“I shall never forget it,” replied D’Artagnan. “Your Eminence may be
+certain of that.”
+
+The cardinal turned and said in a loud voice, “Rochefort!” The
+chevalier, who no doubt was near the door, entered immediately.
+
+“Rochefort,” said the cardinal, “you see Monsieur d’Artagnan. I receive
+him among the number of my friends. Greet each other, then; and be wise
+if you wish to preserve your heads.”
+
+Rochefort and D’Artagnan coolly greeted each other with their lips; but
+the cardinal was there, observing them with his vigilant eye.
+
+They left the chamber at the same time.
+
+“We shall meet again, shall we not, monsieur?”
+
+“When you please,” said D’Artagnan.
+
+“An opportunity will come,” replied Rochefort.
+
+“Hey?” said the cardinal, opening the door.
+
+The two men smiled at each other, shook hands, and saluted his
+Eminence.
+
+“We were beginning to grow impatient,” said Athos.
+
+“Here I am, my friends,” replied D’Artagnan; “not only free, but in
+favor.”
+
+“Tell us about it.”
+
+“This evening; but for the moment, let us separate.”
+
+Accordingly, that same evening D’Artagnan repaired to the quarters of
+Athos, whom he found in a fair way to empty a bottle of Spanish wine—an
+occupation which he religiously accomplished every night.
+
+D’Artagnan related what had taken place between the cardinal and
+himself, and drawing the commission from his pocket, said, “Here, my
+dear Athos, this naturally belongs to you.”
+
+Athos smiled with one of his sweet and expressive smiles.
+
+“Friend,” said he, “for Athos this is too much; for the Comte de la
+Fère it is too little. Keep the commission; it is yours. Alas! you have
+purchased it dearly enough.”
+
+D’Artagnan left Athos’s chamber and went to that of Porthos. He found
+him clothed in a magnificent dress covered with splendid embroidery,
+admiring himself before a glass.
+
+“Ah, ah! is that you, dear friend?” exclaimed Porthos. “How do you
+think these garments fit me?”
+
+“Wonderfully,” said D’Artagnan; “but I come to offer you a dress which
+will become you still better.”
+
+“What?” asked Porthos.
+
+“That of a lieutenant of Musketeers.”
+
+D’Artagnan related to Porthos the substance of his interview with the
+cardinal, and said, taking the commission from his pocket, “Here, my
+friend, write your name upon it and become my chief.”
+
+Porthos cast his eyes over the commission and returned it to
+D’Artagnan, to the great astonishment of the young man.
+
+“Yes,” said he, “yes, that would flatter me very much; but I should not
+have time enough to enjoy the distinction. During our expedition to
+Béthune the husband of my duchess died; so, my dear, the coffer of the
+defunct holding out its arms to me, I shall marry the widow. Look here!
+I was trying on my wedding suit. Keep the lieutenancy, my dear, keep
+it.”
+
+The young man then entered the apartment of Aramis. He found him
+kneeling before a _priedieu_, with his head leaning on an open prayer
+book.
+
+He described to him his interview with the cardinal, and said, for the
+third time drawing his commission from his pocket, “You, our friend,
+our intelligence, our invisible protector, accept this commission. You
+have merited it more than any of us by your wisdom and your counsels,
+always followed by such happy results.”
+
+“Alas, dear friend!” said Aramis, “our late adventures have disgusted
+me with military life. This time my determination is irrevocably taken.
+After the siege I shall enter the house of the Lazarists. Keep the
+commission, D’Artagnan; the profession of arms suits you. You will be a
+brave and adventurous captain.”
+
+D’Artagnan, his eye moist with gratitude though beaming with joy, went
+back to Athos, whom he found still at table contemplating the charms of
+his last glass of Malaga by the light of his lamp.
+
+“Well,” said he, “they likewise have refused me.”
+
+“That, dear friend, is because nobody is more worthy than yourself.”
+
+He took a quill, wrote the name of D’Artagnan in the commission, and
+returned it to him.
+
+“I shall then have no more friends,” said the young man. “Alas! nothing
+but bitter recollections.”
+
+And he let his head sink upon his hands, while two large tears rolled
+down his cheeks.
+
+“You are young,” replied Athos; “and your bitter recollections have
+time to change themselves into sweet remembrances.”
+
+
+
+
+EPILOGUE
+
+
+La Rochelle, deprived of the assistance of the English fleet and of the
+diversion promised by Buckingham, surrendered after a siege of a year.
+On the twenty-eighth of October, 1628, the capitulation was signed.
+
+The king made his entrance into Paris on the twenty-third of December
+of the same year. He was received in triumph, as if he came from
+conquering an enemy and not Frenchmen. He entered by the Faubourg St.
+Jacques, under verdant arches.
+
+D’Artagnan took possession of his command. Porthos left the service,
+and in the course of the following year married Mme. Coquenard; the
+coffer so much coveted contained eight hundred thousand livres.
+
+Mousqueton had a magnificent livery, and enjoyed the satisfaction of
+which he had been ambitious all his life—that of standing behind a
+gilded carriage.
+
+Aramis, after a journey into Lorraine, disappeared all at once, and
+ceased to write to his friends; they learned at a later period through
+Mme. de Chevreuse, who told it to two or three of her intimates, that,
+yielding to his vocation, he had retired into a convent—only into
+which, nobody knew.
+
+Bazin became a lay brother.
+
+Athos remained a Musketeer under the command of D’Artagnan till the
+year 1633, at which period, after a journey he made to Touraine, he
+also quit the service, under the pretext of having inherited a small
+property in Roussillon.
+
+Grimaud followed Athos.
+
+D’Artagnan fought three times with Rochefort, and wounded him three
+times.
+
+“I shall probably kill you the fourth,” said he to him, holding out his
+hand to assist him to rise.
+
+“It is much better both for you and for me to stop where we are,”
+answered the wounded man. “_Corbleu!_ I am more your friend than you
+think—for after our very first encounter, I could by saying a word to
+the cardinal have had your throat cut!”
+
+They this time embraced heartily, and without retaining any malice.
+
+Planchet obtained from Rochefort the rank of sergeant in the Piedmont
+regiment.
+
+M. Bonacieux lived on very quietly, wholly ignorant of what had become
+of his wife, and caring very little about it. One day he had the
+imprudence to recall himself to the memory of the cardinal. The
+cardinal had him informed that he would provide for him so that he
+should never want for anything in future. In fact, M. Bonacieux, having
+left his house at seven o’clock in the evening to go to the Louvre,
+never appeared again in the Rue des Fossoyeurs; the opinion of those
+who seemed to be best informed was that he was fed and lodged in some
+royal castle, at the expense of his generous Eminence.
+
+*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 1257 ***