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diff --git a/1257-0.txt b/1257-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..29e4561 --- /dev/null +++ b/1257-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,31106 @@ +*** 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 *** |