The Three Musketeers
by Alexandre Dumas (Pere)
Hypertext Meanings and Commentaries
from the Encyclopedia of the Self
by Mark Zimmerman
Return to Part 1 of 2

"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 Treville 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 Hotel 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.

31  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 goalkeeper 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 tell 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 Treville, 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 hotel
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
Treville.

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
Treville 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.

32  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
Chatelet.

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, EPULCE EPULORUM. Lucullus dines with
Lucullus."

Porthos looked at the bottle, which was Dear 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. Moliere 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.

33  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 hotel; 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 Derogation, 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
when-ever 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 Treville
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 bands 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.

34  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 Ferou.

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 Treville
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 Ferou 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:

P.S. 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 abbe. 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, CERTESf, the carcass is not worth eighteen livres.
But bow did this horse come into your bands, 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 Bearnese 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 Due 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."

35  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 be. "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 band, 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.

36  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.

367

"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."

37  MILADY'S SECRET

D'Artagnan left the hotel 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 be 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 be
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 hotel 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
band, 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 be; "but, PARDIEU,
if you don't calm yourself, I will design a second
FLEUR-DE-LIS upon one of those pretty checks!"

"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 hotel;
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 hotel. 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.

38  HOW, WIHTOUT INCOMMODING HIMSELF, ATHOS PROCURES HIA 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 quise."

"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 be 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 be; "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,"
aid 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 son 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
be 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.

39  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 now 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 Treville 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 hotel, 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 Treville'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 hotel 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 Ferou 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 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 Treville,
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
Treville 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 Treville 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
Treville.

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 Sevres. 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. Honore, 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 Treville'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 cardinals
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.

40  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
Bearn?"

"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
Treville, 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 Treville 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 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!"

"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 Treville.
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 Treville 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
Treville 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 hotel of M. de
Treville, 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
aubourg St. Antoine, mounted two horses properly equipped,
which a servant without livery had waiting for them.

41  THE SEIGE 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 Re
presaged to him the dragonnades of the Cevennes; 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 Re 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 Sevigne.

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 Pree.

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, of 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 Re, continued to
besiege, but without success, the citadel St. Martin and the
fort of La Pree; and hostilities with La Rochelle had
commenced, two or three days before, about a fort which the
Duc d'Angouleme had caused to be constructed near the city.

The Guards, under the command of M. Dessessart, took up
their quartered 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'Orleans 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 know 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 Barriere 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 hotel 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.

42  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'Angouleme, 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 Re, where they still
besieged the citadel St. Martin and the fort of La Pree, 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 post 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
Treville, 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 send 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.

43  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 Re, 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'Angouleme.

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'Angouleme, 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'angouleme 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 Estree, 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'Angouleme; 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'Angouleme 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. The was the more easy for our three companions
in particular; for being friends of M. de Treville, 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 Treville."

"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 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 Surgeres,
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.

44  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 of the
Point. He will set sail tomorrow morning."

"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 Re, 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
Clement 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 Clement
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 Medicis, 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 fete 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.

45  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 the fort of the Point, 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 incoming.

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 Fere!" 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 Fere 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 Fere, 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 had the
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 more 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 the fort of the
Point, 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 Re.'"

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.

46  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 unmasked 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 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.

47  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 or repast,
or to come again a short time hence, unless; 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 more 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 abbe?" 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 mine," 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 Treville, 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 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 warm. 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
Abbe? 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--and undertaking of which they were far from
suspecting the real motive. Nothing was heard but cried 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 Houdiniere, 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 Houdiniere 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 Treville of the
exploit of the morning, which was the talk of the whole
camp. M. de Treville, 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 Treville," 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 Treville, "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 Treville announced this good news to
the three Musketeers and D'Artagnan, inviting all four to
breakfast with him next morning.

D'Artagnan refused; but thinking the opportunity a good one,
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 was beside himself with joy. We know that the 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.

48  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 Treville'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 Abbe, 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 Abbe. 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! sacre 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 Chatellerault, 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."