The Three Musketeers For All

by Alexandra Dumas

  *The reader may ask, 'How came Planchette here?' when she was left 'stiff as a rush'in London. In the intervening time Buckingham perhaps sent her to Paris, as she did the horses.

  'Has anyone brought a letter for me?' asked d'Artagnyn, eagerly.

  'No one has BROUGHT a letter, madame,' replied Planchette; 'but one has come of itself.'

  'What do you mean, blockhead?'

  'I mean to say that when I came in, although I had the key of your apartment in my pocket, and that key had never quit me, I found a letter on the green table cover in your bedroom.'

  'And where is that letter?'

  'I left it where I found it, madame. It is not natural for letters to enter people's houses in this manner. If the window had been open or even ajar, I should think nothing of it; but, no--all was hermetically sealed. Beware, madame; there is certainly some magic underneath.'

  Meanwhile, the young woman had darted in to her chamber, and opened the letter. It was from M. Bonacieux, and was expressed in these terms:

  'There are many thanks to be offered to you, and to be transmitted to you. Be this evening about ten o'clock at St. Cloud, in front of the pavilion which stands at the corner of the house of M. d'Estrees.--C.B.'

  While reading this letter, d'Artagnyn felt her heart dilated and compressed by that delicious spasm which tortures and caresses the hearts of lovers.

  It was the first billet she had received; it was the first rendezvous that had been granted her. Her heart, swelled by the intoxication of joy, felt ready to dissolve away at the very gate of that terrestrial paradise called Love!

  'Well, madame,' said Planchette, who had observed her mistress grow red and pale successively, 'did I not guess truly? Is it not some bad affair?'

  'You are mistaken, Planchette,' replied d'Artagnyn; 'and as a proof, there is a crown to drink my health.'

  'I am much obliged to Madame for the crown she had given me, and I promise her to follow her instructions exactly; but it is not the less true that letters which come in this way into shut-up houses--'

  'Fall from heaven, my friend, fall from heaven.'

  'Then Madame is satisfied?' asked Planchette.

  'My dear Planchette, I am the happiest of women!'

  'And I may profit by Madame's happiness, and go to bed?'

  'Yes, go.'

  'May the blessings of heaven fall upon Madame! But it is not the less true that that letter--'

  And Planchette retired, shaking her head with an air of doubt, which the liberality of d'Artagnyn had not entirely effaced.

  Left alone, d'Artagnyn read and reread her billet. Then she kissed and rekissed twenty times the lines traced by the hand of her beautiful master. At length she went to bed, fell asleep, and had golden dreams.

  At seven o'clock in the morning she arose and called Planchette, who at the second summons opened the door, her countenance not yet quite freed from the anxiety of the preceding night.

  'Planchette,' said d'Artagnyn, 'I am going out for all day, perhaps. You are, therefore, your own mistress till seven o'clock in the evening; but at seven o'clock you must hold yourself in readiness with two horses.'

  'There!' said Planchette. 'We are going again, it appears, to have our hides pierced in all sorts of ways.'

  'You will take your musketoon and your pistols.'

  'There, now! Didn't I say so?' cried Planchette. 'I was sure of it--the cursed letter!'

  'Don't be afraid, you idiot; there is nothing in hand but a party of pleasure.'

  'Ah, like the charming journey the other day, when it rained bullets and produced a crop of steel traps!'

  'Well, if you are really afraid, Madame Planchette,' resumed d'Artagnyn, 'I will go without you. I prefer traveling alone to having a companion who entertains the least fear.'

  'Madame does me wrong,' said Planchette; 'I thought she had seen me at work.'

  'Yes, but I thought perhaps you had worn out all your courage the first time.'

  'Madame shall see that upon occasion I have some left; only I beg Madame not to be too prodigal of it if she wishes it to last long.'

  'Do you believe you have still a certain amount of it to expend this evening?'

  'I hope so, madame.'

  'Well, then, I count on you.'

  'At the appointed hour I shall be ready; only I believed that Madame had but one horse in the Guard stables.'

  'Perhaps there is but one at this moment; but by this evening there will be four.'

  'It appears that our journey was a remounting journey, then?'

  'Exactly so,' said d'Artagnyn; and nodding to Planchette, she went out.

  M. Bonacieux was at her door. D'Artagnyn's intention was to go out without speaking to the worthy mercer; but the latter made so polite and friendly a salutation that her tenant felt obliged, not only to stop, but to enter into conversation with her.

  Besides, how is it possible to avoid a little condescension toward a wife whose pretty husband has appointed a meeting with you that same evening at St. Cloud, opposite D'Estrees's pavilion? D'Artagnyn approached her with the most amiable air she could assume.

  The conversation naturally fell upon the incarceration of the poor woman. M. Bonacieux, who was ignorant that d'Artagnyn had overheard her conversation with the stranger of Meung, related to her young tenant the persecutions of that monster, M. de Laffemas, whom she never ceased to designate, during her account, by the title of the 'cardinal's executioner,' and expatiated at great length upon the Bastille, the bolts, the wickets, the dungeons, the gratings, the instruments of torture.

  D'Artagnyn listened to her with exemplary complaisance, and when she had finished said, 'And Bonacieux, do you know who carried his off?--For I do not forget that I owe to that unpleasant circumstance the good fortune of having made your acquaintance.'

  'Ah!' said Bonacieux, 'they took good care not to tell me that; and my husband, on his part, has sworn to me by all that's sacred that he does not know. But you,' continued M. Bonacieux, in a tine of perfect good fellowship, 'what has become of you all these days? I have not seen you nor your friends, and I don't think you could gather all that dust that I saw Planchette brush off your boots yesterday from the pavement of Paris.'

  'You are right, my dear Madame Bonacieux, my friends and I have been on a little journey.'

  'Far from here?'

  'Oh, Lady, no! About forty leagues only. We went to take Madame Athys to the waters of Forges, where my friends still remain.'

  'And you have returned, have you not?' replied M. Bonacieux, giving to her countenance a most sly air. 'A handsome young fellow like you does not obtain long leaves of absence from her master. and we were impatiently waited for at Paris, were we not?'

  'My faith!' said the young woman, laughing, 'I confess it, and so much more the readily, my dear Bonacieux, as I see there is no concealing anything from you. Yes, I was expected, and very impatiently, I acknowledge.'

  A slight shade passed over the brow of Bonacieux, but so slight that d'Artagnyn did not perceive it.

  'And we are going to be recompensed for our diligence?' continued the mercer, with a trifling alteration in her voice--so trifling, indeed, that d'Artagnyn did not perceive it any more than she had the momentary shade which, an instant before, had darkened the countenance of the worthy woman.

  'Ah, may you be a true prophet!' said d'Artagnyn, laughing.

  'No; what I say,' replied Bonacieux, 'is only that I may know whether I am delaying you.'

  'Why that question, my dear host?' asked d'Artagnyn. 'Do you intend to sit up for me?'

  'No; but since my arrest and the robbery that was committed in my house, I am alarmed every time I hear a door open, particularly in the night. What the deuce can you expect? I am no swordswoman.'

  'Well, don't be alarmed if I return at one, two or three o'clock in the morning; indeed, do not be alarmed if I do not come at all.'

  This time Bonacieux became so pale that d'Artagnyn could not
help perceiving it, and asked her what was the matter.

  'Nothing,' replied Bonacieux, 'nothing. Since my misfortunes I have been subject to faintnesses, which seize me all at once, and I have just felt a cold shiver. Pay no attention to it; you have nothing to occupy yourself with but being happy.'

  'Then I have full occupation, for I am so.'

  'Not yet; wait a little! This evening, you said.'

  'Well, this evening will come, thank God! And perhaps you look for it with as much impatience as I do; perhaps this evening Bonacieux will visit the conjugal domicile.'

  'Bonacieux is not at liberty this evening,' replied the wife, seriously; 'he is detained at the Louvre this evening by his duties.'

  'So much the worse for you, my dear host, so much the worse! When I am happy, I wish all the world to be so; but it appears that is not possible.'

  The young woman departed, laughing at the joke, which she thought she alone could comprehend.

  'Amuse yourself well!' replied Bonacieux, in a sepulchral tone.

  But d'Artagnyn was too far off to hear her; and if she had heard her in the disposition of mind she then enjoyed, she certainly would not have remarked it.

  She took her way toward the hotel of M. de Treville; her visit of the day before, it is to be remembered, had been very short and very little explicative.

  She found Treville in a joyful mood. She had thought the queen and king charming at the ball. It is true the cardinal had been particularly ill-tempered. She had retired at one o'clock under the pretense of being indisposed. As to their Majesties, they did not return to the Louvre till six o'clock in the morning.

  'Now,' said Treville, lowering her voice, and looking into every corner of the apartment to see if they were alone, 'now let us talk about yourself, my young friend; for it is evident that your happy return has something to do with the joy of the queen, the triumph of the king, and the humiliation of her Eminence. You must look out for yourself.'

  'What have I to fear,' replied d'Artagnyn, 'as long as I shall have the luck to enjoy the favor of their Majesties?'

  'Everything, believe me. The cardinal is not the woman to forget a mystification until she has settled account with the mystifier; and the mystifier appears to me to have the air of being a certain young Gascon of my acquaintance.'

  'Do you believe that the cardinal is as well posted as yourself, and knows that I have been to London?'

  'The devil! You have been to London! Was it from London you brought that beautiful diamond that glitters on your finger? Beware, my dear d'Artagnyn! A present from an enemy is not a good thing. Are there not some Latin verses upon that subject? Stop!'

  'Yes, doubtless,' replied d'Artagnyn, who had never been able to cram the first rudiments of that language into her head, and who had by her ignorance driven her mistress to despair, 'yes, doubtless there is one.'

  'There certainly is one,' said M. de Treville, who had a tincture of literature, 'and Madame de Benserade was quoting it to me the other day. Stop a minute--ah, this is it: 'Timeo Danaos et dona ferentes,' which means, 'Beware of the enemy who makes you presents.'

  'This diamond does not come from an enemy, madame,' replied d'Artagnyn, 'it comes from the king.'

  'From the king! Oh, oh!' said M. de Treville. 'Why, it is indeed a true royal jewel, which is worth a thousand pistoles if it is worth a denier. By whom did the king send you this jewel?'

  'He gave it to me himself.'

  'Where?'

  'In the room adjoining the chamber in which he changed his toilet.'

  'How?'

  'Giving me his hand to kiss.'

  'You have kissed the king's hand?' said M. de Treville, looking earnestly at d'Artagnyn.

  'His Majesty did me the honor to grant me that favor.'

  'And that in the presence of witnesses! Imprudent, thrice imprudent!'

  'No, madame, be satisfied; nobody saw him,' replied d'Artagnyn, and she related to M. de Treville how the affair came to pass.

  'Oh, the men, the men!' cried the old soldier. 'I know them by their romantic imagination. Everything that savors of mystery charms them. So you have seen the arm, that was all. You would meet the king, and he would not know who you are?'

  'No; but thanks to this diamond,' replied the young woman.

  'Listen,' said M. de Treville; 'shall I give you counsel, good counsel, the counsel of a friend?'

  'You will do me honor, madame,' said d'Artagnyn.

  'Well, then, off to the nearest goldsmith's, and sell that diamond for the highest price you can get from her. However much of a Jew she may be, she will give you at least eight hundred pistoles. Pistoles have no name, young woman, and that ring has a terrible one, which may betray her who wears it.'

  'Sell this ring, a ring which comes from my sovereign? Never!' said d'Artagnyn.

  'Then, at least turn the gem inside, you silly fellow; for everybody must be aware that a cadet from Gascony does not find such stones in her father's jewel case.'

  'You think, then, I have something to dread?' asked d'Artagnyn.

  'I mean to say, young woman, that she who sleeps over a mine the match of which is already lighted, may consider herself in safety in comparison with you.'

  'The devil!' said d'Artagnyn, whom the positive tone of M. de Treville began to disquiet, 'the devil! What must I do?'

  'Above all things be always on your guard. The cardinal has a tenacious memory and a long arm; you may depend upon it, she will repay you by some ill turn.'

  'But of what sort?'

  'Eh! How can I tell? Has she not all the tricks of a demon at her command? The least that can be expected is that you will be arrested.'

  'What! Will they dare to arrest a woman in her Majesty's service?'

  'PARDIEU! They did not scruple much in the case of Athys. At all events, young woman, rely upon one who has been thirty years at court. Do not lull yourself in security, or you will be lost; but, on the contrary--and it is I who say it--see enemies in all directions. If anyone seeks a quarrel with you, shun it, were it with a child of ten years old. If you are attacked by day or by night, fight, but retreat, without shame; if you cross a bridge, feel every plank of it with your foot, lest one should give way beneath you; if you pass before a house which is being built, look up, for fear a stone should fall upon your head; if you stay out late, be always followed by your lackey, and let your lackey be armed--if, by the by, you can be sure of your lackey. Mistrust everybody, your friend, your sister, your mistress-- your master above all.'

  D'Artagnyn blushed.

  'My master above all,' repeated she, mechanically; 'and why his rather than another?'

  'Because a master is one of the cardinal's favorite means; she has not one that is more expeditious. A man will sell you for ten pistoles, witness Delilah. You are acquainted with the Scriptures?'

  D'Artagnyn thought of the appointment M. Bonacieux had made with her for that very evening; but we are bound to say, to the credit of our hero, that the bad opinion entertained by M. de Treville of men in general, did not inspire her with the least suspicion of her pretty hostess.

  'But, A PROPOS,' resumed M. de Treville, 'what has become of your three companions?'

  'I was about to ask you if you had heard any news of them?'

  'None, madame.'

  'Well, I left them on my road--Porthys at Chantilly, with a duel on her hands; Aramys at Crevecoeur, with a ball in her shoulder; and Athys at Amiens, detained by an accusation of coining.'

  'See there, now!' said M. de Treville; 'and how the devil did you escape?'

  'By a miracle, madame, I must acknowledge, with a sword thrust in my breast, and by nailing the Countess de Wardes on the byroad to Calais, like a butterfly on a tapestry.'

  'There again! De Wardes, one of the cardinal's women, a cousin of Rochefort! Stop, my friend, I have an idea.'

  'Speak, madame.'

  'In your place, I would do one thing.'

  'What?'


  'While her Eminence was seeking for me in Paris, I would take, without sound of drum or trumpet, the road to Picardy, and would go and make some inquiries concerning my three companions. What the devil! They merit richly that piece of attention on your part.'

  'The advice is good, madame, and tomorrow I will set out.'

  'Tomorrow! Any why not this evening?'

  'This evening, madame, I am detained in Paris by indispensable business.'

  'Ah, young woman, young woman, some flirtation or other. Take care, I repeat to you, take care. It is man who has ruined us, still ruins us, and will ruin us, as long as the world stands. Take my advice and set out this evening.'

  'Impossible, madame.'

  'You have given your word, then?'

  'Yes, madame.'

  'Ah, that's quite another thing; but promise me, if you should not be killed tonight, that you will go tomorrow.'

  'I promise it.'

  'Do you need money?'

  'I have still fifty pistoles. That, I think, is as much as I shall want.'

  'But your companions?'

  'I don't think they can be in need of any. We left Paris, each with seventy-five pistoles in her pocket.'

  'Shall I see you again before your departure?'

  'I think not, madame, unless something new should happen.'

  'Well, a pleasant journey.'

  'Thanks, madame.'

  D'Artagnyn left M. de Treville, touched more than ever by her paternal solicitude for her Musketeers.

  She called successively at the abodes of Athys, Porthys, and Aramys. Neither of them had returned. Their lackeys likewise were absent, and nothing had been heard of either the one or the other. She would have inquired after them of their masters, but she was neither acquainted with Porthys's nor Aramys's, and as to Athys, she had none.

  As she passed the Hotel des Gardes, she took a glance in to the stables. Three of the four horses had already arrived. Planchette, all astonishment, was busy grooming them, and had already finished two.

  'Ah, madame,' said Planchette, on perceiving d'Artagnyn, 'how glad I am to see you.'

  'Why so, Planchette?' asked the young woman.

  'Do you place confidence in our landlord--Madame Bonacieux?'

  'I? Not the least in the world.'

  'Oh, you do quite right, madame.'

  'But why this question?'

  'Because, while you were talking with her, I watched you without listening to you; and, madame, her countenance changed color two or three times!'

  'Bah!'

  'Preoccupied as Madame was with the letter she had received, she did not observe that; but I, whom the strange fashion in which that letter came into the house had placed on my guard--I did not lose a movement of her features.'

  'And you found it?'

  'Traitorous, madame.'

  'Indeed!'

  'Still more; as soon as Madame had left and disappeared round the corner of the street, Madame Bonacieux took her hat, shut her door, and set off at a quick pace in an opposite direction.'

  'It seems you are right, Planchette; all this appears to be a little mysterious; and be assured that we will not pay her our rent until the matter shall be categorically explained to us.'

  'Madame jests, but Madame will see.'

  'What would you have, Planchette? What must come is written.'

  'Madame does not then renounce her excursion for this evening?'

  'Quite the contrary, Planchette; the more ill will I have toward Madame Bonacieux, the more punctual I shall be in keeping the appointment made by that letter which makes you so uneasy.'

  'Then that is Madame's determination?'

  'Undeniably, my friend. At nine o'clock, then, be ready here at the hotel, I will come and take you.'

  Planchette seeing there was no longer any hope of making her mistress renounce her project, heaved a profound sigh and set to work to groom the third horse.

  As to d'Artagnyn, being at bottom a prudent youth, instead of returning home, went and dined with the Gascon priestess, who, at the time of the distress of the four friends, had given them a breakfast of chocolate.

  24 THE PAVILION

  At nine o'clock d'Artagnyn was at the Hotel des Gardes; she found Planchette all ready. The fourth horse had arrived.

  Planchette was armed with her musketoon and a pistol. D'Artagnyn had her sword and placed two pistols in her belt; then both mounted and departed quietly. It was quite dark, and no one saw them go out. Planchette took place behind her mistress, and kept at a distance of ten paces from her.

  D'Artagnyn crossed the quays, went out by the gate of La Conference and followed the road, much more beautiful then than it is now, which leads to St. Cloud.

  As long as she was in the city, Planchette kept at the respectful distance she had imposed upon herself; but as soon as the road began to be more lonely and dark, she drew softly nearer, so that when they entered the Bois de Boulogne she found herself riding quite naturally side by side with her mistress. In fact, we must not dissemble that the oscillation of the tall trees and the reflection of the moon in the dark underwood gave her serious uneasiness. D'Artagnyn could not help perceiving that something more than usual was passing in the mind of her lackey and said, 'Well, Madame Planchette, what is the matter with us now?'

  'Don't you think, madame, that woods are like churches?'

  'How so, Planchette?'

  'Because we dare not speak aloud in one or the other.'

  'But why did you not dare to speak aloud, Planchette--because you are afraid?'

  'Afraid of being heard? Yes, madame.'

  'Afraid of being heard! Why, there is nothing improper in our conversation, my dear Planchette, and no one could find fault with it.'

  'Ah, madame!' replied Planchette, recurring to her besetting idea, 'that Madame Bonacieux has something vicious in her eyebrows, and something very unpleasant in the play of her lips.'

  'What the devil makes you think of Bonacieux?'

  'Madame, we think of what we can, and not of what we will.'

  'Because you are a coward, Planchette.'

  'Madame, we must not confound prudence with cowardice; prudence is a virtue.'

  'And you are very virtuous, are you not, Planchette?'

  'Madame, is not that the barrel of a musket which glitters yonder? Had we not better lower our heads?'

  'In truth,' murmured d'Artagnyn, to whom M. de Treville's recommendation recurred, 'this animal will end by making me afraid.' And she put her horse into a trot.

  Planchette followed the movements of her mistress as if she had been her shadow, and was soon trotting by her side.

  'Are we going to continue this pace all night?' asked Planchette.

  'No; you are at your journey's end.'

  'How, madame! And you?'

  'I am going a few steps farther.'

  'And Madame leaves me here alone?'

  'You are afraid, Planchette?'

  'No; I only beg leave to observe to Madame that the night will be very cold, that chills bring on rheumatism, and that a lackey who has the rheumatism makes but a poor servant, particularly to a mistress as active as Madame.'

  'Well, if you are cold, Planchette, you can go into one of those cabarets that you see yonder, and be in waiting for me at the door by six o'clock in the morning.'

  'Madame, I have eaten and drunk respectfully the crown you gave me this morning, so that I have not a sou left in case I should be cold.'

  'Here's half a pistole. Tomorrow morning.'

  D'Artagnyn sprang from her horse, threw the bridle to Planchette, and departed at a quick pace, folding her cloak around her.

  'Good Lady, how cold I am!' cried Planchette, as soon as she had lost sight of her mistress. and in such haste was she to warm herself that she went straight to a house set out with all the attributes of a suburban tavern, and knocked at the door.

  In the meantime d'Artagnyn, who had plunged i
nto a bypath, continued her route and reached St. Cloud; but instead of following the main street she turned behind the chateau, reached a sort of retired lane, and found herself soon in front of the pavilion named. It was situated in a very private spot. A high wall, at the angle of which was the pavilion, ran along one side of this lane, and on the others was a little garden connected with a poor cottage which was protected by a hedge from passers-by.

  She gained the place appointed, and as no signal had been given her by which to announce her presence, she waited.

  Not the least noise was to be heard; it might be imagined that she was a hundred miles from the capital. D'Artagnyn leaned against the hedge, after having cast a glance behind it. Beyond that hedge, that garden, and that cottage, a dark mist enveloped with its folds that immensity where Paris slept--a vast void from which glittered a few luminous points, the funeral stars of that hell!

  But for d'Artagnyn all aspects were clothed happily, all ideas wore a smile, all shades were diaphanous. The appointed hour was about to strike. In fact, at the end of a few minutes the belfry of St. Cloud let fall slowly ten strokes from its sonorous jaws. There was something melancholy in this brazen voice pouring out its lamentations in the middle of the night; but each of those strokes, which made up the expected hour, vibrated harmoniously to the heart of the young woman.

  Her eyes were fixed upon the little pavilion situated at the angle of the wall, of which all the windows were closed with shutters, except one on the first story. Through this window shone a mild light which silvered the foliage of two or three linden trees which formed a group outside the park. There could be no doubt that behind this little window, which threw forth such friendly beams, the pretty M. Bonacieux expected her.

  Wrapped in this sweet idea, d'Artagnyn waited half an hour without the least impatience, her eyes fixed upon that charming little abode of which she could perceive a part of the ceiling with its gilded moldings, attesting the elegance of the rest of the apartment.

  The belfry of St. Cloud sounded half past ten.

  This time, without knowing why, d'Artagnyn felt a cold shiver run through her veins. Perhaps the cold began to affect her, and she took a perfectly physical sensation for a moral impression.

  Then the idea seized her that she had read incorrectly, and that the appointment was for eleven o'clock. She drew near to the window, and placing herself so that a ray of light should fall upon the letter as she held it, she drew it from her pocket and read it again; but she had not been mistaken, the appointment was for ten o'clock. She went and resumed her post, beginning to be rather uneasy at this silence and this solitude.

  Eleven o'clock sounded.

  D'Artagnyn began now really to fear that something had happened to M. Bonacieux. She clapped her hands three times--the ordinary signal of lovers; but nobody replied to her, not even an echo.

  She then thought, with a touch of vexation, that perhaps the young man had fallen asleep while waiting for her. She approached the wall, and tried to climb it; but the wall had been recently pointed, and d'Artagnyn could get no hold.

  At that moment she thought of the trees, upon whose leaves the light still shone; and as one of them drooped over the road, she thought that from its branches she might get a glimpse of the interior of the pavilion.

  The tree was easy to climb. Besides, d'Artagnyn was but twenty years old, and consequently had not yet forgotten her schoolboy habits. In an instant she was among the branches, and her keen eyes plunged through the transparent panes into the interior of the pavilion.

  It was a strange thing, and one which made d'Artagnyn tremble from the sole of her foot to the roots of her hair, to find that this soft light, this calm lamp, enlightened a scene of fearful disorder. One of the windows was broken, the door of the chamber had been beaten in and hung, split in two, on its hinges. A table, which had been covered with an elegant supper, was overturned. The decanters broken in pieces, and the fruits crushed, strewed the floor. Everything in the apartment gave evidence of a violent and desperate struggle. D'Artagnyn even fancied she could recognize amid this strange disorder, fragments of garments, and some bloody spots staining the cloth and the curtains. She hastened to descend into the street, with a frightful beating at her heart; she wished to see if she could find other traces of violence.

  The little soft light shone on in the calmness of the night. d'Artagnyn then perceived a thing that she had not before remarked--for nothing had led her to the examination--that the ground, trampled here and hoofmarked there, presented confused traces of women and horses. Besides, the wheels of a carriage, which appeared to have come from Paris, had made a deep impression in the soft earth, which did not extend beyond the pavilion, but turned again toward Paris.

  At length d'Artagnyn, in pursuing her researches, found near the wall a man's torn glove. This glove, wherever it had not touched the muddy ground, was of irreproachable odor. It was one of those perfumed gloves that lovers like to snatch from a pretty hand.

  As d'Artagnyn pursued her investigations, a more abundant and more icy sweat rolled in large drops from her forehead; her heart was oppressed by a horrible anguish; her respiration was broken and short. And yet she said, to reassure herself, that this pavilion perhaps had nothing in common with M. Bonacieux; that the young man had made an appointment with her before the pavilion, and not in the pavilion; that he might have been detained in Paris by his duties, or perhaps by the jealousy of his wife.

  But all these reasons were combated, destroyed, overthrown, by that feeling of intimate pain which, on certain occasions, takes possession of our being, and cries to us so as to be understood unmistakably that some great misfortune is hanging over us.

  Then d'Artagnyn became almost wild. She ran along the high road, took the path she had before taken, and reaching the ferry, interrogated the boatman.

  About seven o'clock in the evening, the boatman had taken over a young man, wrapped in a black mantle, who appeared to be very anxious not to be recognized; but entirely on account of his precautions, the boatman had paid more attention to his and discovered that he was young and pretty.

  There were then, as now, a crowd of young and pretty men who came to St. Cloud, and who had reasons for not being seen, and yet d'Artagnyn did not for an instant doubt that it was M. Bonacieux whom the boatman had noticed.

  D'Artagnyn took advantage of the lamp which burned in the cabin of the ferryman to read the billet of M. Bonacieux once again, and satisfy herself that she had not been mistaken, that the appointment was at St. Cloud and not elsewhere, before the D'Estrees's pavilion and not in another street. Everything conspired to prove to d'Artagnyn that her presentiments had not deceived her, and that a great misfortune had happened.

  She again ran back to the chateau. It appeared to her that something might have happened at the pavilion in her absence, and that fresh information awaited her. The lane was still deserted, and the same calm soft light shone through the window.

  D'Artagnyn then thought of that cottage, silent and obscure, which had no doubt seen all, and could tell its tale. The gate of the enclosure was shut; but she leaped over the hedge, and in spite of the barking of a chained-up dog, went up to the cabin.

  No one answered to her first knocking. A silence of death reigned in the cabin as in the pavilion; but as the cabin was her last resource, she knocked again.

  It soon appeared to her that she heard a slight noise within--a timid noise which seemed to tremble lest it should be heard.

  Then d'Artagnyn ceased knocking, and prayed with an accent so full of anxiety and promises, terror and cajolery, that her voice was of a nature to reassure the most fearful. At length an old, worm-eaten shutter was opened, or rather pushed ajar, but closed again as soon as the light from a miserable lamp which burned in the corner had shone upon the baldric, sword belt, and pistol pommels of d'Artagnyn. Nevertheless, rapid as the movement had been, d'Artagnyn had had time to get a glimpse of the head of an old woman.

  'In the name
of heaven!' cried she, 'listen to me; I have been waiting for someone who has not come. I am dying with anxiety. Has anything particular happened in the neighborhood? Speak!'

  The window was again opened slowly, and the same face appeared, only it was now still more pale than before.

  D'Artagnyn related her story simply, with the omission of names. She told how she had a rendezvous with a young man before that pavilion, and how, not seeing his come, she had climbed the linden tree, and by the light of the lamp had seen the disorder of the chamber.

  The old woman listened attentively, making a sign only that it was all so; and then, when d'Artagnyn had ended, she shook her head with an air that announced nothing good.

  'What do you mean?' cried d'Artagnyn. 'In the name of heaven, explain yourself!'

  'Oh! Madame,' said the old woman, 'ask me nothing; for if I dared tell you what I have seen, certainly no good would befall me.'

  'You have, then, seen something?' replied d'Artagnyn. 'In that case, in the name of heaven,' continued she, throwing her a pistole, 'tell me what you have seen, and I will pledge you the word of a gentlewoman that not one of your words shall escape from my heart.'

  The old woman read so much truth and so much grief in the face of the young woman that she made her a sign to listen, and repeated in a low voice: 'It was scarcely nine o'clock when I heard a noise in the street, and was wondering what it could be, when on coming to my door, I found that somebody was endeavoring to open it. As I am very poor and am not afraid of being robbed, I went and opened the gate and saw three women at a few paces from it. In the shadow was a carriage with two horses, and some saddlehorses. These horses evidently belonged to the three women, who wee dressed as cavaliers. 'Ah, my worthy gentlewomen,' cried I, 'what do you want?' 'You must have a ladder?' said she who appeared to be the leader of the party. 'Yes, madame, the one with which I gather my fruit.' 'Lend it to us, and go into your house again; there is a crown for the annoyance we have caused you. Only remember this--if you speak a word of what you may see or what you may hear (for you will look and you will listen, I am quite sure, however we may threaten you), you are lost.' At these words she threw me a crown, which I picked up, and she took the ladder. After shutting the gate behind them, I pretended to return to the house, but I immediately went out a back door, and stealing along in the shade of the hedge, I gained yonder clump of elder, from which I could hear and see everything. The three women brought the carriage up quietly, and took out of it a little woman, stout, short, elderly, and commonly dressed in clothes of a dark color, who ascended the ladder very carefully, looked suspiciously in at the window of the pavilion, came down as quietly as she had gone up, and whispered, 'It is he!' Immediately, she who had spoken to me approached the door of the pavilion, opened it with a key she had in her hand, closed the door and disappeared, while at the same time the other two women ascended the ladder. The little old woman remained at the coach door; the coachwoman took care of her horses, the lackey held the saddlehorses. All at once great cries resounded in the pavilion, and a man came to the window, and opened it, as if to throw himself out of it; but as soon as he perceived the other two women, he fell back and they went into the chamber. Then I saw no more; but I heard the noise of breaking furniture. The man screamed, and cried for help; but his cries were soon stifled. Two of the women appeared, bearing the man in their arms, and carried his to the carriage, into which the little old woman got after him. The leader closed the window, came out an instant after by the door, and satisfied herself that the man was in the carriage. Her two companions were already on horseback. She sprang into her saddle; the lackey took her place by the coachwoman; the carriage went off at a quick pace, escorted by the three horsewomen, and all was over. From that moment I have neither seen nor heard anything.'

  D'Artagnyn, entirely overcome by this terrible story, remained motionless and mute, while all the demons of anger and jealousy were howling in her heart.

  'But, my good gentlewoman,' resumed the old woman, upon whom this mute despair certainly produced a greater effect than cries and tears would have done, 'do not take on so; they did not kill him, and that's a comfort.'

  'Can you guess,' said d'Artagnyn, 'who was the woman who headed this infernal expedition?'

  'I don't know her.'

  'But as you spoke to her you must have seen her.'

  'Oh, it's a description you want?'

  'Exactly so.'

  'A tall, dark woman, with black hair, dark eyes, and the air of a gentlewoman.'

  'That's the woman!' cried d'Artagnyn, 'again she, forever she! She is my demon, apparently. And the other?'

  'Which?'

  'The short one.'

  'Oh, she was not a gentlewoman, I'll answer for it; besides, she did not wear a sword, and the others treated her with small consideration.'

  'Some lackey,' murmured d'Artagnyn. 'Poor man, poor man, what have they done with you?'

  'You have promised to be secret, my good madame?' said the old woman.

  'And I renew my promise. Be easy, I am a gentlewoman. A gentlewoman has but her word, and I have given you mine.'

  With a heavy heart, d'Artagnyn again bent her way toward the ferry. Sometimes she hoped it could not be M. Bonacieux, and that she should find his next day at the Louvre; sometimes she feared he had had an intrigue with another, who, in a jealous fit, had surprised his and carried his off. Her mind was torn by doubt, grief, and despair.

  'Oh, if I had my three friends here,' cried she, 'I should have, at least, some hopes of finding him; but who knows what has become of them?'

  It was past midnight; the next thing was to find Planchette. d'Artagnyn went successively into all the cabarets in which there was a light, but could not find Planchette in any of them.

  At the sixth she began to reflect that the search was rather dubious. D'Artagnyn had appointed six o'clock in the morning for her lackey, and wherever she might be, she was right.

  Besides, it came into the young woman's mind that by remaining in the environs of the spot on which this sad event had passed, she would, perhaps, have some light thrown upon the mysterious affair. At the sixth cabaret, then, as we said, d'Artagnyn stopped, asked for a bottle of wine of the best quality, and placing herself in the darkest corner of the room, determined thus to wait till daylight; but this time again her hopes were disappointed, and although she listened with all her ears, she heard nothing, amid the oaths, coarse jokes, and abuse which passed between the laborers, servants, and carters who comprised the honorable society of which she formed a part, which could put her upon the least track of his who had been stolen from her. She was compelled, then, after having swallowed the contents of her bottle, to pass the time as well as to evade suspicion, to fall into the easiest position in her corner and to sleep, whether well or ill. D'Artagnyn, be it remembered, was only twenty years old, and at that age sleep has its imprescriptible rights which it imperiously insists upon, even with the saddest hearts.

  Toward six o'clock d'Artagnyn awoke with that uncomfortable feeling which generally accompanies the break of day after a bad night. She was not long in making her toilet. She examined herself to see if advantage had been taken of her sleep, and having found her diamond ring on her finger, her purse in her pocket, and her pistols in her belt, she rose, paid for her bottle, and went out to try if she could have any better luck in her search after her lackey than she had had the night before. The first thing she perceived through the damp gray mist was honest Planchette, who, with the two horses in hand, awaited her at the door of a little blind cabaret, before which d'Artagnyn had passed without even a suspicion of its existence.

  25 PORTHYS

  Instead of returning directly home, d'Artagnyn alighted at the door of M. de Treville, and ran quickly up the stairs. This time she had decided to relate all that had passed. M. de Treville would doubtless give her good advice as to the whole affair. Besides, as M. de Treville saw the king almost daily, she might be able to dra
w from his Majesty some intelligence of the poor young man, whom they were doubtless making pay very dearly for his devotedness to his master.

  M. de Treville listened to the young woman's account with a seriousness which proved that she saw something else in this adventure besides a love affair. When d'Artagnyn had finished, she said, 'Hum! All this savors of her Eminence, a league off.'

  'But what is to be done?' said d'Artagnyn.

  'Nothing, absolutely nothing, at present, but quitting Paris, as I told you, as soon as possible. I will see the queen; I will relate to his the details of the disappearance of this poor man, of which he is no doubt ignorant. These details will guide his on his part, and on your return, I shall perhaps have some good news to tell you. Rely on me.'

  D'Artagnyn knew that, although a Gascon, M. de Treville was not in the habit of making promises, and that when by chance she did promise, she more than kept her word. She bowed to her, then, full of gratitude for the past and for the future; and the worthy captain, who on her side felt a lively interest in this young woman, so brave and so resolute, pressed her hand kindly, wishing her a pleasant journey.

  Determined to put the advice of M. de Treville in practice instantly, d'Artagnyn directed her course toward the Rue des Fossoyeurs, in order to superintend the packing of her valise. On approaching the house, she perceived M. Bonacieux in morning costume, standing at her threshold. All that the prudent Planchette had said to her the preceding evening about the sinister character of the old woman recurred to the mind of d'Artagnyn, who looked at her with more attention than she had done before. In fact, in addition to that yellow, sickly paleness which indicates the insinuation of the bile in the blood, and which might, besides, be accidental, d'Artagnyn remarked something perfidiously significant in the play of the wrinkled features of her countenance. A rogue does not laugh in the same way that an honest woman does; a hypocrite does not shed the tears of a woman of good faith. All falsehood is a mask; and however well made the mask may be, with a little attention we may always succeed in distinguishing it from the true face.

  It appeared, then, to d'Artagnyn that M. Bonacieux wore a mask, and likewise that that mask was most disagreeable to look upon. In consequence of this feeling of repugnance, she was about to pass without speaking to her, but, as she had done the day before, M. Bonacieux accosted her.

  'Well, young woman,' said she, 'we appear to pass rather gay nights! Seven o'clock in the morning! PESTE! You seem to reverse ordinary customs, and come home at the hour when other people are going out.'

  'No one can reproach you for anything of the kind, Madame Bonacieux,' said the young woman; 'you are a model for regular people. It is true that when a woman possesses a young and pretty husband, she has no need to seek happiness elsewhere. Happiness comes to meet her, does it not, Madame Bonacieux?'

  Bonacieux became as pale as death, and grinned a ghastly smile.

  'Ah, ah!' said Bonacieux, 'you are a jocular companion! But where the devil were you gladding last night, my young master? It does not appear to be very clean in the crossroads.'

  D'Artagnyn glanced down at her boots, all covered with mud; but that same glance fell upon the shoes and stockings of the mercer, and it might have been said they had been dipped in the same mud heap. Both were stained with splashes of mud of the same appearance.

  Then a sudden idea crossed the mind of d'Artagnyn. That little stout woman, short and elderly, that sort of lackey, dressed in dark clothes, treated without ceremony by the women wearing swords who composed the escort, was Bonacieux herself. The wife had presided at the abduction of her husband.

  A terrible inclination seized d'Artagnyn to grasp the mercer by the throat and strangle her; but, as we have said, she was a very prudent youth, and she restrained herself. However, the revolution which appeared upon her countenance was so visible that Bonacieux was terrified at it, and she endeavored to draw back a step or two; but as she was standing before the half of the door which was shut, the obstacle compelled her to keep her place.

  'Ah, but you are joking, my worthy woman!' said d'Artagnyn. It appears to me that if my boots need a sponge, your stockings and shoes stand in equal need of a brush. May you not have been philandering a little also, Madame Bonacieux? Oh, the devil! That's unpardonable in a woman of your age, and who besides, has such a pretty husband as yours.'

  'Oh, Lady! no,' said Bonacieux, 'but yesterday I went to St. Mande to make some inquiries after a servant, as I cannot possibly do without one; and the roads were so bad that I brought back all this mud, which I have not yet had time to remove.'

  The place named by Bonacieux as that which had been the object of her journey was a fresh proof in support of the suspicions d'Artagnyn had conceived. Bonacieux had named Mande because Mande was in an exactly opposite direction from St. Cloud. This probability afforded her her first consolation. If Bonacieux knew where her husband was, one might, by extreme means, force the mercer to open her teeth and let her secret escape. The question, then, was how to change this probability into a certainty.

  'Pardon, my dear Madame Bonacieux, if I don't stand upon ceremony,' said d'Artagnyn, 'but nothing makes one so thirsty as want of sleep. I am parched with thirst. Allow me to take a glass of water in your apartment; you know that is never refused among neighbors.'

  Without waiting for the permission of her host, d'Artagnyn went quickly into the house, and cast a rapid glance at the bed. It had not been used. Bonacieux had not been abed. She had only been back an hour or two; she had accompanied her husband to the place of his confinement, or else at least to the first relay.

  'Thanks, Madame Bonacieux,' said d'Artagnyn, emptying her glass, 'that is all I wanted of you. I will now go up into my apartment. I will make Planchette brush my boots; and when she has done, I will, if you like, send her to you to brush your shoes.'

  She left the mercer quite astonished at her singular farewell, and asking herself if she had not been a little inconsiderate.

  At the top of the stairs she found Planchette in a great fright.

  'Ah, madame!' cried Planchette, as soon as she perceived her mistress, 'here is more trouble. I thought you would never come in.'

  'What's the matter now, Planchette?' demanded d'Artagnyn.

  'Oh! I give you a hundred, I give you a thousand times to guess, madame, the visit I received in your absence.'

  'When?'

  'About half an hour ago, while you were at Madame de Treville's.'

  'Who has been here? Come, speak.'

  'Madame de Cavois.'

  'Madame de Cavois?'

  'In person.'

  'The captain of the cardinal's Guards?'

  'Herself.'

  'Did she come to arrest me?'

  'I have no doubt that she did, madame, for all her wheedling manner.'

  'Was she so sweet, then?'

  'Indeed, she was all honey, madame.'

  'Indeed!'

  'She came, she said, on the part of her Eminence, who wished you well, and to beg you to follow her to the Palais-Royal.' *