The Three Musketeers

by Alexandre Dumas

  Make ready, my dear child. “Our friend” will see you soon, for the sole purpose of liberating you from that prison where you had to be hidden for your own safety. Prepare, then, for your departure—and never despair of us.

  Our charming Gascon has shown himself as brave and faithful as ever. Tell him that Someone is very grateful for the warning he has given.

  “Yes,” said Milady, “the letter is quite definite. Do you know what the ‘warning’ was?”

  “No—though I suspect he warned the queen against some new scheme of the cardinal’s.”

  “Yes, no doubt that’s it!” said Milady, returning the letter to Madame Bonacieux, and allowing her head to sink thoughtfully to her chest.

  Suddenly they heard the sound of a galloping horse.

  “Oh!” cried Madame Bonacieux, darting to the window. “Can it be him already?”

  Milady remained in her bed, petrified with surprise. So many unexpected things had happened all at once that for the first time she was at a loss.

  “Him?” she murmured from the bed, eyes staring. “Can it be him?”

  “Alas, no!” said Madame Bonacieux. “It’s a man I don’t know— but he seems to be coming here. Yes, he’s tied up his horse at the gate, and is ringing.”

  Milady almost sprang from the bed. “You’re sure it isn’t him?” she said.

  “Oh, yes, quite sure!”

  “Maybe you didn’t get a good enough look at him.”

  “Oh, no! If I saw just the plume of his hat, or the edge of his cloak, I’d recognize him instantly!”

  Milady was dressing rapidly. “Never mind. The man is coming here, you say?”

  “Yes, he’s already entered.”

  “He must be here either for you or for me.”

  “My God! You seem so distressed!”

  “Yes, I admit it. I don’t have your confidence—I’m terrified of the cardinal.”

  “Hush!” said Madame Bonacieux. “Someone’s coming!”

  In fact, the door opened, and the superior entered. “Have you come from Boulogne?” she asked Milady.

  “Yes, I have,” she replied, trying to recover her self-possession. “Who’s asking for me?”

  “A man who won’t tell me his name, but says he’s from the cardinal.”

  “And he wants to talk to me?” asked Milady.

  “He wants to talk to a lady just arrived from Boulogne.”

  “Then let him come in, Madame, if you please.”

  “My God!” Madame Bonacieux said. “Do you think it’s bad news?”

  “I’m afraid so.”

  “I’ll leave you with this stranger, but if you’ll permit me, I’ll return as soon as he’s gone.”

  “By all means!”

  The superior and Madame Bonacieux went out. Milady was left alone, her eyes fixed on the door. A moment later she heard the jangle of spurs on the stairs. Footsteps approached, the door opened, and a man appeared.

  Milady gasped with joy: for the man was the Comte de Rochefort, the demon familiar of His Eminence.

  LXII

  Two Varieties of Demon

  “Ah!” said Milady and Rochefort together. “It’s you!”

  “Yes, it’s me,” said Rochefort.

  “And you come . . . ?” asked Milady.

  “From La Rochelle. And you?”

  “From England.”

  “Buckingham?”

  “Dead, or seriously wounded. I left without being able to get anything from him. He was assassinated by a fanatic.”

  “Ah!” Rochefort smiled. “What a lucky event! His Eminence will be most gratified. Have you informed him?”

  “I wrote to him from Boulogne. But how is it you’re here?”

  “His Eminence was uneasy, and sent me to look for you.”

  “I arrived here only yesterday.”

  “And what have you been doing since yesterday?”

  “I haven’t wasted my time.”

  “Oh, I’m certain of that!”

  “Do you know who I’ve found here?”

  “No.”

  “Guess.”

  “How could I?”

  “That young woman the queen took from prison.”

  “The mistress of that pipsqueak d’Artagnan?”

  “Yes—Madame Bonacieux, whose refuge the cardinal couldn’t find.”

  “Well, well,” said Rochefort. “Two birds in the same hand. Monsieur le Cardinal was truly born under a star.”

  “Imagine my astonishment,” continued Milady, “when I found myself face to face with this woman.”

  “Does she know you?”

  “No.”

  “Then she regards you as a stranger?”

  Milady smiled. “I am her best friend!”

  “Upon my honor,” said Rochefort, “only you, my dear Countess, can perform such miracles.”

  “And just as well, Count,” said Milady. “Do you know what’s about to happen here?”

  “No.”

  “Tomorrow, or the day after, she’s going to be taken away from here by order of the queen.”

  “Indeed? And by whom?”

  “D’Artagnan and his friends.”

  “If they really do that, we’ll have no choice but to clap them in the Bastille.”

  “Why aren’t they there now?”

  “What can I do? Monsieur le Cardinal has a weakness for these men that I cannot understand.”

  “Indeed?”

  “Yes.”

  “Well, then, tell him this, Rochefort: our conversation at the inn at Colombier-Rouge was overheard by these four men, and after his departure one of them came up and took from me, by violence, the safe-conduct the cardinal had given me. Tell him that they warned Lord Winter of my voyage to England, and that this time they nearly prevented me from completing my mission, as they did with the diamond studs. Tell him that of these four men, only two, d’Artagnan and Athos, are truly to be feared. The third, Aramis, is Madame de Chevreuse’s lover, and can be left alone, since we know his secret. The fourth, Porthos, is a dolt and a braggart, and not worth bothering about.”

  “But surely these four men must be at the siege of La Rochelle.”

  “I thought the same thing, but a letter Madame Bonacieux had received from Madame de Chevreuse, and which she was foolish enough to show me, leads me to believe otherwise. I think these four men are on their way here to carry her away.”

  “The devil! What should we do?”

  “What are the cardinal’s instructions regarding me?”

  “I was to take your dispatches, written or verbal, for delivery. Then, once he knows what you’ve done, he can decide what you should do next.”

  “Meanwhile I must stay here?” Milady asked.

  “Here, or nearby.”

  “You can’t take me with you?”

  “No, the order is quite explicit. Near the camp you might be recognized—and your presence, you must understand, would compromise the cardinal, especially after what’s just happened across the Channel. Just tell me where you’ll be waiting for word from the cardinal so I’ll know where to find you.”

  “I certainly won’t be able to stay here.”

  “Why?”

  “You forget that my enemies may arrive at any moment.”

  “That’s true; but then, is that little woman to be allowed to escape His Eminence?”

  “Ha!” said Milady, with that smile unique to her. “Have you forgotten that I’m her best friend?”

  “Yes, that’s right! Then I can tell the cardinal, as regards this woman . . .”

  “Not to worry.”

  “Is that all?”

  “He will know what that means.”

  “He’ll certainly guess. Now, what should I do?”

  “Return without a moment’s delay. It seems to me the news you have to report is worth expending some effort.”

  “My carriage broke an axle coming into Lillers.”

  “Good.”

  “What’s go
od about it?”

  “I need it,” said the countess.

  “And how am I supposed to travel?”

  “In the saddle.”

  “That’s easy for you to say. It’s a hundred and eighty leagues!” “So?”

  Rochefort shrugged. “I’ve done worse. What then?”

  “When you pass through Lillers, send me your carriage, with orders to your driver to place himself at my disposal.”

  “Very well.”

  “No doubt you have an order from the cardinal?”

  “I have a warrant of full authority.”

  “Show it to the abbess. Tell her that someone will come for me, today or tomorrow, and that I’m to go with the person who presents himself in your name.”

  “Fine.”

  “Don’t forget to speak harshly about me when you talk to the abbess.”

  “Why is that?”

  “Because I am a victim of the cardinal. I must inspire confidence in that poor little Madame Bonacieux.”

  “But of course. Now, will you write me a report of everything that’s happened?”

  “I’ve told you everything, and a paper might be lost. You have a good memory; repeat what I’ve said.”

  “You’re right. But let me know where to find you, so I don’t have to waste time looking.”

  “All right—wait a moment.”

  “Do you need a map?”

  “Oh, I know this area quite well.”

  “You do? When were you here before?”

  “I grew up here.”

  “Indeed?”

  “One has to grow up somewhere, so one might as well make use of it.”

  “So you’ll wait for me, then . . . ?”

  “Let me see . . . ah, yes—at Armentières.”

  “Where is this Armentières?”

  “A little town on the Lys. I have but to cross the river to be in a foreign country.”

  “Perfect! Just so you only cross that river in the event of danger.”

  “Of course.”

  “If that happens, how will I know where you are?”

  “You don’t need your lackey?”

  “No.”

  “Is he a reliable man?”

  “Proven.”

  “Then give him to me. No one knows him; I’ll leave him behind, and he can lead you to me.”

  “So you’ll wait for me at this Armentières?”

  “At Armentières,” Milady replied.

  “Write the name down on a piece of paper, in case I forget it. The name of a town can’t compromise you, can it?”

  “Who knows? Never mind, I’ll do it.” Milady wrote the name on a scrap of paper.

  “Fine,” said Rochefort, taking the paper from Milady, folding it, and putting it in the lining of his hat. “Besides, in case I lose the paper, I’ll do as children do, and repeat the name to myself as I go along. Now, is that all?”

  “I think so.”

  “Let’s go over it: Buckingham dead or seriously wounded; your conference with the cardinal overheard by the four musketeers; Lord de Winter warned of your arrival at Portsmouth; d’Artagnan and Athos to the Bastille; Aramis the lover of Madame de Chevreuse; Porthos a fool; and Madame Bonacieux rediscovered. I’m to send you the carriage as soon as possible, place my lackey at your disposal, make you out to be a victim of the cardinal so the abbess won’t be suspicious, and meet you at Armentières on the banks of the Lys. Anything else?”

  “In truth, my dear Count, you’re a paragon of memory. Just one thing more . . .”

  “What’s that?”

  “I saw a pretty little wood adjacent to the convent garden; tell the abbess that I’m to be permitted to walk in that wood. Who knows? I may need a back door to escape through.”

  “You think of everything.”

  “On the other hand, you’ve forgotten something.”

  “What?”

  “To ask me if I need any money.”

  “Just so. How much do you want?”

  “All the gold you have.”

  “I have about five hundred pistoles.”

  “So do I; with a thousand pistoles I can face anything. Empty your pockets.”

  “At your service, Countess.”

  “A pleasure, my dear Count. When do you leave?”

  “In an hour. Time enough to have a bite to eat, while I send someone after a fresh post-horse.”

  “Wonderful. Adieu, Count!”

  “Adieu, Countess.”

  “Commend me to the cardinal,” said Milady.

  “Commend me to Satan,” Rochefort replied.

  Milady and Rochefort exchanged a smile, and parted.

  An hour later, Rochefort set out at a gallop; five hours after that, he passed through Arras. There, he was recognized by d’Artagnan— which inspired fresh fear in the hearts of the four musketeers, and imparted new urgency to their mission.

  LXIII

  A Drop of Water

  Rochefort had scarcely left when Madame Bonacieux reentered. She found Milady wearing a smile.

  “What you feared has happened,” the young woman said. “Tonight, or tomorrow, someone will come from the cardinal to take you away.”

  “Who told you that, my child?” asked Milady.

  “I heard it from the messenger’s own mouth.”

  “Come sit near me,” Milady said.

  “All right.”

  “I want to make sure no one can hear us.”

  “Why all these precautions?”

  “I’ll tell you—but first . . .” Milady rose and went to the door, opened it, looked down the corridor, and then returned and seated herself near Madame Bonacieux.

  “So he’s played his part well,” she said.

  “Who is that?”

  “The man who presented himself to the abbess as an emissary of the cardinal.”

  “He was playing a part?”

  “Yes, my child.”

  “Then, he wasn’t . . .”

  “That man,” said Milady, lowering her voice, “is my brother.” “Your brother!” said Madame Bonacieux.

  “Quietly! No one but you must know this secret, my child. If you confide it to anyone else, I’ll be lost—and you may be, as well.”

  “My God!”

  “Listen, here’s what happened: my brother, who was on his way to rescue me—by force, if necessary—encountered the genuine agent of the cardinal who was coming for me. He followed him. When they came to a lonely and deserted part of the road, he drew his sword and demanded the documents the messenger was carrying. The messenger tried to defend himself, and my brother killed him.”

  “Oh!” Madame Bonacieux shuddered.

  “It was the only way, you know. Then my brother decided to substitute deception for force. He took the papers and presented himself here as the cardinal’s emissary. In an hour or two a carriage will come to take me away, apparently on the behalf of His Eminence.”

  “I understand—this carriage will be sent by your brother.”

  “Just so. But that’s not all: that letter you received, that you thought was from Madame de Chevreuse . . .”

  “What about it?”

  “It’s a forgery.”

  “How can that be?”

  “It’s false, a trap to make sure you put up no resistance when they come to get you.”

  “But it’s d’Artagnan who’s coming.”

  “Don’t fool yourself. D’Artagnan and his friends are still at the siege of La Rochelle.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “My brother encountered agents of the cardinal dressed in the uniforms of musketeers. You would have been called to the gate, thinking you were going to meet friends, and then found yourself carried off back to Paris.”

  “Oh, my God! My head is spinning from all these terrible schemes.” Madame Bonacieux put her hands to her temples. “If this goes on, I’ll lose my mind!”

  “Listen . . .”

  “What?”

  “I hear a horse�
�it’s my brother, leaving. Come on, I want to wave goodbye.”

  Milady opened the window, and gestured to Madame Bonacieux to join her. The young woman followed.

  Rochefort passed at a gallop.

  “Goodbye, my brother!” cried Milady.

  The count raised his head, saw the two young women, and without pausing, gave Milady a friendly wave. “Good old Georges!” she said.

  She closed the window with an expression of affection and sadness. Then she resumed her seat, as if lost in her thoughts.

  “Dear lady!” said Madame Bonacieux. “Pardon me for interrupting you but, my God—what would you advise me to do? Please tell me—you have so much more experience!”

  “First of all,” said Milady, “my brother and I might be wrong, and d’Artagnan and his friends might really be coming to rescue you.”

  “Oh! That would be too wonderful,” cried Madame Bonacieux. “That kind of happiness isn’t for me.”

  “In that case, you understand, it would be only a matter of time—a sort of race as to who would arrive first. If your friends are faster, you’re saved; but if the cardinal’s creatures get here first, you’re lost.”

  “Oh, yes, yes—lost beyond hope! Then what should I do? What should I do?”

  “There’s a simple solution, quite natural . . .”

  “What? Tell me!”

  “To wait, hidden somewhere nearby, until you’re sure of the identity of whoever comes after you.”

  “But where would I hide?”

  “Oh, there’s no problem about that. I’m going to conceal myself a few leagues from here while waiting for my brother to rejoin me. I can take you with me, and we can hide there and wait together.”

  “But they won’t let me leave. I’m practically a prisoner here.”

  “Since I’m supposed to be taken away from here due to an order from the cardinal, no one would believe you were in a hurry to follow me.”

  “So?”

  “So: the person who’s coming to get me is my brother’s servant, and I’ll tell him what to do. When the carriage comes to the gate, you come along with me to bid me adieu. You step up on the running-board as if to embrace me one last time, the servant gives an order to the driver, and we leave at a gallop.”

  “But d’Artagnan, d’Artagnan—what if he comes?”

  “Won’t we know it?”

  “How?”

  “Nothing could be simpler. We’ll send my brother’s servant back to Béthune—we can trust him. He’ll wear a disguise, and keep an eye on the convent gate. If the cardinal’s agents come, he won’t do anything, but if it’s Monsieur d’Artagnan and his friends, he’ll lead them to us.”