Three Musketeers (Barnes & Noble Classics Series)

by Alexandre Dumas

  “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 Férou on a very handsome genet. Mousqueton followed him upon an Auvergne horse, small but very handsome. Porthos was resplendent with joy and pride.

  At the same time, Aramis made his appearance at the other end of the street upon a superb English charger. Bazin followed him upon a roan, holding by the halter a vigorous Mecklenburg horse; this was D’Artagnan’s mount.

  The two Musketeers met at the gate. Athos and D’Artagnan watched their approach from the window.

  “The devil!” cried Aramis, “you have a magnificent horse there, Porthos.”

  “Yes,” replied Porthos, “it is the one that ought to have been sent to me at first. A bad joke of the husband’s substituted the other; but the husband has been punished since, and I have obtained full satisfaction.”

  Planchet and Grimaud appeared in their turn, leading their masters’ steeds. D‘Artagnan and Athos put themselves into saddle with their companions, and all four set forward; Athos upon a horse he owed to a woman, Aramis on a horse he owed to his mistress, Porthos on a horse he owed to his procurator’s wife, and D’Artagnan on a horse he owed to his good fortune—the best mistress possible.

  The lackeys followed.

  As Porthos had foreseen, the cavalcade produced a good effect; and if Mme. Coquenard had met Porthos and seen what a superb appearance he made upon his handsome Spanish genet, she would not have regretted the bleeding she had inflicted upon the strongbox of her husband.

  Near the Louvre the four friends met with M. de Tréville, who was returning from St. Germain; he stopped them to offer his compliments upon their appointments, which in an instant drew round them a hundred gapers.

  D’Artagnan profited by the circumstance to speak to M. de Tréville of the letter with the great red seal and the cardinal’s arms. It is well understood that he did not breathe a word about the other.

  M. de Tréville approved of the resolution he had adopted, and assured him that if on the morrow he did not appear, he himself would undertake to find him, let him be where he might.

  At this moment the clock of La Samaritaine struck six; the four friends pleaded an engagement, and took leave of M. de Tréville.

  A short gallop brought them to the road of Chaillot; the day began to decline, carriages were passing and repassing. D’Artagnan, keeping at some distance from his friends, darted a scrutinizing glance into every carriage that appeared, but saw no face with which he was acquainted.

  At length, after waiting a quarter of an hour and just as twilight was beginning to thicken, a carriage appeared, coming at a quick pace on the road of Sèvres. A presentiment instantly told D‘Artagnan that this carriage contained the person who had appointed the rendezvous; the young man was himself astonished to find his heart beat so violently. Almost instantly a female head was put out at the window, with two fingers placed upon her mouth, either to enjoin silence or to send him a kiss. D’Artagnan uttered a slight cry of joy; this woman, or rather this apparition—for the carriage passed with the rapidity of a vision—was Mme. Bonacieux.

  By an involuntary movement and in spite of the injunction given, D’Artagnan put his horse into a gallop, and in a few strides overtook the carriage; but the window was hermetically closed, the vision had disappeared.

  D’Artagnan then remembered the injunction: “If you value your own life or that of those who love you, remain motionless, and as if you had seen nothing.”

  He stopped, therefore, trembling not for himself but for the poor woman who had evidently exposed herself to great danger by appointing this rendezvous.

  The carriage pursued its way, still going at a great pace, till it dashed into Paris, and disappeared.

  D’Artagnan remained fixed to the spot, astounded and not knowing what to think. If it was Mme. Bonacieux and if she was returning to Paris, why this fugitive rendezvous, why this simple exchange of a glance, why this lost kiss? If, on the other side, it was not she—which was still quite possible—for the little light that remained rendered a mistake easy—might it not be the commencement of some plot against him through the allurement of this woman, for whom his love was known?

  His three companions joined him. All had plainly seen a woman’s head appear at the window, but none of them, except Athos, knew Mme. Bonacieux. The opinion of Athos was that it was indeed she; but less preoccupied by that pretty face than D’Artagnan, he had fancied he saw a second head, a man’s head, inside the carriage.

  “If that be the case,” said D’Artagnan, “they are doubtless transporting her from one prison to another. But what can they intend to do with the poor creature, and how shall I ever meet her again?”

  “Friend,” said Athos, gravely, “remember that it is the dead alone with whom we are not likely to meet again on this earth. You know something of that, as well as I do, I think. Now, if your mistress is not dead, if it is she we have just seen, you will meet with her again some day or other. And perhaps, my God!” added he, with that misanthropic tone which was peculiar to him, “perhaps sooner than you wish.”

  Half past seven had sounded. The carriage had been twenty minutes behind the time appointed. D’Artagnan’s friends reminded him that he had a visit to pay, but at the same time bade him observe that there was yet time to retract.

  But D’Artagnan was at the same time impetuous and curious. He had made up his mind that he would go to the Palais-Cardinal, and that he would learn what his Eminence had to say to him. Nothing could turn him from his purpose.

  They reached the Rue St. Honoré, and in the Place du Palais-Cardinal they found the twelve invited Musketeers, walking about in expectation of their comrades. There only they explained to them the matter in hand.

  D’Artagnan was well known among the honorable corps of the king’s Musketeers, in which it was known he would one day take his place; he was considered beforehand as a comrade. It resulted from these antecedents that everyone entered heartily into the purpose for which they met; besides, it would not be unlikely that they would have an opportunity of playing either the cardinal or his people an ill turn,
and for such expeditions these worthy gentlemen were always ready.

  Athos divided them into three groups, assumed the command of one, gave the second to Aramis, and the third to Porthos; and then each group went and took their watch near an entrance.

  D’Artagnan, on his part, entered boldly at the principal gate.

  Although he felt himself ably supported, the young man was not without a little uneasiness as he ascended the great staircase, step by step. His conduct toward Milady bore a strong resemblance to treachery, and he was very suspicious of the political relations which existed between that woman and the cardinal. Still further, De Wardes, whom he had treated so ill, was one of the tools of his Eminence; and D’Artagnan knew that while his Eminence was terrible to his enemies, he was strongly attached to his friends.

  “If De Wardes has related all our affair to the cardinal, which is not to be doubted, and if he has recognized me, as is probable, I may consider myself almost as a condemned man,” said D’Artagnan, shaking his head. “But why has he waited till now? That’s all plain enough. Milady has laid her complaints against me with that hypocritical grief which renders her so interesting, and this last offense has made the cup overflow.”

  “Fortunately,” added he, “my good friends are down yonder, and they will not allow me to be carried away without a struggle. Nevertheless, Monsieur de Tréville’s company of Musketeers alone cannot maintain a war against the cardinal, who disposes of the forces of all France, and before whom the queen is without power and the king without will. D’Artagnan, my friend, you are brave, you are prudent, you have excellent qualities; but the women will ruin you!”

  He came to this melancholy conclusion as he entered the antechamber. He placed his letter in the hands of the usher on duty, who led him into the waiting room and passed on into the interior of the palace.

  In this waiting room were five or six of the cardinal’s Guards, who recognized D’Artagnan, and knowing that it was he who had wounded Jussac, they looked upon him with a smile of singular meaning.

  This smile appeared to D’Artagnan to be of bad augury. Only, as our Gascon was not easily intimidated—or rather, thanks to a great pride natural to the men of his country, he did not allow one easily to see what was passing in his mind when that which was passing at all resembled fear—he placed himself haughtily in front of Messieurs the Guards, and waited with his hand on his hip, in an attitude by no means deficient in majesty.

  The usher returned and made a sign to D’Artagnan to follow him. It appeared to the young man that the Guards, on seeing him depart, chuckled among themselves.

  He traversed a corridor, crossed a grand saloon, entered a library, and found himself in the presence of a man seated at a desk and writing.

  The usher introduced him, and retired without speaking a word. D’Artagnan remained standing and examined this man.

  D’Artagnan at first believed that he had to do with some judge examining his papers; but he perceived that the man at the desk wrote, or rather corrected, lines of unequal length, scanning the words on his fingers. He saw then that he was with a poet. At the end of an instant the poet closed his manuscript, upon the cover of which was written “Mirame, a Tragedy in Five Acts,” and raised his head.

  D’Artagnan recognized the cardinal.

  40

  THE CARDINAL

  The cardinal leaned his elbow on his manuscript, his cheek upon his hand, and looked intently at the young man for a moment. No one had a more searching eye than the Cardinal de Richelieu, and D’Artagnan felt this glance run through his veins like a fever.

  He however kept a good countenance, holding his hat in his hand and awaiting the good pleasure of his Eminence, without too much assurance, but also without too much humility.

  “Monsieur,” said the cardinal, “are you a D’Artagnan from Béarn?”

  “Yes, monseigneur,” replied the young man.

  “There are several branches of the D’Artagnans at Tarbes and in its environs,” said the cardinal; “to which do you belong?”

  “I am the son of him who served in the Religious Wars under the great King Henry, the father of his gracious Majesty.”

  “That is well. It is you who set out seven or eight months ago from your country to seek your fortune in the capital?”

  “Yes, monseigneur.”

  “You came through Meung, where something befell you. I don’t very well know what, but still something.”

  “Monseigneur,” said D’Artagnan, “this was what happened to me—”

  “Never mind, never mind!” resumed the cardinal, with a smile which indicated that he knew the story as well as he who wished to relate it. “You were recommended to Monsieur de Tréville, were you not?”

  “Yes, monseigneur; but in that unfortunate affair at Meung—”

  “The letter was lost,” replied his Eminence; “yes, I know that. But Monsieur de Tréville is a skilled physiognomist, who knows men at first sight; and he placed you in the company of his brother-in-law, Monsieur Dessessart, leaving you to hope that one day or other you should enter the Musketeers.”

  “Monseigneur is correctly informed,” said D’Artagnan.

  “Since that time many things have happened to you. You were walking one day behind the Chartreux, when it would have been better if you had been elsewhere. Then you took with your friends a journey to the waters of Forges; they stopped on the road, but you continued yours. That is all very simple: you had business in England.”

  “Monseigneur,” said D’Artagnan, quite confused, “I went—”

  “Hunting at Windsor, or elsewhere—that concerns nobody. I know, because it is my office to know everything. On your return you were received by an august personage, and I perceive with pleasure that you preserve the souvenir she gave you.”

  D’Artagnan placed his hand upon the queen’s diamond, which he wore, and quickly turned the stone inward; but it was too late.

  “The day after that, you received a visit from Cavois,” resumed the cardinal. “He went to desire you to come to the palace. You have not returned that visit, and you were wrong.”

  “Monseigneur, I feared I had incurred disgrace with your Eminence.”

  “How could that be, monsieur? Could you incur my displeasure by having followed the orders of your superiors with more intelligence and courage than another would have done? It is the people who do not obey that I punish, and not those who, like you, obey—but too well. As a proof, remember the date of the day on which I had you bidden to come to me, and seek in your memory for what happened to you that very night.”

  That was the very evening when the abduction of Mme. Bonacieux took place. D’Artagnan trembled; and he likewise recollected that during the past half hour the poor woman had passed close to him, without doubt carried away by the same power that had caused her disappearance.

  “In short,” continued the cardinal, “as I have heard nothing of you for some time past, I wished to know what you were doing. Besides, you owe me some thanks. You must yourself have remarked how much you have been considered in all the circumstances.”

  D’Artagnan bowed with respect.

  “That,” continued the cardinal, “arose not only from a feeling of natural equity, but likewise from a plan I have marked out with respect to you.”

  D’Artagnan became more and more astonished.

  “I wished to explain this plan to you on the day you received my first invitation; but you did not come. Fortunately, nothing is lost by this delay, and you are now about to hear it. Sit down there, before me, Monsieur 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 m
en of courage. But young as you are, and scarcely entering into the world, you have powerful enemies; if you do not take great heed, they will destroy you.”

  “Alas, monseigneur!” replied the young man, “very easily, no doubt, for they are strong and well supported, while I am alone.”

  “Yes, that’s true; but alone as you are, you have done much already, and will do still more, I don’t doubt. Yet you have need, I believe, to be guided in the adventurous career you have undertaken; for, if I mistake not, you came to Paris with the ambitious idea of making your fortune.”

  “I am at the age of extravagant hopes, monseigneur,” said D’Artagnan.

  “There are no extravagant hopes but for fools, monsieur, and you are a man of understanding. Now, what would you say to an ensign’s commission in my Guards, and a company after the campaign?”

  “Ah, monseigneur.”

  “You accept it, do you not?”

  “Monseigneur,” replied D’Artagnan, with an embarrassed air.

  “How? You refuse?” cried the cardinal, with astonishment.

  “I am in his Majesty’s Guards, monseigneur, and I have no reason to be dissatisfied.”

  “But it appears to me that my Guards—mine—are also his Majesty’s Guards; and whoever serves in a French corps serves the king.”

  “Monseigneur, your Eminence has ill understood my words.”

  “You want a pretext, do you not? I comprehend. Well, you have this excuse: advancement, the opening campaign, the opportunity which I offer you—so much for the world. As regards yourself, the need of protection; for it is fit you should know, Monsieur d’Artagnan, that I have received heavy and serious complaints against you. You do not consecrate your days and nights wholly to the king’s service.”

  D’Artagnan colored.

  “In fact,” said the cardinal, placing his hand upon a bundle of papers, “I have here a whole pile which concerns you. I know you to be a man of resolution; and your services, well directed, instead of leading you to ill, might be very advantageous to you. Come; reflect, and decide.”