Three Musketeers (Barnes & Noble Classics Series)

by Alexandre Dumas

  Planchet, Grimaud, Bazin, and Mousqueton presented themselves, and received clear, positive, and serious orders from Athos.

  They must set out the next morning at daybreak, and go to Armentières-each by a different route. Planchet, the most intelligent of the four, was to follow that by which the carriage had gone upon which the four friends had fired, and which was accompanied, as may be remembered, by Rochefort’s servant.

  Athos set the lackeys to work first because, since these men had been in the service of himself and his friends he had discovered in each of them different and essential qualities. Then, lackeys who ask questions inspire less mistrust than masters, and meet with more sympathy among those to whom they address themselves. Besides, Milady knew the masters, and did not know the lackeys; on the contrary, the lackeys knew Milady perfectly.

  All four were to meet the next day at eleven o’clock. If they had discovered Milady’s retreat, three were to remain on guard; the fourth was to return to Béthune in order to inform Athos and serve as a guide to the four friends. These arrangements made, the lackeys retired.

  Athos then arose from his chair, girded on his sword, enveloped himself in his cloak, and left the hotel. It was nearly ten o‘clock. At ten o’clock in the evening, it is well known, the streets in provincial towns are very little frequented. Athos nevertheless was visibly anxious to find someone of whom he could ask a question. At length he met a belated passenger, went up to him, and spoke a few words to him. The man he addressed recoiled with terror, and only answered the few words of the Musketeer by pointing. Athos offered the man half a pistole to accompany him, but the man refused.

  Athos then plunged into the street the man had indicated with his finger; but arriving at four crossroads, he stopped again, visibly embarrassed. Nevertheless, as the crossroads offered him a better chance than any other place of meeting somebody, he stood still. In a few minutes a night watch passed. Athos repeated to him the same question he had asked the first person he met. The night watch evinced the same terror, refused, in his turn, to accompany Athos, and only pointed with his hand to the road he was to take.

  Athos walked in the direction indicated, and reached the suburb situated at the opposite extremity of the city from that by which he and his friends had entered it. There he again appeared uneasy and embarrassed, and stopped for the third time.

  Fortunately, a mendicant passed, who, coming up to Athos to ask charity, Athos offered him half a crown to accompany him where he was going. The mendicant hesitated at first, but at the sight of the piece of silver which shone in the darkness he consented, and walked on before Athos.

  Arrived at the angle of the street, he pointed to a small house, isolated, solitary, and dismal. Athos went toward the house, while the mendicant, who had received his reward, left as fast as his legs could carry him.

  Athos went round the house before he could distinguish the door, amid the red color in which the house was painted. No light appeared through the chinks of the shutters; no noise gave reason to believe that it was inhabited. It was dark and silent as the tomb.

  Three times Athos knocked without receiving an answer. At the third knock, however, steps were heard inside. The door at length was opened, and a man appeared, of high stature, pale complexion, and black hair and beard.

  Athos and he exchanged some words in a low voice, then the tall man made a sign to the Musketeer that he might come in. Athos immediately profited by the permission, and the door was closed behind him.

  The man whom Athos had come so far to seek, and whom he had found with so much trouble, introduced him into his laboratory, where he was engaged in fastening together with iron wire the dry bones of a skeleton. All the frame was adjusted except the head, which lay on the table.

  All the rest of the furniture indicated that the dweller in this house occupied himself with the study of natural science. There were large bottles filled with serpents, ticketed according to their species; dried lizards shone like emeralds set in great squares of black wood, and bunches of wild odoriferous herbs, doubtless possessed of virtues unknown to common men, were fastened to the ceiling and hung down in the corners of the apartment. There was no family, no servant; the tall man alone inhabited this house.

  Athos cast a cold and indifferent glance upon the objects we have described, and at the invitation of him whom he came to seek sat down near him.

  Then he explained to him the cause of his visit, and the service he required of him. But scarcely had he expressed his request when the unknown, who remained standing before the Musketeer, drew back with signs of terror, and refused. Then Athos took from his pocket a small paper, on which two lines were written, accompanied by a signature and a seal, and presented them to him who had made too prematurely these signs of repugnance. The tall man had scarcely read these lines, seen the signature, and recognized the seal, when he bowed to denote that he had no longer any objection to make, and that he was ready to obey.

  Athos required no more. He arose, bowed, went out, returned by the same way he came, re-entered the hotel, and went to his apartment.

  At daybreak D’Artagnan entered the chamber, and demanded what was to be done.

  “To wait,” replied Athos.

  Some minutes after, the superior of the convent sent to inform the Musketeers that the burial would take place at midday. As to the poisoner, they had heard no tidings of her whatever, only she must have made her escape through the garden, on the sand of which her footsteps could be traced, and the door of which had been found shut. As to the key, it had disappeared.

  At the hour appointed, Lord de Winter and the four friends repaired to the convent; the bells tolled, the chapel was open, the grating of the choir was closed. In the middle of the choir the body of the victim, clothed in her novitiate dress, was exposed. On each side of the choir and behind the gratings opening into the convent was assembled the whole community of the Carmelites, who listened to the divine service, and mingled their chant with the chant of the priests, without seeing the profane, or being seen by them.

  At the door of the chapel D’Artagnan felt his courage fail anew, and returned to look for Athos; but Athos had disappeared.

  Faithful to his mission of vengeance, Athos had requested to be conducted to the garden; and there upon the sand following the light steps of this woman, who left sharp tracks wherever she went, he advanced toward the gate which led into the wood, and causing it to be opened, he went out into the forest.

  Then all his suspicions were confirmed; the road by which the carriage had disappeared encircled the forest. Athos followed the road for some time, his eyes fixed upon the ground; slight stains of blood, which came from the wound inflicted upon the man who accompanied the carriage as a courier, or from one of the horses, dotted the road. At the end of three-quarters of a league, within fifty paces of Festubert, a larger bloodstain appeared; the ground was trampled by horses. Between the forest and this accursed spot, a little behind the trampled ground, was the same track of small feet as in the garden; the carriage had stopped here. At this spot Milady had come out of the wood, and entered the carriage.

  Satisfied with this discovery which confirmed all his suspicions, Athos returned to the hotel, and found Planchet impatiently waiting for him.

  Everything was as Athos had foreseen.

  Planchet had followed the road; like Athos, he had discovered the stains of blood; like Athos, he had noted the spot where the horses had halted. But he had gone farther than Athos—for at the village of Festubert, while drinking at an inn, he had learned without needing to ask a question that the evening before, at half-past eight, a wounded man who accompanied a lady traveling in a post-chaise had been obliged to stop, unable to go farther. The accident was set down to the account of robbers, who had stopped the chaise in the wood. The man remained in the village; the woman had had a relay of horses, and continued her journey.

  Planchet went in search of the postillion who had driven her, and found him. He had taken th
e lady as far as Fromelles; and from Fromelles she had set out for Armentières. Planchet took the crossroad, and by seven o’clock in the morning he was at Armentières.

  There was but one tavern, the Post. Planchet went and presented himself as a lackey out of a place, who was in search of a situation. He had not chatted ten minutes with the people of the tavern before he learned that a woman had come there alone about eleven o’clock the night before, had engaged a chamber, had sent for the master of the hotel, and told him she desired to remain some time in the neighborhood.

  Planchet had no need to learn more. He hastened to the rendezvous, found the lackeys at their posts, placed them as sentinels at all the outlets of the hotel, and came to find Athos, who had just received this information when his friends returned.

  All their countenances were melancholy and gloomy, even the mild countenance of Aramis.

  “What is to be done?” asked D’Artagnan.

  “To wait!” replied Athos.

  Each retired to his own apartment.

  At eight o’clock in the evening Athos ordered the horses to be saddled, and had Lord de Winter and his friends notified that they must prepare for the expedition.

  In an instant all five were ready. Each examined his arms, and put them in order. Athos came down last, and found D’Artagnan already on horseback, and growing impatient.

  “Patience!” cried Athos; “one of our party is still wanting.”

  The four horsemen looked round them with astonishment, for they sought vainly in their minds to know who this other person could be.

  At this moment Planchet brought out Athos’s horse; the Musketeer leaped lightly into the saddle.

  “Wait for me,” cried he, “I will soon be back,” and he set off at a gallop.

  In a quarter of an hour he returned, accompanied by a tall man, masked, and wrapped in a large red cloak.

  Lord de Winter and the three Musketeers looked at one another inquiringly. Neither could give the others any information, for all were ignorant who this man could be; nevertheless, they felt convinced that all was as it should be, as it was done by the order of Athos.

  At nine o’clock, guided by Planchet, the little cavalcade set out, taking the route the carriage had taken.

  It was a melancholy sight—that of these six men, traveling in silence, each plunged in his own thoughts, sad as despair, gloomy as chastisement.

  65

  TRIAL

  It was a stormy and dark night; vast clouds covered the heavens, concealing the stars; the moon would not rise till midnight.

  Occasionally, by the light of a flash of lightning which gleamed along the horizon, the road stretched itself before them, white and solitary; the flash extinct, all remained in darkness.

  Every minute Athos was forced to restrain D’Artagnan, constantly in advance of the little troop, and to beg him to keep in the line, which in an instant he again departed from. He had but one thought—to go forward; and he went.

  They passed in silence through the little village of Festubert, where the wounded servant was, and then skirted the wood of Richebourg. At Herlier, Planchet, who led the column, turned to the left.

  Several times Lord de Winter, Porthos, or Aramis, tried to talk with the man in the red cloak; but to every interrogation which they put to him he bowed, without response. The travelers then comprehended that there must be some reason why the unknown preserved such a silence, and ceased to address themselves to him.

  The storm increased, the flashes succeeded one another more rapidly, the thunder began to growl, and the wind, the precursor of a hurricane, whistled in the plumes and the hair of the horsemen.

  The cavalcade trotted on more sharply.

  A little before they came to Fromelles the storm burst. They spread their cloaks. There remained three leagues to travel, and they did it amid torrents of rain.

  D’Artagnan took off his hat, and could not be persuaded to make use of his cloak. He found pleasure in feeling the water trickle over his burning brow and over his body, agitated by feverish shudders.

  The moment the little troop passed Goskal and were approaching the Port, a man sheltered beneath a tree detached himself from the trunk with which he had been confounded in the darkness, and advanced into the middle of the road, putting his finger on his lips.

  Athos recognized Grimaud.

  “What’s the matter?” cried Athos. “Has she left Armentières? ”

  Grimaud made a sign in the affirmative. D’Artagnan ground his teeth.

  “Silence, D’Artagnan!” said Athos. “I have charged myself with this affair. It is for me, then, to interrogate Grimaud.”

  “Where is she?” asked Athos.

  Grimaud extended his hands in the direction of the Lys. “Far from here?” asked Athos.

  Grimaud showed his master his forefinger bent.

  “Alone?” asked Athos.

  Grimaud made the sign yes.

  “Gentlemen,” said Athos, “she is alone within half a league of us, in the direction of the river.”

  “That’s well,” said D’Artagnan. “Lead us, Grimaud.” Grimaud took his course across the country, and acted as guide to the cavalcade.

  At the end of five hundred paces, more or less, they came to a rivulet, which they forded.

  By the aid of the lightning they perceived the village of Erquinheim.

  “Is she here, Grimaud?” asked Athos.

  Grimaud shook his head negatively.

  “Silence, then!” cried Athos.

  And the troop continued their route.

  Another flash illuminated all around them. Grimaud extended his arm, and by the bluish splendor of the fiery serpent they distinguished a little isolated house on the banks of the river, within a hundred paces of a ferry.

  One window was lighted.

  “Here we are!” said Athos.

  At this moment a man who had been crouching in a ditch jumped up and came towards them. It was Mousqueton. He pointed his finger to the lighted window.

  “She is there,” said he.

  “And Bazin?” asked Athos.

  “While I watched the window, he guarded the door.”

  “Good!” said Athos. “You are good and faithful servants.”

  Athos sprang from his horse, gave the bridle to Grimaud, and advanced toward the window, after having made a sign to the rest of the troop to go toward the door.

  The little house was surrounded by a low, quickset hedge, two or three feet high. Athos sprang over the hedge and went up to the window, which was without shutters, but had the half-curtains closely drawn.

  He mounted the skirting stone that his eyes might look over the curtain.

  By the light of a lamp he saw a woman, wrapped in a dark mantle, seated upon a stool near a dying fire. Her elbows were placed upon a mean table, and she leaned her head upon her two hands, which were white as ivory.

  He could not distinguish her countenance, but a sinister smile passed over the lips of Athos. He was not deceived; it was she whom he sought.

  At this moment a horse neighed. Milady raised her head, saw close to the panes the pale face of Athos, and screamed.

  Athos, perceiving that she knew him, pushed the window with his knee and hand. The window yielded. The squares were broken to shivers; and Athos, like the spectre of vengeance, leaped into the room.

  Milady rushed to the door and opened it. More pale and menacing than Athos, D’Artagnan stood on the threshold.

  Milady recoiled, uttering a cry. D’Artagnan, believing she might have means of flight and fearing she should escape, drew a pistol from his belt; but Athos raised his hand.

  “Put back that weapon, D’Artagnan!” said he; “this woman must be tried, not assassinated. Wait an instant, my friend, and you shall be satisfied. Come in, gentlemen.”

  D‘Artagnan obeyed; for Athos had the solemn voice and the powerful gesture of a judge sent by the Lord himself. Behind D’Artagnan entered Porthos, Aramis, Lord de Winter, and the man in
the red cloak.

  The four lackeys guarded the door and the window.

  Milady had sunk into a chair, with her hands extended, as if to conjure this terrible apparition. Perceiving her brother-in-law, she uttered a terrible cry.

  “What do you want?” screamed Milady.

  “We want,” said Athos, “Charlotte Backson, who first was called Comtesse de la Fére, and afterwards Milady de Winter, Baroness of Sheffield.”

  “That is I! that is I!” murmured Milady, in extreme terror; “what do you want?”

  “We wish to judge you according to your crime,” said Athos; “you shall be free to defend yourself. Justify yourself if you can. M. d’Artagnan, it is for you to accuse her first.”

  D’Artagnan advanced.

  “Before God and before men,” said he, “I accuse this woman of having poisoned Constance Bonacieux, who died yesterday evening.”

  He turned towards Porthos and Aramis.

  “We bear witness to this,” said the two Musketeers, with one voice.

  D’Artagnan continued: “Before God and before men, I accuse this woman of having attempted to poison me, in wine which she sent me from Villeroy, with a forged letter, as if that wine came from my friends. God preserved me, but a man named Brisemont died in my place.”

  “We bear witness to this,” said Porthos and Aramis, in the same manner as before.

  “Before God and before men, I accuse this woman of having urged me to the murder of the Baron de Wardes; but as no one else can attest the truth of this accusation, I attest it myself. I have done.” And D’Artagnan passed to the other side of the room with Porthos and Aramis.

  “Your turn, my Lord,” said Athos.

  The baron came forward.

  “Before God and before men,” said he, “I accuse this woman of having caused the assassination of the Duke of Buckingham.”

  “The Duke of Buckingham assassinated!” cried all present, with one voice.

  “Yes,” said the baron, “assassinated. On receiving the warning letter you wrote to me, I had this woman arrested, and gave her in charge to a loyal servant. She corrupted this man; she placed the poniard in his hand; she made him kill the duke. And at this moment, perhaps, Felton is paying with his head for the crime of this fury!”