"Eh!" cried Athos, "are not those fellows poachers they have arrested
yonder? They are. Then another important thing, Raoul: should you be
wounded in a battle, and fall from your horse, if you have any strength
left, disentangle yourself from the line that your regiment has formed;
otherwise, it may be driven back and you will be trampled to death by
the horses. At all events, should you be wounded, write to me that very
instant, or get some one at once to write to me. We are judges of
wounds, we old soldiers," Athos added, smiling.
"Thank you, sir," answered the young man, much moved.
They arrived that very moment at the gate of the town, guarded by two
sentinels.
"Here comes a young gentleman," said one of them, "who seems as if he
were going to join the army."
"How do you make that out?" inquired Athos.
"By his manner, sir, and his age; he’s the second to-day."
"Has a young man, such as I am, gone through this morning, then?" asked
Raoul.
"Faith, yes, with a haughty presence, a fine equipage; such as the son
of a noble house would have."
"He will be my companion on the journey, sir," cried Raoul. "Alas! he
cannot make me forget what I shall have lost!"
Thus talking, they traversed the streets, full of people on account of
the fete, and arrived opposite the old cathedral, where first mass was
going on.
"Let us alight; Raoul," said Athos. "Olivain, take care of our horses
and give me my sword."
The two gentlemen then went into the church. Athos gave Raoul some of
the holy water. A love as tender as that of a lover for his mistress
dwells, undoubtedly, in some paternal hearts toward a son.
Athos said a word to one of the vergers, who bowed and proceeded toward
the basement.
"Come, Raoul," he said, "let us follow this man."
The verger opened the iron grating that guarded the royal tombs and
stood on the topmost step, whilst Athos and Raoul descended. The
sepulchral depths of the descent were dimly lighted by a silver lamp on
the lowest step; and just below this lamp there was laid, wrapped in a
flowing mantle of violet velvet, worked with fleurs-de-lis of gold, a
catafalque resting on trestles of oak. The young man, prepared for this
scene by the state of his own feelings, which were mournful, and by the
majesty of the cathedral which he had passed through, descended in a
slow and solemn manner and stood with head uncovered before these mortal
spoils of the last king, who was not to be placed by the side of his
forefathers until his successor should take his place there; and who
appeared to abide on that spot, that he might thus address human pride,
so sure to be exalted by the glories of a throne: "Dust of the earth!
Here I await thee!"
There was profound silence.
Then Athos raised his hand and pointing to the coffin:
"This temporary sepulture is," he said, "that of a man who was of feeble
mind, yet one whose reign was full of great events; because over this
king watched the spirit of another man, even as this lamp keeps vigil
over this coffin and illumines it. He whose intellect was thus supreme,
Raoul, was the actual sovereign; the other, nothing but a phantom to
whom he lent a soul; and yet, so powerful is majesty amongst us, this
man has not even the honor of a tomb at the feet of him in whose service
his life was worn away. Remember, Raoul, this! If Richelieu made the
king, by comparison, seem small, he made royalty great. The Palace of
the Louvre contains two things--the king, who must die, and royalty,
which never dies. The minister, so feared, so hated by his master, has
descended into the tomb, drawing after him the king, whom he would not
leave alone on earth, lest his work should be destroyed. So blind were
his contemporaries that they regarded the cardinal’s death as a
deliverance; and I, even I, opposed the designs of the great man who
held the destinies of France within the hollow of his hand. Raoul, learn
how to distinguish the king from royalty; the king is but a man; royalty
is the gift of God. Whenever you hesitate as to whom you ought to serve,
abandon the exterior, the material appearance for the invisible
principle, for the invisible principle is everything. Raoul, I seem to
read your future destiny as through a cloud. It will be happier, I
think, than ours has been. Different in your fate from us, you will have
a king without a minister, whom you may serve, love, respect. Should the
king prove a tyrant, for power begets tyranny, serve, love, respect
royalty, that Divine right, that celestial spark which makes this dust
still powerful and holy, so that we--gentlemen, nevertheless, of rank
and condition--are as nothing in comparison with the cold corpse there
extended."
"I shall adore God, sir," said Raoul, "respect royalty and ever serve
the king. And if death be my lot, I hope to die for the king, for
royalty and for God. Have I, sir, comprehended your instructions?"
Athos smiled.
"Yours is a noble nature." he said; "here is your sword."
Raoul bent his knee to the ground.
"It was worn by my father, a loyal gentleman. I have worn it in my turn
and it has sometimes not been disgraced when the hilt was in my hand and
the sheath at my side. Should your hand still be too weak to use this
sword, Raoul, so much the better. You will have the more time to learn
to draw it only when it ought to be used."
"Sir," replied Raoul, putting the sword to his lips as he received it
from the count, "I owe you everything and yet this sword is the most
precious gift you have yet made me. I will wear it, I swear to you, as a
grateful man should do."
"’Tis well; arise, vicomte, embrace me."
Raoul arose and threw himself with emotion into the count’s arms.
"Adieu," faltered the count, who felt his heart die away within him;
"adieu, and think of me."
"Oh! for ever and ever!" cried the youth; "oh! I swear to you, sir,
should any harm befall me, your name will be the last name that I shall
utter, the remembrance of you my last thought."
Athos hastened upstairs to conceal his emotion, and regained with
hurried steps the porch where Olivain was waiting with the horses.
"Olivain," said Athos, showing the servant Raoul’s shoulder-belt,
"tighten the buckle of the sword, it falls too low. You will accompany
monsieur le vicomte till Grimaud rejoins you. You know, Raoul, Grimaud
is an old and zealous servant; he will follow you."
"Yes, sir," answered Raoul.
"Now to horse, that I may see you depart!"
Raoul obeyed.
"Adieu, Raoul," said the count; "adieu, my dearest boy!"
"Adieu, sir, adieu, my beloved protector."
Athos waved his hand--he dared not trust himself to speak: and Raoul
went away, his head uncovered. Athos remained motionless, looking after
him until he turned the corner of the street.
Then the count threw the bridle of his horse into the hands of a
peasant, remounted the steps, went into the cathedral, there to kneel
down in the darkest corner and pray.
23. One of the Forty Methods of Escape of the Duc de Beaufort.
Meanwhile time was passing on for the prisoner, as well as for those who
were preparing his escape; only for him it passed more slowly. Unlike
other men, who enter with ardor upon a perilous resolution and grow cold
as the moment of execution approaches, the Duc de Beaufort, whose
buoyant courage had become a proverb, seemed to push time before him and
sought most eagerly to hasten the hour of action. In his escape alone,
apart from his plans for the future, which, it must be admitted, were
for the present sufficiently vague and uncertain, there was a beginning
of vengeance which filled his heart. In the first place his escape would
be a serious misfortune to Monsieur de Chavigny, whom he hated for the
petty persecutions he owed to him. It would be a still worse affair for
Mazarin, whom he execrated for the greater offences he had committed. It
may be observed that there was a proper proportion in his sentiments
toward the governor of the prison and the minister--toward the
subordinate and the master.
Then Monsieur de Beaufort, who was so familiar with the interior of the
Palais Royal, though he did not know the relations existing between the
queen and the cardinal, pictured to himself, in his prison, all that
dramatic excitement which would ensue when the rumor should run from the
minister’s cabinet to the chamber of Anne of Austria: "Monsieur de
Beaufort has escaped!" Whilst saying that to himself, Monsieur de
Beaufort smiled pleasantly and imagined himself already outside,
breathing the air of the plains and the forests, pressing a strong horse
between his knees and crying out in a loud voice, "I am free!"
It is true that on coming to himself he found that he was still within
four walls; he saw La Ramee twirling his thumbs ten feet from him, and
his guards laughing and drinking in the ante-chamber. The only thing
that was pleasant to him in that odious tableau--such is the instability
of the human mind--was the sullen face of Grimaud, for whom he had at
first conceived such a hatred and who now was all his hope. Grimaud
seemed to him an Antinous. It is needless to say that this
transformation was visible only to the prisoner’s feverish imagination.
Grimaud was still the same, and therefore he retained the entire
confidence of his superior, La Ramee, who now relied upon him more than
he did upon himself, for, as we have said, La Ramee felt at the bottom
of his heart a certain weakness for Monsieur de Beaufort.
And so the good La Ramee made a festivity of the little supper with his
prisoner. He had but one fault--he was a gourmand; he had found the
pates good, the wine excellent. Now the successor of Pere Marteau had
promised him a pate of pheasant instead of a pate of fowl, and
Chambertin wine instead of Macon. All this, set off by the presence of
that excellent prince, who was so good-natured, who invented so droll
tricks against Monsieur de Chavigny and so fine jokes against Mazarin,
made for La Ramee the approaching Pentecost one of the four great feasts
of the year. He therefore looked forward to six o’clock with as much
impatience as the duke himself.
Since daybreak La Ramee had been occupied with the preparations, and
trusting no one but himself, he had visited personally the successor of
Pere Marteau. The latter had surpassed himself; he showed La Ramee a
monstrous pate, ornamented with Monsieur de Beaufort’s coat-of-arms. It
was empty as yet, but a pheasant and two partridges were lying near it.
La Ramee’s mouth watered and he returned to the duke’s chamber rubbing
his hands. To crown his happiness, Monsieur de Chavigny had started on a
journey that morning and in his absence La Ramee was deputy-governor of
the chateau.
As for Grimaud, he seemed more sullen than ever.
In the course of the forenoon Monsieur de Beaufort had a game of tennis
with La Ramee; a sign from Grimaud put him on the alert. Grimaud, going
in advance, followed the course which they were to take in the evening.
The game was played in an inclosure called the little court of the
chateau, a place quite deserted except when Monsieur de Beaufort was
playing; and even then the precaution seemed superfluous, the wall was
so high.
There were three gates to open before reaching the inclosure, each by a
different key. When they arrived Grimaud went carelessly and sat down by
a loophole in the wall, letting his legs dangle outside. It was evident
that there the rope ladder was to be attached.
This manoeuvre, transparent to the Duc de Beaufort, was quite
unintelligible to La Ramee.
The game at tennis, which, upon a sign from Grimaud, Monsieur de
Beaufort had consented to play, began in the afternoon. The duke was in
full strength and beat La Ramee completely.
Four of the guards, who were constantly near the prisoner, assisted in
picking up the tennis balls. When the game was over, the duke, laughing
at La Ramee for his bad play, offered these men two louis d’or to go and
drink his health, with their four other comrades.
The guards asked permission of La Ramee, who gave it to them, but not
till the evening, however; until then he had business and the prisoner
was not to be left alone.
Six o’clock came and, although they were not to sit down to table until
seven o’clock, dinner was ready and served up. Upon a sideboard appeared
the colossal pie with the duke’s arms on it, and seemingly cooked to a
turn, as far as one could judge by the golden color which illuminated
the crust.
The rest of the dinner was to come.
Every one was impatient, La Ramee to sit down to table, the guards to go
and drink, the duke to escape.
Grimaud alone was calm as ever. One might have fancied that Athos had
educated him with the express forethought of such a great event.
There were moments when, looking at Grimaud, the duke asked himself if
he was not dreaming and if that marble figure was really at his service
and would grow animated when the moment came for action.
La Ramee sent away the guards, desiring them to drink to the duke’s
health, and as soon as they were gone shut all the doors, put the keys
in his pocket and showed the table to the prince with an air that
signified:
"Whenever my lord pleases."
The prince looked at Grimaud, Grimaud looked at the clock; it was hardly
a quarter-past six. The escape was fixed to take place at seven o’clock;
there was therefore three-quarters of an hour to wait.
The duke, in order to pass away another quarter of an hour, pretended to
be reading something that interested him and muttered that he wished
they would allow him to finish his chapter. La Ramee went up to him and
looked over his shoulder to see what sort of a book it was that had so
singular an influence over the prisoner as to make him put off taking
his dinner.
It was "Caesar’s Commentaries," which La Ramee had lent him, contrary to
the orders of the governor; and La Ramee resolved never again to disobey
these injunctions.
Meantime he uncorked the bottles and went to smell if the pie was good.
At half-past six the duke arose and said very gravely:
"Certainly, Caesar was the greatest man of ancient times."
"You think so, my lord?" answered La Ramee.
"Yes."
"Well, as for me, I prefer Hannibal."
"And why, pray, Master La Ramee?" asked the duke.
"Because he left no Commentaries," replied La Ramee, with his coarse
laugh.
The duke vouchsafed no reply, but sitting down at the table made a sign
that La Ramee should seat himself opposite. There is nothing so
expressive as the face of an epicure who finds himself before a well
spread table, so La Ramee, when receiving his plate of soup from
Grimaud, presented a type of perfect bliss.
The duke smiled.
"Zounds!" he said; "I don’t suppose there is a more contented man at
this moment in all the kingdom than yourself!"
"You are right, my lord duke," answered the officer; "I don’t know any
pleasanter sight on earth than a well covered table; and when, added to
that, he who does the honors is the grandson of Henry IV., you will, my
lord duke, easily comprehend that the honor fairly doubles the pleasure
one enjoys."
The duke, in his turn, bowed, and an imperceptible smile appeared on the
face of Grimaud, who kept behind La Ramee.
"My dear La Ramee," said the duke, "you are the only man to turn such
faultless compliments."
"No, my lord duke," replied La Ramee, in the fullness of his heart; "I
say what I think; there is no compliment in what I say to you----"
"Then you are attached to me?" asked the duke.
"To own the truth, I should be inconsolable if you were to leave
Vincennes."
"A droll way of showing your affliction." The duke meant to say
"affection."
"But, my lord," returned La Ramee, "what would you do if you got out?
Every folly you committed would embroil you with the court and they
would put you into the Bastile, instead of Vincennes. Now, Monsieur de
Chavigny is not amiable, I allow, but Monsieur du Tremblay is
considerably worse."
"Indeed!" exclaimed the duke, who from time to time looked at the clock,
the fingers of which seemed to move with sickening slowness.
"But what can you expect from the brother of a capuchin monk, brought up
in the school of Cardinal Richelieu? Ah, my lord, it is a great
happiness that the queen, who always wished you well, had a fancy to
send you here, where there’s a promenade and a tennis court, good air,
and a good table."
"In short," answered the duke, "if I comprehend you aright, La Ramee, I
am ungrateful for having ever thought of leaving this place?"
"Oh! my lord duke, ’tis the height of ingratitude; but your highness has
never seriously thought of it?"
"Yes," returned the duke, "I must confess I sometimes think of it."
"Still by one of your forty methods, your highness?"
"Yes, yes, indeed."
"My lord," said La Ramee, "now we are quite at our ease and enjoying
ourselves, pray tell me one of those forty ways invented by your
highness."
"Willingly," answered the duke, "give me the pie!"
"I am listening," said La Ramee, leaning back in his armchair and
raising his glass of Madeira to his lips, and winking his eye that he
might see the sun through the rich liquid that he was about to taste.
The duke glanced at the clock. In ten minutes it would strike seven.
Grimaud placed the pie before the duke, who took a knife with a silver
blade to raise the upper crust; but La Ramee, who was afraid of any harm
happening to this fine work of art, passed his knife, which had an iron
blade, to the duke.
"Thank you, La Ramee," said the prisoner.
"Well, my lord! this famous invention of yours?"
"Must I tell you," replied the duke, "on what I most reckon and what I
determine to try first?"
"Yes, that’s the thing, my lord!" cried his custodian, gaily.
"Well, I should hope, in the first instance, to have for keeper an
honest fellow like you."
"And you have me, my lord. Well?"
"Having, then, a keeper like La Ramee, I should try also to have
introduced to him by some friend or other a man who would be devoted to
me, who would assist me in my flight."
"Come, come," said La Ramee, "that’s not a bad idea."
"Capital, isn’t it? for instance, the former servingman of some brave
gentleman, an enemy himself to Mazarin, as every gentleman ought to be."
"Hush! don’t let us talk politics, my lord."
"Then my keeper would begin to trust this man and to depend upon him,
and I should have news from those without the prison walls."
"Ah, yes! but how can the news be brought to you?"
"Nothing easier; in a game of tennis, for example."
"In a game of tennis?" asked La Ramee, giving more serious attention to
the duke’s words.
"Yes; see, I send a ball into the moat; a man is there who picks it up;
the ball contains a letter. Instead of returning the ball to me when I
call for it from the top of the wall, he throws me another; that other
ball contains a letter. Thus we have exchanged ideas and no one has seen
us do it."
"The devil it does! The devil it does!" said La Ramee, scratching his
head; "you are in the wrong to tell me that, my lord. I shall have to
watch the men who pick up balls."
The duke smiled.
"But," resumed La Ramee, "that is only a way of corresponding."
"And that is a great deal, it seems to me."
"But not enough."
"Pardon me; for instance, I say to my friends, Be on a certain day, on a
certain hour, at the other side of the moat with two horses."
"Well, what then?" La Ramee began to be uneasy; "unless the horses have
wings to mount the ramparts and come and fetch you."
"That’s not needed. I have," replied the duke, "a way of descending from
the ramparts."
"What?"
"A rope ladder."
"Yes, but," answered La Ramee, trying to laugh, "a ladder of ropes can’t
be sent around a ball, like a letter."
"No, but it may be sent in something else."
"In something else--in something else? In what?"
"In a pate, for example."
"In a pate?" said La Ramee.
"Yes. Let us suppose one thing," replied the duke "let us suppose, for
instance, that my maitre d’hotel, Noirmont, has purchased the shop of
Pere Marteau----"
"Well?" said La Ramee, shuddering.
"Well, La Ramee, who is a gourmand, sees his pates, thinks them more
attractive than those of Pere Marteau and proposes to me that I shall
try them. I consent on condition that La Ramee tries them with me. That
we may be more at our ease, La Ramee removes the guards, keeping only
Grimaud to wait on us. Grimaud is the man whom a friend has sent to
second me in everything. The moment for my escape is fixed--seven
o’clock. Well, at a few minutes to seven----"
"At a few minutes to seven?" cried La Ramee, cold sweat upon his brow.
"At a few minutes to seven," returned the duke (suiting the action to
the words), "I raise the crust of the pie; I find in it two poniards, a
ladder of rope, and a gag. I point one of the poniards at La Ramee’s
breast and I say to him, ’My friend, I am sorry for it, but if thou
stirrest, if thou utterest one cry, thou art a dead man!’"
The duke, in pronouncing these words, suited, as we have said, the
action to the words. He was standing near the officer and he directed
the point of the poniard in such a manner, close to La Ramee’s heart,
that there could be no doubt in the mind of that individual as to his
determination. Meanwhile, Grimaud, still mute as ever, drew from the pie
the other poniard, the rope ladder and the gag.
La Ramee followed all these objects with his eyes, his alarm every
moment increasing.
"Oh, my lord," he cried, with an expression of stupefaction in his face;
"you haven’t the heart to kill me!"
"No; not if thou dost not oppose my flight."
"But, my lord, if I allow you to escape I am a ruined man."
"I will compensate thee for the loss of thy place."
"You are determined to leave the chateau?"
"By Heaven and earth! This night I am determined to be free."
"And if I defend myself, or call, or cry out?"
"I will kill thee, on the honor of a gentleman."
At this moment the clock struck.
"Seven o’clock!" said Grimaud, who had not spoken a word.
La Ramee made one movement, in order to satisfy his conscience. The duke
frowned, the officer felt the point of the poniard, which, having
penetrated through his clothes, was close to his heart.
"Let us dispatch," said the duke.
"My lord, one last favor."
"What? speak, make haste."
"Bind my arms, my lord, fast."
"Why bind thee?"
"That I may not be considered as your accomplice."
"Your hands?" asked Grimaud.
"Not before me, behind me."
"But with what?" asked the duke.
"With your belt, my lord!" replied La Ramee.
The duke undid his belt and gave it to Grimaud, who tied La Ramee in
such a way as to satisfy him.
"Your feet, too," said Grimaud.
La Ramee stretched out his legs, Grimaud took a table-cloth, tore it
into strips and tied La Ramee’s feet together.
"Now, my lord," said the poor man, "let me have the poire d’angoisse. I
ask for it; without it I should be tried in a court of justice because I
did not raise the alarm. Thrust it into my mouth, my lord, thrust it
in."
Grimaud prepared to comply with this request, when the officer made a
sign as if he had something to say.
"Speak," said the duke.
"Now, my lord, do not forget, if any harm happens to me on your account,
that I have a wife and four children."
"Rest assured; put the gag in, Grimaud."
In a second La Ramee was gagged and laid prostrate. Two or three chairs
were thrown down as if there had been a struggle. Grimaud then took from
the pocket of the officer all the keys it contained and first opened the
door of the room in which they were, then shut it and double-locked it,
and both he and the duke proceeded rapidly down the gallery which led to
the little inclosure. At last they reached the tennis court. It was
completely deserted. No sentinels, no one at any of the windows. The
duke ran to the rampart and perceived on the other side of the ditch,
three cavaliers with two riding horses. The duke exchanged a signal with
them. It was indeed for him that they were there.
Grimaud, meantime, undid the means of escape.
This was not, however, a rope ladder, but a ball of silk cord, with a
narrow board which was to pass between the legs, the ball to unwind
itself by the weight of the person who sat astride upon the board.
"Go!" said the duke.
"First, my lord?" inquired Grimaud.
"Certainly. If I am caught, I risk nothing but being taken back again to
prison. If they catch thee, thou wilt be hung."
"True," replied Grimaud.
And instantly, Grimaud, sitting upon the board as if on horseback,
commenced his perilous descent.
The duke followed him with his eyes, with involuntary terror. He had
gone down about three-quarters of the length of the wall when the cord
broke. Grimaud fell--precipitated into the moat.
The duke uttered a cry, but Grimaud did not give a single moan. He must
have been dreadfully hurt, for he did not stir from the place where he
fell.
Immediately one of the men who were waiting slipped down into the moat,
tied under Grimaud’s shoulders the end of a cord, and the remaining two,
who held the other end, drew Grimaud to them.
"Descend, my lord," said the man in the moat. "There are only fifteen
feet more from the top down here, and the grass is soft."
The duke had already begun to descend. His task was the more difficult,
as there was no board to support him. He was obliged to let himself down
by his hands and from a height of fifty feet. But as we have said he was
active, strong, and full of presence of mind. In less than five minutes
he arrived at the end of the cord. He was then only fifteen feet from
the ground, as the gentlemen below had told him. He let go the rope and
fell upon his feet, without receiving any injury.
He instantly began to climb up the slope of the moat, on the top of
which he met De Rochefort. The other two gentlemen were unknown to him.
Grimaud, in a swoon, was tied securely to a horse.
"Gentlemen," said the duke, "I will thank you later; now we have not a
moment to lose. On, then! on! those who love me, follow me!"
And he jumped on his horse and set off at full gallop, snuffing the
fresh air in his triumph and shouting out, with an expression of face
which it would be impossible to describe:
"Free! free! free!"
24. The timely Arrival of D’Artagnan in Paris.
At Blois, D’Artagnan received the money paid to him by Mazarin for any
future service he might render the cardinal.
From Blois to Paris was a journey of four days for ordinary travelers,
but D’Artagnan arrived on the third day at the Barriere Saint Denis. In
turning the corner of the Rue Montmartre, in order to reach the Rue
Tiquetonne and the Hotel de la Chevrette, where he had appointed Porthos
to meet him, he saw at one of the windows of the hotel, that friend
himself dressed in a sky-blue waistcoat, embroidered with silver, and
gaping, till he showed every one of his white teeth; whilst the people
passing by admiringly gazed at this gentleman, so handsome and so rich,
who seemed to weary of his riches and his greatness.
D’Artagnan and Planchet had hardly turned the corner when Porthos
recognized them.
"Eh! D’Artagnan!" he cried. "Thank God you have come!"
"Eh! good-day, dear friend!" replied D’Artagnan.
Porthos came down at once to the threshold of the hotel.
"Ah, my dear friend!" he cried, "what bad stabling for my horses here."
"Indeed!" said D’Artagnan; "I am most unhappy to hear it, on account of
those fine animals."
"And I, also--I was also wretchedly off," he answered, moving backward
and forward as he spoke; "and had it not been for the hostess," he
added, with his air of vulgar self-complacency, "who is very agreeable
and understands a joke, I should have got a lodging elsewhere."
The pretty Madeleine, who had approached during this colloquy, stepped
back and turned pale as death on hearing Porthos’s words, for she
thought the scene with the Swiss was about to be repeated. But to her
great surprise D’Artagnan remained perfectly calm, and instead of being
angry he laughed, and said to Porthos:
"Yes, I understand, the air of La Rue Tiquetonne is not like that of
Pierrefonds; but console yourself, I will soon conduct you to one much
better."
"When will you do that?"
"Immediately, I hope."
"Ah! so much the better!"
To that exclamation of Porthos’s succeeded a groaning, low and profound,
which seemed to come from behind a door. D’Artagnan, who had just
dismounted, then saw, outlined against the wall, the enormous stomach of
Mousqueton, whose down-drawn mouth emitted sounds of distress.
"And you, too, my poor Monsieur Mouston, are out of place in this poor
hotel, are you not?" asked D’Artagnan, in that rallying tone which may
indicate either compassion or mockery.
"He finds the cooking detestable," replied Porthos.
"Why, then, doesn’t he attend to it himself, as at Chantilly?"
"Ah, monsieur, I have not here, as I had there, the ponds of monsieur le
prince, where I could catch those beautiful carp, nor the forests of his
highness to provide me with partridges. As for the cellar, I have
searched every part and poor stuff I found."
"Monsieur Mouston," said D’Artagnan, "I should indeed condole with you
had I not at this moment something very pressing to attend to."
Then taking Porthos aside:
"My dear Du Vallon," he said, "here you are in full dress most
fortunately, for I am going to take you to the cardinal’s."
"Gracious me! really!" exclaimed Porthos, opening his great wondering
eyes.
"Yes, my friend."
"A presentation? indeed!"
"Does that alarm you?"
"No, but it agitates me."
"Oh! don’t be distressed; you have to deal with a cardinal of another
kind. This one will not oppress you by his dignity."
"’Tis the same thing--you understand me, D’Artagnan--a court."
"There’s no court now. Alas!"
"The queen!"
"I was going to say, there’s no longer a queen. The queen! Rest assured,
we shall not see her."
"And you say that we are going from here to the Palais Royal?"
"Immediately. Only, that there may be no delay, I shall borrow one of
your horses."
"Certainly; all the four are at your service."
"Oh, I need only one of them for the time being."
"Shall we take our valets?"
"Yes, you may as well take Mousqueton. As to Planchet, he has certain
reasons for not going to court."
"And what are they?"
"Oh, he doesn’t stand well with his eminence."
"Mouston," said Porthos, "saddle Vulcan and Bayard."
"And for myself, monsieur, shall I saddle Rustaud?"
"No, take a more stylish horse, Phoebus or Superbe; we are going with
some ceremony."
"Ah," said Mousqueton, breathing more freely, "you are only going, then,
to make a visit?"
"Oh! yes, of course, Mouston; nothing else. But to avoid risk, put the
pistols in the holsters. You will find mine on my saddle, already
loaded."
Mouston breathed a sigh; he couldn’t understand visits of ceremony made
under arms.
"Indeed," said Porthos, looking complacently at his old lackey as he
went away, "you are right, D’Artagnan; Mouston will do; Mouston has a
very fine appearance."
D’Artagnan smiled.
"But you, my friend--are you not going to change your dress?"
"No, I shall go as I am. This traveling dress will serve to show the
cardinal my haste to obey his commands."
They set out on Vulcan and Bayard, followed by Mousqueton on Phoebus,
and arrived at the Palais Royal at about a quarter to seven. The streets
were crowded, for it was the day of Pentecost, and the crowd looked in
wonder at these two cavaliers; one as fresh as if he had come out of a
bandbox, the other so covered with dust that he looked as if he had but
just come off a field of battle.
Mousqueton also attracted attention; and as the romance of Don Quixote
was then the fashion, they said that he was Sancho, who, after having
lost one master, had found two.
On reaching the palace, D’Artagnan sent to his eminence the letter in
which he had been ordered to return without delay. He was soon ordered
to the presence of the cardinal.
"Courage!" he whispered to Porthos, as they proceeded. "Do not be
intimidated. Believe me, the eye of the eagle is closed forever. We have
only the vulture to deal with. Hold yourself as bolt upright as on the
day of the bastion of St. Gervais, and do not bow too low to this
Italian; that might give him a poor idea of you."
"Good!" answered Porthos. "Good!"
Mazarin was in his study, working at a list of pensions and benefices,
of which he was trying to reduce the number. He saw D’Artagnan and
Porthos enter with internal pleasure, yet showed no joy in his
countenance.
"Ah! you, is it? Monsieur le lieutenant, you have been very prompt. ’Tis
well. Welcome to ye."
"Thanks, my lord. Here I am at your eminence’s service, as well as Monsieur du Vallon, one of my old friends, who used to conceal his nobility under the name of Porthos." |
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