Porthos bowed to the cardinal.
"A magnificent cavalier," remarked Mazarin.
Porthos turned his head to the right and to the left, and drew himself
up with a movement full of dignity.
"The best swordsman in the kingdom, my lord," said D’Artagnan.
Porthos bowed to his friend.
Mazarin was as fond of fine soldiers as, in later times, Frederick of
Prussia used to be. He admired the strong hands, the broad shoulders and
the steady eye of Porthos. He seemed to see before him the salvation of
his administration and of the kingdom, sculptured in flesh and bone. He
remembered that the old association of musketeers was composed of four
persons.
"And your two other friends?" he asked.
Porthos opened his mouth, thinking it a good opportunity to put in a
word in his turn; D’Artagnan checked him by a glance from the corner of
his eye.
"They are prevented at this moment, but will join us later."
Mazarin coughed a little.
"And this gentleman, being disengaged, takes to the service willingly?"
he asked.
"Yes, my lord, and from pure devotion to the cause, for Monsieur de
Bracieux is rich."
"Rich!" said Mazarin, whom that single word always inspired with a great
respect.
"Fifty thousand francs a year," said Porthos.
These were the first words he had spoken.
"From pure zeal?" resumed Mazarin, with his artful smile; "from pure
zeal and devotion then?"
"My lord has, perhaps, no faith in those words?" said D’Artagnan.
"Have you, Monsieur le Gascon?" asked Mazarin, supporting his elbows on
his desk and his chin on his hands.
"I," replied the Gascon, "I believe in devotion as a word at one’s
baptism, for instance, which naturally comes before one’s proper name;
every one is naturally more or less devout, certainly; but there should
be at the end of one’s devotion something to gain."
"And your friend, for instance; what does he expect to have at the end
of his devotion?"
"Well, my lord, my friend has three magnificent estates: that of Vallon,
at Corbeil; that of Bracieux, in the Soissonais; and that of
Pierrefonds, in the Valois. Now, my lord, he would like to have one of
his three estates erected into a barony."
"Only that?" said Mazarin, his eyes twinkling with joy on seeing that he
could pay for Porthos’s devotion without opening his purse; "only that?
That can be managed."
"I shall be baron!" explained Porthos, stepping forward.
"I told you so," said D’Artagnan, checking him with his hand; "and now
his eminence confirms it."
"And you, Monsieur D’Artagnan, what do you want?"
"My lord," said D’Artagnan, "it is twenty years since Cardinal de
Richelieu made me lieutenant."
"Yes, and you would be gratified if Cardinal Mazarin should make you
captain."
D’Artagnan bowed.
"Well, that is not impossible. We will see, gentlemen, we will see. Now,
Monsieur de Vallon," said Mazarin, "what service do you prefer, in the
town or in the country?"
Porthos opened his mouth to reply.
"My lord," said D’Artagnan, "Monsieur de Vallon is like me, he prefers
service extraordinary--that is to say, enterprises that are considered
mad and impossible."
That boastfulness was not displeasing to Mazarin; he fell into
meditation.
"And yet," he said, "I must admit that I sent for you to appoint you to
quiet service; I have certain apprehensions--well, what is the meaning
of that?"
In fact, a great noise was heard in the ante-chamber; at the same time
the door of the study was burst open and a man, covered with dust,
rushed into it, exclaiming:
"My lord the cardinal! my lord the cardinal!"
Mazarin thought that some one was going to assassinate him and he drew
back, pushing his chair on the castors. D’Artagnan and Porthos moved so
as to plant themselves between the person entering and the cardinal.
"Well, sir," exclaimed Mazarin, "what’s the matter? and why do you rush
in here, as if you were about to penetrate a crowded market-place?"
"My lord," replied the messenger, "I wish to speak to your eminence in
secret. I am Monsieur du Poins, an officer in the guards, on duty at the
donjon of Vincennes."
Mazarin, perceiving by the paleness and agitation of the messenger that
he had something of importance to say, made a sign that D’Artagnan and
Porthos should give place.
D’Artagnan and Porthos withdrew to a corner of the cabinet.
"Speak, monsieur, speak at once!" said Mazarin "What is the matter?"
"The matter is, my lord, that the Duc de Beaufort has contrived to
escape from the Chateau of Vincennes."
Mazarin uttered a cry and became paler than the man who had brought the
news. He fell back, almost fainting, in his chair.
"Escaped? Monsieur de Beaufort escaped?"
"My lord, I saw him run off from the top of the terrace."
"And you did not fire on him?"
"He was out of range."
"Monsieur de Chavigny--where was he?"
"Absent."
"And La Ramee?"
"Was found locked up in the prisoner’s room, a gag in his mouth and a
poniard near him."
"But the man who was under him?"
"Was an accomplice of the duke’s and escaped along with him."
Mazarin groaned.
"My lord," said D’Artagnan, advancing toward the cardinal, "it seems to
me that your eminence is losing precious time. It may still be possible
to overtake the prisoner. France is large; the nearest frontier is sixty
leagues distant."
"And who is to pursue him?" cried Mazarin.
"I, pardieu!"
"And you would arrest him?"
"Why not?"
"You would arrest the Duc de Beaufort, armed, in the field?"
"If your eminence should order me to arrest the devil, I would seize him
by the horns and would bring him in."
"So would I," said Porthos.
"So would you!" said Mazarin, looking with astonishment at those two
men. "But the duke will not yield himself without a furious battle."
"Very well," said D’Artagnan, his eyes aflame, "battle! It is a long
time since we have had a battle, eh, Porthos?"
"Battle!" cried Porthos.
"And you think you can catch him?"
"Yes, if we are better mounted than he."
"Go then, take what guards you find here, and pursue him."
"You command us, my lord, to do so?"
"And I sign my orders," said Mazarin, taking a piece of paper and
writing some lines; "Monsieur du Vallon, your barony is on the back of
the Duc de Beaufort’s horse; you have nothing to do but to overtake it.
As for you, my dear lieutenant, I promise you nothing; but if you bring
him back to me, dead or alive, you may ask all you wish."
"To horse, Porthos!" said D’Artagnan, taking his friend by the hand.
"Here I am," smiled Porthos, with his sublime composure.
They descended the great staircase, taking with them all the guards they
found on their road, and crying out, "To arms! To arms!" and immediately
put spur to horse, which set off along the Rue Saint Honore with the
speed of the whirlwind.
"Well, baron, I promise you some good exercise!" said the Gascon.
"Yes, my captain."
As they went, the citizens, awakened, left their doors and the street
dogs followed the cavaliers, barking. At the corner of the Cimetiere
Saint Jean, D’Artagnan upset a man; it was too insignificant an
occurrence to delay people so eager to get on. The troop continued its
course as though their steeds had wings.
Alas! there are no unimportant events in this world and we shall see
that this apparently slight incident came near endangering the monarchy.
25. An Adventure on the High Road.
The musketeers rode the whole length of the Faubourg Saint Antoine and
of the road to Vincennes, and soon found themselves out of the town,
then in a forest and then within sight of a village.
The horses seemed to become more lively with each successive step; their
nostrils reddened like glowing furnaces. D’Artagnan, freely applying his
spurs, was in advance of Porthos two feet at the most; Mousqueton
followed two lengths behind; the guards were scattered according to the
varying excellence of their respective mounts.
From the top of an eminence D’Artagnan perceived a group of people
collected on the other side of the moat, in front of that part of the
donjon which looks toward Saint Maur. He rode on, convinced that in this
direction he would gain intelligence of the fugitive. In five minutes he
had arrived at the place, where the guards joined him, coming up one by
one.
The several members of that group were much excited. They looked at the
cord, still hanging from the loophole and broken at about twenty feet
from the ground. Their eyes measured the height and they exchanged
conjectures. On the top of the wall sentinels went and came with a
frightened air.
A few soldiers, commanded by a sergeant, drove away idlers from the
place where the duke had mounted his horse. D’Artagnan went straight to
the sergeant.
"My officer," said the sergeant, "it is not permitted to stop here."
"That prohibition is not for me," said D’Artagnan. "Have the fugitives
been pursued?"
"Yes, my officer; unfortunately, they are well mounted."
"How many are there?"
"Four, and a fifth whom they carried away wounded."
"Four!" said D’Artagnan, looking at Porthos. "Do you hear, baron? They
are only four!"
A joyous smile lighted Porthos’s face.
"How long a start have they?"
"Two hours and a quarter, my officer."
"Two hours and a quarter--that is nothing; we are well mounted, are we
not, Porthos?"
Porthos breathed a sigh; he thought of what was in store for his poor
horses.
"Very good," said D’Artagnan; "and now in what direction did they set
out?"
"That I am forbidden to tell."
D’Artagnan drew from his pocket a paper. "Order of the king," he said.
"Speak to the governor, then."
"And where is the governor?"
"In the country."
Anger mounted to D’Artagnan’s face; he frowned and his cheeks were
colored.
"Ah, you scoundrel!" he said to the sergeant, "I believe you are
impudent to me! Wait!"
He unfolded the paper, presented it to the sergeant with one hand and
with the other took a pistol from his holsters and cocked it.
"Order of the king, I tell you. Read and answer, or I will blow out your
brains!"
The sergeant saw that D’Artagnan was in earnest. "The Vendomois road,"
he replied.
"And by what gate did they go out?"
"By the Saint Maur gate."
"If you are deceiving me, rascal, you will be hanged to-morrow."
"And if you catch up with them you won’t come back to hang me," murmured
the sergeant.
D’Artagnan shrugged his shoulders, made a sign to his escort and
started.
"This way, gentlemen, this way!" he cried, directing his course toward
the gate that had been pointed out.
But, now that the duke had escaped, the concierge had seen fit to fasten
the gate with a double lock. It was necessary to compel him to open it,
as the sergeant had been compelled to speak, and this took another ten
minutes. This last obstacle having been overcome, the troop pursued
their course with their accustomed ardor; but some of the horses could
no longer sustain this pace; three of them stopped after an hour’s
gallop, and one fell down.
D’Artagnan, who never turned his head, did not perceive it. Porthos told
him of it in his calm manner.
"If only we two arrive," said D’Artagnan, "it will be enough, since the
duke’s troop are only four in number."
"That is true," said Porthos
And he spurred his courser on.
At the end of another two hours the horses had gone twelve leagues
without stopping; their legs began to tremble, and the foam they shed
whitened the doublets of their masters.
"Let us rest here an instant to give these poor creatures breathing
time," said Porthos.
"Let us rather kill them! yes, kill them!" cried D’Artagnan; "I see
fresh tracks; ’tis not a quarter of an hour since they passed this
place."
In fact, the road was trodden by horses’ feet, visible even in the
approaching gloom of evening.
They set out; after a run of two leagues, Mousqueton’s horse sank.
"Gracious me!" said Porthos, "there’s Phoebus ruined."
"The cardinal will pay you a hundred pistoles."
"I’m above that."
"Let us set out again, at full gallop."
"Yes, if we can."
But at last the lieutenant’s horse refused to go on; he could not
breathe; one last spur, instead of making him advance, made him fall.
"The devil!" exclaimed Porthos; "there’s Vulcan foundered."
"Zounds!" cried D’Artagnan, "then we must stop! Give me your horse,
Porthos. What the devil are you doing?"
"By Jove, I am falling, or rather, Bayard is falling," answered Porthos.
All three then cried: "All’s over."
"Hush!" said D’Artagnan.
"What is it?"
"I hear a horse."
"It belongs to one of our companions, who is overtaking us."
"No," said D’Artagnan, "it is in advance."
"That is another thing," said Porthos; and he listened toward the
quarter indicated by D’Artagnan.
"Monsieur," said Mousqueton, who, abandoning his horse on the high road,
had come on foot to rejoin his master, "Phoebus could no longer hold out
and----"
"Silence!" said Porthos.
In fact, at that moment a second neighing was borne to them on the night
wind.
"It is five hundred feet from here, in advance," said D’Artagnan.
"True, monsieur," said Mousqueton; "and five hundred feet from here is a
small hunting-house."
"Mousqueton, thy pistols," said D’Artagnan.
"I have them at hand, monsieur."
"Porthos, take yours from your holsters."
"I have them."
"Good!" said D’Artagnan, seizing his own; "now you understand, Porthos?"
"Not too well."
"We are out on the king’s service."
"Well?"
"For the king’s service we need horses."
"That is true," said Porthos.
"Then not a word, but set to work!"
They went on through the darkness, silent as phantoms; they saw a light
glimmering in the midst of some trees.
"Yonder is the house, Porthos," said the Gascon; "let me do what I
please and do you what I do."
They glided from tree to tree till they arrived at twenty steps from the
house unperceived and saw by means of a lantern suspended under a hut,
four fine horses. A groom was rubbing them down; near them were saddles
and bridles.
D’Artagnan approached quickly, making a sign to his two companions to
remain a few steps behind.
"I buy those horses," he said to the groom.
The groom turned toward him with a look of surprise, but made no reply.
"Didn’t you hear, fellow?"
"Yes, I heard."
"Why, then, didn’t you reply?"
"Because these horses are not to be sold," was the reply.
"I take them, then," said the lieutenant.
And he took hold of one within his reach; his two companions did the
same thing.
"Sir," cried the groom, "they have traversed six leagues and have only
been unsaddled half an hour."
"Half an hour’s rest is enough," replied the Gascon.
The groom cried aloud for help. A kind of steward appeared, just as
D’Artagnan and his companions were prepared to mount. The steward
attempted to expostulate.
"My dear friend," cried the lieutenant, "if you say a word I will blow
out your brains."
"But, sir," answered the steward, "do you know that these horses belong
to Monsieur de Montbazon?"
"So much the better; they must be good animals, then."
"Sir, I shall call my people."
"And I, mine; I’ve ten guards behind me, don’t you hear them gallop? and
I’m one of the king’s musketeers. Come, Porthos; come, Mousqueton."
They all mounted the horses as quickly as possible.
"Halloo! hi! hi!" cried the steward; "the house servants, with the
carbines!"
"On! on!" cried D’Artagnan; "there’ll be firing! on!"
They all set off, swift as the wind.
"Here!" cried the steward, "here!" whilst the groom ran to a neighboring
building.
"Take care of your horses!" cried D’Artagnan to him.
"Fire!" replied the steward.
A gleam, like a flash of lightning, illumined the road, and with the
flash was heard the whistling of balls, which were fired wildly in the
air.
"They fire like grooms," said Porthos. "In the time of the cardinal
people fired better than that, do you remember the road to Crevecoeur,
Mousqueton?"
"Ah, sir! my left side still pains me!"
"Are you sure we are on the right track, lieutenant?"
"Egad, didn’t you hear? these horses belong to Monsieur de Montbazon;
well, Monsieur de Montbazon is the husband of Madame de Montbazon----"
"And----"
"And Madame de Montbazon is the mistress of the Duc de Beaufort."
"Ah! I understand," replied Porthos; "she has ordered relays of horses."
"Exactly so."
"And we are pursuing the duke with the very horses he has just left?"
"My dear Porthos, you are really a man of most superior understanding,"
said D’Artagnan, with a look as if he spoke against his conviction.
"Pooh!" replied Porthos, "I am what I am."
They rode on for an hour, till the horses were covered with foam and
dust.
"Zounds! what is yonder?" cried D’Artagnan.
"You are very lucky if you see anything such a night as this," said
Porthos.
"Something bright."
"I, too," cried Mousqueton, "saw them also."
"Ah! ah! have we overtaken them?"
"Good! a dead horse!" said D’Artagnan, pulling up his horse, which
shied; "it seems their horses, too, are breaking down, as well as ours."
"I seem to hear the noise of a troop of horsemen," exclaimed Porthos,
leaning over his horse’s mane.
"Impossible."
"They appear to be numerous."
"Then ’tis something else."
"Another horse!" said Porthos.
"Dead?"
"No, dying."
"Saddled?"
"Yes, saddled and bridled."
"Then we are upon the fugitives."
"Courage, we have them!"
"But if they are numerous," observed Mousqueton, "’tis not we who have
them, but they who have us."
"Nonsense!" cried D’Artagnan, "they’ll suppose us to be stronger than
themselves, as we’re in pursuit; they’ll be afraid and will disperse."
"Certainly," remarked Porthos.
"Ah! do you see?" cried the lieutenant.
"The lights again! this time I, too, saw them," said Porthos.
"On! on! forward! forward!" cried D’Artagnan, in his stentorian voice;
"we shall laugh over all this in five minutes."
And they darted on anew. The horses, excited by pain and emulation,
raced over the dark road, in the midst of which was now seen a moving
mass, denser and more obscure than the rest of the horizon.
26. The Rencontre.
They rode on in this way for ten minutes. Suddenly two dark forms seemed
to separate from the mass, advanced, grew in size, and as they loomed up
larger and larger, assumed the appearance of two horsemen.
"Aha!" cried D’Artagnan, "they’re coming toward us."
"So much the worse for them," said Porthos.
"Who goes there?" cried a hoarse voice.
The three horsemen made no reply, stopped not, and all that was heard
was the noise of swords drawn from the scabbards and the cocking of the
pistols with which the two phantoms were armed.
"Bridle in mouth!" said D’Artagnan.
Porthos understood him and he and the lieutenant each drew with the left
hand a pistol from their bolsters and cocked it in their turn.
"Who goes there?" was asked a second time. "Not a step forward, or
you’re dead men."
"Stuff!" cried Porthos, almost choked with dust and chewing his bridle
as a horse chews his bit. "Stuff and nonsense; we have seen plenty of
dead men in our time."
Hearing these words, the two shadows blockaded the road and by the light
of the stars might be seen the shining of their arms.
"Back!" shouted D’Artagnan, "or you are dead!"
Two shots were the reply to this threat; but the assailants attacked
their foes with such velocity that in a moment they were upon them; a
third pistol-shot was heard, aimed by D’Artagnan, and one of his
adversaries fell. As for Porthos, he assaulted the foe with such
violence that, although his sword was thrust aside, the enemy was thrown
off his horse and fell about ten steps from it.
"Finish, Mouston, finish the work!" cried Porthos. And he darted on
beside his friend, who had already begun a fresh pursuit.
"Well?" said Porthos.
"I’ve broken my man’s skull," cried D’Artagnan. "And you----"
"I’ve only thrown the fellow down, but hark!"
Another shot of a carbine was heard. It was Mousqueton, who was obeying
his master’s command.
"On! on!" cried D’Artagnan; "all goes well! we have the first throw."
"Ha! ha!" answered Porthos, "behold, other players appear."
And in fact, two other cavaliers made their appearance, detached, as it
seemed, from the principal group; they again disputed the road.
This time the lieutenant did not wait for the opposite party to speak.
"Stand aside!" he cried; "stand off the road!"
"What do you want?" asked a voice.
"The duke!" Porthos and D’Artagnan roared out both at once.
A burst of laughter was the answer, but finished with a groan.
D’Artagnan had, with his sword, cut in two the poor wretch who had
laughed.
At the same time Porthos and his adversary fired on each other and
D’Artagnan turned to him.
"Bravo! you’ve killed him, I think."
"No, wounded his horse only."
"What would you have, my dear fellow? One doesn’t hit the bull’s-eye
every time; it is something to hit inside the ring. Ho! parbleau! what
is the matter with my horse?"
"Your horse is falling," said Porthos, reining in his own.
In truth, the lieutenant’s horse stumbled and fell on his knees; then a
rattling in his throat was heard and he lay down to die. He had received
in the chest the bullet of D’Artagnan’s first adversary. D’Artagnan
swore loud enough to be heard in the skies.
"Does your honor want a horse?" asked Mousqueton.
"Zounds! want one!" cried the Gascon.
"Here’s one, your honor----"
"How the devil hast thou two horses?" asked D’Artagnan, jumping on one
of them.
"Their masters are dead! I thought they might be useful, so I took
them."
Meantime Porthos had reloaded his pistols.
"Be on the qui vive!" cried D’Artagnan. "Here are two other cavaliers."
As he spoke, two horsemen advanced at full speed.
"Ho! your honor!" cried Mousqueton, "the man you upset is getting up."
"Why didn’t thou do as thou didst to the first man?" said Porthos.
"I held the horses, my hands were full, your honor."
A shot was fired that moment; Mousqueton shrieked with pain.
"Ah, sir! I’m hit in the other side! exactly opposite the other! This
hurt is just the fellow of the one I had on the road to Amiens."
Porthos turned around like a lion, plunged on the dismounted cavalier,
who tried to draw his sword; but before it was out of the scabbard,
Porthos, with the hilt of his had struck him such a terrible blow on the
head that he fell like an ox beneath the butcher’s knife.
Mousqueton, groaning, slipped from his horse, his wound not allowing him
to keep the saddle.
On perceiving the cavaliers, D’Artagnan had stopped and charged his
pistol afresh; besides, his horse, he found, had a carbine on the bow of
the saddle.
"Here I am!" exclaimed Porthos. "Shall we wait, or shall we charge?"
"Let us charge them," answered the Gascon.
"Charge!" cried Porthos.
They spurred on their horses; the other cavaliers were only twenty steps
from them.
"For the king!" cried D’Artagnan.
"The king has no authority here!" answered a deep voice, which seemed to
proceed from a cloud, so enveloped was the cavalier in a whirlwind of
dust.
"’Tis well, we will see if the king’s name is not a passport
everywhere," replied the Gascon.
"See!" answered the voice.
Two shots were fired at once, one by D’Artagnan, the other by the
adversary of Porthos. D’Artagnan’s ball took off his enemy’s hat. The
ball fired by Porthos’s foe went through the throat of his horse, which
fell, groaning.
"For the last time, where are you going?"
"To the devil!" answered D’Artagnan.
"Good! you may be easy, then--you’ll get there."
D’Artagnan then saw a musket-barrel leveled at him; he had no time to
draw from his holsters. He recalled a bit of advice which Athos had once
given him, and made his horse rear.
The ball struck the animal full in front. D’Artagnan felt his horse
giving way under him and with his wonderful agility threw himself to one
side.
"Ah! this," cried the voice, the tone of which was at once polished and
jeering, "this is nothing but a butchery of horses and not a combat
between men. To the sword, sir! the sword!"
And he jumped off his horse.
"To the swords! be it so!" replied D’Artagnan; "that is exactly what I
want."
D’Artagnan, in two steps, was engaged with the foe, whom, according to
custom, he attacked impetuously, but he met this time with a skill and a
strength of arm that gave him pause. Twice he was obliged to step back;
his opponent stirred not one inch. D’Artagnan returned and again
attacked him.
Twice or thrice thrusts were attempted on both sides, without effect;
sparks were emitted from the swords like water spouting forth.
At last D’Artagnan thought it was time to try one of his favorite feints
in fencing. He brought it to bear, skillfully executed it with the
rapidity of lightning, and struck the blow with a force which he fancied
would prove irresistible.
The blow was parried.
"’Sdeath!" he cried, with his Gascon accent.
At this exclamation his adversary bounded back and, bending his bare
head, tried to distinguish in the gloom the features of the lieutenant.
As to D’Artagnan, afraid of some feint, he still stood on the defensive.
"Have a care," cried Porthos to his opponent; "I’ve still two pistols
charged."
"The more reason you should fire the first!" cried his foe.
Porthos fired; the flash threw a gleam of light over the field of
battle.
As the light shone on them a cry was heard from the other two
combatants.
"Athos!" exclaimed D’Artagnan.
"D’Artagnan!" ejaculated Athos.
Athos raised his sword; D’Artagnan lowered his.
"Aramis!" cried Athos, "don’t fire!"
"Ah! ha! is it you, Aramis?" said Porthos.
And he threw away his pistol.
Aramis pushed his back into his saddle-bags and sheathed his sword. |
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