"On the contrary, sir, I have ten; nor is it to the camp I wish to go."
"Where, then?" said Athos, smiling, "if it be not a secret. You are now
almost a man, since you have made your first passage of arms, and have
acquired the right to go where you will without consulting me."
"Never, sir," said Raoul, "as long as I possess the happiness of having
you for a protector, shall I deem I have the right of freeing myself
from a guardianship so valuable to me. I have, however, a wish to go and
pass a day at Blois. You look at me and you are going to laugh at me."
"No, on the contrary, I am not inclined to laugh," said Athos,
suppressing a sigh. "You wish to see Blois again; it is but natural."
"Then you permit me to go, you are not angry in your heart?" exclaimed
Raoul, joyously.
"Certainly; and why should I regret what gives you pleasure?"
"Oh! how kind you are," exclaimed the young man, pressing his guardian’s
hand; "and I can set out immediately?"
"When you like, Raoul."
"Sir," said Raoul, as he turned to leave the room, "I have thought of
one thing, and that is about the Duchess of Chevreuse, who was so kind
to me and to whom I owe my introduction to the prince."
"And you ought to thank her, Raoul. Well, try the Hotel de Luynes,
Raoul, and ask if the duchess can receive you. I am glad to see you pay
attention to the usages of the world. You must take Grimaud and
Olivain."
"Both, sir?" asked Raoul, astonished.
"Both."
Raoul went out, and when Athos heard his young, joyous voice calling to
Grimaud and Olivain, he sighed.
"It is very soon to leave me," he thought, "but he follows the common
custom. Nature has made us thus; she makes the young look ever forward,
not behind. He certainly likes the child, but will he love me less as
his affection grows for her?"
And Athos confessed to himself that, he was unprepared for so prompt a
departure; but Raoul was so happy that this reflection effaced
everything else from the consideration of his guardian.
Everything was ready at ten o’clock for the departure, and as Athos was
watching Raoul mount, a groom rode up from the Duchess de Chevreuse. He
was charged to tell the Comte de la Fere, that she had learned of the
return of her youthful protege, and also the manner he had conducted
himself on the field, and she added that she should be very glad to
offer him her congratulations.
"Tell her grace," replied Athos, "that the viscount has just mounted his
horse to proceed to the Hotel de Luynes."
Then, with renewed instructions to Grimaud, Athos signified to Raoul
that he could set out, and ended by reflecting that it was perhaps
better that Raoul should be away from Paris at that moment.
42. Another Queen in Want of Help.
Athos had not failed to send early to Aramis and had given his letter to
Blaisois, the only serving-man whom he had left. Blaisois found Bazin
donning his beadle’s gown, his services being required that day at Notre
Dame.
Athos had desired Blaisois to try to speak to Aramis himself. Blaisois,
a tall, simple youth, who understood nothing but what he was expressly
told, asked, therefore for the Abbe d’Herblay, and in spite of Bazin’s
assurances that his master was not at home, he persisted in such a
manner as to put Bazin into a passion. Blaisois seeing Bazin in clerical
guise, was a little discomposed at his denials and wanted to pass at all
risks, believing too, that the man with whom he had to do was endowed
with the virtues of his cloth, namely, patience and Christian charity.
But Bazin, still the servant of a musketeer, when once the blood mounted
to his fat cheeks, seized a broomstick and began belaboring Blaisois,
saying:
"You have insulted the church, my friend, you have insulted the church!"
At this moment Aramis, aroused by this unusual disturbance, cautiously
opened the door of his room; and Blaisois, looking reproachfully at the
Cerberus, drew the letter from his pocket and presented it to Aramis.
"From the Comte de la Fere," said Aramis. "All right." And he retired
into his room without even asking the cause of so much noise.
Blaisois returned disconsolate to the Hotel of the Grand Roi Charlemagne
and when Athos inquired if his commission was executed, he related his
adventure.
"You foolish fellow!" said Athos, laughing. "And you did not tell him
that you came from me?"
"No, sir."
At ten o’clock Athos, with his habitual exactitude, was waiting on the
Pont du Louvre and was almost immediately joined by Lord de Winter.
They waited ten minutes and then his lordship began to fear Aramis was
not coming to join them.
"Patience," said Athos, whose eyes were fixed in the direction of the
Rue du Bac, "patience; I see an abbe cuffing a man, then bowing to a
woman; it must be Aramis."
It was indeed Aramis. Having run against a young shopkeeper who was
gaping at the crows and who had splashed him, Aramis with one blow of
his fist had distanced him ten paces.
At this moment one of his penitents passed, and as she was young and
pretty Aramis took off his cap to her with his most gracious smile.
A most affectionate greeting, as one can well believe took place between
him and Lord de Winter.
"Where are we going?" inquired Aramis; "are we going to fight,
perchance? I carry no sword this morning and cannot return home to
procure one."
"No," said Lord de Winter, "we are going to pay a visit to Her Majesty
the Queen of England."
"Oh, very well," replied Aramis; then bending his face down to Athos’s
ear, "what is the object of this visit?" continued he.
"Nay, I know not; some evidence required from us, perhaps."
"May it not be about that cursed affair?" asked Aramis, "in which case I
do not greatly care to go, for it will be to pocket a lecture; and since
it is my function to give them to others I am rather averse to receiving
them myself."
"If it were so," answered Athos, "we should not be taken there by Lord
de Winter, for he would come in for his share; he was one of us."
"You’re right; yes, let us go."
On arriving at the Louvre Lord de Winter entered first; indeed, there
was but one porter there to receive them at the gate.
It was impossible in daylight for the impoverished state of the
habitation grudging charity had conceded to an unfortunate queen to pass
unnoticed by Athos, Aramis, and even the Englishman. Large rooms,
completely stripped of furniture, bare walls upon which, here and there,
shone the old gold moldings which had resisted time and neglect, windows
with broken panes (impossible to close), no carpets, neither guards nor
servants: this is what first met the eyes of Athos, to which he,
touching his companion’s elbow, directed his attention by his glances.
"Mazarin is better lodged," said Aramis.
"Mazarin is almost king," answered Athos; "Madame Henrietta is almost no
longer queen."
"If you would condescend to be clever, Athos," observed Aramis, "I
really do think you would be wittier than poor Monsieur de Voiture."
Athos smiled.
The queen appeared to be impatiently expecting them, for at the first
slight noise she heard in the hall leading to her room she came herself
to the door to receive these courtiers in the corridors of Misfortune.
"Enter. You are welcome, gentlemen," she said.
The gentlemen entered and remained standing, but at a motion from the
queen they seated themselves. Athos was calm and grave, but Aramis was
furious; the sight of such royal misery exasperated him and his eyes
examined every new trace of poverty that presented itself.
"You are examining the luxury I enjoy," said the queen, glancing sadly
around her.
"Madame," replied Aramis, "I must ask your pardon, but I know not how to
hide my indignation at seeing how a daughter of Henry IV. is treated at
the court of France."
"Monsieur Aramis is not an officer?" asked the queen of Lord de Winter.
"That gentleman is the Abbe d’Herblay," replied he.
Aramis blushed. "Madame," he said, "I am an abbe, it is true, but I am
so against my will. I never had a vocation for the bands; my cassock is
fastened by one button only, and I am always ready to become a musketeer
once more. This morning, being ignorant that I should have the honor of
seeing your majesty, I encumbered myself with this dress, but you will
find me none the less a man devoted to your majesty’s service, in
whatever way you may see fit to use me."
"The Abbe d’Herblay," resumed De Winter, "is one of those gallant
musketeers formerly belonging to His Majesty King Louis XIII., of whom I
have spoken to you, madame." Then turning to Athos, he continued, "And
this gentleman is that noble Comte de la Fere, whose high reputation is
so well known to your majesty."
"Gentlemen," said the queen, "a few years ago I had around me ushers,
treasures, armies; and by the lifting of a finger all these were busied
in my service. To-day, look around you, and it may astonish you, that in
order to accomplish a plan which is dearer to me than life I have only
Lord de Winter, the friend of twenty years, and you, gentlemen, whom I
see for the first time and whom I know but as my countrymen."
"It is enough," said Athos, bowing low, "if the lives of three men can
purchase yours, madame."
"I thank you, gentlemen. But hear me," continued she. "I am not only the
most miserable of queens, but the most unhappy of mothers, the most
wretched of wives. My children, two of them, at least, the Duke of York
and the Princess Elizabeth, are far away from me, exposed to the blows
of the ambitious and our foes; my husband, the king, is leading in
England so wretched an existence that it is no exaggeration to aver that
he seeks death as a thing to be desired. Hold! gentlemen, here is the
letter conveyed to me by Lord de Winter. Read it."
Obeying the queen, Athos read aloud the letter which we have already
seen, in which King Charles demanded to know whether the hospitality of
France would be accorded him.
"Well?" asked Athos, when he had closed the letter.
"Well," said the queen, "it has been refused."
The two friends exchanged a smile of contempt.
"And now," said Athos, "what is to be done? I have the honor to inquire
from your majesty what you desire Monsieur d’Herblay and myself to do in
your service. We are ready."
"Ah, sir, you have a noble heart!" exclaimed the queen, with a burst of
gratitude; whilst Lord de Winter turned to her with a glance which said,
"Did I not answer for them?"
"But you, sir?" said the queen to Aramis.
"I, madame," replied he, "follow Monsieur de la Fere wherever he leads,
even were it on to death, without demanding wherefore; but when it
concerns your majesty’s service, then," added he, looking at the queen
with all the grace of former days, "I precede the count."
"Well, then, gentlemen," said the queen, "since it is thus, and since
you are willing to devote yourselves to the service of a poor princess
whom the whole world has abandoned, this is what is required to be done
for me. The king is alone with a few gentlemen, whom he fears to lose
every day; surrounded by the Scotch, whom he distrusts, although he be
himself a Scotchman. Since Lord de Winter left him I am distracted,
sirs. I ask much, too much, perhaps, for I have no title to request it.
Go to England, join the king, be his friends, protectors, march to
battle at his side, and be near him in his house, where conspiracies,
more dangerous than the perils of war, are hatching every day. And in
exchange for the sacrifice that you make, gentlemen, I promise--not to
reward you, I believe that word would offend you--but to love you as a
sister, to prefer you, next to my husband and my children, to every one.
I swear it before Heaven."
And the queen raised her eyes solemnly upward.
"Madame," said Athos, "when must we set out?"
"You consent then?" exclaimed the queen, joyfully.
"Yes, madame; only it seems to me that your majesty goes too far in
engaging to load us with a friendship so far above our merit. We render
service to God, madame, in serving a prince so unfortunate, a queen so
virtuous. Madame, we are yours, body and soul."
"Oh, sirs," said the queen, moved even to tears, "this is the first time
for five years I have felt the least approach to joy or hope. God, who
can read my heart, all the gratitude I feel, will reward you! Save my
husband! Save the king, and although you care not for the price that is
placed upon a good action in this world, leave me the hope that we shall
meet again, when I may be able to thank you myself. In the meantime, I
remain here. Have you anything to ask of me? From this moment I become
your friend, and since you are engaged in my affairs I ought to occupy
myself in yours."
"Madame," replied Athos, "I have only to ask your majesty’s prayers."
"And I," said Aramis, "I am alone in the world and have only your
majesty to serve."
The queen held out her hand, which they kissed, and she said in a low
tone to De Winter:
"If you need money, my lord, separate the jewels I have given you;
detach the diamonds and sell them to some Jew. You will receive for them
fifty or sixty thousand francs; spend them if necessary, but let these
gentlemen be treated as they deserve, that is to say, like kings."
The queen had two letters ready, one written by herself, the other by
her daughter, the Princess Henrietta. Both were addressed to King
Charles. She gave the first to Athos and the other to Aramis, so that
should they be separated by chance they might make themselves known to
the king; after which they withdrew.
At the foot of the staircase De Winter stopped.
"Not to arouse suspicions, gentlemen," said he, "go your way and I will
go mine, and this evening at nine o’clock we will assemble again at the
Gate Saint Denis. We will travel on horseback as far as our horses can
go and afterward we can take the post. Once more, let me thank you, my
good friends, both in my own name and the queen’s."
The three gentlemen then shook hands, Lord de Winter taking the Rue
Saint Honore, and Athos and Aramis remaining together.
"Well," said Aramis, when they were alone, "what do you think of this
business, my dear count?"
"Bad," replied Athos, "very bad."
"But you received it with enthusiasm."
"As I shall ever receive the defense of a great principle, my dear
D’Herblay. Monarchs are only strong by the assistance of the
aristocracy, but aristocracy cannot survive without the countenance of
monarchs. Let us, then, support monarchy, in order to support ourselves.
"We shall be murdered there," said Aramis. "I hate the English--they are
coarse, like every nation that swills beer."
"Would it be better to remain here," said Athos, "and take a turn in the
Bastile or the dungeon of Vincennes for having favored the escape of
Monsieur de Beaufort? I’faith, Aramis, believe me, there is little left
to regret. We avoid imprisonment and we play the part of heroes; the
choice is easy."
"It is true; but in everything, friend, one must always return to the
same question--a stupid one, I admit, but very necessary--have you any
money?"
"Something like a hundred pistoles, that my farmer sent to me the day
before I left Bragelonne; but out of that sum I ought to leave fifty for
Raoul--a young man must live respectably. I have then about fifty
pistoles. And you?"
"As for me, I am quite sure that after turning out all my pockets and
emptying my drawers I shall not find ten louis at home. Fortunately Lord
de Winter is rich."
"Lord de Winter is ruined for the moment; Oliver Cromwell has annexed
his income resources."
"Now is the time when Baron Porthos would be useful."
"Now it is that I regret D’Artagnan."
"Let us entice them away."
"This secret, Aramis, does not belong to us; take my advice, then, and
let no one into our confidence. And moreover, in taking such a step we
should appear to be doubtful of ourselves. Let us regret their absence
to ourselves for our own sakes, but not speak of it."
"You are right; but what are you going to do until this evening? I have
two things to postpone."
"And what are they?"
"First, a thrust with the coadjutor, whom I met last night at Madame de
Rambouillet’s and whom I found particular in his remarks respecting me."
"Oh, fie--a quarrel between priests, a duel between allies!"
"What can I do, friend? he is a bully and so am I; his cassock is a
burden to him and I imagine I have had enough of mine; in fact, there is
so much resemblance between us that I sometimes believe he is Aramis and
I am the coadjutor. This kind of life fatigues and oppresses me;
besides, he is a turbulent fellow, who will ruin our party. I am
convinced that if I gave him a box on the ear, such as I gave this
morning to the little citizen who splashed me, it would change the
appearance of things."
"And I, my dear Aramis," quietly replied Athos, "I think it would only
change Monsieur de Retz’s appearance. Take my advice, leave things just
as they are; besides, you are neither of you now your own masters; he
belongs to the Fronde and you to the queen of England. So, if the second
matter which you regret being unable to attend to is not more important
than the first----"
"Oh! that is of the first importance."
"Attend to it, then, at once."
"Unfortunately, it is a thing that I can’t perform at any time I choose.
It was arranged for the evening and no other time will serve."
"I understand," said Athos smiling, "midnight."
"About that time."
"But, my dear fellow, those are things that bear postponement and you
must put it off, especially with so good an excuse to give on your
return----"
"Yes, if I return."
"If you do not return, how does it concern you? Be reasonable. Come, you
are no longer twenty years old."
"To my great regret, mordieu! Ah, if I were but twenty years old!"
"Yes," said Athos, "doubtless you would commit great follies! But now we
must part. I have one or two visits to make and a letter yet to write.
Call for me at eight o’clock or shall I wait supper for you at seven?"
"That will do very well," said Aramis. "I have twenty visits to make and
as many letters to write."
They then separated. Athos went to pay a visit to Madame de Vendome,
left his name at Madame de Chevreuse’s and wrote the following letter to
D’Artagnan:
"Dear Friend,--I am about to set off with Aramis on important business.
I wished to make my adieux to you, but time does not permit. Remember
that I write to you now to repeat how much affection for you I still
cherish.
"Raoul is gone to Blois and is ignorant of my departure; watch over him
in my absence as much as you possibly can; and if by chance you receive
no news of me three months hence, tell him to open a packet which he
will find addressed to him in my bronze casket at Blois, of which I send
you now the key.
"Embrace Porthos from Aramis and myself. Adieu, perhaps farewell."
At the hour agreed upon Aramis arrived; he was dressed as an officer and
had the old sword at his side which he had drawn so often and which he
was more than ever ready to draw.
"By-the-bye," he said, "I think that we are decidedly wrong to depart
thus, without leaving a line for Porthos and D’Artagnan."
"The thing is done, dear friend," said Athos; "I foresaw that and have
embraced them both from you and myself."
"You are a wonderful man, my dear count," said Aramis; "you think of
everything."
"Well, have you made up your mind to this journey?"
"Quite; and now that I reflect about it, I am glad to leave Paris at
this moment."
"And so am I," replied Athos; "my only regret is not having seen
D’Artagnan; but the rascal is so cunning, he might have guessed our
project."
When supper was over Blaisois entered. "Sir," said he, "here is Monsieur
d’Artagnan’s answer."
"But I did not tell you there would be an answer, stupid!" said Athos.
"And I set off without waiting for one, but he called me back and gave
me this;" and he presented a little leather bag, plump and giving out a
golden jingle.
Athos opened it and began by drawing forth a little note, written in
these terms:
"My dear Count,--When one travels, and especially for three months, one
never has a superfluity of money. Now, recalling former times of mutual
distress, I send you half my purse; it is money to obtain which I made
Mazarin sweat. Don’t make a bad use of it, I entreat you.
"As to what you say about not seeing you again, I believe not a word of
it; with such a heart as yours--and such a sword--one passes through the
valley of the shadow of death a dozen times, unscathed and unalarmed. Au
revoir, not farewell.
"It is unnecessary to say that from the day I saw Raoul I loved him;
nevertheless, believe that I heartily pray that I may not become to him
a father, however much I might be proud of such a son.
"Your
"D’Artagnan.
"P.S.--Be it well understood that the fifty louis which I send are
equally for Aramis as for you--for you as Aramis."
Athos smiled, and his fine eye was dimmed by a tear. D’Artagnan, who had
loved him so tenderly, loved him still, although a Mazarinist.
"There are the fifty louis, i’faith," said Aramis, emptying the purse on
the table, all bearing the effigy of Louis XIII. "Well, what shall you
do with this money, count? Shall you keep it or send it back?"
"I shall keep it, Aramis, and even though I had no need of it I still
should keep it. What is offered from a generous heart should be accepted
generously. Take twenty-five of them, Aramis, and give me the remaining
twenty-five."
"All right; I am glad to see you are of my opinion. There now, shall we
start?"
"When you like; but have you no groom?"
"No; that idiot Bazin had the folly to make himself verger, as you know,
and therefore cannot leave Notre Dame.
"Very well, take Blaisois, with whom I know not what to do, since I
already have Grimaud."
"Willingly," said Aramis.
At this moment Grimaud appeared at the door. "Ready," said he, with his
usual curtness.
"Let us go, then," said Athos.
The two friends mounted, as did their servants. At the corner of the
Quai they encountered Bazin, who was running breathlessly.
"Oh, sir!" exclaimed he, "thank Heaven I have arrived in time. Monsieur
Porthos has just been to your house and has left this for you, saying
that the letter was important and must be given to you before you left."
"Good," said Aramis, taking a purse which Bazin presented to him. "What
is this?"
"Wait, your reverence, there is a letter."
"You know I have already told you that if you ever call me anything but
chevalier I will break every bone in your body. Give me the letter."
"How can you read?" asked Athos, "it is as dark as a cold oven."
"Wait," said Bazin, striking a flint, and setting afire a twisted
wax-light, with which he started the church candles. Thus illumined,
Aramis read the following epistle:
"My dear D’Herblay,--I learned from D’Artagnan who has embraced me on
the part of the Comte de la Fere and yourself, that you are setting out
on a journey which may perhaps last two or three months; as I know that
you do not like to ask money of your friends I offer you some of my own
accord. Here are two hundred pistoles, which you can dispose of as you
wish and return to me when opportunity occurs. Do not fear that you put
me to inconvenience; if I want money I can send for some to any of my
chateaux; at Bracieux alone, I have twenty thousand francs in gold. So,
if I do not send you more it is because I fear you would not accept a
larger sum.
"I address you, because you know, that although I esteem him from my
heart I am a little awed by the Comte de la Fere; but it is understood
that what I offer you I offer him at the same time.
"I am, as I trust you do not doubt, your devoted
"Du Vallon de Bracieux de Pierrefonds."
"Well," said Aramis, "what do you say to that?"
"I say, my dear D’Herblay, that it is almost sacrilege to distrust
Providence when one has such friends, and therefore we will divide the
pistoles from Porthos, as we divided the louis sent by D’Artagnan."
The division being made by the light of Bazin’s taper, the two friends
continued their road and a quarter of an hour later they had joined De
Winter at the Porte Saint Denis.
43. In which it is proved that first Impulses are oftentimes the best.
The three gentlemen took the road to Picardy, a road so well known to
them and which recalled to Athos and Aramis some of the most picturesque
adventures of their youth.
"If Mousqueton were with us," observed Athos, on reaching the spot where
they had had a dispute with the paviers, "how he would tremble at
passing this! Do you remember, Aramis, that it was here he received that
famous bullet wound?"
"By my faith, ’twould be excusable in him to tremble," replied Aramis,
"for even I feel a shudder at the recollection; hold, just above that
tree is the little spot where I thought I was killed."
It was soon time for Grimaud to recall the past. Arriving before the inn
at which his master and himself had made such an enormous repast, he
approached Athos and said, showing him the airhole of the cellar:
"Sausages!"
Athos began to laugh, for this juvenile escapade of his appeared to be
as amusing as if some one had related it of another person.
At last, after traveling two days and a night, they arrived at Boulogne
toward the evening, favored by magnificent weather. Boulogne was a
strong position, then almost a deserted town, built entirely on the
heights; what is now called the lower town did not then exist.
"Gentlemen," said De Winter, on reaching the gate of the town, "let us
do here as at Paris--let us separate to avoid suspicion. I know an inn,
little frequented, but of which the host is entirely devoted to me. I
will go there, where I expect to find letters, and you go to the first
tavern in the town, to L’Epee du Grand Henri for instance, refresh
yourselves, and in two hours be upon the jetty; our boat is waiting for
us there."
The matter being thus decided, the two friends found, about two hundred
paces further, the tavern indicated. Their horses were fed, but not
unsaddled; the grooms supped, for it was already late, and their two
masters, impatient to return, appointed a place of meeting with them on
the jetty and desired them on no account to exchange a word with any
one. It is needless to say that this caution concerned Blaisois
alone--long enough since it had been a useless one to Grimaud.
Athos and Aramis walked down toward the port. From their dress, covered
with dust, and from a certain easy manner by means of which a man
accustomed to travel is always recognizable, the two friends excited the
attention of a few promenaders. There was more especially one upon whom
their arrival had produced a decided impression. This man, whom they had
noticed from the first for the same reason they had themselves been
remarked by others, was walking in a listless way up and down the jetty.
From the moment he perceived them he did not cease to look at them and
seemed to burn with the wish to speak to them.
On reaching the jetty Athos and Aramis stopped to look at a little boat
made fast to a pile and ready rigged as if waiting to start.
"That is doubtless our boat," said Athos.
"Yes," replied Aramis, "and the sloop out there making ready to sail
must be that which is to take us to our destination; now," continued he,
"if only De Winter does not keep us waiting. It is not at all amusing
here; there is not a single woman passing."
"Hush!" said Athos, "we are overheard."
In truth, the walker, who, during the observations of the two friends,
had passed and repassed behind them several times, stopped at the name
of De Winter; but as his face betrayed no emotion at mention of this
name, it might have been by chance he stood so still.
"Gentlemen," said the man, who was young and pale, bowing with ease and
courtesy, "pardon my curiosity, but I see you come from Paris, or at
least that you are strangers at Boulogne."
"We come from Paris, yes," replied Athos, with the same courtesy; "what
is there we can do for you?"
"Sir," said the young man, "will you be so good as to tell me if it be
true that Cardinal Mazarin is no longer minister?"
"That is a strange question," said Aramis.
"He is and he is not," replied Athos; "that is to say, he is dismissed
by one-half of France, but by intrigues and promises he makes the other
half sustain him; you will perceive that this may last a long time."
"However, sir," said the stranger, "he has neither fled nor is in
prison?"
"No, sir, not at this moment at least."
"Sirs, accept my thanks for your politeness," said the young man,
retreating.
"What do you think of that interrogator?" asked Aramis.
"I think he is either a dull provincial person or a spy in search of
information."
"And you replied to him with that notion?"
"Nothing warranted me to answer him otherwise; he was polite to me and I
was so to him."
"But if he be a spy----"
"What do you think a spy would be about here? We are not living in the
time of Cardinal Richelieu, who would have closed the ports on bare
suspicion."
"It matters not; you were wrong to reply to him as you did," continued
Aramis, following with his eyes the young man, now vanishing behind the
cliffs.
"And you," said Athos, "you forget that you committed a very different
kind of imprudence in pronouncing Lord de Winter’s name. Did you not see
that at that name the young man stopped?"
"More reason, then, when he spoke to you, for sending him about his
business."
"A quarrel?" asked Athos.
"And since when have you become afraid of a quarrel?"
"I am always afraid of a quarrel when I am expected at any place and
when such a quarrel might possibly prevent my reaching it. Besides, let
me own something to you. I am anxious to see that young man nearer."
"And wherefore?"
"Aramis, you will certainly laugh at me, you will say that I am always
repeating the same thing, you will call me the most timorous of
visionaries; but to whom do you see a resemblance in that young man?"
"In beauty or on the contrary?" asked Aramis, laughing.
"In ugliness, in so far as a man can resemble a woman."
"Ah! Egad!" cried Aramis, "you set me thinking. No, in truth you are no
visionary, my dear friend, and now I think of it--you--yes, i’faith,
you’re right--those delicate, yet firm-set lips, those eyes which seem
always at the command of the intellect and never of the heart! Yes, it
is one of Milady’s bastards!"
"You laugh Aramis."
"From habit, that is all. I swear to you, I like no better than yourself
to meet that viper in my path."
"Ah! here is De Winter coming," said Athos.
"Good! one thing now is only awanting and that is, that our grooms
should not keep us waiting."
"No," said Athos. "I see them about twenty paces behind my lord. I
recognize Grimaud by his long legs and his determined slouch. Tony
carries our muskets."
"Then we set sail to-night?" asked Aramis, glancing toward the west,
where the sun had left a single golden cloud, which, dipping into the
ocean, appeared by degrees to be extinguished.
"Probably," said Athos.
"Diable!" resumed Aramis, "I have little fancy for the sea by day, still
less at night; the sounds of wind and wave, the frightful movements of
the vessel; I confess I prefer the convent of Noisy."
Athos smiled sadly, for it was evident that he was thinking of other
things as he listened to his friend and moved toward De Winter.
"What ails our friend?" said Aramis, "he resembles one of Dante’s
damned, whose neck Apollyon has dislocated and who are ever looking at
their heels. What the devil makes him glower thus behind him?"
When De Winter perceived them, in his turn he advanced toward them with
surprising rapidity.
"What is the matter, my lord?" said Athos, "and what puts you out of
breath thus?"
"Nothing," replied De Winter; "nothing; and yet in passing the heights
it seemed to me----" and he again turned round.
Athos glanced at Aramis.
"But let us go," continued De Winter; "let us be off; the boat must be
waiting for us and there is our sloop at anchor--do you see it there? I
wish I were on board already," and he looked back again.
"He has seen him," said Athos, in a low tone, to Aramis.
They had reached the ladder which led to the boat. De Winter made the
grooms who carried the arms and the porters with the luggage descend
first and was about to follow them.
At this moment Athos perceived a man walking on the seashore parallel to
the jetty, and hastening his steps, as if to reach the other side of the
port, scarcely twenty steps from the place of embarking. He fancied in
the darkness that he recognized the young man who had questioned him.
Athos now descended the ladder in his turn, without losing sight of the
young man. The latter, to make a short cut, had appeared on a sluice.
"He certainly bodes us no good," said Athos; "but let us embark; once
out at sea, let him come."
And Athos sprang into the boat, which was immediately pushed off and
which soon sped seawards under the efforts of four stalwart rowers.
But the young man had begun to follow, or rather to advance before the
boat. She was obliged to pass between the point of the jetty, surmounted
by a beacon just lighted, and a rock which jutted out. They saw him in
the distance climbing the rock in order to look down upon the boat as it
passed.
"Ay, but," said Aramis, "that young fellow is decidedly a spy."
"Which is the young man?" asked De Winter, turning around.
"He who followed us and spoke to us awaits us there; behold!"
De Winter turned and followed the direction of Aramis’s finger. The
beacon bathed with light the little strait through which they were about
to pass and the rock where the young man stood with bare head and
crossed arms.
"It is he!" exclaimed De Winter, seizing the arm of Athos; "it is he! I
thought I recognized him and I was not mistaken."
"Whom do you mean?" asked Aramis.
"Milady’s son," replied Athos.
"The monk!" exclaimed Grimaud. |
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