"Why," he said, "does he enter without first asking for an audience?"
Anne colored slightly.
"The prime minister," she said, "is obliged in these unsettled days to
inform the queen of all that is happening from time to time, without
exciting the curiosity or remarks of the court."
"But Richelieu never came in this manner," said the pertinacious boy.
"How can you remember what Monsieur de Richelieu did? You were too young
to know about such things."
"I do not remember what he did, but I have inquired and I have been told
all about it."
"And who told you about it?" asked Anne of Austria, with a movement of
impatience.
"I know that I ought never to name the persons who answer my questions,"
answered the child, "for if I do I shall learn nothing further."
At this very moment Mazarin entered. The king rose immediately, took his
book, closed it and went to lay it down on the table, near which he
continued standing, in order that Mazarin might be obliged to stand
also.
Mazarin contemplated these proceedings with a thoughtful glance. They
explained what had occurred that evening.
He bowed respectfully to the king, who gave him a somewhat cavalier
reception, but a look from his mother reproved him for the hatred which,
from his infancy, Louis XIV. had entertained toward Mazarin, and he
endeavored to receive the minister’s homage with civility.
Anne of Austria sought to read in Mazarin’s face the occasion of this
unexpected visit, since the cardinal usually came to her apartment only
after every one had retired.
The minister made a slight sign with his head, whereupon the queen said
to Madame Beauvais:
"It is time for the king to go to bed; call Laporte."
The queen had several times already told her son that he ought to go to
bed, and several times Louis had coaxingly insisted on staying where he
was; but now he made no reply, but turned pale and bit his lips with
anger.
In a few minutes Laporte came into the room. The child went directly to
him without kissing his mother.
"Well, Louis," said Anne, "why do you not kiss me?"
"I thought you were angry with me, madame; you sent me away."
"I do not send you away, but you have had the small-pox and I am afraid
that sitting up late may tire you."
"You had no fears of my being tired when you ordered me to go to the
palace to-day to pass the odious decrees which have raised the people to
rebellion."
"Sire!" interposed Laporte, in order to turn the subject, "to whom does
your majesty wish me to give the candle?"
"To any one, Laporte," the child said; and then added in a loud voice,
"to any one except Mancini."
Now Mancini was a nephew of Mazarin’s and was as much hated by Louis as
the cardinal himself, although placed near his person by the minister.
And the king went out of the room without either embracing his mother or
even bowing to the cardinal.
"Good," said Mazarin, "I am glad to see that his majesty has been
brought up with a hatred of dissimulation."
"Why do you say that?" asked the queen, almost timidly.
"Why, it seems to me that the way in which he left us needs no
explanation. Besides, his majesty takes no pains to conceal how little
affection he has for me. That, however, does not hinder me from being
entirely devoted to his service, as I am to that of your majesty."
"I ask your pardon for him, cardinal," said the queen; "he is a child,
not yet able to understand his obligations to you."
The cardinal smiled.
"But," continued the queen, "you have doubtless come for some important
purpose. What is it, then?"
Mazarin sank into a chair with the deepest melancholy painted on his
countenance.
"It is likely," he replied, "that we shall soon be obliged to separate,
unless you love me well enough to follow me to Italy."
"Why," cried the queen; "how is that?"
"Because, as they say in the opera of ’Thisbe,’ ’The whole world
conspires to break our bonds.’"
"You jest, sir!" answered the queen, endeavoring to assume something of
her former dignity.
"Alas! I do not, madame," rejoined Mazarin. "Mark well what I say. The
whole world conspires to break our bonds. Now as you are one of the
whole world, I mean to say that you also are deserting me."
"Cardinal!"
"Heavens! did I not see you the other day smile on the Duke of Orleans?
or rather at what he said?"
"And what was he saying?"
"He said this, madame: ’Mazarin is a stumbling-block. Send him away and
all will then be well.’"
"What do you wish me to do?"
"Oh, madame! you are the queen!"
"Queen, forsooth! when I am at the mercy of every scribbler in the
Palais Royal who covers waste paper with nonsense, or of every country
squire in the kingdom."
"Nevertheless, you have still the power of banishing from your presence
those whom you do not like!"
"That is to say, whom you do not like," returned the queen.
"I! persons whom I do not like!"
"Yes, indeed. Who sent away Madame de Chevreuse after she had been
persecuted twelve years under the last reign?"
"A woman of intrigue, who wanted to keep up against me the spirit of
cabal she had raised against M. de Richelieu."
"Who dismissed Madame de Hautefort, that friend so loyal that she
refused the favor of the king that she might remain in mine?"
"A prude, who told you every night, as she undressed you, that it was a
sin to love a priest, just as if one were a priest because one happens
to be a cardinal."
"Who ordered Monsieur de Beaufort to be arrested?"
"An incendiary the burden of whose song was his intention to assassinate
me."
"You see, cardinal," replied the queen, "that your enemies are mine."
"That is not enough madame, it is necessary that your friends should be
also mine."
"My friends, monsieur?" The queen shook her head. "Alas, I have them no
longer!"
"How is it that you have no friends in your prosperity when you had many
in adversity?"
"It is because in my prosperity I forgot those old friends, monsieur;
because I have acted like Queen Marie de Medicis, who, returning from
her first exile, treated with contempt all those who had suffered for
her and, being proscribed a second time, died at Cologne abandoned by
every one, even by her own son."
"Well, let us see," said Mazarin; "isn’t there still time to repair the
evil? Search among your friends, your oldest friends."
"What do you mean, monsieur?"
"Nothing else than I say--search."
"Alas, I look around me in vain! I have no influence with any one.
Monsieur is, as usual, led by his favorite; yesterday it was Choisy,
to-day it is La Riviere, to-morrow it will be some one else. Monsieur le
Prince is led by the coadjutor, who is led by Madame de Guemenee."
"Therefore, madame, I ask you to look, not among your friends of to-day,
but among those of other times."
"Among my friends of other times?" said the queen.
"Yes, among your friends of other times; among those who aided you to
contend against the Duc de Richelieu and even to conquer him."
"What is he aiming at?" murmured the queen, looking uneasily at the
cardinal.
"Yes," continued his eminence; "under certain circumstances, with that
strong and shrewd mind your majesty possesses, aided by your friends,
you were able to repel the attacks of that adversary."
"I!" said the queen. "I suffered, that is all."
"Yes," said Mazarin, "as women suffer in avenging themselves. Come, let
us come to the point. Do you know Monsieur de Rochefort?"
"One of my bitterest enemies--the faithful friend of Cardinal
Richelieu."
"I know that, and we sent him to the Bastile," said Mazarin.
"Is he at liberty?" asked the queen.
"No; still there, but I only speak of him in order that I may introduce
the name of another man. Do you know Monsieur d’Artagnan?" he added,
looking steadfastly at the queen.
Anne of Austria received the blow with a beating heart.
"Has the Gascon been indiscreet?" she murmured to herself, then said
aloud:
"D’Artagnan! stop an instant, the name seems certainly familiar.
D’Artagnan! there was a musketeer who was in love with one of my women.
Poor young creature! she was poisoned on my account."
"That’s all you know of him?" asked Mazarin.
The queen looked at him, surprised.
"You seem, sir," she remarked, "to be making me undergo a course of
cross-examination."
"Which you answer according to your fancy," replied Mazarin.
"Tell me your wishes and I will comply with them."
The queen spoke with some impatience.
"Well, madame," said Mazarin, bowing, "I desire that you give me a share
in your friends, as I have shared with you the little industry and
talent that Heaven has given me. The circumstances are grave and it will
be necessary to act promptly."
"Still!" said the queen. "I thought that we were finally quit of
Monsieur de Beaufort."
"Yes, you saw only the torrent that threatened to overturn everything
and you gave no attention to the still water. There is, however, a
proverb current in France relating to water which is quiet."
"Continue," said the queen.
"Well, then, madame, not a day passes in which I do not suffer affronts
from your princes and your lordly servants, all of them automata who do
not perceive that I wind up the spring that makes them move, nor do they
see that beneath my quiet demeanor lies the still scorn of an injured,
irritated man, who has sworn to himself to master them one of these
days. We have arrested Monsieur de Beaufort, but he is the least
dangerous among them. There is the Prince de Conde----"
"The hero of Rocroy. Do you think of him?"
"Yes, madame, often and often, but pazienza, as we say in Italy; next,
after Monsieur de Conde, comes the Duke of Orleans."
"What are you saying? The first prince of the blood, the king’s uncle!"
"No! not the first prince of the blood, not the king’s uncle, but the
base conspirator, the soul of every cabal, who pretends to lead the
brave people who are weak enough to believe in the honor of a prince of
the blood--not the prince nearest to the throne, not the king’s uncle, I
repeat, but the murderer of Chalais, of Montmorency and of Cinq-Mars,
who is playing now the same game he played long ago and who thinks that
he will win the game because he has a new adversary--instead of a man
who threatened, a man who smiles. But he is mistaken; I shall not leave
so near the queen that source of discord with which the deceased
cardinal so often caused the anger of the king to rage above the boiling
point."
Anne blushed and buried her face in her hands.
"What am I to do?" she said, bowed down beneath the voice of her tyrant.
"Endeavor to remember the names of those faithful servants who crossed
the Channel, in spite of Monsieur de Richelieu, tracking the roads along
which they passed by their blood, to bring back to your majesty certain
jewels given by you to Buckingham."
Anne arose, full of majesty, and as if touched by a spring, and looking
at the cardinal with the haughty dignity which in the days of her youth
had made her so powerful: "You are insulting me!" she said.
"I wish," continued Mazarin, finishing, as it were, the speech this
sudden movement of the queen had cut; "I wish, in fact, that you should
now do for your husband what you formerly did for your lover."
"Again that accusation!" cried the queen. "I thought that calumny was
stifled or extinct; you have spared me till now, but since you speak of
it, once for all, I tell you----"
"Madame, I do not ask you to tell me," said Mazarin, astounded by this
returning courage.
"I will tell you all," replied Anne. "Listen: there were in truth, at
that epoch, four devoted hearts, four loyal spirits, four faithful
swords, who saved more than my life--my honor----"
"Ah! you confess it!" exclaimed Mazarin.
"Is it only the guilty whose honor is at the sport of others, sir? and
cannot women be dishonored by appearances? Yes, appearances were against
me and I was about to suffer dishonor. However, I swear I was not
guilty, I swear it by----"
The queen looked around her for some sacred object by which she could
swear, and taking out of a cupboard hidden in the tapestry, a small
coffer of rosewood set in silver, and laying it on the altar:
"I swear," she said, "by these sacred relics that Buckingham was not my
lover."
"What relics are those by which you swear?" asked Mazarin, smiling. "I
am incredulous."
The queen untied from around her throat a small golden key which hung
there, and presented it to the cardinal.
"Open, sir," she said, "and look for yourself."
Mazarin opened the coffer; a knife, covered with rust, and two letters,
one of which was stained with blood, alone met his gaze.
"What are these things?" he asked.
"What are these things?" replied Anne, with queen-like dignity,
extending toward the open coffer an arm, despite the lapse of years,
still beautiful. "These two letters are the only ones I ever wrote to
him. This knife is the knife with which Felton stabbed him. Read the
letters and see if I have lied or spoken the truth."
But Mazarin, notwithstanding this permission, instead of reading the
letters, took the knife which the dying Buckingham had snatched out of
the wound and sent by Laporte to the queen. The blade was red, for the
blood had become rust; after a momentary examination during which the
queen became as white as the cloth which covered the altar on which she
was leaning, he put it back into the coffer with an involuntary shudder.
"It is well, madame, I believe your oath."
"No, no, read," exclaimed the queen, indignantly; "read, I command you,
for I am resolved that everything shall be finished to-night and never
will I recur to this subject again. Do you think," she said, with a
ghastly smile, "that I shall be inclined to reopen this coffer to answer
any future accusations?"
Mazarin, overcome by this determination, read the two letters. In one
the queen asked for the ornaments back again. This letter had been
conveyed by D’Artagnan and had arrived in time. The other was that which
Laporte had placed in the hands of the Duke of Buckingham, warning him
that he was about to be assassinated; that communication had arrived too
late.
"It is well, madame," said Mazarin; "nothing can gainsay such
testimony."
"Sir," replied the queen, closing the coffer and leaning her hand upon
it, "if there is anything to be said, it is that I have always been
ungrateful to the brave men who saved me--that I have given nothing to
that gallant officer, D’Artagnan, you were speaking of just now, but my
hand to kiss and this diamond."
As she spoke she extended her beautiful hand to the cardinal and showed
him a superb diamond which sparkled on her finger.
"It appears," she resumed, "that he sold it---he sold it in order to
save me another time--to be able to send a messenger to the duke to warn
him of his danger--he sold it to Monsieur des Essarts, on whose finger I
remarked it. I bought it from him, but it belongs to D’Artagnan. Give it
back to him, sir, and since you have such a man in your service, make
him useful."
"Thank you, madame," said Mazarin. "I will profit by the advice."
"And now," added the queen, her voice broken by her emotion, "have you
any other question to ask me?"
"Nothing,"--the cardinal spoke in his most conciliatory manner--"except
to beg of you to forgive my unworthy suspicions. I love you so tenderly
that I cannot help being jealous, even of the past."
A smile, which was indefinable, passed over the lips of the queen.
"Since you have no further interrogations to make, leave me, I beseech
you," she said. "I wish, after such a scene, to be alone."
Mazarin bent low before her.
"I will retire, madame. Do you permit me to return?"
"Yes, to-morrow."
The cardinal took the queen’s hand and pressed it with an air of
gallantry to his lips.
Scarcely had he left her when the queen went into her son’s room, and
inquired from Laporte if the king was in bed. Laporte pointed to the
child, who was asleep.
Anne ascended the steps side of the bed and softly kissed the placid
forehead of her son; then she retired as silently as she had come,
merely saying to Laporte:
"Try, my dear Laporte, to make the king more courteous to Monsieur le
Cardinal, to whom both he and I are under such important obligations."
5. The Gascon and the Italian.
Meanwhile the cardinal returned to his own room; and after asking
Bernouin, who stood at the door, whether anything had occurred during
his absence, and being answered in the negative, he desired that he
might be left alone.
When he was alone he opened the door of the corridor and then that of
the ante-chamber. There D’Artagnan was asleep upon a bench.
The cardinal went up to him and touched his shoulder. D’Artagnan
started, awakened himself, and as he awoke, stood up exactly like a
soldier under arms.
"Here I am," said he. "Who calls me?"
"I," said Mazarin, with his most smiling expression.
"I ask pardon of your eminence," said D’Artagnan, "but I was so
fatigued----"
"Don’t ask my pardon, monsieur," said Mazarin, "for you fatigued
yourself in my service."
D’Artagnan admired Mazarin’s gracious manner. "Ah," said he, between his
teeth, "is there truth in the proverb that fortune comes while one
sleeps?"
"Follow me, monsieur," said Mazarin.
"Come, come," murmured D’Artagnan, "Rochefort has kept his promise, but
where in the devil is he?" And he searched the cabinet even to the
smallest recesses, but there was no sign of Rochefort.
"Monsieur d’Artagnan," said the cardinal, sitting down on a fauteuil,
"you have always seemed to me to be a brave and honorable man."
"Possibly," thought D’Artagnan, "but he has taken a long time to let me
know his thoughts;" nevertheless, he bowed to the very ground in
gratitude for Mazarin’s compliment.
"Well," continued Mazarin, "the time has come to put to use your talents
and your valor."
There was a sudden gleam of joy in the officer’s eyes, which vanished
immediately, for he knew nothing of Mazarin’s purpose.
"Order, my lord," he said; "I am ready to obey your eminence."
"Monsieur d’Artagnan," continued the cardinal, "you performed sundry
superb exploits in the last reign."
"Your eminence is too good to remember such trifles in my favor. It is
true I fought with tolerable success."
"I don’t speak of your warlike exploits, monsieur," said Mazarin;
"although they gained you much reputation, they were surpassed by
others."
D’Artagnan pretended astonishment.
"Well, you do not reply?" resumed Mazarin.
"I am waiting, my lord, till you tell me of what exploits you speak."
"I speak of the adventure--Eh, you know well what I mean."
"Alas, no, my lord!" replied D’Artagnan, surprised.
"You are discreet--so much the better. I speak of that adventure in
behalf of the queen, of the ornaments, of the journey you made with
three of your friends."
"Aha!" thought the Gascon; "is this a snare or not? Let me be on my
guard."
And he assumed a look of stupidity which Mendori or Bellerose, two of
the first actors of the day, might have envied.
"Bravo!" cried Mazarin; "they told me that you were the man I wanted.
Come, let us see what you will do for me."
"Everything that your eminence may please to command me," was the reply.
"You will do for me what you have done for the queen?"
"Certainly," D’Artagnan said to himself, "he wishes to make me speak
out. He’s not more cunning than De Richelieu was! Devil take him!" Then
he said aloud:
"The queen, my lord? I don’t comprehend."
"You don’t comprehend that I want you and your three friends to be of
use to me?"
"Which of my friends, my lord?"
"Your three friends--the friends of former days."
"Of former days, my lord! In former days I had not only three friends, I
had thirty; at two-and-twenty one calls every man one’s friend."
"Well, sir," returned Mazarin, "prudence is a fine thing, but to-day you
might regret having been too prudent."
"My lord, Pythagoras made his disciples keep silence for five years that
they might learn to hold their tongues."
"But you have been silent for twenty years, sir. Speak, now the queen
herself releases you from your promise."
"The queen!" said D’Artagnan, with an astonishment which this time was
not pretended.
"Yes, the queen! And as a proof of what I say she commanded me to show
you this diamond, which she thinks you know."
And so saying, Mazarin extended his hand to the officer, who sighed as
he recognized the ring so gracefully given to him by the queen on the
night of the ball at the Hotel de Ville and which she had repurchased
from Monsieur des Essarts.
"’Tis true. I remember well that diamond, which belonged to the queen."
"You see, then, that I speak to you in the queen’s name. Answer me
without acting as if you were on the stage; your interests are concerned
in your so doing."
"Faith, my lord, it is very necessary for me to make my fortune, your
eminence has so long forgotten me."
"We need only a week to amend all that. Come, you are accounted for, you
are here, but where are your friends?"
"I do not know, my lord. We have parted company this long time; all
three have left the service."
"Where can you find them, then?"
"Wherever they are, that’s my business."
"Well, now, what are your conditions, if I employ you?"
"Money, my lord, as much money as what you wish me to undertake will
require. I remember too well how sometimes we were stopped for want of
money, and but for that diamond, which I was obliged to sell, we should
have remained on the road."
"The devil he does! Money! and a large sum!" said Mazarin. "Pray, are
you aware that the king has no money in his treasury?"
"Do then as I did, my lord. Sell the crown diamonds. Trust me, don’t let
us try to do things cheaply. Great undertakings come poorly off with
paltry means."
"Well," returned Mazarin, "we will satisfy you."
"Richelieu," thought D’Artagnan, "would have given me five hundred
pistoles in advance."
"You will then be at my service?" asked Mazarin.
"Yes, if my friends agree."
"But if they refuse can I count on you?"
"I have never accomplished anything alone," said D’Artagnan, shaking his
head.
"Go, then, and find them."
"What shall I say to them by way of inducement to serve your eminence?"
"You know them better than I. Adapt your promises to their respective
characters."
"What shall I promise?"
"That if they serve me as well as they served the queen my gratitude
shall be magnificent."
"But what are we to do?"
"Make your mind easy; when the time for action comes you shall be put in
full possession of what I require from you; wait till that time arrives
and find out your friends."
"My lord, perhaps they are not in Paris. It is even probable that I
shall have to make a journey. I am only a lieutenant of musketeers, very
poor, and journeys cost money.
"My intention," said Mazarin, "is not that you go with a great
following; my plans require secrecy, and would be jeopardized by a too
extravagant equipment."
"Still, my lord, I can’t travel on my pay, for it is now three months
behind; and I can’t travel on my savings, for in my twenty-two years of
service I have accumulated nothing but debts."
Mazarin remained some moments in deep thought, as if he were fighting
with himself; then, going to a large cupboard closed with a triple lock,
he took from it a bag of silver, and weighing it twice in his hands
before he gave it to D’Artagnan:
"Take this," he said with a sigh, "’tis merely for your journey."
"If these are Spanish doubloons, or even gold crowns," thought
D’Artagnan, "we shall yet be able to do business together." He saluted
the cardinal and plunged the bag into the depths of an immense pocket.
"Well, then, all is settled; you are to set off," said the cardinal.
"Yes, my lord."
"Apropos, what are the names of your friends?"
"The Count de la Fere, formerly styled Athos; Monsieur du Vallon, whom
we used to call Porthos; the Chevalier d’Herblay, now the Abbe
d’Herblay, whom we styled Aramis----"
The cardinal smiled.
"Younger sons," he said, "who enlisted in the musketeers under feigned
names in order not to lower their family names. Long swords but light
purses. Was that it?"
"If, God willing, these swords should be devoted to the service of your
eminence," said D’Artagnan, "I shall venture to express a wish, which
is, that in its turn the purse of your eminence may become light and
theirs heavy--for with these three men your eminence may rouse all
Europe if you like."
"These Gascons," said the cardinal, laughing, "almost beat the Italians
in effrontery."
"At all events," answered D’Artagnan, with a smile almost as crafty as
the cardinal’s, "they beat them when they draw their swords."
He then withdrew, and as he passed into the courtyard he stopped near a
lamp and dived eagerly into the bag of money.
"Crown pieces only--silver pieces! I suspected it. Ah! Mazarin! Mazarin!
thou hast no confidence in me! so much the worse for thee, for harm may
come of it!"
Meanwhile the cardinal was rubbing his hands in great satisfaction.
"A hundred pistoles! a hundred pistoles! for a hundred pistoles I have
discovered a secret for which Richelieu would have paid twenty thousand
crowns; without reckoning the value of that diamond"--he cast a
complacent look at the ring, which he had kept, instead of restoring to
D’Artagnan--"which is worth, at least, ten thousand francs."
He returned to his room, and after depositing the ring in a casket
filled with brilliants of every sort, for the cardinal was a connoisseur
in precious stones, he called to Bernouin to undress him, regardless of
the noises of gun-fire that, though it was now near midnight, continued
to resound through Paris.
In the meantime D’Artagnan took his way toward the Rue Tiquetonne, where
he lived at the Hotel de la Chevrette.
We will explain in a few words how D’Artagnan had been led to choose
that place of residence.
6. D’Artagnan in his Fortieth Year.
Years have elapsed, many events have happened, alas! since, in our
romance of "The Three Musketeers," we took leave of D’Artagnan at No. 12
Rue des Fossoyeurs. D’Artagnan had not failed in his career, but
circumstances had been adverse to him. So long as he was surrounded by
his friends he retained his youth and the poetry of his character. He
was one of those fine, ingenuous natures which assimilate themselves
easily to the dispositions of others. Athos imparted to him his
greatness of soul, Porthos his enthusiasm, Aramis his elegance. Had
D’Artagnan continued his intimacy with these three men he would have
become a superior character. Athos was the first to leave him, in order
that he might retire to a little property he had inherited near Blois;
Porthos, the second, to marry an attorney’s wife; and lastly, Aramis,
the third, to take orders and become an abbe. From that day D’Artagnan
felt lonely and powerless, without courage to pursue a career in which
he could only distinguish himself on condition that each of his three
companions should endow him with one of the gifts each had received from
Heaven.
Notwithstanding his commission in the musketeers, D’Artagnan felt
completely solitary. For a time the delightful remembrance of Madame
Bonancieux left on his character a certain poetic tinge, perishable
indeed; for like all other recollections in this world, these
impressions were, by degrees, effaced. A garrison life is fatal even to
the most aristocratic organization; and imperceptibly, D’Artagnan,
always in the camp, always on horseback, always in garrison, became (I
know not how in the present age one would express it) a typical trooper.
His early refinement of character was not only not lost, it grew even
greater than ever; but it was now applied to the little, instead of to
the great things of life--to the martial condition of the
soldier--comprised under the head of a good lodging, a rich table, a
congenial hostess. These important advantages D’Artagnan found to his
own taste in the Rue Tiquetonne at the sign of the Roe.
From the time D’Artagnan took quarters in that hotel, the mistress of
the house, a pretty and fresh looking Flemish woman, twenty-five or
twenty-six years old, had been singularly interested in him; and after
certain love passages, much obstructed by an inconvenient husband to
whom a dozen times D’Artagnan had made a pretence of passing a sword
through his body, that husband had disappeared one fine morning, after
furtively selling certain choice lots of wine, carrying away with him
money and jewels. He was thought to be dead; his wife, especially, who
cherished the pleasing idea that she was a widow, stoutly maintained
that death had taken him. Therefore, after the connection had continued
three years, carefully fostered by D’Artagnan, who found his bed and his
mistress more agreeable every year, each doing credit to the other, the
mistress conceived the extraordinary desire of becoming a wife and
proposed to D’Artagnan that he should marry her.
"Ah, fie!" D’Artagnan replied. "Bigamy, my dear! Come now, you don’t
really wish it?"
"But he is dead; I am sure of it."
"He was a very contrary fellow and might come back on purpose to have us
hanged."
"All right; if he comes back you will kill him, you are so skillful and
so brave."
"Peste! my darling! another way of getting hanged."
"So you refuse my request?"
"To be sure I do--furiously!"
The pretty landlady was desolate. She would have taken D’Artagnan not
only as her husband, but as her God, he was so handsome and had so
fierce a mustache.
Then along toward the fourth year came the expedition of Franche-Comte.
D’Artagnan was assigned to it and made his preparations to depart. There
were then great griefs, tears without end and solemn promises to remain
faithful--all of course on the part of the hostess. D’Artagnan was too
grand to promise anything; he purposed only to do all that he could to
increase the glory of his name.
As to that, we know D’Artagnan’s courage; he exposed himself freely to
danger and while charging at the head of his company he received a ball
through the chest which laid him prostrate on the field of battle. He
had been seen falling from his horse and had not been seen to rise;
every one, therefore, believed him to be dead, especially those to whom
his death would give promotion. One believes readily what he wishes to
believe. Now in the army, from the division-generals who desire the
death of the general-in-chief, to the soldiers who desire the death of
the corporals, all desire some one’s death.
But D’Artagnan was not a man to let himself be killed like that. After
he had remained through the heat of the day unconscious on the
battle-field, the cool freshness of the night brought him to himself. He
gained a village, knocked at the door of the finest house and was
received as the wounded are always and everywhere received in France. He
was petted, tended, cured; and one fine morning, in better health than
ever before, he set out for France. Once in France he turned his course
toward Paris, and reaching Paris went straight to Rue Tiquetonne.
But D’Artagnan found in his chamber the personal equipment of a man,
complete, except for the sword, arranged along the wall.
"He has returned," said he. "So much the worse, and so much the better!"
It need not be said that D’Artagnan was still thinking of the husband.
He made inquiries and discovered that the servants were new and that the
mistress had gone for a walk.
"Alone?" asked D’Artagnan.
"With monsieur."
"Monsieur has returned, then?"
"Of course," naively replied the servant.
"If I had any money," said D’Artagnan to himself, "I would go away; but
I have none. I must stay and follow the advice of my hostess, while
thwarting the conjugal designs of this inopportune apparition."
He had just completed this monologue--which proves that in momentous
circumstances nothing is more natural than the monologue--when the
servant-maid, watching at the door, suddenly cried out:
"Ah! see! here is madame returning with monsieur."
D’Artagnan looked out and at the corner of Rue Montmartre saw the
hostess coming along hanging to the arm of an enormous Swiss, who
tiptoed in his walk with a magnificent air which pleasantly reminded him
of his old friend Porthos.
"Is that monsieur?" said D’Artagnan to himself. "Oh! oh! he has grown a
good deal, it seems to me." And he sat down in the hall, choosing a
conspicuous place.
The hostess, as she entered, saw D’Artagnan and uttered a little cry,
whereupon D’Artagnan, judging that he had been recognized, rose, ran to
her and embraced her tenderly. The Swiss, with an air of stupefaction,
looked at the hostess, who turned pale.
"Ah, it is you, monsieur! What do you want of me?" she asked, in great
distress.
"Is monsieur your cousin? Is monsieur your brother?" said D’Artagnan,
not in the slightest degree embarrassed in the role he was playing. And without waiting for her reply he threw himself into the arms of the Helvetian, who received him with great coldness. |
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