"No, sir, he is not with us; he left Paris more than six weeks ago and
is believed to have gone on a mission to England."
"I knew that, but I supposed he had returned."
"No, sir; no one has seen him. I can answer positively on that point,
for the musketeers belong to our forces and Monsieur de Cambon, the
substitute for Monsieur d’Artagnan, still holds his place."
The two friends looked at each other.
"You see," said Athos.
"It is strange," said Aramis.
"It is absolutely certain that some misfortune has happened to them on
the way."
"If we have no news of them this evening, to-morrow we must start."
Athos nodded affirmatively, then turning:
"And Monsieur de Bragelonne, a young man fifteen years of age, attached
to the Prince de Conde--has he the honor of being known to you?"
diffident in allowing the sarcastic Aramis to perceive how strong were
his paternal feelings.
"Yes, surely, he came with the prince; a charming young man; he is one
of your friends then, monsieur le comte?"
"Yes, sir," answered Athos, agitated; "so much so that I wish to see him
if possible."
"Quite possible, sir; do me the favor to accompany me and I will conduct
you to headquarters."
"Halloo, there!" cried Aramis, turning around; "what a noise behind us!"
"A body of cavaliers is coming toward us," said Chatillon.
"I recognize the coadjutor by his Frondist hat."
"And I the Duc de Beaufort by his white plume of ostrich feathers."
"They are coming, full gallop; the prince is with them--ah! he is
leaving them!"
"They are beating the rappel!" cried Chatillon; "we must discover what
is going on."
In fact, they saw the soldiers running to their arms; the trumpets
sounded; the drums beat; the Duc de Beaufort drew his sword. On his side
the prince sounded a rappel and all the officers of the royalist army,
mingling momentarily with the Parisian troops, ran to him.
"Gentlemen," cried Chatillon, "the truce is broken, that is evident;
they are going to fight; go, then, into Charenton, for I shall begin in
a short time--there’s a signal from the prince!"
The cornet of a troop had in fact just raised the standard of the
prince.
"Farewell, till the next time we meet," cried Chatillon, and he set off,
full gallop.
Athos and Aramis turned also and went to salute the coadjutor and the
Duc de Beaufort. As to the Duc de Bouillon, he had such a fit of gout as
obliged him to return to Paris in a litter; but his place was well
filled by the Duc d’Elbeuf and his four sons, ranged around him like a
staff. Meantime, between Charenton and the royal army was left a space
which looked ready to serve as a last resting place for the dead.
"Gentlemen," cried the coadjutor, tightening his sash, which he wore,
after the fashion of the ancient military prelates, over his
archiepiscopal simar, "there’s the enemy approaching. Let us save them
half of their journey."
And without caring whether he were followed or not he set off; his
regiment, which bore the name of the regiment of Corinth, from the name
of his archbishopric, darted after him and began the fight. Monsieur de
Beaufort sent his cavalry, toward Etampes and Monsieur de Chanleu, who
defended the place, was ready to resist an assault, or if the enemy were
repulsed, to attempt a sortie.
The battle soon became general and the coadjutor performed miracles of
valor. His proper vocation had always been the sword and he was
delighted whenever he could draw it from the scabbard, no matter for
whom or against whom.
Chanleu, whose fire at one time repulsed the royal regiment, thought
that the moment was come to pursue it; but it was reformed and led again
to the charge by the Duc de Chatillon in person. This charge was so
fierce, so skillfully conducted, that Chanleu was almost surrounded. He
commanded a retreat, which began, step by step, foot by foot; unhappily,
in an instant he fell, mortally wounded. De Chatillon saw him fall and
announced it in a loud voice to his men, which raised their spirits and
completely disheartened their enemies, so that every man thought only of
his own safety and tried to gain the trenches, where the coadjutor was
trying to reform his disorganized regiment.
Suddenly a squadron of cavalry galloped up to encounter the royal
troops, who were entering, pele-mele, the intrenchments with the
fugitives. Athos and Aramis charged at the head of their squadrons;
Aramis with sword and pistol in his hands, Athos with his sword in his
scabbard, his pistol in his saddle-bags; calm and cool as if on the
parade, except that his noble and beautiful countenance became sad as he
saw slaughtered so many men who were sacrificed on the one side to the
obstinacy of royalty and on the other to the personal rancor of the
princes. Aramis, on the contrary, struck right and left and was almost
delirious with excitement. His bright eyes kindled, and his mouth, so
finely formed, assumed a wicked smile; every blow he aimed was sure, and
his pistol finished the deed--annihilated the wounded wretch who tried
to rise again.
On the opposite side two cavaliers, one covered with a gilt cuirass, the
other wearing simply a buff doublet, from which fell the sleeves of a
vest of blue velvet, charged in front. The cavalier in the gilt cuirass
fell upon Aramis and struck a blow that Aramis parried with his wonted
skill.
"Ah! ’tis you, Monsieur de Chatillon," cried the chevalier; "welcome to
you--I expected you."
"I hope I have not made you wait too long, sir," said the duke; "at all
events, here I am."
"Monsieur de Chatillon," cried Aramis, taking from his saddle-bags a
second pistol, "I think if your pistols have been discharged you are a
dead man."
"Thank God, sir, they are not!"
And the duke, pointing his pistol at Aramis, fired. But Aramis bent his
head the instant he saw the duke’s finger press the trigger and the ball
passed without touching him.
"Oh! you’ve missed me," cried Aramis, "but I swear to Heaven! I will not
miss you."
"If I give you time!" cried the duke, spurring on his horse and rushing
upon him with his drawn sword.
Aramis awaited him with that terrible smile which was peculiar to him on
such occasions, and Athos, who saw the duke advancing toward Aramis with
the rapidity of lightning, was just going to cry out, "Fire! fire,
then!" when the shot was fired. De Chatillon opened his arms and fell
back on the crupper of his horse.
The ball had entered his breast through a notch in the cuirass.
"I am a dead man," he said, and fell from his horse to the ground.
"I told you this, I am now grieved I have kept my word. Can I be of any
use to you?"
Chatillon made a sign with his hand and Aramis was about to dismount
when he received a violent shock; ’twas a thrust from a sword, but his
cuirass turned aside the blow.
He turned around and seized his new antagonist by the wrist, when he
started back, exclaiming, "Raoul!"
"Raoul?" cried Athos.
The young man recognized at the same instant the voices of his father
and the Chevalier d’Herblay; two officers in the Parisian forces rushed
at that instant on Raoul, but Aramis protected him with his sword.
"My prisoner!" he cried.
Athos took his son’s horse by the bridle and led him forth out of the
melee.
At this crisis of the battle, the prince, who had been seconding De
Chatillon in the second line, appeared in the midst of the fight; his
eagle eye made him known and his blows proclaimed the hero.
On seeing him, the regiment of Corinth, which the coadjutor had not been
able to reorganize in spite of all his efforts, threw itself into the
midst of the Parisian forces, put them into confusion and re-entered
Charenton flying. The coadjutor, dragged along with his fugitive forces,
passed near the group formed by Athos, Raoul and Aramis. Aramis could
not in his jealousy avoid being pleased at the coadjutor’s misfortune,
and was about to utter some bon mot more witty than correct, when Athos
stopped him.
"On, on!" he cried, "this is no moment for compliments; or rather, back,
for the battle seems to be lost by the Frondeurs."
"It is a matter of indifference to me," said Aramis; "I came here only
to meet De Chatillon; I have met him, I am contented; ’tis something to
have met De Chatillon in a duel!"
"And besides, we have a prisoner," said Athos, pointing to Raoul.
The three cavaliers continued their road on full gallop.
"What were you doing in the battle, my friend?" inquired Athos of the
youth; "’twas not your right place, I think, as you were not equipped
for an engagement!"
"I had no intention of fighting to-day, sir; I was charged, indeed, with
a mission to the cardinal and had set out for Rueil, when, seeing
Monsieur de Chatillon charge, an invincible desire possessed me to
charge at his side. It was then that he told me two cavaliers of the
Parisian army were seeking me and named the Comte de la Fere."
"What! you knew we were there and yet wished to kill your friend the
chevalier?"
"I did not recognize the chevalier in armor, sir!" said Raoul, blushing;
"though I might have known him by his skill and coolness in danger."
"Thank you for the compliment, my young friend," replied Aramis, "we can
see from whom you learned courtesy. Then you were going to Rueil?"
"Yes! I have a despatch from the prince to his eminence."
"You must still deliver it," said Athos.
"No false generosity, count! the fate of our friends, to say nothing of
our own, is perhaps in that very despatch."
"This young man must not, however, fail in his duty," said Athos.
"In the first place, count, this youth is our prisoner; you seem to
forget that. What I propose to do is fair in war; the vanquished must
not be dainty in the choice of means. Give me the despatch, Raoul."
The young man hesitated and looked at Athos as if seeking to read in his
eyes a rule of conduct.
"Give him the despatch, Raoul! you are the chevalier’s prisoner."
Raoul gave it up reluctantly; Aramis instantly seized and read it.
"You," he said, "you, who are so trusting, read and reflect that there
is something in this letter important for us to see."
Athos took the letter, frowning, but an idea that he should find
something in this letter about D’Artagnan conquered his unwillingness to
read it.
"My lord, I shall send this evening to your eminence in order to
reinforce the troop of Monsieur de Comminges, the ten men you demand.
They are good soldiers, fit to confront the two violent adversaries
whose address and resolution your eminence is fearful of."
"Oh!" cried Athos.
"Well," said Aramis, "what think you about these two enemies whom it
requires, besides Comminges’s troop, ten good soldiers to confront; are
they not as like as two drops of water to D’Artagnan and Porthos?"
"We’ll search Paris all day long," said Athos, "and if we have no news
this evening we will return to the road to Picardy; and I feel no doubt
that, thanks to D’Artagnan’s ready invention, we shall then find some
clew which will solve our doubts."
"Yes, let us search Paris and especially inquire of Planchet if he has
yet heard from his former master."
"That poor Planchet! You speak of him very much at your ease, Aramis; he
has probably been killed. All those fighting citizens went out to battle
and they have been massacred."
It was, then, with a sentiment of uneasiness whether Planchet, who alone
could give them information, was alive or dead, that the friends
returned to the Place Royale; to their great surprise they found the
citizens still encamped there, drinking and bantering each other,
although, doubtless, mourned by their families, who thought they were at
Charenton in the thickest of the fighting.
Athos and Aramis again questioned Planchet, but he had seen nothing of
D’Artagnan; they wished to take Planchet with them, but he could not
leave his troop, who at five o’clock returned home, saying that they
were returning from the battle, whereas they had never lost sight of the
bronze equestrian statue of Louis XIII.
79. The Road to Picardy.
On leaving Paris, Athos and Aramis well knew that they would be
encountering great danger; but we know that for men like these there
could be no question of danger. Besides, they felt that the denouement
of this second Odyssey was at hand and that there remained but a single
effort to make.
Besides, there was no tranquillity in Paris itself. Provisions began to
fail, and whenever one of the Prince de Conti’s generals wished to gain
more influence he got up a little popular tumult, which he put down
again, and thus for the moment gained a superiority over his colleagues.
In one of these risings, the Duc de Beaufort pillaged the house and
library of Mazarin, in order to give the populace, as he put it,
something to gnaw at. Athos and Aramis left Paris after this
coup-d’etat, which took place on the very evening of the day in which
the Parisians had been beaten at Charenton.
They quitted Paris, beholding it abandoned to extreme want, bordering on
famine; agitated by fear, torn by faction. Parisians and Frondeurs as
they were, the two friends expected to find the same misery, the same
fears, the same intrigue in the enemy’s camp; but what was their
surprise, after passing Saint Denis, to hear that at Saint Germain
people were singing and laughing, and leading generally cheerful lives.
The two gentlemen traveled by byways in order not to encounter the
Mazarinists scattered about the Isle of France, and also to escape the
Frondeurs, who were in possession of Normandy and who never failed to
conduct captives to the Duc de Longueville, in order that he might
ascertain whether they were friends or foes. Having escaped these
dangers, they returned by the main road to Boulogne, at Abbeville, and
followed it step by step, examining every track.
Nevertheless, they were still in a state of uncertainty. Several inns
were visited by them, several innkeepers questioned, without a single
clew being given to guide their inquiries, when at Montreuil Athos felt
upon the table that something rough was touching his delicate fingers.
He turned up the cloth and found these hieroglyphics carved upon the
wood with a knife:
"Port.... D’Art.... 2d February."
"This is capital!" said Athos to Aramis, "we were to have slept here,
but we cannot--we must push on." They rode forward and reached
Abbeville. There the great number of inns puzzled them; they could not
go to all; how could they guess in which those whom they were seeking
had stayed?
"Trust me," said Aramis, "do not expect to find anything in Abbeville.
If we had only been looking for Porthos, Porthos would have stationed
himself in one of the finest hotels and we could easily have traced him.
But D’Artagnan is devoid of such weaknesses. Porthos would have found it
very difficult even to make him see that he was dying of hunger; he has
gone on his road as inexorable as fate and we must seek him somewhere
else."
They continued their route. It had now become a weary and almost
hopeless task, and had it not been for the threefold motives of honor,
friendship and gratitude, implanted in their hearts, our two travelers
would have given up many a time their rides over the sand, their
interrogatories of the peasantry and their close inspection of faces.
They proceeded thus to Peronne.
Athos began to despair. His noble nature felt that their ignorance was a
sort of reflection upon them. They had not looked carefully enough for
their lost friends. They had not shown sufficient pertinacity in their
inquiries. They were willing and ready to retrace their steps, when, in
crossing the suburb which leads to the gates of the town, upon a white
wall which was at the corner of a street turning around the rampart,
Athos cast his eyes upon a drawing in black chalk, which represented,
with the awkwardness of a first attempt, two cavaliers riding furiously;
one of them carried a roll of paper on which were written these words:
"They are following us."
"Oh!" exclaimed Athos, "here it is, as clear as day; pursued as he was,
D’Artagnan would not have tarried here five minutes had he been pressed
very closely, which gives us hopes that he may have succeeded in
escaping."
Aramis shook his head.
"Had he escaped we should either have seen him or have heard him spoken
of."
"You are right, Aramis, let us travel on."
To describe the impatience and anxiety of these two friends would be
impossible. Uneasiness took possession of the tender, constant heart of
Athos, and fearful forecasts were the torment of the impulsive Aramis.
They galloped on for two or three hours as furiously as the cavaliers on
the wall. All at once, in a narrow pass, they perceived that the road
was partially barricaded by an enormous stone. It had evidently been
rolled across the pass by some arm of giant strength.
Aramis stopped.
"Oh!" he said, looking at the stone, "this is the work of either
Hercules or Porthos. Let us get down, count, and examine this rock."
They both alighted. The stone had been brought with the evident
intention of barricading the road, but some one having perceived the
obstacle had partially turned it aside.
With the assistance of Blaisois and Grimaud the friends succeeded in
turning the stone over. Upon the side next the ground were scratched the
following words:
"Eight of the light dragoons are pursuing us. If we reach Compiegne we
shall stop at the Peacock. It is kept by a friend of ours."
"At last we have something definite," said Athos; "let us go to the
Peacock."
"Yes," answered Aramis, "but if we are to get there we must rest our
horses, for they are almost broken-winded."
Aramis was right; they stopped at the first tavern and made each horse
swallow a double quantity of corn steeped in wine; they gave them three
hours’ rest and then set off again. The men themselves were almost dead
with fatigue, but hope supported them.
In six hours they reached Compiegne and alighted at the Peacock. The
host proved to be a worthy man, as bald as a Chinaman. They asked him if
some time ago he had not received in his house two gentlemen who were
pursued by dragoons; without answering he went out and brought in the
blade of a rapier.
"Do you know that?" he asked.
Athos merely glanced at it.
"’Tis D’Artagnan’s sword," he said.
"Does it belong to the smaller or to the larger of the two?" asked the
host.
"To the smaller."
"I see that you are the friends of these gentlemen."
"Well, what has happened to them?"
"They were pursued by eight of the light dragoons, who rode into the
courtyard before they had time to close the gate."
"Eight!" said Aramis; "it surprises me that two such heroes as Porthos
and D’Artagnan should have allowed themselves to be arrested by eight
men."
"The eight men would doubtless have failed had they not been assisted by
twenty soldiers of the regiment of Italians in the king’s service, who
are in garrison in this town so that your friends were overpowered by
numbers."
"Arrested, were they?" inquired Athos; "is it known why?"
"No, sir, they were carried off instantly, and had not even time to tell
me why; but as soon as they were gone I found this broken sword-blade,
as I was helping to raise two dead men and five or six wounded ones."
"’Tis still a consolation that they were not wounded," said Aramis.
"Where were they taken?" asked Athos.
"Toward the town of Louvres," was the reply.
The two friends having agreed to leave Blaisois and Grimaud at Compiegne
with the horses, resolved to take post horses; and having snatched a
hasty dinner they continued their journey to Louvres. Here they found
only one inn, in which was consumed a liqueur which preserves its
reputation to our time and which is still made in that town.
"Let us alight here," said Athos. "D’Artagnan will not have let slip an
opportunity of drinking a glass of this liqueur, and at the same time
leaving some trace of himself."
They went into the town and asked for two glasses of liqueur, at the
counter--as their friends must have done before them. The counter was
covered with a plate of pewter; upon this plate was written with the
point of a large pin: "Rueil... D.."
"They went to Rueil," cried Aramis.
"Let us go to Rueil," said Athos.
"It is to throw ourselves into the wolf’s jaws," said Aramis.
"Had I been as great a friend of Jonah as I am of D’Artagnan I should
have followed him even into the inside of the whale itself; and you
would have done the same, Aramis."
"Certainly--but you make me out better than I am, dear count. Had I been
alone I should scarcely have gone to Rueil without great caution. But
where you go, I go."
They then set off for Rueil. Here the deputies of the parliament had
just arrived, in order to enter upon those famous conferences which were
to last three weeks, and produced eventually that shameful peace, at the
conclusion of which the prince was arrested. Rueil was crowded with
advocates, presidents and councillors, who came from the Parisians, and,
on the side of the court, with officers and guards; it was therefore
easy, in the midst of this confusion, to remain as unobserved as any one
might wish; besides, the conferences implied a truce, and to arrest two
gentlemen, even Frondeurs, at this time, would have been an attack on
the rights of the people.
The two friends mingled with the crowd and fancied that every one was
occupied with the same thought that tormented them. They expected to
hear some mention made of D’Artagnan or of Porthos, but every one was
engrossed by articles and reforms. It was the advice of Athos to go
straight to the minister.
"My friend," said Aramis, "take care; our safety lies in our obscurity.
If we were to make ourselves known we should be sent to rejoin our
friends in some deep ditch, from which the devil himself could not take
us out. Let us try not to find them out by accident, but from our
notions. Arrested at Compiegne, they have been carried to Rueil; at
Rueil they have been questioned by the cardinal, who has either kept
them near him or sent them to Saint Germain. As to the Bastile, they are
not there, though the Bastile is especially for the Frondeurs. They are
not dead, for the death of D’Artagnan would make a sensation. As for
Porthos, I believe him to be eternal, like God, although less patient.
Do not let us despond, but wait at Rueil, for my conviction is that they
are at Rueil. But what ails you? You are pale."
"It is this," answered Athos, with a trembling voice.
"I remember that at the Castle of Rueil the Cardinal Richelieu had some
horrible ’oubliettes’ constructed."
"Oh! never fear," said Aramis. "Richelieu was a gentleman, our equal in
birth, our superior in position. He could, like the king, touch the
greatest of us on the head, and touching them make such heads shake on
their shoulders. But Mazarin is a low-born rogue, who can at the most
take us by the collar, like an archer. Be calm--for I am sure that
D’Artagnan and Porthos are at Rueil, alive and well."
"But," resumed Athos, "I recur to my first proposal. I know no better
means than to act with candor. I shall seek, not Mazarin, but the queen,
and say to her, ’Madame, restore to us your two servants and our two
friends.’"
Aramis shook his head.
"’Tis a last resource, but let us not employ it till it is imperatively
called for; let us rather persevere in our researches."
They continued their inquiries and at last met with a light dragoon who
had formed one of the guard which had escorted D’Artagnan to Rueil.
Athos, however, perpetually recurred to his proposed interview with the
queen.
"In order to see the queen," said Aramis, "we must first see the
cardinal; and when we have seen the cardinal--remember what I tell you,
Athos--we shall be reunited to our friends, but not in the way you wish.
Now, that way of joining them is not very attractive to me, I confess.
Let us act in freedom, that we may act well and quickly."
"I shall go," he said, "to the queen."
"Well, then," answered Aramis, "pray tell me a day or two beforehand,
that I may take that opportunity of going to Paris."
"To whom?"
"Zounds! how do I know? perhaps to Madame de Longueville. She is
all-powerful yonder; she will help me. But send me word should you be
arrested, for then I will return directly."
"Why do you not take your chance and be arrested with me?"
"No, I thank you."
"Should we, by being arrested, be all four together again, we should
not, I am not sure, be twenty-four hours in prison without getting
free."
"My friend, since I killed Chatillon, adored of the ladies of Saint
Germain, I am too great a celebrity not to fear a prison doubly. The
queen is likely to follow Mazarin’s counsels and to have me tried."
"Do you think she loves this Italian so much as they say she does?"
"Did she not love an Englishman?"
"My friend, she is a woman."
"No, no, you are deceived--she is a queen."
"Dear friend, I shall sacrifice myself and go and see Anne of Austria."
"Adieu, Athos, I am going to raise an army."
"For what purpose?"
"To come back and besiege Rueil."
"Where shall we meet again?"
"At the foot of the cardinal’s gallows."
The two friends departed--Aramis to return to Paris, Athos to take
measures preparatory to an interview with the queen.
80. The Gratitude of Anne of Austria.
Athos found much less difficulty than he had expected in obtaining an
audience of Anne of Austria. It was granted, and was to take place after
her morning’s "levee," at which, in accordance with his rights of birth,
he was entitled to be present. A vast crowd filled the apartments of
Saint Germain. Anne had never at the Louvre had so large a court; but
this crowd represented chiefly the second class of nobility, while the
Prince de Conti, the Duc de Beaufort and the coadjutor assembled around
them the first nobility of France.
The greatest possible gayety prevailed at court. The particular
characteristic of this was that more songs were made than cannons fired
during its continuance. The court made songs on the Parisians and the
Parisians on the court; and the casualties, though not mortal, were
painful, as are all wounds inflicted by the weapon of ridicule.
In the midst of this seeming hilarity, nevertheless, people’s minds were
uneasy. Was Mazarin to remain the favorite and minister of the queen?
Was he to be carried back by the wind which had blown him there? Every
one hoped so, so that the minister felt that all around him, beneath the
homage of the courtiers, lay a fund of hatred, ill disguised by fear and
interest. He felt ill at ease and at a loss what to do.
Conde himself, whilst fighting for him, lost no opportunity of
ridiculing, of humbling him. The queen, on whom he threw himself as sole
support, seemed to him now not much to be relied upon.
When the hour appointed for the audience arrived Athos was obliged to
stay until the queen, who was waited upon by a new deputation from
Paris, had consulted with her minister as to the propriety and manner of
receiving them. All were fully engrossed with the affairs of the day;
Athos could not therefore have chosen a more inauspicious moment to
speak of his friends--poor atoms, lost in that raging whirlwind.
But Athos was a man of inflexible determination; he firmly adhered to a
purpose once formed, when it seemed to him to spring from conscience and
to be prompted by a sense of duty. He insisted on being introduced,
saying that although he was not a deputy from Monsieur de Conti, or
Monsieur de Beaufort, or Monsieur de Bouillon, or Monsieur d’Elbeuf, or
the coadjutor, or Madame de Longueville, or Broussel, or the Parliament,
and although he had come on his own private account, he nevertheless had
things to say to her majesty of the utmost importance.
The conference being finished, the queen summoned him to her cabinet.
Athos was introduced and announced by name. It was a name that too often
resounded in her majesty’s ears and too often vibrated in her heart for
Anne of Austria not to recognize it; yet she remained impassive, looking
at him with that fixed stare which is tolerated only in women who are
queens, either by the power of beauty or by the right of birth.
"It is then a service which you propose to render us, count?" asked Anne
of Austria, after a moment’s silence.
"Yes, madame, another service," said Athos, shocked that the queen did
not seem to recognize him.
Athos had a noble heart, and made, therefore, but a poor courtier.
Anne frowned. Mazarin, who was sitting at a table folding up papers, as
if he had only been a secretary of state, looked up.
"Speak," said the queen.
Mazarin turned again to his papers.
"Madame," resumed Athos, "two of my friends, named D’Artagnan and
Monsieur du Vallon, sent to England by the cardinal, suddenly
disappeared when they set foot on the shores of France; no one knows
what has become of them."
"Well?" said the queen.
"I address myself, therefore, first to the benevolence of your majesty,
that I may know what has become of my friends, reserving to myself, if
necessary, the right of appealing hereafter to your justice."
"Sir," replied Anne, with a degree of haughtiness which to certain
persons became impertinence, "this is the reason that you trouble me in
the midst of so many absorbing concerns! an affair for the police! Well,
sir, you ought to know that we no longer have a police, since we are no
longer at Paris."
"I think your majesty will have no need to apply to the police to know
where my friends are, but that if you will deign to interrogate the
cardinal he can reply without any further inquiry than into his own
recollections."
"But, God forgive me!" cried Anne, with that disdainful curl of the lips
peculiar to her, "I believe that you are yourself interrogating."
"Yes, madame, here I have a right to do so, for it concerns Monsieur
d’Artagnan---d’Artagnan," he repeated, in such a manner as to bow the
regal brow with recollections of the weak and erring woman.
The cardinal saw that it was now high time to come to the assistance of
Anne.
"Sir," he said, "I can tell you what is at present unknown to her
majesty. These individuals are under arrest. They disobeyed orders."
"I beg of your majesty, then," said Athos, calmly and not replying to
Mazarin, "to quash these arrests of Messieurs d’Artagnan and du Vallon."
"What you ask is merely an affair of discipline and does not concern
me," said the queen.
"Monsieur d’Artagnan never made such an answer as that when the service
of your majesty was concerned," said Athos, bowing with great dignity.
He was going toward the door when Mazarin stopped him.
"You, too, have been in England, sir?" he said, making a sign to the
queen, who was evidently going to issue a severe order.
"I was a witness of the last hours of Charles I. Poor king! culpable, at
the most, of weakness, how cruelly punished by his subjects! Thrones are
at this time shaken and it is to little purpose for devoted hearts to
serve the interests of princes. This is the second time that Monsieur
d’Artagnan has been in England. He went the first time to save the honor
of a great queen; the second, to avert the death of a great king."
"Sir," said Anne to Mazarin, with an accent from which daily habits of
dissimulation could not entirely chase the real expression, "see if we
can do something for these gentlemen."
"I wish to do, madame, all that your majesty pleases."
"Do what Monsieur de la Fere requests; that is your name, is it not,
sir?"
"I have another name, madame--I am called Athos."
"Madame," said Mazarin, with a smile, "you may rest easy; your wishes
shall be fulfilled."
"You hear, sir?" said the queen.
"Yes, madame, I expected nothing less from the justice of your majesty.
May I not go and see my friends?"
"Yes, sir, you shall see them. But, apropos, you belong to the Fronde,
do you not?"
"Madame, I serve the king."
"Yes, in your own way."
"My way is the way of all gentlemen, and I know only one way," answered
Athos, haughtily.
"Go, sir, then," said the queen; "you have obtained what you wish and we
know all we desire to know."
Scarcely, however, had the tapestry closed behind Athos when she said to
Mazarin:
"Cardinal, desire them to arrest that insolent fellow before he leaves
the court."
"Your majesty," answered Mazarin, "desires me to do only what I was
going to ask you to let me do. These bravoes who resuscitate in our
epoch the traditions of another reign are troublesome; since there are
two of them already there, let us add a third."
Athos was not altogether the queen’s dupe, but he was not a man to run
away on suspicion--above all, when distinctly told that he should see
his friends again. He waited, then, in the ante-chamber with impatience,
till he should be conducted to them.
He walked to the window and looked into the court. He saw the deputation
from the Parisians enter it; they were coming to assign the definitive
place for the conference and to make their bow to the queen. A very
imposing escort awaited them without the gates.
Athos was looking on attentively, when some one touched him softly on
the shoulder.
"Ah! Monsieur de Comminges," he said.
"Yes, count, and charged with a commission for which I beg of you to
accept my excuses."
"What is it?"
"Be so good as to give me up your sword, count."
Athos smiled and opened the window.
"Aramis!" he cried.
A gentleman turned around. Athos fancied he had seen him among the
crowd. It was Aramis. He bowed with great friendship to the count.
"Aramis," cried Athos, "I am arrested."
"Good," replied Aramis, calmly.
"Sir," said Athos, turning to Comminges and giving him politely his
sword by the hilt, "here is my sword; have the kindness to keep it
safely for me until I quit my prison. I prize it--it was given to my
ancestor by King Francis I. In his time they armed gentlemen, not
disarmed them. Now, whither do you conduct me?"
"Into my room first," replied Comminges; "the queen will ultimately
decide your place of domicile."
Athos followed Comminges without saying a single word. |
|
댓글 없음:
댓글 쓰기