"Who is that man?" he asked.
The hostess replied only by gasps.
"Who is that Swiss?" asked D’Artagnan.
"Monsieur is going to marry me," replied the hostess, between two gasps.
"Your husband, then, is at last dead?"
"How does that concern you?" replied the Swiss.
"It concerns me much," said D’Artagnan, "since you cannot marry madame
without my consent and since----"
"And since?" asked the Swiss.
"And since--I do not give it," said the musketeer.
The Swiss became as purple as a peony. He wore his elegant uniform,
D’Artagnan was wrapped in a sort of gray cloak; the Swiss was six feet
high, D’Artagnan was hardly more than five; the Swiss considered himself
on his own ground and regarded D’Artagnan as an intruder.
"Will you go away from here?" demanded the Swiss, stamping violently,
like a man who begins to be seriously angry.
"I? By no means!" said D’Artagnan.
"Some one must go for help," said a lad, who could not comprehend that
this little man should make a stand against that other man, who was so
large.
D’Artagnan, with a sudden accession of wrath, seized the lad by the ear
and led him apart, with the injunction:
"Stay you where you are and don’t you stir, or I will pull this ear off.
As for you, illustrious descendant of William Tell, you will straightway
get together your clothes which are in my room and which annoy me, and
go out quickly to another lodging."
The Swiss began to laugh boisterously. "I go out?" he said. "And why?"
"Ah, very well!" said D’Artagnan; "I see that you understand French.
Come then, and take a turn with me and I will explain."
The hostess, who knew D’Artagnan’s skill with the sword, began to weep
and tear her hair. D’Artagnan turned toward her, saying, "Then send him
away, madame."
"Pooh!" said the Swiss, who had needed a little time to take in
D’Artagnan’s proposal, "pooh! who are you, in the first place, to ask me
to take a turn with you?"
"I am lieutenant in his majesty’s musketeers," said D’Artagnan, "and
consequently your superior in everything; only, as the question now is
not of rank, but of quarters--you know the custom--come and seek for
yours; the first to return will recover his chamber."
D’Artagnan led away the Swiss in spite of lamentations on the part of
the hostess, who in reality found her heart inclining toward her former
lover, though she would not have been sorry to give a lesson to that
haughty musketeer who had affronted her by the refusal of her hand.
It was night when the two adversaries reached the field of battle.
D’Artagnan politely begged the Swiss to yield to him the disputed
chamber; the Swiss refused by shaking his head, and drew his sword.
"Then you will lie here," said D’Artagnan. "It is a wretched bed, but
that is not my fault, and it is you who have chosen it." With these
words he drew in his turn and crossed swords with his adversary.
He had to contend against a strong wrist, but his agility was superior
to all force. The Swiss received two wounds and was not aware of it, by
reason of the cold; but suddenly feebleness, occasioned by loss of
blood, obliged him to sit down.
"There!" said D’Artagnan, "what did I tell you? Fortunately, you won’t
be laid up more than a fortnight. Remain here and I will send you your
clothes by the boy. Good-by! Oh, by the way, you’d better take lodging
in the Rue Montorgueil at the Chat Qui Pelote. You will be well fed
there, if the hostess remains the same. Adieu."
Thereupon he returned in a lively mood to his room and sent to the Swiss
the things that belonged to him. The boy found him sitting where
D’Artagnan had left him, still overwhelmed by the coolness of his
adversary.
The boy, the hostess, and all the house had the same regard for
D’Artagnan that one would have for Hercules should he return to earth to
repeat his twelve labors.
But when he was alone with the hostess he said: "Now, pretty Madeleine,
you know the difference between a Swiss and a gentleman. As for you, you
have acted like a barmaid. So much the worse for you, for by such
conduct you have lost my esteem and my patronage. I have driven away the
Swiss to humiliate you, but I shall lodge here no longer. I will not
sleep where I must scorn. Ho, there, boy! Have my valise carried to the
Muid d’Amour, Rue des Bourdonnais. Adieu, madame."
In saying these words D’Artagnan appeared at the same time majestic and
grieved. The hostess threw herself at his feet, asked his pardon and
held him back with a sweet violence. What more need be said? The spit
turned, the stove roared, the pretty Madeleine wept; D’Artagnan felt
himself invaded by hunger, cold and love. He pardoned, and having
pardoned he remained.
And this explains how D’Artagnan had quarters in the Rue Tiquetonne, at
the Hotel de la Chevrette.
D’Artagnan then returned home in thoughtful mood, finding a somewhat
lively pleasure in carrying Mazarin’s bag of money and thinking of that
fine diamond which he had once called his own and which he had seen on
the minister’s finger that night.
"Should that diamond ever fall into my hands again," he reflected, "I
would turn it at once into money; I would buy with the proceeds certain
lands around my father’s chateau, which is a pretty place, well enough,
but with no land to it at all, except a garden about the size of the
Cemetery des Innocents; and I should wait in all my glory till some rich
heiress, attracted by my good looks, rode along to marry me. Then I
should like to have three sons; I should make the first a nobleman, like
Athos; the second a good soldier, like Porthos; the third an excellent
abbe, like Aramis. Faith! that would be a far better life than I lead
now; but Monsieur Mazarin is a mean wretch, who won’t dispossess himself
of his diamond in my favor."
On entering the Rue Tiquetonne he heard a tremendous noise and found a
dense crowd near the house.
"Oho!" said he, "is the hotel on fire?" On approaching the hotel of the
Roe he found, however, that it was in front of the next house the mob
was collected. The people were shouting and running about with torches.
By the light of one of these torches D’Artagnan perceived men in
uniform.
He asked what was going on.
He was told that twenty citizens, headed by one man, had attacked a
carriage which was escorted by a troop of the cardinal’s bodyguard; but
a reinforcement having come up, the assailants had been put to flight
and the leader had taken refuge in the hotel next to his lodgings; the
house was now being searched.
In his youth D’Artagnan had often headed the bourgeoisie against the
military, but he was cured of all those hot-headed propensities;
besides, he had the cardinal’s hundred pistoles in his pocket, so he
went into the hotel without a word. There he found Madeleine alarmed for
his safety and anxious to tell him all the events of the evening, but he
cut her short by ordering her to put his supper in his room and give him
with it a bottle of good Burgundy.
He took his key and candle and went upstairs to his bedroom. He had been
contented, for the convenience of the house, to lodge in the fourth
story; and truth obliges us even to confess that his chamber was just
above the gutter and below the roof. His first care on entering it was
to lock up in an old bureau with a new lock his bag of money, and then
as soon as supper was ready he sent away the waiter who brought it up
and sat down to table.
Not to reflect on what had passed, as one might fancy. No, D’Artagnan
considered that things are never well done when they are not reserved to
their proper time. He was hungry; he supped, he went to bed. Neither was
he one of those who think that the necessary silence of the night brings
counsel with it. In the night he slept, but in the morning, refreshed
and calm, he was inspired with his clearest views of everything. It was
long since he had any reason for his morning’s inspiration, but he
always slept all night long. At daybreak he awoke and took a turn around
his room.
"In ’43," he said, "just before the death of the late cardinal, I
received a letter from Athos. Where was I then? Let me see. Oh! at the
siege of Besancon I was in the trenches. He told me--let me think--what
was it? That he was living on a small estate--but where? I was just
reading the name of the place when the wind blew my letter away, I
suppose to the Spaniards; there’s no use in thinking any more about
Athos. Let me see: with regard to Porthos, I received a letter from him,
too. He invited me to a hunting party on his property in the month of
September, 1646. Unluckily, as I was then in Bearn, on account of my
father’s death, the letter followed me there. I had left Bearn when it
arrived and I never received it until the month of April, 1647; and as
the invitation was for September, 1646, I couldn’t accept it. Let me
look for this letter; it must be with my title deeds."
D’Artagnan opened an old casket which stood in a corner of the room, and
which was full of parchments referring to an estate during a period of
two hundred years lost to his family. He uttered an exclamation of
delight, for the large handwriting of Porthos was discernible, and
underneath some lines traced by his worthy spouse.
D’Artagnan eagerly searched for the heading of this letter; it was dated
from the Chateau du Vallon.
Porthos had forgotten that any other address was necessary; in his pride
he fancied that every one must know the Chateau du Vallon.
"Devil take the vain fellow," said D’Artagnan. "However, I had better
find him out first, since he can’t want money. Athos must have become an
idiot by this time from drinking. Aramis must have worn himself to a
shadow of his former self by constant genuflexion."
He cast his eyes again on the letter. There was a postscript:
"I write by the same courier to our worthy friend Aramis in his
convent."
"In his convent! What convent? There are about two hundred in Paris and
three thousand in France; and then, perhaps, on entering the convent he
changed his name. Ah! if I were but learned in theology I should
recollect what it was he used to dispute about with the curate of
Montdidier and the superior of the Jesuits, when we were at Crevecoeur;
I should know what doctrine he leans to and I should glean from that
what saint he has adopted as his patron.
"Well, suppose I go back to the cardinal and ask him for a passport into
all the convents one can find, even into the nunneries? It would be a
curious idea, and maybe I should find my friend under the name of
Achilles. But, no! I should lose myself in the cardinal’s opinion. Great
people only thank you for doing the impossible; what’s possible, they
say, they can effect themselves, and they are right. But let us wait a
little and reflect. I received a letter from him, the dear fellow, in
which he even asked me for some small service, which, in fact, I
rendered him. Yes, yes; but now what did I do with that letter?"
D’Artagnan thought a moment and then went to the wardrobe in which hung
his old clothes. He looked for his doublet of the year 1648 and as he
had orderly habits, he found it hanging on its nail. He felt in the
pocket and drew from it a paper; it was the letter of Aramis:
"Monsieur D’Artagnan: You know that I have had a quarrel with a certain
gentleman, who has given me an appointment for this evening in the Place
Royale. As I am of the church, and the affair might injure me if I
should share it with any other than a sure friend like you, I write to
beg that you will serve me as second.
"You will enter by the Rue Neuve Sainte Catherine; under the second lamp
on the right you will find your adversary. I shall be with mine under
the third.
"Wholly yours,
"Aramis."
D’Artagnan tried to recall his remembrances. He had gone to the
rendezvous, had encountered there the adversary indicated, whose name he
had never known, had given him a pretty sword-stroke on the arm, then
had gone toward Aramis, who at the same time came to meet him, having
already finished his affair. "It is over," Aramis had said. "I think I
have killed the insolent fellow. But, dear friend, if you ever need me
you know that I am entirely devoted to you." Thereupon Aramis had given
him a clasp of the hand and had disappeared under the arcades.
So, then, he no more knew where Aramis was than where Athos and Porthos
were, and the affair was becoming a matter of great perplexity, when he
fancied he heard a pane of glass break in his room window. He thought
directly of his bag and rushed from the inner room where he was
sleeping. He was not mistaken; as he entered his bedroom a man was
getting in by the window.
"Ah! you scoundrel!" cried D’Artagnan, taking the man for a thief and
seizing his sword.
"Sir!" cried the man, "in the name of Heaven put your sword back into
the sheath and don’t kill me unheard. I’m no thief, but an honest
citizen, well off in the world, with a house of my own. My name is--ah!
but surely you are Monsieur d’Artagnan?"
"And thou--Planchet!" cried the lieutenant.
"At your service, sir," said Planchet, overwhelmed with joy; "if I were
still capable of serving you."
"Perhaps so," replied D’Artagnan. "But why the devil dost thou run about
the tops of houses at seven o’clock of the morning in the month of
January?"
"Sir," said Planchet, "you must know; but, perhaps you ought not to
know----"
"Tell us what," returned D’Artagnan, "but first put a napkin against the
window and draw the curtains."
"Sir," said the prudent Planchet, "in the first place, are you on good
terms with Monsieur de Rochefort?"
"Perfectly; one of my dearest friends."
"Ah! so much the better!"
"But what has De Rochefort to do with this manner you have of invading
my room?"
"Ah, sir! I must first tell you that Monsieur de Rochefort is----"
Planchet hesitated.
"Egad, I know where he is," said D’Artagnan. "He’s in the Bastile."
"That is to say, he was there," replied Planchet. "But in returning
thither last night, when fortunately you did not accompany him, as his
carriage was crossing the Rue de la Ferronnerie his guards insulted the
people, who began to abuse them. The prisoner thought this a good
opportunity for escape; he called out his name and cried for help. I was
there. I heard the name of Rochefort. I remembered him well. I said in a
loud voice that he was a prisoner, a friend of the Duc de Beaufort, who
called for help. The people were infuriated; they stopped the horses and
cut the escort to pieces, whilst I opened the doors of the carriage and
Monsieur de Rochefort jumped out and soon was lost amongst the crowd. At
this moment a patrol passed by. I was obliged to sound a retreat toward
the Rue Tiquetonne; I was pursued and took refuge in the house next to
this, where I have been concealed between two mattresses. This morning I
ventured to run along the gutters and----"
"Well," interrupted D’Artagnan, "I am delighted that De Rochefort is
free, but as for thee, if thou shouldst fall into the hands of the
king’s servants they will hang thee without mercy. Nevertheless, I
promise thee thou shalt be hidden here, though I risk by concealing thee
neither more nor less than my lieutenancy, if it was found out that I
gave one rebel an asylum."
"Ah! sir, you know well I would risk my life for you."
"Thou mayst add that thou hast risked it, Planchet. I have not forgotten
all I owe thee. Sit down there and eat in security. I see thee cast
expressive glances at the remains of my supper."
"Yes, sir; for all I’ve had since yesterday was a slice of bread and
butter, with preserves on it. Although I don’t despise sweet things in
proper time and place, I found the supper rather light."
"Poor fellow!" said D’Artagnan. "Well, come; set to."
"Ah, sir, you are going to save my life a second time!" cried Planchet.
And he seated himself at the table and ate as he did in the merry days
of the Rue des Fossoyeurs, whilst D’Artagnan walked to and fro and
thought how he could make use of Planchet under present circumstances.
While he turned this over in his mind Planchet did his best to make up
for lost time at table. At last he uttered a sigh of satisfaction and
paused, as if he had partially appeased his hunger.
"Come," said D’Artagnan, who thought that it was now a convenient time
to begin his interrogations, "dost thou know where Athos is?"
"No, sir," replied Planchet.
"The devil thou dost not! Dost know where Porthos is?"
"No--not at all."
"And Aramis?"
"Not in the least."
"The devil! the devil! the devil!"
"But, sir," said Planchet, with a look of shrewdness, "I know where
Bazin is."
"Where is he?"
"At Notre Dame."
"What has he to do at Notre Dame?"
"He is beadle."
"Bazin beadle at Notre Dame! He must know where his master is!"
"Without a doubt he must."
D’Artagnan thought for a moment, then took his sword and put on his
cloak to go out.
"Sir," said Planchet, in a mournful tone, "do you abandon me thus to my
fate? Think, if I am found out here, the people of the house, who have
not seen me enter it, will take me for a thief."
"True," said D’Artagnan. "Let’s see. Canst thou speak any patois?"
"I can do something better than that, sir, I can speak Flemish."
"Where the devil didst thou learn it?"
"In Artois, where I fought for years. Listen, sir. Goeden morgen,
mynheer, eth teen begeeray le weeten the ge sond heets omstand."
"Which means?"
"Good-day, sir! I am anxious to know the state of your health."
"He calls that a language! But never mind, that will do capitally."
D’Artagnan opened the door and called out to a waiter to desire
Madeleine to come upstairs.
When the landlady made her appearance she expressed much astonishment at
seeing Planchet.
"My dear landlady," said D’Artagnan, "I beg to introduce to you your
brother, who is arrived from Flanders and whom I am going to take into
my service."
"My brother?"
"Wish your sister good-morning, Master Peter."
"Wilkom, suster," said Planchet.
"Goeden day, broder," replied the astonished landlady.
"This is the case," said D’Artagnan; "this is your brother, Madeleine;
you don’t know him perhaps, but I know him; he has arrived from
Amsterdam. You must dress him up during my absence. When I return, which
will be in about an hour, you must offer him to me as a servant, and
upon your recommendation, though he doesn’t speak a word of French, I
take him into my service. You understand?"
"That is to say, I guess your wishes, and that is all that’s necessary,"
said Madeleine.
"You are a precious creature, my pretty hostess, and I am much obliged
to you."
The next moment D’Artagnan was on his way to Notre Dame.
7. Touches upon the Strange Effects a Half-pistole may have.
D’Artagnan, as he crossed the Pont Neuf, congratulated himself on having
found Planchet again, for at that time an intelligent servant was
essential to him; nor was he sorry that through Planchet and the
situation which he held in Rue des Lombards, a connection with the
bourgeoisie might be commenced, at that critical period when that class
were preparing to make war with the court party. It was like having a
spy in the enemy’s camp. In this frame of mind, grateful for the
accidental meeting with Planchet, pleased with himself, D’Artagnan
reached Notre Dame. He ran up the steps, entered the church, and
addressing a verger who was sweeping the chapel, asked him if he knew
Monsieur Bazin.
"Monsieur Bazin, the beadle?" said the verger. "Yes. There he is,
attending mass, in the chapel of the Virgin."
D’Artagnan nearly jumped for joy; he had despaired of finding Bazin, but
now, he thought, since he held one end of the thread he would be pretty
sure to reach the other end.
He knelt down just opposite the chapel in order not to lose sight of his
man; and as he had almost forgotten his prayers and had omitted to take
a book with him, he made use of his time in gazing at Bazin.
Bazin wore his dress, it may be observed, with equal dignity and saintly
propriety. It was not difficult to understand that he had gained the
crown of his ambition and that the silver-mounted wand he brandished was
in his eyes as honorable a distinction as the marshal’s baton which
Conde threw, or did not throw, into the enemy’s line of battle at
Fribourg. His person had undergone a change, analogous to the change in
his dress; his figure had grown rotund and, as it were, canonical. The
striking points of his face were effaced; he had still a nose, but his
cheeks, fattened out, each took a portion of it unto themselves; his
chin had joined his throat; his eyes were swelled up with the puffiness
of his cheeks; his hair, cut straight in holy guise, covered his
forehead as far as his eyebrows.
The officiating priest was just finishing mass whilst D’Artagnan was
looking at Bazin; he pronounced the words of the holy Sacrament and
retired, giving the benediction, which was received by the kneeling
communicants, to the astonishment of D’Artagnan, who recognized in the
priest the coadjutor* himself, the famous Jean Francois Gondy, who at
that time, having a presentiment of the part he was to play, was
beginning to court popularity by almsgiving. It was to this end that he
performed from time to time some of those early masses which the common
people, generally, alone attended.
_* A sacerdotal officer._
D’Artagnan knelt as well as the rest, received his share of the
benediction and made the sign of the cross; but when Bazin passed in his
turn, with his eyes raised to Heaven and walking, in all humility, the
very last, D’Artagnan pulled him by the hem of his robe.
Bazin looked down and started, as if he had seen a serpent.
"Monsieur d’Artagnan!" he cried; "Vade retro Satanas!"
"So, my dear Bazin!" said the officer, laughing, "this is the way you
receive an old friend."
"Sir," replied Bazin, "the true friends of a Christian are those who aid
him in working out his salvation, not those who hinder him in doing so."
"I don’t understand you, Bazin; nor can I see how I can be a
stumbling-block in the way of your salvation," said D’Artagnan.
"You forget, sir, that you very nearly ruined forever that of my master;
and that it was owing to you that he was very nearly being damned
eternally for remaining a musketeer, whilst all the time his true
vocation was the church."
"My dear Bazin, you ought to perceive," said D’Artagnan, "from the place
in which you find me, that I am greatly changed in everything. Age
produces good sense, and, as I doubt not but that your master is on the
road to salvation, I want you to tell me where he is, that he may help
me to mine."
"Rather say, to take him back with you into the world. Fortunately, I
don’t know where he is."
"How!" cried D’Artagnan; "you don’t know where Aramis is?"
"Formerly," replied Bazin, "Aramis was his name of perdition. By Aramis
is meant Simara, which is the name of a demon. Happily for him he has
ceased to bear that name."
"And therefore," said D’Artagnan, resolved to be patient to the end, "it
is not Aramis I seek, but the Abbe d’Herblay. Come, my dear Bazin, tell
me where he is."
"Didn’t you hear me tell you, Monsieur d’Artagnan, that I don’t know
where he is?"
"Yes, certainly; but to that I answer that it is impossible."
"It is, nevertheless, the truth, monsieur--the pure truth, the truth of
the good God."
D’Artagnan saw clearly that he would get nothing out of this man, who
was evidently telling a falsehood in his pretended ignorance of the
abode of Aramis, but whose lies were bold and decided.
"Well, Bazin," said D’Artagnan, "since you do not know where your master
lives, let us speak of it no more; let us part good friends. Accept this
half-pistole to drink to my health."
"I do not drink"--Bazin pushed away with dignity the officer’s
hand--"’tis good only for the laity."
"Incorruptible!" murmured D’Artagnan; "I am unlucky;" and whilst he was
lost in thought Bazin retreated toward the sacristy, and even there he
could not think himself safe until he had shut and locked the door
behind him.
D’Artagnan was still in deep thought when some one touched him on the
shoulder. He turned and was about to utter an exclamation of surprise
when the other made to him a sign of silence.
"You here, Rochefort?" he said, in a low voice.
"Hush!" returned Rochefort. "Did you know that I am at liberty?"
"I knew it from the fountain-head--from Planchet. And what brought you
here?"
"I came to thank God for my happy deliverance," said Rochefort.
"And nothing more? I suppose that is not all."
"To take my orders from the coadjutor and to see if we cannot wake up
Mazarin a little."
"A bad plan; you’ll be shut up again in the Bastile."
"Oh, as to that, I shall take care, I assure you. The air, the fresh,
free air is so good; besides," and Rochefort drew a deep breath as he
spoke, "I am going into the country to make a tour."
"Stop," cried D’Artagnan; "I, too, am going."
"And if I may without impertinence ask--where are you going?"
"To seek my friends."
"What friends?"
"Those that you asked about yesterday."
"Athos, Porthos and Aramis--you are looking for them?"
"Yes."
"On honor?"
"What, then, is there surprising in that?"
"Nothing. Queer, though. And in whose behalf are you looking for them?"
"You are in no doubt on that score."
"That is true."
"Unfortunately, I have no idea where they are."
"And you have no way to get news of them? Wait a week and I myself will
give you some."
"A week is too long. I must find them within three days."
"Three days are a short time and France is large."
"No matter; you know the word must; with that word great things are
done."
"And when do you set out?"
"I am now on my road."
"Good luck to you."
"And to you--a good journey."
"Perhaps we shall meet on our road."
"That is not probable."
"Who knows? Chance is so capricious. Adieu, till we meet again! Apropos,
should Mazarin speak to you about me, tell him that I should have
requested you to acquaint him that in a short time he will see whether I
am, as he says, too old for action."
And Rochefort went away with one of those diabolical smiles which used
formerly to make D’Artagnan shudder, but D’Artagnan could now see it
without alarm, and smiling in his turn, with an expression of melancholy
which the recollections called up by that smile could, perhaps, alone
give to his countenance, he said:
"Go, demon, do what thou wilt! It matters little now to me. There’s no
second Constance in the world."
On his return to the cathedral, D’Artagnan saw Bazin, who was conversing
with the sacristan. Bazin was making, with his spare little short arms,
ridiculous gestures. D’Artagnan perceived that he was enforcing prudence
with respect to himself.
D’Artagnan slipped out of the cathedral and placed himself in ambuscade
at the corner of the Rue des Canettes; it was impossible that Bazin
should go out of the cathedral without his seeing him.
In five minutes Bazin made his appearance, looking in every direction to
see if he were observed, but he saw no one. Calmed by appearances he
ventured to walk on through the Rue Notre Dame. Then D’Artagnan rushed
out of his hiding place and arrived in time to see Bazin turn down the
Rue de la Juiverie and enter, in the Rue de la Calandre, a respectable
looking house; and this D’Artagnan felt no doubt was the habitation of
the worthy beadle. Afraid of making any inquiries at this house,
D’Artagnan entered a small tavern at the corner of the street and asked
for a cup of hypocras. This beverage required a good half-hour to
prepare. And D’Artagnan had time, therefore, to watch Bazin unsuspected.
He perceived in the tavern a pert boy between twelve and fifteen years
of age whom he fancied he had seen not twenty minutes before under the
guise of a chorister. He questioned him, and as the boy had no interest
in deceiving, D’Artagnan learned that he exercised, from six o’clock in
the morning until nine, the office of chorister, and from nine o’clock
till midnight that of a waiter in the tavern.
Whilst he was talking to this lad a horse was brought to the door of
Bazin’s house. It was saddled and bridled. Almost immediately Bazin came
downstairs.
"Look!" said the boy, "there’s our beadle, who is going a journey."
"And where is he going?" asked D’Artagnan.
"Forsooth, I don’t know."
"Half a pistole if you can find out," said D’Artagnan.
"For me?" cried the boy, his eyes sparkling with joy, "if I can find out
where Bazin is going? That is not difficult. You are not joking, are
you?"
"No, on the honor of an officer; there is the half-pistole;" and he
showed him the seductive coin, but did not give it him.
"I shall ask him."
"Just the very way not to know. Wait till he is set out and then, marry,
come up, ask, and find out. The half-pistole is ready," and he put it
back again into his pocket.
"I understand," said the child, with that jeering smile which marks
especially the "gamin de Paris." "Well, we must wait."
They had not long to wait. Five minutes afterward Bazin set off on a
full trot, urging on his horse by the blows of a parapluie, which he was
in the habit of using instead of a riding whip.
Scarcely had he turned the corner of the Rue de la Juiverie when the boy
rushed after him like a bloodhound on full scent.
Before ten minutes had elapsed the child returned.
"Well!" said D’Artagnan.
"Well!" answered the boy, "the thing is done."
"Where is he gone?"
"The half-pistole is for me?"
"Doubtless, answer me."
"I want to see it. Give it me, that I may see it is not false."
"There it is."
The child put the piece of money into his pocket.
"And now, where is he gone?" inquired D’Artagnan.
"He is gone to Noisy."
"How dost thou know?"
"Ah, faith! there was no great cunning necessary. I knew the horse he
rode; it belonged to the butcher, who lets it out now and then to M.
Bazin. Now I thought that the butcher would not let his horse out like
that without knowing where it was going. And he answered ’that Monsieur
Bazin went to Noisy.’ ’Tis his custom. He goes two or three times a
week."
"Dost thou know Noisy well?"
"I think so, truly; my nurse lives there."
"Is there a convent at Noisy?"
"Isn’t there a great and grand one--the convent of Jesuits?"
"What is thy name?"
"Friquet."
D’Artagnan wrote the child’s name in his tablets.
"Please, sir," said the boy, "do you think I can gain any more
half-pistoles in any way?"
"Perhaps," replied D’Artagnan.
And having got out all he wanted, he paid for the hypocras, which he did
not drink, and went quickly back to the Rue Tiquetonne.
8. D’Artagnan, Going to a Distance to discover Aramis.
On entering the hotel D’Artagnan saw a man sitting in a corner by the
fire. It was Planchet, but so completely transformed, thanks to the old
clothes that the departing husband had left behind, that D’Artagnan
himself could hardly recognize him. Madeleine introduced him in presence
of all the servants. Planchet addressed the officer with a fine Flemish
phrase; the officer replied in words that belonged to no language at
all, and the bargain was concluded; Madeleine’s brother entered
D’Artagnan’s service.
The plan adopted by D’Artagnan was soon perfected. He resolved not to
reach Noisy in the day, for fear of being recognized; he had therefore
plenty of time before him, for Noisy is only three or four leagues from
Paris, on the road to Meaux.
He began his day by breakfasting substantially--a bad beginning when one
wants to employ the head, but an excellent precaution when one wants to
work the body; and about two o’clock he had his two horses saddled, and
followed by Planchet he quitted Paris by the Barriere de la Villete. A
most active search was still prosecuted in the house near the Hotel de
la Chevrette for the discovery of Planchet.
At about a league and a half from the city, D’Artagnan, finding that in
his impatience he had set out too soon, stopped to give the horses
breathing time. The inn was full of disreputable looking people, who
seemed as if they were on the point of commencing some nightly
expedition. A man, wrapped in a cloak, appeared at the door, but seeing
a stranger he beckoned to his companions, and two men who were drinking
in the inn went out to speak to him.
D’Artagnan, on his side, went up to the landlady, praised her
wine--which was a horrible production from the country of Montreuil--and
heard from her that there were only two houses of importance in the
village; one of these belonged to the Archbishop of Paris, and was at
that time the abode of his niece the Duchess of Longueville; the other
was a convent of Jesuits and was the property--a by no means unusual
circumstance--of these worthy fathers.
At four o’clock D’Artagnan recommenced his journey. He proceeded slowly
and in deep reverie. Planchet also was lost in thought, but the subject
of their reflections was not the same.
One word which their landlady had pronounced had given a particular turn
to D’Artagnan’s deliberations; this was the name of Madame de
Longueville.
That name was indeed one to inspire imagination and produce thought.
Madame de Longueville was one of the highest ladies in the realm; she
was also one of the greatest beauties at court. She had formerly been
suspected of an intimacy of too tender a nature with Coligny, who, for
her sake, had been killed in a duel, in the Place Royale, by the Duc de
Guise. She was now connected by bonds of a political nature with the
Prince de Marsillac, the eldest son of the old Duc de Rochefoucauld,
whom she was trying to inspire with an enmity toward the Duc de Conde,
her brother-in-law, whom she now hated mortally.
D’Artagnan thought of all these matters. He remembered how at the Louvre
he had often seen, as she passed by him in the full radiance of her
dazzling charms, the beautiful Madame de Longueville. He thought of
Aramis, who, without possessing any greater advantages than himself, had
formerly been the lover of Madame de Chevreuse, who had been to a former
court what Madame de Longueville was in that day; and he wondered how it
was that there should be in the world people who succeed in every wish,
some in ambition, others in love, whilst others, either from chance, or
from ill-luck, or from some natural defect or impediment, remain
half-way upon the road toward fulfilment of their hopes and expectations. |
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