Twenty Years After
by Alexandre Dumas (Pere)
Hypertext Meanings and Commentaries
from the Encyclopedia of the Self
by Mark Zimmerman
Go to Part 2 of 2

by Alexandre Dumas

1

The Shade of Cardinal Richelieu.

In a splendid chamber of the Palais Royal, formerly styled
the Palais Cardinal, a man was sitting in deep reverie, his
head supported on his hands, leaning over a gilt and inlaid
table which was covered with letters and papers. Behind this
figure glowed a vast fireplace alive with leaping flames;
great logs of oak blazed and crackled on the polished brass
andirons whose flicker shone upon the superb habiliments of
the lonely tenant of the room, which was illumined grandly
by twin candelabra rich with wax-lights.

Any one who happened at that moment to contemplate that red
simar -- the gorgeous robe of office -- and the rich lace,
or who gazed on that pale brow, bent in anxious meditation,
might, in the solitude of that apartment, combined with the
silence of the ante-chambers and the measured paces of the
guards upon the landing-place, have fancied that the shade
of Cardinal Richelieu lingered still in his accustomed
haunt.

It was, alas! the ghost of former greatness. France
enfeebled, the authority of her sovereign contemned, her
nobles returning to their former turbulence and insolence,
her enemies within her frontiers -- all proved the great
Richelieu no longer in existence.

In truth, that the red simar which occupied the wonted place
was his no longer, was still more strikingly obvious from
the isolation which seemed, as we have observed, more
appropriate to a phantom than a living creature -- from the
corridors deserted by courtiers, and courts crowded with
guards -- from that spirit of bitter ridicule, which,
arising from the streets below, penetrated through the very
casements of the room, which resounded with the murmurs of a
whole city leagued against the minister; as well as from the
distant and incessant sounds of guns firing -- let off,
happily, without other end or aim, except to show to the
guards, the Swiss troops and the military who surrounded the
Palais Royal, that the people were possessed of arms.

The shade of Richelieu was Mazarin. Now Mazarin was alone
and defenceless, as he well knew.

"Foreigner!" he ejaculated, "Italian! that is their mean yet
mighty byword of reproach -- the watchword with which they
assassinated, hanged, and made away with Concini; and if I
gave them their way they would assassinate, hang, and make
away with me in the same manner, although they have nothing
to complain of except a tax or two now and then. Idiots!
ignorant of their real enemies, they do not perceive that it
is not the Italian who speaks French badly, but those who
can say fine things to them in the purest Parisian accent,
who are their real foes.

"Yes, yes," Mazarin continued, whilst his wonted smile, full
of subtlety, lent a strange expression to his pale lips;
"yes, these noises prove to me, indeed, that the destiny of
favorites is precarious; but ye shall know I am no ordinary
favorite. No! The Earl of Essex, 'tis true, wore a splendid
ring, set with diamonds, given him by his royal mistress,
whilst I -- I have nothing but a simple circlet of gold,
with a cipher on it and a date; but that ring has been
blessed in the chapel of the Palais Royal,* so they will
never ruin me, as they long to do, and whilst they shout,
`Down with Mazarin!' I, unknown, and unperceived by them,
incite them to cry out, `Long live the Duke de Beaufort' one
day; another, `Long live the Prince de Conde;' and again,
`Long live the parliament!'" And at this word the smile on
the cardinal's lips assumed an expression of hatred, of
which his mild countenance seemed incapable. "The
parliament! We shall soon see how to dispose," he continued,
"of the parliament! Both Orleans and Montargis are ours. It
will be a work of time, but those who have begun by crying
out: Down with Mazarin! will finish by shouting out, Down
with all the people I have mentioned, each in his turn.

* It is said that Mazarin, who, though a cardinal, had not
taken such vows as to prevent it, was secretly married to
Anne of Austria. -- La Porte's Memoirs.

"Richelieu, whom they hated during his lifetime and whom
they now praise after his death, was even less popular than
I am. Often he was driven away, oftener still had he a dread
of being sent away. The queen will never banish me, and even
were I obliged to yield to the populace she would yield with
me; if I fly, she will fly; and then we shall see how the
rebels will get on without either king or queen.

"Oh, were I not a foreigner! were I but a Frenchman! were I
but of gentle birth!"

The position of the cardinal was indeed critical, and recent
events had added to his difficulties. Discontent had long
pervaded the lower ranks of society in France. Crushed and
impoverished by taxation -- imposed by Mazarin, whose
avarice impelled him to grind them down to the very dust --
the people, as the Advocate-General Talon described it, had
nothing left to them except their souls; and as those could
not be sold by auction, they began to murmur. Patience had
in vain been recommended to them by reports of brilliant
victories gained by France; laurels, however, were not meat
and drink, and the people had for some time been in a state
of discontent.

Had this been all, it might not, perhaps, have greatly
signified; for when the lower classes alone complained, the
court of France, separated as it was from the poor by the
intervening classes of the gentry and the bourgeoisie,
seldom listened to their voice; but unluckily, Mazarin had
had the imprudence to attack the magistrates and had sold no
less than twelve appointments in the Court of Requests, at a
high price; and as the officers of that court paid very
dearly for their places, and as the addition of twelve new
colleagues would necessarily lower the value of each place,
the old functionaries formed a union amongst themselves,
and, enraged, swore on the Bible not to allow of this
addition to their number, but to resist all the persecutions
which might ensue; and should any one of them chance to
forfeit his post by this resistance, to combine to indemnify
him for his loss.

Now the following occurrences had taken place between the
two contending parties

On the seventh of January between seven and eight hundred
tradesmen had assembled in Paris to discuss a new tax which
was to be levied on house property. They deputed ten of
their number to wait upon the Duke of Orleans, who,
according to his custom, affected popularity. The duke
received them and they informed him that they were resolved
not to pay this tax, even if they were obliged to defend
themselves against its collectors by force of arms. They
were listened to with great politeness by the duke, who held
out hopes of easier measures, promised to speak in their
behalf to the queen, and dismissed them with the ordinary
expression of royalty, "We will see what we can do."

Two days afterward these same magistrates appeared before
the cardinal and their spokesman addressed Mazarin with so
much fearlessness and determination that the minister was
astounded and sent the deputation away with the same answer
as it had received from the Duke of Orleans -- that he would
see what could be done; and in accordance with that
intention a council of state was assembled and the
superintendent of finance was summoned.

This man, named Emery, was the object of popular
detestation, in the first place because he was
superintendent of finance, and every superintendent of
finance deserved to be hated; in the second place, because
he rather deserved the odium which he had incurred.

He was the son of a banker at Lyons named Particelli, who,
after becoming a bankrupt, chose to change his name to
Emery; and Cardinal Richelieu having discovered in him great
financial aptitude, had introduced him with a strong
recommendation to Louis XIII. under his assumed name, in
order that he might be appointed to the post he subsequently
held.

"You surprise me!" exclaimed the monarch. "I am rejoiced to
hear you speak of Monsieur d'Emery as calculated for a post
which requires a man of probity. I was really afraid that
you were going to force that villain Particelli upon me."

"Sire," replied Richelieu, "rest assured that Particelli,
the man to whom your majesty refers, has been hanged."

"Ah; so much the better!" exclaimed the king. "It is not for
nothing that I am styled Louis the Just." and he signed
Emery's appointment.

This was the same Emery who became eventually superintendent
of finance.

He was sent for by the ministers and he came before them
pale and trembling, declaring that his son had very nearly
been assassinated the day before, near the palace. The mob
had insulted him on account of the ostentatious luxury of
his wife, whose house was hung with red velvet edged with
gold fringe. This lady was the daughter of Nicholas de
Camus, who arrived in Paris with twenty francs in his
pocket, became secretary of state, and accumulated wealth
enough to divide nine millions of francs among his children
and to keep an income of forty thousand for himself.

The fact was that Emery's son had run a great chance of
being suffocated, one of the rioters having proposed to
squeeze him until he gave up all the gold he had swallowed.
Nothing, therefore, was settled that day, as Emery's head
was not steady enough for business after such an occurrence.

On the next day Mathieu Mole, the chief president, whose
courage at this crisis, says the Cardinal de Retz, was equal
to that of the Duc de Beaufort and the Prince de Conde -- in
other words, of the two men who were considered the bravest
in France -- had been attacked in his turn. The people
threatened to hold him responsible for the evils that hung
over them. But the chief president had replied with his
habitual coolness, without betraying either disturbance or
surprise, that should the agitators refuse obedience to the
king's wishes he would have gallows erected in the public
squares and proceed at once to hang the most active among
them. To which the others had responded that they would be
glad to see the gallows erected; they would serve for the
hanging of those detestable judges who purchased favor at
court at the price of the people's misery.

Nor was this all. On the eleventh the queen in going to mass
at Notre Dame, as she always did on Saturdays, was followed
by more than two hundred women demanding justice. These poor
creatures had no bad intentions. They wished only to be
allowed to fall on their knees before their sovereign, and
that they might move her to compassion; but they were
prevented by the royal guard and the queen proceeded on her
way, haughtily disdainful of their entreaties.

At length parliament was convoked; the authority of the king
was to be maintained.

One day -- it was the morning of the day my story begins --
the king, Louis XIV., then ten years of age, went in state,
under pretext of returning thanks for his recovery from the
small-pox, to Notre Dame. He took the opportunity of calling
out his guard, the Swiss troops and the musketeers, and he
had planted them round the Palais Royal, on the quays, and
on the Pont Neuf. After mass the young monarch drove to the
Parliament House, where, upon the throne, he hastily
confirmed not only such edicts as he had already passed, but
issued new ones, each one, according to Cardinal de Retz,
more ruinous than the others -- a proceeding which drew
forth a strong remonstrance from the chief president, Mole
-- whilst President Blancmesnil and Councillor Broussel
raised their voices in indignation against fresh taxes.

The king returned amidst the silence of a vast multitude to
the Palais Royal. All minds were uneasy, most were
foreboding, many of the people used threatening language.

At first, indeed, they were doubtful whether the king's
visit to the parliament had been in order to lighten or
increase their burdens; but scarcely was it known that the
taxes were to be still further increased, when cries of
"Down with Mazarin!" "Long live Broussel!" "Long live
Blancmesnil!" resounded through the city. For the people had
learned that Broussel and Blancmesnil had made speeches in
their behalf, and, although the eloquence of these deputies
had been without avail, it had none the less won for them
the people's good-will. All attempts to disperse the groups
collected in the streets, or silence their exclamations,
were in vain. Orders had just been given to the royal guards
and the Swiss guards, not only to stand firm, but to send
out patrols to the streets of Saint Denis and Saint Martin,
where the people thronged and where they were the most
vociferous, when the mayor of Paris was announced at the
Palais Royal.

He was shown in directly; he came to say that if these
offensive precautions were not discontinued, in two hours
Paris would be under arms.

Deliberations were being held when a lieutenant in the
guards, named Comminges, made his appearance, with his
clothes all torn, his face streaming with blood. The queen
on seeing him uttered a cry of surprise and asked him what
was going on.

As the mayor had foreseen, the sight of the guards had
exasperated the mob. The tocsin was sounded. Comminges had
arrested one of the ringleaders and had ordered him to be
hanged near the cross of Du Trahoir; but in attempting to
execute this command the soldiery were attacked in the
market-place with stones and halberds; the delinquent had
escaped to the Rue des Lombards and rushed into a house.
They broke open the doors and searched the dwelling, but in
vain. Comminges, wounded by a stone which had struck him on
the forehead, had left a picket in the street and returned
to the Palais Royal, followed by a menacing crowd, to tell
his story.

This account confirmed that of the mayor. The authorities
were not in a condition to cope with serious revolt. Mazarin
endeavored to circulate among the people a report that
troops had only been stationed on the quays and on the Pont
Neuf, on account of the ceremonial of the day, and that they
would soon withdraw. In fact, about four o'clock they were
all concentrated about the Palais Royal, the courts and
ground floors of which were filled with musketeers and Swiss
guards, and there awaited the outcome of all this
disturbance.

Such was the state of affairs at the very moment we
introduced our readers to the study of Cardinal Mazarin --
once that of Cardinal Richelieu. We have seen in what state
of mind he listened to the murmurs from below, which even
reached him in his seclusion, and to the guns, the firing of
which resounded through that room. All at once he raised his
head; his brow slightly contracted like that of a man who
has formed a resolution; he fixed his eyes upon an enormous
clock that was about to strike ten, and taking up a whistle
of silver gilt that stood upon the table near him, he
shrilled it twice.

A door hidden in the tapestry opened noiselessly and a man
in black silently advanced and stood behind the chair on
which Mazarin sat.

"Bernouin," said the cardinal, not turning round, for having
whistled, he knew that it was his valet-de-chambre who was
behind him; "what musketeers are now within the palace?"

"The Black Musketeers, my lord."

"What company?"

"Treville's company."

"Is there any officer belonging to this company in the
ante-chamber?"

"Lieutenant d'Artagnan."

"A man on whom we can depend, I hope."

"Yes, my lord."

"Give me a uniform of one of these musketeers and help me to
put it on."

The valet went out as silently as he had entered and
appeared in a few minutes bringing the dress demanded.

The cardinal, in deep thought and in silence, began to take
off the robes of state he had assumed in order to be present
at the sitting of parliament, and to attire himself in the
military coat, which he wore with a certain degree of easy
grace, owing to his former campaigns in Italy. When he was
completely dressed he said:

"Send hither Monsieur d'Artagnan."

The valet went out of the room, this time by the centre
door, but still as silently as before; one might have
fancied him an apparition.

When he was left alone the cardinal looked at himself in the
glass with a feeling of self-satisfaction. Still young --
for he was scarcely forty-six years of age -- he possessed
great elegance of form and was above the middle height; his
complexion was brilliant and beautiful; his glance full of
expression; his nose, though large, was well proportioned;
his forehead broad and majestic; his hair, of a chestnut
color, was curled slightly; his beard, which was darker than
his hair, was turned carefully with a curling iron, a
practice that greatly improved it. After a short time the
cardinal arranged his shoulder belt, then looked with great
complacency at his hands, which were most elegant and of
which he took the greatest care; and throwing on one side
the large kid gloves tried on at first, as belonging to the
uniform, he put on others of silk only. At this instant the
door opened.

"Monsieur d'Artagnan," said the valet-de-chambre.

An officer, as he spoke, entered the apartment. He was a man
between thirty-nine and forty years of age, of medium height
but a very well proportioned figure; with an intellectual
and animated physiognomy; his beard black, and his hair
turning gray, as often happens when people have found life
either too gay or too sad, more especially when they happen
to be of swart complexion.

D'Artagnan advanced a few steps into the apartment.

How perfectly he remembered his former entrance into that
very room! Seeing, however, no one there except a musketeer
of his own troop, he fixed his eyes upon the supposed
soldier, in whose dress, nevertheless, he recognized at the
first glance the cardinal.

The lieutenant remained standing in a dignified but
respectful posture, such as became a man of good birth, who
had in the course of his life been frequently in the society
of the highest nobles.

The cardinal looked at him with a cunning rather than
serious glance, yet he examined his countenance with
attention and after a momentary silence said:

"You are Monsieur d'Artagnan?"

"I am that individual," replied the officer.

Mazarin gazed once more at a countenance full of
intelligence, the play of which had been, nevertheless,
subdued by age and experience; and D'Artagnan received the
penetrating glance like one who had formerly sustained many
a searching look, very different, indeed, from those which
were inquiringly directed on him at that instant.

"Sir," resumed the cardinal, "you are to come with me, or
rather, I am to go with you."

"I am at your command, my lord," returned D'Artagnan.

"I wish to visit in person the outposts which surround the
Palais Royal; do you suppose that there is any danger in so
doing?"

"Danger, my lord!" exclaimed D'Artagnan with a look of
astonishment, "what danger?"

"I am told that there is a general insurrection."

"The uniform of the king's musketeers carries a certain
respect with it, and even if that were not the case I would
engage with four of my men to put to flight a hundred of
these clowns."

"Did you witness the injury sustained by Comminges?"

"Monsieur de Comminges is in the guards and not in the
musketeers ---- "

"Which means, I suppose, that the musketeers are better
soldiers than the guards." The cardinal smiled as he spoke.

"Every one likes his own uniform best, my lord."

"Myself excepted," and again Mazarin smiled; "for you
perceive that I have left off mine and put on yours."

"Lord bless us! this is modesty indeed!" cried D'Artagnan.
"Had I such a uniform as your eminence possesses, I protest
I should be mightily content, and I would take an oath never
to wear any other costume ---- "

"Yes, but for to-night's adventure I don't suppose my dress
would have been a very safe one. Give me my felt hat,
Bernouin."

The valet instantly brought to his master a regimental hat
with a wide brim. The cardinal put it on in military style.

"Your horses are ready saddled in their stables, are they
not?" he said, turning to D'Artagnan.

"Yes, my lord."

"Well, let us set out."

"How many men does your eminence wish to escort you?"

"You say that with four men you will undertake to disperse a
hundred low fellows; as it may happen that we shall have to
encounter two hundred, take eight ---- "

"As many as my lord wishes."

"I will follow you. This way -- light us downstairs Bernouin.

The valet held a wax-light; the cardinal took a key from his
bureau and opening the door of a secret stair descended into
the court of the Palais Royal.

2

A Nightly Patrol.

In ten minutes Mazarin and his party were traversing the
street "Les Bons Enfants" behind the theatre built by
Richelieu expressly for the play of "Mirame," and in which
Mazarin, who was an amateur of music, but not of literature,
had introduced into France the first opera that was ever
acted in that country.

The appearance of the town denoted the greatest agitation.
Numberless groups paraded the streets and, whatever
D'Artagnan might think of it, it was obvious that the
citizens had for the night laid aside their usual
forbearance, in order to assume a warlike aspect. From time
to time noises came in the direction of the public markets.
The report of firearms was heard near the Rue Saint Denis
and occasionally church bells began to ring indiscriminately
and at the caprice of the populace. D'Artagnan, meantime,
pursued his way with the indifference of a man upon whom
such acts of folly made no impression. When he approached a
group in the middle of the street he urged his horse upon it
without a word of warning; and the members of the group,
whether rebels or not, as if they knew with what sort of a
man they had to deal, at once gave place to the patrol. The
cardinal envied that composure, which he attributed to the
habit of meeting danger; but none the less he conceived for
the officer under whose orders he had for the moment placed
himself, that consideration which even prudence pays to
careless courage. On approaching an outpost near the
Barriere des Sergens, the sentinel cried out, "Who's there?"
and D'Artagnan answered -- having first asked the word of
the cardinal -- "Louis and Rocroy." After which he inquired
if Lieutenant Comminges were not the commanding officer at
the outpost. The soldier replied by pointing out to him an
officer who was conversing, on foot, his hand upon the neck
of a horse on which the individual to whom he was talking
sat. Here was the officer D'Artagnan was seeking.

"Here is Monsieur Comminges," said D'Artagnan, returning to
the cardinal. He instantly retired, from a feeling of
respectful delicacy; it was, however, evident that the
cardinal was recognized by both Comminges and the other
officers on horseback.

"Well done, Guitant," cried the cardinal to the equestrian;
"I see plainly that, notwithstanding the sixty-four years
that have passed over your head, you are still the same man,
active and zealous. What were you saying to this youngster?"

"My lord," replied Guitant, "I was observing that we live in
troublous times and that to-day's events are very like those
in the days of the Ligue, of which I heard so much in my
youth. Are you aware that the mob have even suggested
throwing up barricades in the Rue Saint Denis and the Rue
Saint Antoine?"

"And what was Comminges saying to you in reply, my good
Guitant?"

"My lord," said Comminges, "I answered that to compose a
Ligue only one ingredient was wanting -- in my opinion an
essential one -- a Duc de Guise; moreover, no generation
ever does the same thing twice."

"No, but they mean to make a Fronde, as they call it," said
Guitant.

"And what is a Fronde?" inquired Mazarin.

"My lord, Fronde is the name the discontented give to their
party."

"And what is the origin of this name?"

"It seems that some days since Councillor Bachaumont
remarked at the palace that rebels and agitators reminded
him of schoolboys slinging -- qui frondent -- stones from
the moats round Paris, young urchins who run off the moment
the constable appears, only to return to their diversion the
instant his back is turned. So they have picked up the word
and the insurrectionists are called `Frondeurs,' and
yesterday every article sold was `a la Fronde;' bread `a la
Fronde,' hats `a la Fronde,' to say nothing of gloves,
pocket-handkerchiefs, and fans; but listen ---- "

At that moment a window opened and a man began to sing:

"A tempest from the Fronde

Did blow to-day:

I think 'twill blow

Sieur Mazarin away."

"Insolent wretch!" cried Guitant.

"My lord," said Comminges, who, irritated by his wounds,
wished for revenge and longed to give back blow for blow,
"shall I fire off a ball to punish that jester, and to warn
him not to sing so much out of tune in the future?"

And as he spoke he put his hand on the holster of his
uncle's saddle-bow.

"Certainly not! certainly not," exclaimed Mazarin. "Diavolo!
my dear friend, you are going to spoil everything --
everything is going on famously. I know the French as well
as if I had made them myself. They sing -- let them pay the
piper. During the Ligue, about which Guitant was speaking
just now, the people chanted nothing except the mass, so
everything went to destruction. Come, Guitant, come along,
and let's see if they keep watch at the Quinze-Vingts as at
the Barriere des Sergens."

And waving his hand to Comminges he rejoined D'Artagnan, who
instantly put himself at the head of his troop, followed by
the cardinal, Guitant and the rest of the escort.

"Just so," muttered Comminges, looking after Mazarin. "True,
I forgot; provided he can get money out of the people, that
is all he wants."

The street of Saint Honore, when the cardinal and his party
passed through it, was crowded by an assemblage who,
standing in groups, discussed the edicts of that memorable
day. They pitied the young king, who was unconsciously
ruining his country, and threw all the odium of his
proceedings on Mazarin. Addresses to the Duke of Orleans and
to Conde were suggested. Blancmesnil and Broussel seemed in
the highest favor.

D'Artagnan passed through the very midst of this
discontented mob just as if his horse and he had been made
of iron. Mazarin and Guitant conversed together in whispers.
The musketeers, who had already discovered who Mazarin was,
followed in profound silence. In the street of Saint
Thomas-du-Louvre they stopped at the barrier distinguished
by the name of Quinze-Vingts. Here Guitant spoke to one of
the subalterns, asking how matters were progressing.

"Ah, captain!" said the officer, "everything is quiet
hereabout -- if I did not know that something is going on in
yonder house!"

And he pointed to a magnificent hotel situated on the very
spot whereon the Vaudeville now stands.

"In that hotel? it is the Hotel Rambouillet," cried Guitant.

"I really don't know what hotel it is; all I do know is that
I observed some suspicious looking people go in there ---- "

"Nonsense!" exclaimed Guitant, with a burst of laughter;
"those men must be poets."

"Come, Guitant, speak, if you please, respectfully of these
gentlemen," said Mazarin; "don't you know that I was in my
youth a poet? I wrote verses in the style of Benserade ----
"

"You, my lord?"

"Yes, I; shall I repeat to you some of my verses?"

"Just as you please, my lord. I do not understand Italian."

"Yes, but you understand French," and Mazarin laid his hand
upon Guitant's shoulder. "My good, my brave Guitant,
whatsoever command I may give you in that language -- in
French -- whatever I may order you to do, will you not
perform it?"

"Certainly. I have already answered that question in the
affirmative; but that command must come from the queen
herself."

"Yes! ah yes!" Mazarin bit his lips as he spoke; "I know
your devotion to her majesty."

"I have been a captain in the queen's guards for twenty
years," was the reply.

"En route, Monsieur d'Artagnan," said the cardinal; "all
goes well in this direction."

D'Artagnan, in the meantime, had taken the head of his
detachment without a word and with that ready and profound
obedience which marks the character of an old soldier.

He led the way toward the hill of Saint Roche. The Rue
Richelieu and the Rue Villedot were then, owing to their
vicinity to the ramparts, less frequented than any others in
that direction, for the town was thinly inhabited
thereabout.

"Who is in command here?" asked the cardinal.

"Villequier," said Guitant.

"Diavolo! Speak to him yourself, for ever since you were
deputed by me to arrest the Duc de Beaufort, this officer
and I have been on bad terms. He laid claim to that honor as
captain of the royal guards."

"I am aware of that, and I have told him a hundred times
that he was wrong. The king could not give that order, since
at that time he was hardly four years old."

"Yes, but I could give him the order -- I, Guitant -- and I
preferred to give it to you."

Guitant, without reply, rode forward and desired the
sentinel to call Monsieur de Villequier.

"Ah! so you are here!" cried the officer, in the tone of
ill-humor habitual to him; "what the devil are you doing
here?"

"I wish to know -- can you tell me, pray -- is anything
fresh occurring in this part of the town?"

"What do you mean? People cry out, `Long live the king! down
with Mazarin!' That's nothing new; no, we've been used to
those acclamations for some time."

"And you sing chorus," replied Guitant, laughing.

"Faith, I've half a mind to do it. In my opinion the people
are right; and cheerfully would I give up five years of my
pay -- which I am never paid, by the way -- to make the king
five years older."

"Really! And pray what would come to pass, supposing the
king were five years older than he is?"

"As soon as ever the king comes of age he will issue his
commands himself, and 'tis far pleasanter to obey the
grandson of Henry IV. than the son of Peter Mazarin.
'Sdeath! I would die willingly for the king, but supposing I
happened to be killed on account of Mazarin, as your nephew
came near being to-day, there could be nothing in Paradise,
however well placed I might be there, that could console me
for it."

"Well, well, Monsieur de Villequier," Mazarin interposed, "I
shall make it my care the king hears of your loyalty. Come,
gentlemen," addressing the troop, "let us return."

"Stop," exclaimed Villequier, "so Mazarin was here! so much
the better. I have been waiting for a long time to tell him
what I think of him. I am obliged to you Guitant, although
your intention was perhaps not very favorable to me, for
such an opportunity."

He turned away and went off to his post, whistling a tune
then popular among the party called the "Fronde," whilst
Mazarin returned, in a pensive mood, toward the Palais
Royal. All that he had heard from these three different men,
Comminges, Guitant and Villequier, confirmed him in his
conviction that in case of serious tumults there would be no
one on his side except the queen; and then Anne of Austria
had so often deserted her friends that her support seemed
most precarious. During the whole of this nocturnal ride,
during the whole time that he was endeavoring to understand
the various characters of Comminges, Guitant and Villequier,
Mazarin was, in truth, studying more especially one man.
This man, who had remained immovable as bronze when menaced
by the mob -- not a muscle of whose face was stirred, either
at Mazarin's witticisms or by the jests of the multitude --
seemed to the cardinal a peculiar being, who, having
participated in past events similar to those now occurring,
was calculated to cope with those now on the eve of taking
place.

The name of D'Artagnan was not altogether new to Mazarin,
who, although he did not arrive in France before the year
1634 or 1635, that is to say, about eight or nine years
after the events which we have related in a preceding
narrative,* fancied he had heard it pronounced as that of
one who was said to be a model of courage, address and
loyalty.

* "The Three Musketeers."

Possessed by this idea, the cardinal resolved to know all
about D'Artagnan immediately; of course he could not inquire
from D'Artagnan himself who he was and what had been his
career; he remarked, however, in the course of conversation
that the lieutenant of musketeers spoke with a Gascon
accent. Now the Italians and the Gascons are too much alike
and know each other too well ever to trust what any one of
them may say of himself; so in reaching the walls which
surrounded the Palais Royal, the cardinal knocked at a
little door, and after thanking D'Artagnan and requesting
him to wait in the court of the Palais Royal, he made a sign
to Guitant to follow him.

They both dismounted, consigned their horses to the lackey
who had opened the door, and disappeared in the garden.

"My dear friend," said the cardinal, leaning, as they walked
through the garden, on his friend's arm, "you told me just
now that you had been twenty years in the queen's service."

"Yes, it's true. I have," returned Guitant.

"Now, my dear Guitant, I have often remarked that in
addition to your courage, which is indisputable, and your
fidelity, which is invincible, you possess an admirable
memory."

"You have found that out, have you, my lord? Deuce take it
-- all the worse for me!"

"How?"

"There is no doubt but that one of the chief accomplishments
of a courtier is to know when to forget."

"But you, Guitant, are not a courtier. You are a brave
soldier, one of the few remaining veterans of the days of
Henry IV. Alas! how few to-day exist!"

"Plague on't, my lord, have you brought me here to get my
horoscope out of me?"

"No; I only brought you here to ask you," returned Mazarin,
smiling, "if you have taken any particular notice of our
lieutenant of musketeers?"

"Monsieur d'Artagnan? I have had no occasion to notice him
particularly; he's an old acquaintance. He's a Gascon. De
Treville knows him and esteems him very highly, and De
Treville, as you know, is one of the queen's greatest
friends. As a soldier the man ranks well; he did his whole
duty and even more, at the siege of Rochelle -- as at Suze
and Perpignan."

"But you know, Guitant, we poor ministers often want men
with other qualities besides courage; we want men of talent.
Pray, was not Monsieur d'Artagnan, in the time of the
cardinal, mixed up in some intrigue from which he came out,
according to report, quite cleverly?"

"My lord, as to the report you allude to" -- Guitant
perceived that the cardinal wished to make him speak out --
"I know nothing but what the public knows. I never meddle in
intrigues, and if I occasionally become a confidant of the
intrigues of others I am sure your eminence will approve of
my keeping them secret."

Mazarin shook his head.

"Ah!" he said; "some ministers are fortunate and find out
all that they wish to know."

"My lord," replied Guitant, "such ministers do not weigh men
in the same balance; they get their information on war from
warriors; on intrigues, from intriguers. Consult some
politician of the period of which you speak, and if you pay
well for it you will certainly get to know all you want."

"Eh, pardieu!" said Mazarin, with a grimace which he always
made when spoken to about money. "They will be paid, if
there is no way of getting out of it."

"Does my lord seriously wish me to name any one who was
mixed up in the cabals of that day?"

"By Bacchus!" rejoined Mazarin, impatiently, "it's about an
hour since I asked you for that very thing, wooden-head that
you are."

"There is one man for whom I can answer, if he will speak
out."

"That's my concern; I will make him speak."

"Ah, my lord, 'tis not easy to make people say what they
don't wish to let out."

"Pooh! with patience one must succeed. Well, this man. Who
is he?"

"The Comte de Rochefort."

"The Comte de Rochefort!"

"Unfortunately he has disappeared these four or five years
and I don't know where he is."

"I know, Guitant," said Mazarin.

"Well, then, how is it that your eminence complained just
now of want of information?"

"You think," resumed Mazarin, "that Rochefort ---- "

"He was Cardinal Richelieu's creature, my lord. I warn you,
however, his services will cost you something. The cardinal
was lavish to his underlings."

"Yes, yes, Guitant," said Mazarin; "Richelieu was a great
man, a very great man, but he had that defect. Thanks,
Guitant; I shall benefit by your advice this very evening."

Here they separated and bidding adieu to Guitant in the
court of the Palais Royal, Mazarin approached an officer who
was walking up and down within that inclosure.

It was D'Artagnan, who was waiting for him.

"Cane hither," said Mazarin in his softest voice; "I have an
order to give you."

D'Artagnan bent low and following the cardinal up the secret
staircase, soon found himself in the study whence they had
first set out.

The cardinal seated himself before his bureau and taking a
sheet of paper wrote some lines upon it, whilst D'Artagnan
stood imperturbable, without showing either impatience or
curiosity. He was like a soldierly automaton, or rather,
like a magnificent marionette.

The cardinal folded and sealed his letter.

"Monsieur d'Artagnan," he said, "you are to take this
dispatch to the Bastile and bring back here the person it
concerns. You must take a carriage and an escort, and guard
the prisoner with the greatest care."

D'Artagnan took the letter, touched his hat with his hand,
turned round upon his heel like a drill-sergeant, and a
moment afterward was heard, in his dry and monotonous tone,
commanding "Four men and an escort, a carriage and a horse."
Five minutes afterward the wheels of the carriage and the
horses' shoes were heard resounding on the pavement of the
courtyard.

3

Dead Animosities.

D'Artagnan arrived at the Bastile just as it was striking
half-past eight. His visit was announced to the governor,
who, on hearing that he came from the cardinal, went to meet
him and received him at the top of the great flight of steps
outside the door. The governor of the Bastile was Monsieur
du Tremblay, the brother of the famous Capuchin, Joseph,
that fearful favorite of Richelieu's, who went by the name
of the Gray Cardinal.

During the period that the Duc de Bassompierre passed in the
Bastile -- where he remained for twelve long years -- when
his companions, in their dreams of liberty, said to each
other: "As for me, I shall go out of the prison at such a
time," and another, at such and such a time, the duke used
to answer, "As for me, gentlemen, I shall leave only when
Monsieur du Tremblay leaves;" meaning that at the death of
the cardinal Du Tremblay would certainly lose his place at
the Bastile and De Bassompierre regain his at court.

His prediction was nearly fulfilled, but in a very different
way from that which De Bassompierre supposed; for after the
death of Richelieu everything went on, contrary to
expectation, in the same way as before; and Bassompierre had
little chance of leaving his prison.

Monsieur du Tremblay received D'Artagnan with extreme
politeness and invited him to sit down with him to supper,
of which he was himself about to partake.

"I should be delighted to do so," was the reply; "but if I
am not mistaken, the words `In haste,' are written on the
envelope of the letter which I brought."

"You are right," said Du Tremblay. "Halloo, major! tell them
to order Number 25 to come downstairs."

The unhappy wretch who entered the Bastile ceased, as he
crossed the threshold, to be a man -- he became a number.

D'Artagnan shuddered at the noise of the keys; he remained
on horseback, feeling no inclination to dismount, and sat
looking at the bars, at the buttressed windows and the
immense walls he had hitherto only seen from the other side
of the moat, but by which he had for twenty years been
awe-struck.

A bell resounded.

"I must leave you," said Du Tremblay; "I am sent for to sign
the release of a prisoner. I shall be happy to meet you
again, sir."

"May the devil annihilate me if I return thy wish!" murmured
D'Artagnan, smiling as he pronounced the imprecation; "I
declare I feel quite ill after only being five minutes in
the courtyard. Go to! go to! I would rather die on straw
than hoard up a thousand a year by being governor of the
Bastile."

He had scarcely finished this soliloquy before the prisoner
arrived. On seeing him D'Artagnan could hardly suppress an
exclamation of surprise. The prisoner got into the carriage
without seeming to recognize the musketeer.

"Gentlemen," thus D'Artagnan addressed the four musketeers,
"I am ordered to exercise the greatest possible care in
guarding the prisoner, and since there are no locks to the
carriage, I shall sit beside him. Monsieur de Lillebonne,
lead my horse by the bridle, if you please." As he spoke he
dismounted, gave the bridle of his horse to the musketeer
and placing himself by the side of the prisoner said, in a
voice perfectly composed, "To the Palais Royal, at full
trot."

The carriage drove on and D'Artagnan, availing himself of
the darkness in the archway under which they were passing,
threw himself into the arms of the prisoner.

"Rochefort!" he exclaimed; "you! is it you, indeed? I am not
mistaken?"

"D'Artagnan!" cried Rochefort.

"Ah! my poor friend!" resumed D'Artagnan, "not having seen
you for four or five years I concluded you were dead."

"I'faith," said Rochefort, "there's no great difference, I
think, between a dead man and one who has been buried alive;
now I have been buried alive, or very nearly so."

"And for what crime are you imprisoned in the Bastile."

"Do you wish me to speak the truth?"

"Yes."

"Well, then, I don't know."

"Have you any suspicion of me, Rochefort?"

"No! on the honor of a gentleman; but I cannot be imprisoned
for the reason alleged; it is impossible."

"What reason?" asked D'Artagnan.

"For stealing."

"For stealing! you, Rochefort! you are laughing at me."

"I understand. You mean that this demands explanation, do
you not?"

"I admit it."

"Well, this is what actually took place: One evening after
an orgy in Reinard's apartment at the Tuileries with the Duc
d'Harcourt, Fontrailles, De Rieux and others, the Duc
d'Harcourt proposed that we should go and pull cloaks on the
Pont Neuf; that is, you know, a diversion which the Duc
d'Orleans made quite the fashion."

"Were you crazy, Rochefort? at your age!"

"No, I was drunk. And yet, since the amusement seemed to me
rather tame, I proposed to Chevalier de Rieux that we should
be spectators instead of actors, and, in order to see to
advantage, that we should mount the bronze horse. No sooner
said than done. Thanks to the spurs, which served as
stirrups, in a moment we were perched upon the croupe; we
were well placed and saw everything. Four or five cloaks had
already been lifted, with a dexterity without parallel, and
not one of the victims had dared to say a word, when some
fool of a fellow, less patient than the others, took it into
his head to cry out, `Guard!' and drew upon us a patrol of
archers. Duc d'Harcourt, Fontrailles, and the others
escaped; De Rieux was inclined to do likewise, but I told
him they wouldn't look for us where we were. He wouldn't
listen, put his foot on the spur to get down, the spur
broke, he fell with a broken leg, and, instead of keeping
quiet, took to crying out like a gallows-bird. I then was
ready to dismount, but it was too late; I descended into the
arms of the archers. They conducted me to the Chatelet,
where I slept soundly, being very sure that on the next day
I should go forth free. The next day came and passed, the
day after, a week; I then wrote to the cardinal. The same
day they came for me and took me to the Bastile. That was
five years ago. Do you believe it was because I committed
the sacrilege of mounting en croupe behind Henry IV.?"

"No; you are right, my dear Rochefort, it couldn't be for
that; but you will probably learn the reason soon."

"Ah, indeed! I forgot to ask you -- where are you taking
me?"

"To the cardinal."

"What does he want with me?"

"I do not know. I did not even know that you were the person
I was sent to fetch."

"Impossible -- you -- a favorite of the minister!"

"A favorite! no, indeed!" cried D'Artagnan. "Ah, my poor
friend! I am just as poor a Gascon as when I saw you at
Meung, twenty-two years ago, you know; alas!" and he
concluded his speech with a deep sigh.

"Nevertheless, you come as one in authority."

"Because I happened to be in the ante-chamber when the
cardinal called me, by the merest chance. I am still a
lieutenant in the musketeers and have been so these twenty
years."

"Then no misfortune has happened to you?"

"And what misfortune could happen to me? To quote some Latin
verses I have forgotten, or rather, never knew well, `the
thunderbolt never falls on the valleys,' and I am a valley,
dear Rochefort, -- one of the lowliest of the low."

"Then Mazarin is still Mazarin?"

"The same as ever, my friend; it is said that he is married
to the queen."

"Married?"

"If not her husband, he is unquestionably her lover."

"You surprise me. Rebuff Buckingham and consent to Mazarin!"

"Just like the women," replied D'Artagnan, coolly.

"Like women, not like queens."

"Egad! queens are the weakest of their sex, when it comes to
such things as these."

"And M. de Beaufort -- is he still in prison?"

"Yes. Why?"

"Oh, nothing, but that he might get me out of this, if he
were favorably inclined to me."

"You are probably nearer freedom than he is, so it will be
your business to get him out."

"And," said the prisoner, "what talk is there of war with
Spain?"

"With Spain, no," answered D'Artagnan; "but Paris."

"What do you mean?" cried Rochefort.

"Do you hear the guns, pray? The citizens are amusing
themselves in the meantime."

"And you -- do you really think that anything could be done
with these bourgeois?"

"Yes, they might do well if they had any leader to unite
them in one body."

"How miserable not to be free!"

"Don't be downcast. Since Mazarin has sent for you, it is
because he wants you. I congratulate you! Many a long year
has passed since any one has wanted to employ me; so you see
in what a situation I am."

"Make your complaints known; that's my advice."

"Listen, Rochefort; let us make a compact. We are friends,
are we not?"

"Egad! I bear the traces of our friendship -- three slits or
slashes from your sword."

"Well, if you should be restored to favor, don't forget me."

"On the honor of a Rochefort; but you must do the like for
me."

"There's my hand, -- I promise."

"Therefore, whenever you find any opportunity of saying
something in my behalf ---- "

"I shall say it, and you?"

"I shall do the same."

"Apropos, are we to speak of your friends also, Athos,
Porthos, and Aramis? or have you forgotten them?"

"Almost."

"What has become of them?"

"I don't know; we separated, as you know. They are alive,
that's all that I can say about them; from time to time I
hear of them indirectly, but in what part of the world they
are, devil take me if I know, No, on my honor, I have not a
friend in the world but you, Rochefort."

"And the illustrious -- what's the name of the lad whom I
made a sergeant in Piedmont's regiment?"

"Planchet!"

"The illustrious Planchet. What has become of him?"

"I shouldn't wonder if he were at the head of the mob at
this very moment. He married a woman who keeps a
confectioner's shop in the Rue des Lombards, for he's a lad
who was always fond of sweetmeats; he's now a citizen of
Paris. You'll see that that queer fellow will be a sheriff
before I shall be a captain."

"Come, dear D'Artagnan, look up a little! Courage! It is
when one is lowest on the wheel of fortune that the
merry-go-round wheels and rewards us. This evening your
destiny begins to change."

"Amen!" exclaimed D'Artagnan, stopping the carriage.

"What are you doing?" asked Rochefort.

"We are almost there and I want no one to see me getting out
of your carriage; we are supposed not to know each other."

"You are right. Adieu."

"Au revoir. Remember your promise."

In five minutes the party entered the courtyard and
D'Artagnan led the prisoner up the great staircase and
across the corridor and ante-chamber.

As they stopped at the door of the cardinal's study,
D'Artagnan was about to be announced when Rochefort slapped
him on his shoulder.

"D'Artagnan, let me confess to you what I've been thinking
about during the whole of my drive, as I looked out upon the
parties of citizens who perpetually crossed our path and
looked at you and your four men with fiery eyes."

"Speak out," answered D'Artagnan.

"I had only to cry out `Help!' for you and for your
companions to be cut to pieces, and then I should have been
free."

"Why didn't you do it?" asked the lieutenant.

"Come, come!" cried Rochefort. "Did we not swear friendship?
Ah! had any one but you been there, I don't say ---- "

D'Artagnan bowed. "Is it possible that Rochefort has become
a better man than I am?" he said to himself. And he caused
himself to be announced to the minister.

"Let M. de Rochefort enter," said Mazarin, eagerly, on
hearing their names pronounced; "and beg M. d'Artagnan to
wait; I shall have further need of him."

These words gave great joy to D'Artagnan. As he had said, it
had been a long time since any one had needed him; and that
demand for his services on the part of Mazarin seemed to him
an auspicious sign.

Rochefort, rendered suspicious and cautious by these words,
entered the apartment, where he found Mazarin sitting at the
table, dressed in his ordinary garb and as one of the
prelates of the Church, his costume being similar to that of
the abbes in that day, excepting that his scarf and
stockings were violet.

As the door was closed Rochefort cast a glance toward
Mazarin, which was answered by one, equally furtive, from
the minister.

There was little change in the cardinal; still dressed with
sedulous care, his hair well arranged and curled, his person
perfumed, he looked, owing to his extreme taste in dress,
only half his age. But Rochefort, who had passed five years
in prison, had become old in the lapse of a few years; the
dark locks of this estimable friend of the defunct Cardinal
Richelieu were now white; the deep bronze of his complexion
had been succeeded by a mortal pallor which betokened
debility. As he gazed at him Mazarin shook his head
slightly, as much as to say, "This is a man who does not
appear to me fit for much."

After a pause, which appeared an age to Rochefort, Mazarin
took from a bundle of papers a letter, and showing it to the
count, he said:

"I find here a letter in which you sue for liberty, Monsieur
de Rochefort. You are in prison, then?"

Rochefort trembled in every limb at this question. "But I
thought," he said, "that your eminence knew that
circumstance better than any one ---- "

"I? Oh no! There is a congestion of prisoners in the
Bastile, who were cooped up in the time of Monsieur de
Richelieu; I don't even know their names."

"Yes, but in regard to myself, my lord, it cannot be so, for
I was removed from the Chatelet to the Bastile owing to an
order from your eminence."

"You think you were."

"I am certain of it."

"Ah, stay! I fancy I remember it. Did you not once refuse to
undertake a journey to Brussels for the queen?"

"Ah! ah!" exclaimed Rochefort. "There is the true reason!
Idiot that I am, though I have been trying to find it out
for five years, I never found it out."

"But I do not say it was the cause of your imprisonment. I
merely ask you, did you not refuse to go to Brussels for the
queen, whilst you had consented to go there to do some
service for the late cardinal?"

"That is the very reason I refused to go back to Brussels. I
was there at a fearful moment. I was sent there to intercept
a correspondence between Chalais and the archduke, and even
then, when I was discovered I was nearly torn to pieces. How
could I, then, return to Brussels? I should injure the queen
instead of serving her."

"Well, since the best motives are liable to misconstruction,
the queen saw in your refusal nothing but a refusal -- a
distinct refusal she had also much to complain of you during
the lifetime of the late cardinal; yes, her majesty the
queen ---- "

Rochefort smiled contemptuously.

"Since I was a faithful servant, my lord, to Cardinal
Richelieu during his life, it stands to reason that now,
after his death, I should serve you well, in defiance of the
whole world."

"With regard to myself, Monsieur de Rochefort," replied
Mazarin, "I am not, like Monsieur de Richelieu,
all-powerful. I am but a minister, who wants no servants,
being myself nothing but a servant of the queen's. Now, the
queen is of a sensitive nature. Hearing of your refusal to
obey her she looked upon it as a declaration of war, and as
she considers you a man of superior talent, and consequently
dangerous, she desired me to make sure of you; that is the
reason of your being shut up in the Bastile. But your
release can be managed. You are one of those men who can
comprehend certain matters and having understood them, can
act with energy ---- "

"Such was Cardinal Richelieu's opinion, my lord."

"The cardinal," interrupted Mazarin, "was a great politician
and therein shone his vast superiority over me. I am a
straightforward, simple man; that's my great disadvantage. I
am of a frankness of character quite French."

Rochefort bit his lips in order to prevent a smile.

"Now to the point. I want friends; I want faithful servants.
When I say I want, I mean the queen wants them. I do nothing
without her commands -- pray understand that; not like
Monsieur de Richelieu, who went on just as he pleased. So I
shall never be a great man, as he was, but to compensate for
that, I shall be a good man, Monsieur de Rochefort, and I
hope to prove it to you."

Rochefort knew well the tones of that soft voice, in which
sounded sometimes a sort of gentle lisp, like the hissing of
young vipers.

"I am disposed to believe your eminence," he replied;
"though I have had but little evidence of that good-nature
of which your eminence speaks. Do not forget that I have
been five years in the Bastile and that no medium of viewing
things is so deceptive as the grating of a prison."

"Ah, Monsieur de Rochefort! have I not told you already that
I had nothing to do with that? The queen -- cannot you make
allowances for the pettishness of a queen and a princess?
But that has passed away as suddenly as it came, and is
forgotten."

"I can easily suppose, sir, that her majesty has forgotten
it amid the fetes and the courtiers of the Palais Royal, but
I who have passed those years in the Bastile ---- "

"Ah! mon Dieu! my dear Monsieur de Rochefort! do you
absolutely think that the Palais Royal is the abode of
gayety? No. We have had great annoyances there. As for me, I
play my game squarely, fairly, and above board, as I always
do. Let us come to some conclusion. Are you one of us,
Monsieur de Rochefort?"

"I am very desirous of being so, my lord, but I am totally
in the dark about everything. In the Bastile one talks
politics only with soldiers and jailers, and you have not an
idea, my lord, how little is known of what is going on by
people of that sort; I am of Monsieur de Bassompierre's
party. Is he still one of the seventeen peers of France."

"He is dead, sir; a great loss. His devotion to the queen
was boundless; men of loyalty are scarce."

"I think so, forsooth," said Rochefort, "and when you find
any of them, you march them off to the Bastile. However,
there are plenty in the world, but you don't look in the
right direction for them, my lord."

"Indeed! explain to me. Ah! my dear Monsieur de Rochefort,
how much you must have learned during your intimacy with the
late cardinal! Ah! he was a great man."

"Will your eminence be angry if I read you a lesson?"

"I! never! you know you may say anything to me. I try to be
beloved, not feared."

"Well, there is on the wall of my cell, scratched with a
nail, a proverb, which says, `Like master, like servant.'"

"Pray, what does that mean?"

"It means that Monsieur de Richelieu was able to find trusty
servants, dozens and dozens of them."

"He! the point aimed at by every poniard! Richelieu, who
passed his life in warding off blows which were forever
aimed at him!"

"But he did ward them off," said De Rochefort, "and the
reason was, that though he had bitter enemies he possessed
also true friends. I have known persons," he continued --
for he thought he might avail himself of the opportunity of
speaking of D'Artagnan -- "who by their sagacity and address
have deceived the penetration of Cardinal Richelieu; who by
their valor have got the better of his guards and spies;
persons without money, without support, without credit, yet
who have preserved to the crowned head its crown and made
the cardinal crave pardon."

"But those men you speak of," said Mazarin, smiling inwardly
on seeing Rochefort approach the point to which he was
leading him, "those men were not devoted to the cardinal,
for they contended against him."

"No; in that case they would have met with more fitting
reward. They had the misfortune to be devoted to that very
queen for whom just now you were seeking servants."

"But how is it that you know so much of these matters?"

"I know them because the men of whom I speak were at that
time my enemies; because they fought against me; because I
did them all the harm I could and they returned it to the
best of their ability; because one of them, with whom I had
most to do, gave me a pretty sword-thrust, now about seven
years ago, the third that I received from the same hand; it
closed an old account."

"Ah!" said Mazarin, with admirable suavity, "could I but
find such men!"

"My lord, there has stood for six years at your very door a
man such as I describe, and during those six years he has
been unappreciated and unemployed by you."

"Who is it?"

"It is Monsieur d'Artagnan."

"That Gascon!" cried Mazarin, with well acted surprise.

"`That Gascon' has saved a queen and made Monsieur de
Richelieu confess that in point of talent, address and
political skill, to him he was only a tyro."

"Really?"

"It is as I have the honor of telling it to your
excellency."

"Tell me a little about it, my dear Monsieur de Rochefort."

"That is somewhat difficult, my lord," said Rochefort, with
a smile.

"Then he will tell it me himself."

"I doubt it, my lord."

"Why do you doubt it?"

"Because the secret does not belong to him; because, as I
have told you, it has to do with a great queen."

"And he was alone in achieving an enterprise like that?"

"No, my lord, he had three colleagues, three brave men, men
such as you were wishing for just now."

"And were these four men attached to each other, true in
heart, really united?"

"As if they had been one man -- as if their four hearts had
pulsated in one breast."

"You pique my curiosity, dear Rochefort; pray tell me the
whole story."

"That is impossible; but I will tell you a true story, my
lord."

"Pray do so, I delight in stories," cried the cardinal.

"Listen, then," returned Rochefort, as he spoke endeavoring
to read in that subtle countenance the cardinal's motive.
"Once upon a time there lived a queen -- a powerful monarch
-- who reigned over one of the greatest kingdoms of the
universe; and a minister; and this minister wished much to
injure the queen, whom once he had loved too well. (Do not
try, my lord, you cannot guess who it is; all this happened
long before you came into the country where this queen
reigned.) There came to the court an ambassador so brave, so
magnificent, so elegant, that every woman lost her heart to
him; and the queen had even the indiscretion to give him
certain ornaments so rare that they could never be replaced
by any like them.

"As these ornaments were given by the king the minister
persuaded his majesty to insist upon the queen's appearing
in them as part of her jewels at a ball which was soon to
take place. There is no occasion to tell you, my lord, that
the minister knew for a fact that these ornaments had sailed
away with the ambassador, who was far away, beyond seas.
This illustrious queen had fallen low as the least of her
subjects -- fallen from her high estate."

"Indeed!"

"Well, my lord, four men resolved to save her. These four
men were not princes, neither were they dukes, neither were
they men in power; they were not even rich. They were four
honest soldiers, each with a good heart, a good arm and a
sword at the service of those who wanted it. They set out.
The minister knew of their departure and had planted people
on the road to prevent them ever reaching their destination.
Three of them were overwhelmed and disabled by numerous
assailants; one of them alone arrived at the port, having
either killed or wounded those who wished to stop him. He
crossed the sea and brought back the set of ornaments to the
great queen, who was able to wear them on her shoulder on
the appointed day; and this very nearly ruined the minister.
What do you think of that exploit, my lord?"

"It is magnificent!" said Mazarin, thoughtfully.

"Well, I know of ten such men."

Mazarin made no reply; he reflected.

Five or six minutes elapsed.

"You have nothing more to ask of me, my lord?" said
Rochefort.

"Yes. And you say that Monsieur d'Artagnan was one of those
four men?"

"He led the enterprise."

"And who were the others?"

"I leave it to Monsieur d'Artagnan to name them, my lord.
They were his friends and not mine. He alone would have any
influence with them; I do not even know them under their
true names."

"You suspect me, Monsieur de Rochefort; I want him and you
and all to aid me."

"Begin with me, my lord; for after five or six years of
imprisonment it is natural to feel some curiosity as to
one's destination."

"You, my dear Monsieur de Rochefort, shall have the post of
confidence; you shall go to Vincennes, where Monsieur de
Beaufort is confined; you will guard him well for me. Well,
what is the matter?"

"The matter is that you have proposed to me what is
impossible," said Rochefort, shaking his head with an air of
disappointment.

"What! impossible? And why is it impossible?"

"Because Monsieur de Beaufort is one of my friends, or
rather, I am one of his. Have you forgotten, my lord, that
it is he who answered for me to the queen?"

"Since then Monsieur de Beaufort has become an enemy of the
State."

"That may be, my lord; but since I am neither king nor queen
nor minister, he is not my enemy and I cannot accept your
offer."

"This, then, is what you call devotion! I congratulate you.
Your devotion does not commit you too far, Monsieur de
Rochefort."

"And then, my lord," continued Rochefort, "you understand
that to emerge from the Bastile in order to enter Vincennes
is only to change one's prison."

"Say at once that you are on the side of Monsieur de
Beaufort; that will be the most sincere line of conduct,"
said Mazarin.

"My lord, I have been so long shut up, that I am only of one
party -- I am for fresh air. Employ me in any other way;
employ me even actively, but let it be on the high roads."

"My dear Monsieur de Rochefort," Mazarin replied in a tone
of raillery, "you think yourself still a young man; your
spirit is that of the phoenix, but your strength fails you.
Believe me, you ought now to take a rest. Here!"

"You decide, then, nothing about me, my lord?"

"On the contrary, I have come to a decision."

Bernouin came into the room.

"Call an officer of justice," he said; "and stay close to
me," he added, in a low tone.

The officer entered. Mazarin wrote a few words, which he
gave to this man; then he bowed.

"Adieu, Monsieur de Rochefort," he said.

Rochefort bent low.

"I see, my lord, I am to be taken back to the Bastile."

"You are sagacious."

"I shall return thither, my lord, but it is a mistake on
your part not to employ me."

"You? the friend of my greatest foes? Don't suppose that you
are the only person who can serve me, Monsieur de Rochefort.
I shall find many men as able as you are."

"I wish you may, my lord," replied De Rochefort.

He was then reconducted by the little staircase, instead of
passing through the ante-chamber where D'Artagnan was
waiting. In the courtyard the carriage and the four
musketeers were ready, but he looked around in vain for his
friend.

"Ah!" he muttered to himself, "this changes the situation,
and if there is still a crowd of people in the streets we
will try to show Mazarin that we are still, thank God, good
for something else than keeping guard over a prisoner;" and
he jumped into the carriage with the alacrity of a man of
five-and-twenty.

4

Anne of Austria at the Age of Forty-six.

When left alone with Bernouin, Mazarin was for some minutes
lost in thought. He had gained much information, but not
enough. Mazarin was a cheat at the card-table. This is a
detail preserved to us by Brienne. He called it using his
advantages. He now determined not to begin the game with
D'Artagnan till he knew completely all his adversary's
cards.

"My lord, have you any commands?" asked Bernouin.

"Yes, yes," replied Mazarin. "Light me; I am going to the
queen."

Bernouin took up a candlestick and led the way.

There was a secret communication between the cardinal's
apartments and those of the queen; and through this
corridor* Mazarin passed whenever he wished to visit Anne of
Austria.

*This secret passage is still to be seen in the Palais
Royal.

In the bedroom in which this passage ended, Bernouin
encountered Madame de Beauvais, like himself intrusted with
the secret of these subterranean love affairs; and Madame de
Beauvais undertook to prepare Anne of Austria, who was in
her oratory with the young king, Louis XIV., to receive the
cardinal.

Anne, reclining in a large easy-chair, her head supported by
her hand, her elbow resting on a table, was looking at her
son, who was turning over the leaves of a large book filled
with pictures. This celebrated woman fully understood the
art of being dull with dignity. It was her practice to pass
hours either in her oratory or in her room, without either
reading or praying.

When Madame de Beauvais appeared at the door and announced
the cardinal, the child, who had been absorbed in the pages
of Quintus Curtius, enlivened as they were by engravings of
Alexander's feats of arms, frowned and looked at his mother.

"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 be 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.

"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 delight 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 cost 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
upon a Beadle and a Chorister.

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

How D'Artagnan, on going to a Distance to discover Aramis,
discovers his old Friend on Horseback behind his own
Planchet.

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.

He was confessing to himself that he belonged to the latter
unhappy class, when Planchet approached and said:

"I will lay a wager, your honor, that you and I are thinking
of the same thing."

"I doubt it, Planchet," replied D'Artagnan, "but what are
you thinking of?"

"I am thinking, sir, of those desperate looking men who were
drinking in the inn where we rested."

"Always cautious, Planchet."

"'Tis instinct, your honor."

"Well, what does your instinct tell you now?"

"Sir, my instinct told me that those people were assembled
there for some bad purpose; and I was reflecting on what my
instinct had told me, in the darkest corner of the stable,
when a man wrapped in a cloak and followed by two other men,
came in."

"Ah ah!" said D'Artagnan, Planchet's recital agreeing with
his own observations. "Well?"

"One of these two men said, `He must certainly be at Noisy,
or be coming there this evening, for I have seen his
servant.'

"`Art thou sure? ' said the man in the cloak.

"`Yes, my prince.'"

"My prince!" interrupted D'Artagnan.

"Yes, `my prince;' but listen. `If he is here' -- this is
what the other man said -- `let's see decidedly what to do
with him.'

"`What to do with him?' answered the prince.

"`Yes, he's not a man to allow himself to be taken anyhow;
he'll defend himself.'

"`Well, we must try to take him alive. Have you cords to
bind him with and a gag to stop his mouth?'

"`We have.'

"`Remember that he will most likely be disguised as a
horseman.'

"`Yes, yes, my lord; don't be uneasy.'

"`Besides, I shall be there.'

"`You will assure us that justice ---- '

"`Yes, yes! I answer for all that,' the prince said.

"`Well, then, we'll do our best.' Having said that, they
went out of the stable."

"Well, what matters all that to us?" said D'Artagnan. "This
is one of those attempts that happen every day."

"Are you sure that we are not its objects?"

"We? Why?"

"Just remember what they said. `I have seen his servant,'
said one, and that applies very well to me."

"Well?"

"`He must certainly be at Noisy, or be coming there this
evening,' said the other; and that applies very well to
you."

"What else?"

"Then the prince said: `Take notice that in all probability
he will be disguised as a cavalier;' which seems to me to
leave no room for doubt, since you are dressed as a cavalier
and not as an officer of musketeers. Now then, what do you
say to that?"

"Alas! my dear Planchet," said D'Artagnan, sighing, "we are
unfortunately no longer in those times in which princes
would care to assassinate me. Those were good old days;
never fear -- these people owe us no grudge."

"Is your honor sure?"

"I can answer for it they do not."

"Well, we won't speak of it any more, then;" and Planchet
took his place in D'Artagnan's suite with that sublime
confidence he had always had in his master, which even
fifteen years of separation had not destroyed.

They had traveled onward about half a mile when Planchet
came close up to D'Artagnan.

"Stop, sir, look yonder," he whispered; "don't you see in
the darkness something pass by, like shadows? I fancy I hear
horses' feet."

"Impossible!" returned D'Artagnan. "The ground is soaking
wet; yet I fancy, as thou sayest, that I see something."

At this moment the neighing of a horse struck his ear,
coming through darkness and space.

"There are men somewhere about, but that's of no consequence
to us," said D'Artagnan; "let us ride onward."

At about half-past eight o'clock they reached the first
houses in Noisy; every one was in bed and not a light was to
be seen in the village. The obscurity was broken only now
and then by the still darker lines of the roofs of houses.
Here and there a dog barked behind a door or an affrighted
cat fled precipitately from the midst of the pavement to
take refuge behind a pile of faggots, from which retreat her
eyes would shine like peridores. These were the only living
creatures that seemed to inhabit the village.

Toward the middle of the town, commanding the principal open
space, rose a dark mass, separated from the rest of the
world by two lanes and overshadowed in the front by enormous
lime-trees. D'Artagnan looked attentively at the building.

"This," he said to Planchet, "must be the archbishop's
chateau, the abode of the fair Madame de Longueville; but
the convent, where is that?"

"The convent, your honor, is at the other end of the
village; I know it well."

"Well, then, Planchet, gallop up to it whilst I tighten my
horse's girth, and come back and tell me if there is a light
in any of the Jesuits' windows."

In about five minutes Planchet returned.

"Sir," he said, "there is one window of the convent lighted
up."

"Hem! If I were a `Frondeur,'" said D'Artagnan, "I should
knock here and should be sure of a good supper. If I were a
monk I should knock yonder and should have a good supper
there, too; whereas, 'tis very possible that between the
castle and the convent we shall sleep on hard beds, dying
with hunger and thirst."

"Yes," added Planchet, "like the famous ass of Buridan.
Shall I knock?"

"Hush!" replied D'Artagnan; "the light no longer burns in
yonder window."

"Do you hear nothing?" whispered Planchet.

"What is that noise?"

There came a sound like a whirlwind, at the same time two
troops of horsemen, each composed of ten men, sallied forth
from each of the lanes which encompassed the house and
surrounded D'Artagnan and Planchet.

"Heyday!" cried D'Artagnan, drawing his sword and taking
refuge behind his horse; "are you not mistaken? is it really
for us that you mean your attack?"

"Here he is! we have him!" cried the horsemen, rushing on
D'Artagnan with naked swords.

"Don't let him escape!" said a loud voice.

"No, my lord; be assured we shall not."

D'Artagnan thought it was now time for him to join in the
conversation.

"Halloo, gentlemen!" he called out in his Gascon accent,
"what do you want? what do you demand?"

"That thou shalt soon know," shouted a chorus of horsemen.

"Stop, stop!" cried he whom they had addressed as "my lord;"
"'tis not his voice."

"Ah! just so, gentlemen! pray, do people get into a passion
at random at Noisy? Take care, for I warn you that the first
man that comes within the length of my sword -- and my sword
is long -- I rip him up."

The chieftain of the party drew near.

"What are you doing here?" he asked in a lofty tone, as that
of one accustomed to command.

"And you -- what are you doing here?" replied D'Artagnan.

"Be civil, or I shall beat you; for although one may not
choose to proclaim oneself, one insists on respect suitable
to one's rank."

"You don't choose to discover yourself, because you are the
leader of an ambuscade," returned D'Artagnan; "but with
regard to myself, who am traveling quietly with my own
servant, I have not the same reasons as you have to conceal
my name."

"Enough! enough! what is your name?"

"I shall tell you my name in order that you may know where
to find me, my lord, or my prince, as it may suit you best
to be called," said our Gascon, who did not choose to seem
to yield to a threat. "Do you know Monsieur d'Artagnan?"

"Lieutenant in the king's musketeers?" said the voice; "you
are Monsieur d'Artagnan?"

"I am."

"Then you came here to defend him?"

"Him? whom?"

"The man we are seeking."

"It seems," said D'Artagnan, "that whilst I thought I was
coming to Noisy I have entered, without suspecting it, into
the kingdom of mysteries."

"Come," replied the same lofty tone, "answer! Are you
waiting for him underneath these windows? Did you come to
Noisy to defend him?"

"I am waiting for no one," replied D'Artagnan, who was
beginning to be angry. "I propose to defend no one but
myself, and I shall defend myself vigorously, I give you
warning."

"Very well," said the voice; "go away from here and leave
the place to us."

"Go away from here!" said D'Artagnan, whose purposes were in
conflict with that order, "that is not so easy, since I am
on the point of falling, and my horse, too, through fatigue;
unless, indeed, you are disposed to offer me a supper and a
bed in the neighborhood."

"Rascal!"

"Eh! monsieur!" said D'Artagnan, "I beg you will have a care
what you say; for if you utter another word like that, be
you marquis, duke, prince or king, I will thrust it down
your throat! do you hear?"

"Well, well," rejoined the leader, "there's no doubt 'tis a
Gascon who is speaking, and therefore not the man we are
looking for. Our blow has failed for to-night; let us
withdraw. We shall meet again, Master d'Artagnan," continued
the leader, raising his voice.

"Yes, but never with the same advantages," said D'Artagnan,
in a tone of raillery; "for when you meet me again you will
perhaps be alone and there will be daylight."

"Very good, very good," said the voice. "En route,
gentlemen."

And the troop, grumbling angrily, disappeared in the
darkness and took the road to Paris. D'Artagnan and Planchet
remained for some moments still on the defensive; then, as
the noise of the horsemen became more and more distant, they
sheathed their swords.

"Thou seest, simpleton," said D'Artagnan to his servant,
"that they wished no harm to us."

"But to whom, then?"

"I'faith! I neither know nor care. What I do care for now,
is to make my way into the Jesuits' convent; so to horse and
let us knock at their door. Happen what will, the devil take
them, they can't eat us."

And he mounted his horse. Planchet had just done the same
when an unexpected weight fell upon the back of the horse,
which sank down.

"Hey! your honor!" cried Planchet, "I've a man behind me."

D'Artagnan turned around and plainly saw two human forms on
Planchet's horse.

"'Tis then the devil that pursues!" he cried; drawing his
sword and preparing to attack the new foe.

"No, no, dear D'Artagnan," said the figure, "'tis not the
devil, 'tis Aramis; gallop fast, Planchet, and when you come
to the end of the village turn swiftly to the left."

And Planchet, with Aramis behind him, set off at full
gallop, followed by D'Artagnan, who began to think he was in
the merry maze of some fantastic dream.

9

The Abbe D'Herblay.

At the extremity of the village Planchet turned to the left
in obedience to the orders of Aramis, and stopped underneath
the window which had light in it. Aramis alighted and
clapped his hands three times. Immediately the window was
opened and a ladder of rope was let down from it.

"My friend," said Aramis, "if you like to ascend I shall be
delighted to receive you."

"Ah," said D'Artagnan, "is that the way you return to your
apartment?"

"After nine at night, pardieu!" said Aramis, "the rule of
the convent is very severe."

"Pardon me, my dear friend," said D'Artagnan, "I think you
said `pardieu!'"

"Do you think so?" said Aramis, smiling; "it is possible.
You have no idea, my dear fellow, how one acquires bad
habits in these cursed convents, or what evil ways all these
men of the church have, with whom I am obliged to live. But
will you not go up?"

"Pass on before me, I beg of you."

"As the late cardinal used to say to the late king, `only to
show you the way, sire.'" And Aramis ascended the ladder
quickly and reached the window in an instant.

D'Artagnan followed, but less nimbly, showing plainly that
this mode of ascent was not one to which he was accustomed.

"I beg your pardon," said Aramis, noticing his awkwardness;
"if I had known that I was to have the honor of your visit I
should have procured the gardener's ladder; but for me alone
this is good enough."

"Sir," said Planchet when he saw D'Artagnan on the summit of
the ladder, "this way is easy for Monsieur Aramis and even
for you; in case of necessity I might also climb up, but my
two horses cannot mount the ladder."

"Take them to yonder shed, my friend," said Aramis, pointing
to a low building on the plain; "there you will find hay and
straw for them; then come back here and clap your hands
three times, and we will give you wine and food. Marry,
forsooth, people don't die of hunger here.'

And Aramis, drawing in the ladder, closed the window.
D'Artagnan then looked around attentively.

Never was there an apartment at the same time more warlike
and more elegant. At each corner were arranged trophies,
presenting to view swords of all sorts, and on the walls
hung four great pictures representing in their ordinary
military costume the Cardinal de Lorraine, the Cardinal de
Richelieu, the Cardinal de la Valette, and the Archbishop of
Bordeaux. Exteriorly, nothing in the room showed that it was
the habitation of an abbe. The hangings were of damask, the
carpets from Alencon, and the bed, especially, had more the
look of a fine lady's couch, with its trimmings of fine lace
and its embroidered counterpane, than that of a man who had
made a vow that he would endeavor to gain Heaven by fasting
and mortification.

"You are examining my den," said Aramis. "Ah, my dear
fellow, excuse me; I am lodged like a Chartreux. But what
are you looking for?"

"I am looking for the person who let down the ladder. I see
no one and yet the ladder didn't come down of itself."

"No, it is Bazin."

"Ah! ah!" said D'Artagnan.

"But," continued Aramis, "Bazin is a well trained servant,
and seeing that I was not alone he discreetly retired. Sit
down, my dear friend, and let us talk." And Aramis pushed
forward a large easy-chair, in which D'Artagnan stretched
himself out.

"In the first place, you will sup with me, will you not?"
asked Aramis.

"Yes, if you really wish it," said D'Artagnan, "and even
with great pleasure, I confess; the journey has given me a
devil of an appetite."

"Ah, my poor friend!" said Aramis, "you will find meagre
fare; you were not expected."

"Am I then threatened with the omelet of Crevecoeur?"

"Oh, let us hope," said Aramis, "that with the help of God
and of Bazin we shall find something better than that in the
larder of the worthy Jesuit fathers. Bazin, my friend, come
here."

The door opened and Bazin entered; on perceiving the
musketeer he uttered an exclamation that was almost a cry of
despair.

"My dear Bazin," said D'Artagnan, "I am delighted to see
with what wonderful composure you can tell a lie even in
church!"

"Sir," replied Bazin, "I have been taught by the good Jesuit
fathers that it is permitted to tell a falsehood when it is
told in a good cause."

"So far well," said Aramis; "we are dying of hunger. Serve
us up the best supper you can, and especially give us some
good wine."

Bazin bowed low, sighed, and left the room.

"Now we are alone, dear Aramis," said D'Artagnan, "tell me
how the devil you managed to alight upon the back of
Planchet's horse."

"I'faith!" answered Aramis, "as you see, from Heaven."

"From Heaven," replied D'Artagnan, shaking his head; "you
have no more the appearance of coming from thence than you
have of going there."

"My friend," said Aramis, with a look of imbecility on his
face which D'Artagnan had never observed whilst he was in
the musketeers, "if I did not come from Heaven, at least I
was leaving Paradise, which is almost the same."

"Here, then, is a puzzle for the learned," observed
D'Artagnan, "until now they have never been able to agree as
to the situation of Paradise; some place it on Mount Ararat,
others between the rivers Tigris and Euphrates; it seems
that they have been looking very far away for it, while it
was actually very near. Paradise is at Noisy le Sec, upon
the site of the archbishop's chateau. People do not go out
from it by the door, but by the window; one doesn't descend
here by the marble steps of a peristyle, but by the branches
of a lime-tree; and the angel with a flaming sword who
guards this elysium seems to have changed his celestial name
of Gabriel into that of the more terrestrial one of the
Prince de Marsillac."

Aramis burst into a fit of laughter.

"You were always a merry companion, my dear D'Artagnan," he
said, "and your witty Gascon fancy has not deserted you.
Yes, there is something in what you say; nevertheless, do
not believe that it is Madame de Longueville with whom I am
in love."

"A plague on't! I shall not do so. After having been so long
in love with Madame de Chevreuse, you would hardly lay your
heart at the feet of her mortal enemy!"

"Yes," replied Aramis, with an absent air; "yes, that poor
duchess! I once loved her much, and to do her justice, she
was very useful to us. Eventually she was obliged to leave
France. He was a relentless enemy, that damned cardinal,"
continued Aramis, glancing at the portrait of the old
minister. "He had even given orders to arrest her and would
have cut off her head had she not escaped with her
waiting-maid -- poor Kitty! I have heard that she met with a
strange adventure in I don't know what village, with I don't
know what cure, of whom she asked hospitality and who,
having but one chamber, and taking her for a cavalier,
offered to share it with her. For she had a wonderful way of
dressing as a man, that dear Marie; I know only one other
woman who can do it as well. So they made this song about
her: `Laboissiere, dis moi.' You know it, don't you?"

"No, sing it, please."

Aramis immediately complied, and sang the song in a very
lively manner.

"Bravo!" cried D'Artagnan, "you sing charmingly, dear
Aramis. I do not perceive that singing masses has spoiled
your voice."

"My dear D'Artagnan," replied Aramis, "you understand, when
I was a musketeer I mounted guard as seldom as I could; now
when I am an abbe I say as few masses as I can. But to
return to our duchess."

"Which -- the Duchess de Chevreuse or the Duchess de
Longueville?"

"Have I not already told you that there is nothing between
me and the Duchess de Longueville? Little flirtations,
perhaps, and that's all. No, I spoke of the Duchess de
Chevreuse; did you see her after her return from Brussels,
after the king's death?"

"Yes, she is still beautiful."

"Yes," said Aramis, "I saw her also at that time. I gave her
good advice, by which she did not profit. I ventured to tell
her that Mazarin was the lover of Anne of Austria. She
wouldn't believe me, saying that she knew Anne of Austria,
who was too proud to love such a worthless coxcomb. After
that she plunged into the cabal headed by the Duke of
Beaufort; and the `coxcomb' arrested De Beaufort and
banished Madame de Chevreuse."

"You know," resumed D'Artagnan, "that she has had leave to
return to France?"

"Yes she is come back and is going to commit some fresh
folly or another."

"Oh, but this time perhaps she will follow your advice."

"Oh, this time," returned Aramis, "I haven't seen her; she
is much changed."

"In that respect unlike you, my dear Aramis, for you are
still the same; you have still your beautiful dark hair,
still your elegant figure, still your feminine hands, which
are admirably suited to a prelate."

"Yes," replied Aramis, "I am extremely careful of my
appearance. Do you know that I am growing old? I am nearly
thirty-seven."

"Mind, Aramis" -- D'Artagnan smiled as he spoke -- "since we
are together again, let us agree on one point: what age
shall we be in future?"

"How?"

"Formerly I was your junior by two or three years, and if I
am not mistaken I am turned forty years old."

"Indeed! Then 'tis I who am mistaken, for you have always
been a good chronologist. By your reckoning I must be
forty-three at least. The devil I am! Don't let it out at
the Hotel Rambouillet; it would ruin me," replied the abbe.

"Don't be afraid," said D'Artagnan. "I never go there."

"Why, what in the world," cried Aramis, "is that animal
Bazin doing? Bazin! Hurry up there, you rascal; we are mad
with hunger and thirst!"

Bazin entered at that moment carrying a bottle in each hand.

"At last," said Aramis, "we are ready, are we?

"Yes, monsieur, quite ready," said Bazin; "but it took me
some time to bring up all the ---- "

"Because you always think you have on your shoulders your
beadle's robe, and spend all your time reading your
breviary. But I give you warning that if in polishing your
chapel utensils you forget how to brighten up my sword, I
will make a great fire of your blessed images and will see
that you are roasted on it."

Bazin, scandalized, made a sign of the cross with the bottle
in his hand. D'Artagnan, more surprised than ever at the
tone and manners of the Abbe d'Herblay, which contrasted so
strongly with those of the Musketeer Aramis, remained
staring with wide-open eyes at the face of his friend.

Bazin quickly covered the table with a damask cloth and
arranged upon it so many things, gilded, perfumed,
appetizing, that D'Artagnan was quite overcome.

"But you expected some one then?" asked the officer.

"Oh," said Aramis, "I always try to be prepared; and then I
knew you were seeking me."

"From whom?"

"From Master Bazin, to be sure; he took you for the devil,
my dear fellow, and hastened to warn me of the danger that
threatened my soul if I should meet again a companion so
wicked as an officer of musketeers."

"Oh, monsieur!" said Bazin, clasping his hands
supplicatingly.

"Come, no hypocrisy! you know that I don't like it. You will
do much better to open the window and let down some bread, a
chicken and a bottle of wine to your friend Planchet, who
has been this last hour killing himself clapping his hands."

Planchet, in fact, had bedded and fed his horses, and then
coming back under the window had repeated two or three times
the signal agreed upon.

Bazin obeyed, fastened to the end of a cord the three
articles designated and let them down to Planchet, who then
went satisfied to his shed.

"Now to supper," said Aramis.

The two friends sat down and Aramis began to cut up fowls,
partridges and hams with admirable skill.

"The deuce!" cried D'Artagnan; "do you live in this way
always?"

"Yes, pretty well. The coadjutor has given me dispensations
from fasting on the jours maigres, on account of my health;
then I have engaged as my cook the cook who lived with
Lafollone -- you know the man I mean? -- the friend of the
cardinal, and the famous epicure whose grace after dinner
used to be, `Good Lord, do me the favor to cause me to
digest what I have eaten.'"

"Nevertheless he died of indigestion, in spite of his
grace," said D'Artagnan.

"What can you expect?" replied Aramis, in a tone of
resignation. "Every man that's born must fulfil his
destiny."

"If it be not an indelicate question," resumed D'Artagnan,
"have you grown rich?"

"Oh, Heaven! no. I make about twelve thousand francs a year,
without counting a little benefice of a thousand crowns the
prince gave me."

"And how do you make your twelve thousand francs? By your
poems?"

"No, I have given up poetry, except now and then to write a
drinking song, some gay sonnet or some innocent epigram; I
compose sermons, my friend."

"What! sermons? Do you preach them?"

"No; I sell them to those of my cloth who wish to become
great orators."

"Ah, indeed! and you have not been tempted by the hopes of
reputation yourself?"

"I should, my dear D'Artagnan, have been so, but nature said
`No.' When I am in the pulpit, if by chance a pretty woman
looks at me, I look at her again: if she smiles, I smile
too. Then I speak at random; instead of preaching about the
torments of hell I talk of the joys of Paradise. An event
took place in the Church of St. Louis au Marais. A gentleman
laughed in my face. I stopped short to tell him that he was
a fool; the congregation went out to get stones to stone me
with, but whilst they were away I found means to conciliate
the priests who were present, so that my foe was pelted
instead of me. 'Tis true that he came the next morning to my
house, thinking that he had to do with an abbe -- like all
other abbes."

"And what was the end of the affair?"

"We met in the Place Royale -- Egad! you know about it."

"Was I not your second?" cried D'Artagnan.

"You were; you know how I settled the matter."

"Did he die?"

"I don't know. But, at all events, I gave him absolution in
articulo mortis. 'Tis enough to kill the body, without
killing the soul."

Bazin made a despairing sign which meant that while perhaps
he approved the moral he altogether disapproved the tone in
which it was uttered.

"Bazin, my friend," said Aramis, "you don't seem to be aware
that I can see you in that mirror, and you forget that once
for all I have forbidden all signs of approbation or
disapprobation. You will do me the favor to bring us some
Spanish wine and then to withdraw. Besides, my friend
D'Artagnan has something to say to me privately, have you
not, D'Artagnan?"

D'Artagnan nodded his head and Bazin retired, after placing
on the table the Spanish wine.

The two friends, left alone, remained silent, face to face.
Aramis seemed to await a comfortable digestion; D'Artagnan,
to be preparing his exordium. Each of them, when the other
was not looking, hazarded a sly glance. It was Aramis who
broke the silence.

"What are you thinking of, D'Artagnan?" he began.

"I was thinking, my dear old friend, that when you were a
musketeer you turned your thoughts incessantly to the
church, and now that you are an abbe you are perpetually
longing to be once more a musketeer."

"'Tis true; man, as you know," said Aramis, "is a strange
animal, made up of contradictions. Since I became an abbe I
dream of nothing but battles."

"That is apparent in your surroundings; you have rapiers
here of every form and to suit the most exacting taste. Do
you still fence well?"

"I -- I fence as well as you did in the old time -- better
still, perhaps; I do nothing else all day."

"And with whom?"

"With an excellent master-at-arms that we have here."

"What! here?"

Yes, here, in this convent, my dear fellow. There is
everything in a Jesuit convent."

"Then you would have killed Monsieur de Marsillac if he had
come alone to attack you, instead of at the head of twenty
men?"

"Undoubtedly," said Aramis, "and even at the head of his
twenty men, if I could have drawn without being recognized."

"God pardon me!" said D'Artagnan to himself, "I believe he
has become more Gascon than I am!" Then aloud: "Well, my
dear Aramis, do you ask me why I came to seek you?"

"No, I have not asked you that," said Aramis, with his
subtle manner; "but I have expected you to tell me."

"Well, I sought you for the single purpose of offering you a
chance to kill Monsieur de Marsillac whenever you please,
prince though he is."

"Hold on! wait!" said Aramis; "that is an idea!"

"Of which I invite you to take advantage, my friend. Let us
see; with your thousand crowns from the abbey and the twelve
thousand francs you make by selling sermons, are you rich?
Answer frankly."

"I? I am as poor as Job, and were you to search my pockets
and my boxes I don't believe you would find a hundred
pistoles."

"Peste! a hundred pistoles!" said D'Artagnan to himself; "he
calls that being as poor as Job! If I had them I should
think myself as rich as Croesus." Then aloud: "Are you
ambitious?"

"As Enceladus."

"Well, my friend, I bring you the means of becoming rich,
powerful, and free to do whatever you wish."

The shadow of a cloud passed over Aramis's face as quickly
as that which in August passes over the field of grain; but
quick as it was, it did not escape D'Artagnan's observation.

"Speak on," said Aramis.

"One question first. Do you take any interest in politics?"

A gleam of light shone in Aramis's eyes, as brief as the
shadow that had passed over his face, but not so brief but
that it was seen by D'Artagnan.

"No," Aramis replied.

"Then proposals from any quarter will be agreeable to you,
since for the moment you have no master but God?"

"It is possible."

"Have you, my dear Aramis, thought sometimes of those happy,
happy, happy days of youth we passed laughing, drinking, and
fighting each other for play?"

"Certainly, and more than once regretted them; it was indeed
a glorious time."

"Well, those splendidly wild days may chance to come again;
I am commissioned to find out my companions and I began by
you, who were the very soul of our society."

Aramis bowed, rather with respect than pleasure at the
compliment.

"To meddle in politics," he exclaimed, in a languid voice,
leaning back in his easy-chair. "Ah! dear D'Artagnan! see
how regularly I live and how easy I am here. We have
experienced the ingratitude of `the great,' as you well
know."

"'Tis true," replied D'Artagnan. "Yet the great sometimes
repent of their ingratitude."

"In that case it would be quite another thing. Come! let's
be merciful to every sinner! Besides, you are right in
another respect, which is in thinking that if we were to
meddle in politics there could not be a better time than the
present."

"How can you know that? You who never interest yourself in
politics?"

"Ah! without caring about them myself, I live among those
who are much occupied in them. Poet as I am, I am intimate
with Sarazin, who is devoted to the Prince de Conti, and
with Monsieur de Bois-Robert, who, since the death of
Cardinal Richelieu, is of all parties or any party; so that
political discussions have not altogether been uninteresting
to me."

"I have no doubt of it," said D'Artagnan.

"Now, my dear friend, look upon all I tell you as merely the
statement of a monk -- of a man who resembles an echo --
repeating simply what he hears. I understand that Mazarin is
at this very moment extremely uneasy as to the state of
affairs; that his orders are not respected like those of our
former bugbear, the deceased cardinal, whose portrait as you
see hangs yonder -- for whatever may be thought of him, it
must be allowed that Richelieu was great."

"I will not contradict you there," said D'Artagnan.

"My first impressions were favorable to the minister; I said
to myself that a minister is never loved, but that with the
genius this one was said to have he would eventually triumph
over his enemies and would make himself feared, which in my
opinion is much more to be desired than to be loved ---- "

D'Artagnan made a sign with his head which indicated that he
entirely approved that doubtful maxim.

"This, then," continued Aramis, "was my first opinion; but
as I am very ignorant in matters of this kind and as the
humility which I profess obliges me not to rest on my own
judgment, but to ask the opinion of others, I have inquired
-- Eh! -- my friend ---- "

Aramis paused.

"Well? what?" asked his friend.

"Well, I must mortify myself. I must confess that I was
mistaken. Monsieur de Mazarin is not a man of genius, as I
thought, he is a man of no origin -- once a servant of
Cardinal Bentivoglio, and he got on by intrigue. He is an
upstart, a man of no name, who will only be the tool of a
party in France. He will amass wealth, he will injure the
king's revenue and pay to himself the pensions which
Richelieu paid to others. He is neither a gentleman in
manner nor in feeling, but a sort of buffoon, a punchinello,
a pantaloon. Do you know him? I do not."

"Hem!" said D'Artagnan, "there is some truth in what you
say."

"Ah! it fills me with pride to find that, thanks to a common
sort of penetration with which I am endowed, I am approved
by a man like you, fresh from the court."

"But you speak of him, not of his party, his resources."

"It is true -- the queen is for him."

"Something in his favor."

"But he will never have the king."

"A mere child."

"A child who will be of age in four years. Then he has
neither the parliament nor the people with him -- they
represent the wealth of the country; nor the nobles nor the
princes, who are the military power of France."

D'Artagnan scratched his ear. He was forced to confess to
himself that this reasoning was not only comprehensive, but
just.

"You see, my poor friend, that I am sometimes bereft of my
ordinary thoughtfulness; perhaps I am wrong in speaking thus
to you, who have evidently a leaning to Mazarin."

"I!" cried D'Artagnan, "not in the least."

"You spoke of a mission."

"Did I? I was wrong then, no, I said what you say -- there
is a crisis at hand. Well! let's fly the feather before the
wind; let us join with that side to which the wind will
carry it and resume our adventurous life. We were once four
valiant knights -- four hearts fondly united; let us unite
again, not our hearts, which have never been severed, but
our courage and our fortunes. Here's a good opportunity for
getting something better than a diamond."

"You are right, D'Artagnan; I held a similar project, but as
I had not nor ever shall have your fruitful, vigorous
imagination, the idea was suggested to me. Every one
nowadays wants auxiliaries; propositions have been made to
me and I confess to you frankly that the coadjutor has made
me speak out."

"Monsieur de Gondy! the cardinal's enemy?"

"No; the king's friend," said Aramis; "the king's friend,
you understand. Well, it is a question of serving the king,
the gentleman's duty."

"But the king is with Mazarin."

"He is, but not willingly; in appearance, not heart; and
that is exactly the snare the king's enemies are preparing
for the poor child."

"Ah! but this is, indeed, civil war which you propose to me,
dear Aramis."

"War for the king."

"Yet the king will be at the head of the army on Mazarin's
side."

"But his heart will be in the army commanded by the Duc de
Beaufort."

"Monsieur de Beaufort? He is at Vincennes."

"Did I say Monsieur de Beaufort? Monsieur de Beaufort or
another. Monsieur de Beaufort or Monsieur le Prince."

"But Monsieur le Prince is to set out for the army; he is
entirely devoted to the cardinal."

"Oh oh!" said Aramis, "there are questions between them at
this very moment. And besides, if it is not the prince, then
Monsieur de Gondy ---- "

"But Monsieur de Gondy is to be made a cardinal; they are
soliciting the hat for him."

"And are there no cardinals that can fight? Come now, recall
the four cardinals that at the head of armies have equalled
Monsieur de Guebriant and Monsieur de Gassion."

"But a humpbacked general!

"Under the cuirass the hump will not be seen. Besides,
remember that Alexander was lame and Hannibal had but one
eye."

"Do you see any great advantage in adhering to this party?"
asked D'Artagnan.

"I foresee in it the aid of powerful princes."

"With the enmity of the government."

"Counteracted by parliament and insurrections."

"That may be done if they can separate the king from his
mother."

"That may be done," said Aramis.

"Never!" cried D'Artagnan. "You, Aramis, know Anne of
Austria better than I do. Do you think she will ever forget
that her son is her safeguard, her shield, the pledge for
her dignity, for her fortune and her life? Should she
forsake Mazarin she must join her son and go over to the
princes' side; but you know better than I do that there are
certain reasons why she can never abandon Mazarin."

"Perhaps you are right," said Aramis, thoughtfully;
"therefore I shall not pledge myself."

"To them or to us, do you mean, Aramis?"

"To no one. I am a priest," resumed Aramis. "What have I to
do with politics? I am not obliged to read any breviary. I
have a jolly little circle of witty abbes and pretty women;
everything goes on smoothly, so certainly, dear friend, I
shall not meddle in politics."

"Well, listen, my dear Aramis," said D'Artagnan; "your
philosophy convinces me, on my honor. I don't know what
devil of an insect stung me and made me ambitious. I have a
post by which I live; at the death of Monsieur de Treville,
who is old, I may be a captain, which is a very snug berth
for a once penniless Gascon. Instead of running after
adventures I shall accept an invitation from Porthos; I
shall go and shoot on his estate. You know he has estates --
Porthos?"

"I should think so, indeed. Ten leagues of wood, of marsh
land and valleys; he is lord of the hill and the plain and
is now carrying on a suit for his feudal rights against the
Bishop of Noyon!"

"Good," said D'Artagnan to himself. "That's what I wanted to
know. Porthos is in Picardy."

Then aloud:

"And he has taken his ancient name of Vallon?"

"To which he adds that of Bracieux, an estate which has been
a barony, by my troth."

"So that Porthos will be a baron."

"I don't doubt it. The `Baroness Porthos' will sound
particularly charming."

And the two friends began to laugh.

"So," D'Artagnan resumed, "you will not become a partisan of
Mazarin's?"

"Nor you of the Prince de Conde?"

"No, let us belong to no party, but remain friends; let us
be neither Cardinalists nor Frondists."

"Adieu, then." And D'Artagnan poured out a glass of wine.

"To old times," he said.

"Yes," returned Aramis. "Unhappily, those times are past."

"Nonsense! They will return," said D'Artagnan. "At all
events, if you want me, remember the Rue Tiquetonne, Hotel
de la Chevrette."

"And I shall be at the convent of Jesuits; from six in the
morning to eight at night come by the door. From eight in
the evening until six in the morning come in by the window."

"Adieu, dear friend."

"Oh, I can't let you go so! I will go with you." And he took
his sword and cloak.

"He wants to be sure that I go away," said D'Artagnan to
himself.

Aramis whistled for Bazin, but Bazin was asleep in the
ante-chamber, and Aramis was obliged to shake him by the ear
to awake him.

Bazin stretched his arms, rubbed his eyes, and tried to go
to sleep again.

"Come, come, sleepy head; quick, the ladder!"

"But," said Bazin, yawning portentously, "the ladder is
still at the window."

"The other one, the gardener's. Didn't you see that Monsieur
d'Artagnan mounted with difficulty? It will be even more
difficult to descend."

D'Artagnan was about to assure Aramis that he could descend
easily, when an idea came into his head which silenced him.

Bazin uttered a profound sigh and went out to look for the
ladder. Presently a good, solid, wooden ladder was placed
against the window.

"Now then," said D'Artagnan, "this is something like; this
is a means of communication. A woman could go up a ladder
like that."

Aramis's searching look seemed to seek his friend's thought
even at the bottom of his heart, but D'Artagnan sustained
the inquisition with an air of admirable simplicity.
Besides, at that moment he put his foot on the first step of
the ladder and began his descent. In a moment he was on the
ground. Bazin remained at the window.

"Stay there," said Aramis; "I shall return immediately."

The two friends went toward the shed. At their approach
Planchet came out leading the two horses.

"That is good to see," said Aramis. "There is a servant
active and vigilant, not like that lazy fellow Bazin, who is
no longer good for anything since he became connected with
the church. Follow us, Planchet; we shall continue our
conversation to the end of the village."

They traversed the width of the village, talking of
indifferent things, then as they reached the last houses:

"Go, then, dear friend," said Aramis, "follow your own
career. Fortune lavishes her smiles upon you; do not let her
flee from your embrace. As for me, I remain in my humility
and indolence. Adieu!"

"Thus 'tis quite decided," said D'Artagnan, "that what I
have to offer to you does not tempt you?"

"On the contrary, it would tempt me were I any other man,"
rejoined Aramis; "but I repeat, I am made up of
contradictions. What I hate to-day I adore to-morrow, and
vice versa. You see that I cannot, like you, for instance,
settle on any fixed plan."

"Thou liest, subtile one," said D'Artagnan to himself. "Thou
alone, on the contrary, knowest how to choose thy object and
to gain it stealthily."

The friends embraced. They descended into the plain by the
ladder. Planchet met them hard by the shed. D'Artagnan
jumped into the saddle, then the old companions in arms
again shook hands. D'Artagnan and Planchet spurred their
steeds and took the road to Paris.

But after he had gone about two hundred steps D'Artagnan
stopped short, alighted, threw the bridle of his horse over
the arm of Planchet and took the pistols from his saddle-bow
to fasten them to his girdle.

"What's the matter?" asked Planchet.

"This is the matter: be he ever so cunning he shall never
say I was his dupe. Stand here, don't stir, turn your back
to the road and wait for me."

Having thus spoken, D'Artagnan cleared the ditch by the
roadside and crossed the plain so as to wind around the
village. He had observed between the house that Madame de
Longueville inhabited and the convent of the Jesuits, an
open space surrounded by a hedge.

The moon had now risen and he could see well enough to
retrace his road.

He reached the hedge and hid himself behind it; in passing
by the house where the scene which we have related took
place, he remarked that the window was again lighted up and
he was convinced that Aramis had not yet returned to his own
apartment and that when he did it would not be alone.

In truth, in a few minutes he heard steps approaching and
low whispers.

Close to the hedge the steps stopped.

D'Artagnan knelt down near the thickest part of the hedge.

Two men, to the astonishment of D'Artagnan, appeared
shortly; soon, however, his surprise vanished, for he heard
the murmurs of a soft, harmonious voice; one of these two
men was a woman disguised as a cavalier.

"Calm yourself, dear Rene," said the soft voice, "the same
thing will never happen again. I have discovered a sort of
subterranean passage which runs beneath the street and we
shall only have to raise one of the marble slabs before the
door to open you an entrance and an outlet."

"Oh!" answered another voice, which D'Artagnan instantly
recognized as that of Aramis. "I swear to you, princess,
that if your reputation did not depend on precautions and if
my life alone were jeopardized ---- "

"Yes, yes! I know you are as brave and venturesome as any
man in the world, but you do not belong to me alone; you
belong to all our party. Be prudent! sensible!"

"I always obey, madame, when I am commanded by so gentle a
voice."

He kissed her hand tenderly.

"Ah!" exclaimed the cavalier with a soft voice.

"What's the matter?" asked Aramis.

"Do you not see that the wind has blown off my hat?"

Aramis rushed after the fugitive hat. D'Artagnan took
advantage of the circumstance to find a place in the hedge
not so thick, where his glance could penetrate to the
supposed cavalier. At that instant, the moon, inquisitive,
perhaps, like D'Artagnan, came from behind a cloud and by
her light D'Artagnan recognized the large blue eyes, the
golden hair and the classic head of the Duchess de
Longueville.

Aramis returned, laughing, one hat on his head and the other
in his hand; and he and his companion resumed their walk
toward the convent.

"Good!" said D'Artagnan, rising and brushing his knees; "now
I have thee -- thou art a Frondeur and the lover of Madame
de Longueville."

10

Monsieur Porthos du Vallon de Bracieux de Pierrefonds.

Thanks to what Aramis had told him, D'Artagnan, who knew
already that Porthos called himself Du Vallon, was now aware
that he styled himself, from his estate, De Bracieux; and
that he was, on account of this estate, engaged in a lawsuit
with the Bishop of Noyon. It was, then, in the neighborhood
of Noyon that he must seek that estate. His itinerary was
promptly determined: he would go to Dammartin, from which
place two roads diverge, one toward Soissons, the other
toward Compiegne; there he would inquire concerning the
Bracieux estate and go to the right or to the left according
to the information obtained.

Planchet, who was still a little concerned for his safety
after his recent escapade, declared that he would follow
D'Artagnan even to the end of the world, either by the road
to the right or by that to the left; only he begged his
former master to set out in the evening, for greater
security to himself. D'Artagnan suggested that he should
send word to his wife, so that she might not be anxious
about him, but Planchet replied with much sagacity that he
was very sure his wife would not die of anxiety through not
knowing where he was, while he, Planchet, remembering her
incontinence of tongue, would die of anxiety if she did
know.

This reasoning seemed to D'Artagnan so satisfactory that he
no further insisted; and about eight o'clock in the evening,
the time when the vapors of night begin to thicken in the
streets, he left the Hotel de la Chevrette, and followed by
Planchet set forth from the capital by way of the Saint
Denis gate.

At midnight the two travelers were at Dammartin, but it was
then too late to make inquiries -- the host of the Cygne de
la Croix had gone to bed.

The next morning D'Artagnan summoned the host, one of those
sly Normans who say neither yes nor no and fear to commit
themselves by giving a direct answer. D'Artagnan, however,
gathered from his equivocal replies that the road to the
right was the one he ought to take, and on that uncertain
information he resumed his journey. At nine in the morning
he reached Nanteuil and stopped for breakfast. His host here
was a good fellow from Picardy, who gave him all the
information he needed. The Bracieux estate was a few leagues
from Villars-Cotterets.

D'Artagnan was acquainted with Villars-Cotterets having gone
thither with the court on several occasions; for at that
time Villars-Cotterets was a royal residence. He therefore
shaped his course toward that place and dismounted at the
Dauphin d'Or. There he ascertained that the Bracieux estate
was four leagues distant, but that Porthos was not at
Bracieux. Porthos had, in fact, been involved in a dispute
with the Bishop of Noyon in regard to the Pierrefonds
property, which adjoined his own, and weary at length of a
legal controversy which was beyond his comprehension, he put
an end to it by purchasing Pierrefonds and added that name
to his others. He now called himself Du Vallon de Bracieux
de Pierrefonds, and resided on his new estate.

The travelers were therefore obliged to stay at the hotel
until the next day; the horses had done ten leagues that day
and needed rest. It is true they might have taken others,
but there was a great forest to pass through and Planchet,
as we have seen, had no liking for forests after dark.

There was another thing that Planchet had no liking for and
that was starting on a journey with a hungry stomach.
Accordingly, D'Artagnan, on awaking, found his breakfast
waiting for him. It need not be said that Planchet in
resuming his former functions resumed also his former
humility and was not ashamed to make his breakfast on what
was left by D'Artagnan.

It was nearly eight o'clock when they set out again. Their
course was clearly defined: they were to follow the road
toward Compiegne and on emerging from the forest turn to the
right.

The morning was beautiful, and in this early springtime the
birds sang on the trees and the sunbeams shone through the
misty glades, like curtains of golden gauze.

In other parts of the forest the light could scarcely
penetrate through the foliage, and the stems of two old oak
trees, the refuge of the squirrel, startled by the
travelers, were in deep shadow.

There came up from all nature in the dawn of day a perfume
of herbs, flowers and leaves, which delighted the heart.
D'Artagnan, sick of the closeness of Paris, thought that
when a man had three names of his different estates joined
one to another, he ought to be very happy in such a
paradise; then he shook his head, saying, "If I were Porthos
and D'Artagnan came to make me such a proposition as I am
going to make to him, I know what I should say to it."

As to Planchet, he thought of little or nothing, but was
happy as a hunting-hound in his old master's company.

At the extremity of the wood D'Artagnan perceived the road
that had been described to him, and at the end of the road
he saw the towers of an immense feudal castle.

"Oh! oh!" he said, "I fancied this castle belonged to the
ancient branch of Orleans. Can Porthos have negotiated for
it with the Duc de Longueville?"

"Faith!" exclaimed Planchet, "here's land in good condition;
if it belongs to Monsieur Porthos I wish him joy."

"Zounds!" cried D'Artagnan, "don't call him Porthos, nor
even Vallon; call him De Bracieux or De Pierrefonds; thou
wilt knell out damnation to my mission otherwise."

As he approached the castle which had first attracted his
eye, D'Artagnan was convinced that it could not be there
that his friend dwelt; the towers, though solid and as if
built yesterday, were open and broken. One might have
fancied that some giant had cleaved them with blows from a
hatchet.

On arriving at the extremity of the castle D'Artagnan found
himself overlooking a beautiful valley, in which, at the
foot of a charming little lake, stood several scattered
houses, which, humble in their aspect, and covered, some
with tiles, others with thatch, seemed to acknowledge as
their sovereign lord a pretty chateau, built about the
beginning of the reign of Henry IV., and surmounted by four
stately, gilded weather-cocks. D'Artagnan no longer doubted
that this was Porthos's pleasant dwelling place.

The road led straight up to the chateau which, compared to
its ancestor on the hill, was exactly what a fop of the
coterie of the Duc d'Enghein would have been beside a knight
in steel armor in the time of Charles VII. D'Artagnan
spurred his horse on and pursued his road, followed by
Planchet at the same pace.

In ten minutes D'Artagnan reached the end of an alley
regularly planted with fine poplars and terminating in an
iron gate, the points and crossed bars of which were gilt.
In the midst of this avenue was a nobleman, dressed in green
and with as much gilding about him as the iron gate, riding
on a tall horse. On his right hand and his left were two
footmen, with the seams of their dresses laced. A
considerable number of clowns were assembled and rendered
homage to their lord.

"Ah!" said D'Artagnan to himself, "can this be the Seigneur
du Vallon de Bracieux de Pierrefonds? Well-a-day! how he has
shrunk since he gave up the name of Porthos!"

"This cannot be Monsieur Porthos," observed Planchet
replying, as it were, to his master's thoughts. "Monsieur
Porthos was six feet high; this man is scarcely five."

"Nevertheless," said D'Artagnan, "the people are bowing very
low to this person."

As he spoke, he rode toward the tall horse -- to the man of
importance and his valets. As he approached he seemed to
recognize the features of this individual.

"Jesu!" cried Planchet, "can it be?"

At this exclamation the man on horseback turned slowly and
with a lofty air, and the two travelers could see, displayed
in all their brilliancy, the large eyes, the vermilion
visage, and the eloquent smile of -- Musqueton.

It was indeed Musqueton -- Musqueton, as fat as a pig,
rolling about with rude health, puffed out with good living,
who, recognizing D'Artagnan and acting very differently from
the hypocrite Bazin, slipped off his horse and approached
the officer with his hat off, so that the homage of the
assembled crowd was turned toward this new sun, which
eclipsed the former luminary.

"Monsieur d'Artagnan! Monsieur d'Artagnan!" cried Musqueton,
his fat cheeks swelling out and his whole frame perspiring
with joy; "Monsieur d'Artagnan! oh! what joy for my lord and
master, Du Vallon de Bracieux de Pierrefonds!"

"Thou good Musqueton! where is thy master?"

"You stand upon his property!"

"But how handsome thou art -- how fat! thou hast prospered
and grown stout!" and D'Artagnan could not restrain his
astonishment at the change good fortune had produced on the
once famished one.

"Hey, yes, thank God, I am pretty well," said Musqueton.

"But hast thou nothing to say to thy friend Planchet?"

"How, my friend Planchet? Planchet -- art thou there?" cried
Musqueton, with open arms and eyes full of tears.

"My very self," replied Planchet; "but I wanted first to see
if thou wert grown proud."

"Proud toward an old friend? never, Planchet! thou wouldst
not have thought so hadst thou known Musqueton well."

"So far so well," answered Planchet, alighting, and
extending his arms to Musqueton, the two servants embraced
with an emotion which touched those who were present and
made them suppose that Planchet was a great lord in
disguise, so highly did they estimate the position of
Musqueton.

"And now, sir," resumed Musqueton, when he had rid himself
of Planchet, who had in vain tried to clasp his hands behind
his friend's fat back, "now, sir, allow me to leave you, for
I could not permit my master to hear of your arrival from
any but myself; he would never forgive me for not having
preceded you."

"This dear friend," said D'Artagnan, carefully avoiding to
utter either the former name borne by Porthos or his new
one, "then he has not forgotten me?"

"Forgotten -- he!" cried Musqueton; "there's not a day, sir,
that we don't expect to hear that you were made marshal
either instead of Monsieur de Gassion, or of Monsieur de
Bassompierre."

On D'Artagnan's lips there played one of those rare and
melancholy smiles which seemed to emanate from the depth of
his soul -- the last trace of youth and happiness that had
survived life's disillusions.

"And you -- fellows," resumed Musqueton, "stay near Monsieur
le Comte d'Artagnan and pay him every attention in your
power whilst I go to prepare my lord for his visit."

And mounting his horse Musqueton rode off down the avenue on
the grass at a hand gallop.

"Ah, there! there's something promising," said D'Artagnan.
"No mysteries, no cloak to hide one's self in, no cunning
policy here; people laugh outright, they weep for joy here.
I see nothing but faces a yard broad; in short, it seems to
me that nature herself wears a holiday garb, and that the
trees, instead of leaves and flowers, are covered with red
and green ribbons as on gala days."

"As for me," said Planchet, "I seem to smell, from this
place, even, a most delectable perfume of fine roast meat,
and to see the scullions in a row by the hedge, hailing our
approach. Ah! sir, what a cook must Monsieur Pierrefonds
have, when he was so fond of eating and drinking, even
whilst he was only called Monsieur Porthos!"

"Say no more!" cried D'Artagnan. "If the reality corresponds
with appearances I am lost; for a man so well off will never
change his happy condition, and I shall fail with him, as I
have already done with Aramis."

11

How D'Artagnan, in discovering the Retreat of Porthos,
perceives that Wealth does not necessarily produce
Happiness.

D'Artagnan passed through the iron gate and arrived in front
of the chateau. He alighted as he saw a species of giant on
the steps. Let us do justice to D'Artagnan. Independently of
every selfish wish, his heart palpitated with joy when he
saw that tall form and martial demeanor, which recalled to
him a good and brave man.

He ran to Porthos and threw himself into his arms; the whole
body of servants, arranged in a semi-circle at a respectful
distance, looked on with humble curiosity. Musqueton, at the
head of them, wiped his eyes. Porthos linked his arm in that
of his friend.

"Ah! how delightful to see you again, dear friend!" he
cried, in a voice which was now changed from a baritone into
a bass, "you've not then forgotten me?"

"Forget you! oh! dear Du Vallon, does one forget the
happiest days of flowery youth, one's dearest friends, the
dangers we have dared together? On the contrary, there is
not an hour we have passed together that is not present to
my memory."

"Yes, yes," said Porthos, trying to give to his mustache a
curl which it had lost whilst he had been alone. "Yes, we
did some fine things in our time and we gave that poor
cardinal a few threads to unravel."

And he heaved a sigh.

"Under any circumstances," he resumed, "you are welcome, my
dear friend; you will help me to recover my spirits;
to-morrow we will hunt the hare on my plain, which is a
superb tract of land, or pursue the deer in my woods, which
are magnificent. I have four harriers which are considered
the swiftest in the county, and a pack of hounds which are
unequalled for twenty leagues around."

And Porthos heaved another sigh.

"But, first," interposed D'Artagnan, "you must present me to
Madame du Vallon."

A third sigh from Porthos.

"I lost Madame du Vallon two years ago," he said, "and you
find me still in affliction on that account. That was the
reason why I left my Chateau du Vallon near Corbeil, and
came to my estate, Bracieux. Poor Madame du Vallon! her
temper was uncertain, but she came at last to accustom
herself to my little ways and understand my little wishes."

"So you are free now, and rich?"

"Alas!" groaned Porthos, "I am a widower and have forty
thousand francs a year. Let us go to breakfast."

"I shall be happy to do so; the morning air has made me
hungry."

"Yes," said Porthos; "my air is excellent."

They went into the chateau; there was nothing but gilding,
high and low; the cornices were gilt, the mouldings were
gilt, the legs and arms of the chairs were gilt. A table,
ready set out, awaited them.

"You see," said Porthos, "this is my usual style."

"Devil take me!" answered D'Artagnan, "I wish you joy of it.
The king has nothing like it."

"No," answered Porthos, "I hear it said that he is very
badly fed by the cardinal, Monsieur de Mazarin. Taste this
cutlet, my dear D'Artagnan; 'tis off one of my sheep."

"You have very tender mutton and I wish you joy of it." said
D'Artagnan.

"Yes, the sheep are fed in my meadows, which are excellent
pasture."

"Give me another cutlet."

"No, try this hare, which I had killed yesterday in one of
my warrens."

"Zounds! what a flavor!" cried D'Artagnan; "ah! they are fed
on thyme only, your hares."

"And how do you like my wine?" asked Porthos; "it is
pleasant, isn't it?"

"Capital!"

"It is nothing, however, but a wine of the country."

"Really?"

"Yes, a small declivity to the south, yonder on my hill,
gives me twenty hogsheads."

"Quite a vineyard, hey?"

Porthos sighed for the fifth time -- D'Artagnan had counted
his sighs. He became curious to solve the problem.

"Well now," he said, "it seems, my dear friend, that
something vexes you; you are ill, perhaps? That health,
which ---- "

"Excellent, my dear friend; better than ever. I could kill
an ox with a blow of my fist."

"Well, then, family affairs, perhaps?"

"Family! I have, happily, only myself in the world to care
for."

"But what makes you sigh?"

"My dear fellow," replied Porthos, "to be candid with you, I
am not happy."

"You are not happy, Porthos? You who have chateau, meadows,
mountains, woods -- you who have forty thousand francs a
year -- you -- are -- not -- happy?"

"My dear friend, all those things I have, but I am a hermit
in the midst of superfluity."

"Surrounded, I suppose, only by clodhoppers, with whom you
could not associate."

Porthos turned rather pale and drank off a large glass of
wine.

"No; but just think, there are paltry country squires who
have all some title or another and pretend to go back as far
as Charlemagne, or at least to Hugh Capet. When I first came
here; being the last comer, it was for me to make the first
advances. I made them, but you know, my dear friend, Madame
du Vallon ---- "

Porthos, in pronouncing these words, seemed to gulp down
something.

"Madame du Vallon was of doubtful gentility. She had, in her
first marriage -- I don't think, D'Artagnan, I am telling
you anything new -- married a lawyer; they thought that
`nauseous;' you can understand that's a word bad enough to
make one kill thirty thousand men. I have killed two, which
has made people hold their tongues, but has not made me
their friend. So that I have no society; I live alone; I am
sick of it -- my mind preys on itself."

D'Artagnan smiled. He now saw where the breastplate was
weak, and prepared the blow.

"But now," he said, "that you are a widower, your wife's
connection cannot injure you."

"Yes, but understand me; not being of a race of historic
fame, like the De Courcys, who were content to be plain
sirs, or the Rohans, who didn't wish to be dukes, all these
people, who are all either vicomtes or comtes go before me
at church in all the ceremonies, and I can say nothing to
them. Ah! If I only were a ---- "

"A baron, don't you mean?" cried D'Artagnan, finishing his
friend's sentence.

"Ah!" cried Porthos; "would I were but a baron!"

"Well, my friend, I am come to give you this very title
which you wish for so much."

Porthos gave a start that shook the room; two or three
bottles fell and were broken. Musqueton ran thither, hearing
the noise.

Porthos waved his hand to Musqueton to pick up the bottles.

"I am glad to see," said D'Artagnan, "that you have still
that honest lad with you."

"He is my steward," replied Porthos; "he will never leave
me. Go away now, Mouston."

"So he's called Mouston," thought D'Artagnan; "'tis too long
a word to pronounce `Musqueton.'"

"Well," he said aloud, "let us resume our conversation
later, your people may suspect something; there may be spies
about. You can suppose, Porthos, that what I have to say
relates to most important matters."

"Devil take them; let us walk in the park," answered
Porthos, "for the sake of digestion."

"Egad," said D'Artagnan, "the park is like everything else
and there are as many fish in your pond as rabbits in your
warren; you are a happy man, my friend since you have not
only retained your love of the chase, but acquired that of
fishing."

"My friend," replied Porthos, "I leave fishing to Musqueton,
-- it is a vulgar pleasure, -- but I shoot sometimes; that
is to say, when I am dull, and I sit on one of those marble
seats, have my gun brought to me, my favorite dog, and I
shoot rabbits."

"Really, how very amusing!"

"Yes," replied Porthos, with a sigh; it is amusing."

D'Artagnan now no longer counted the sighs. They were
innumerable.

"However, what had you to say to me?" he resumed; "let us
return to that subject."

"With pleasure," replied D'Artagnan; "I must, however, first
frankly tell you that you must change your mode of life."

"How?"

"Go into harness again, gird on your sword, run after
adventures, and leave as in old times a little of your fat
on the roadside."

"Ah! hang it!" said Porthos.

"I see you are spoiled, dear friend; you are corpulent, your
arm has no longer that movement of which the late cardinal's
guards have so many proofs."

"Ah! my fist is strong enough I swear," cried Porthos,
extending a hand like a shoulder of mutton.

"So much the better."

"Are we then to go to war?"

"By my troth, yes."

"Against whom?"

"Are you a politician, friend?"

"Not in the least."

"Are you for Mazarin or for the princes?"

"I am for no one."

"That is to say, you are for us. Well, I tell you that I
come to you from the cardinal."

This speech was heard by Porthos in the same sense as if it
had still been in the year 1640 and related to the true
cardinal.

"Ho! ho! What are the wishes of his eminence?"

"He wishes to have you in his service."

"And who spoke to him of me?"

"Rochefort -- you remember him?"

"Yes, pardieu! It was he who gave us so much trouble and
kept us on the road so much; you gave him three sword-wounds
in three separate engagements."

"But you know he is now our friend?"

"No, I didn't know that. So he cherishes no resentment?"

"You are mistaken, Porthos," said D'Artagnan. "It is I who
cherish no resentment."

Porthos didn't understand any too clearly; but then we know
that understanding was not his strong point. "You say,
then," he continued, "that the Count de Rochefort spoke of
me to the cardinal?"

"Yes, and the queen, too."

"The queen, do you say?"

"To inspire us with confidence she has even placed in
Mazarin's hands that famous diamond -- you remember all
about it -- that I once sold to Monsieur des Essarts and of
which, I don't know how, she has regained possession."

"But it seems to me," said Porthos, "that she would have
done much better if she had given it back to you."

"So I think," replied D'Artagnan; "but kings and queens are
strange beings and have odd fancies; nevertheless, since
they are the ones who have riches and honors, we are devoted
to them."

"Yes, we are devoted to them," repeated Porthos; "and you --
to whom are you devoted now?"

"To the king, the queen, and to the cardinal; moreover, I
have answered for your devotion also."

"And you say that you have made certain conditions on my
behalf?"

"Magnificent, my dear fellow, magnificent! In the first
place you have plenty of money, haven't you? forty thousand
francs income, I think you said."

Porthos began to be suspicious. "Eh! my friend," said he,
"one never has too much money. Madame du Vallon left things
in much disorder; I am not much of a hand at figures, so
that I live almost from hand to mouth."

"He is afraid I have come to borrow money," thought
D'Artagnan. "Ah, my friend," said he, "it is all the better
if you are in difficulties."

"How is it all the better?"

"Yes, for his eminence will give you all that you want --
land, money, and titles."

"Ah! ah! ah!" said Porthos, opening his eyes at that last
word.

"Under the other cardinal," continued D'Artagnan, "we didn't
know enough to make our profits; this, however, doesn't
concern you, with your forty thousand francs income, the
happiest man in the world, it seems to me."

Porthos sighed.

"At the same time," continued D'Artagnan, "notwithstanding
your forty thousand francs a year, and perhaps even for the
very reason that you have forty thousand francs a year, it
seems to me that a little coronet would do well on your
carriage, hey?"

"Yes indeed," said Porthos.

"Well, my dear friend, win it -- it is at the point of your
sword. We shall not interfere with each other -- your object
is a title; mine, money. If I can get enough to rebuild
Artagnan, which my ancestors, impoverished by the Crusades,
allowed to fall into ruins, and to buy thirty acres of land
about it, that is all I wish. I shall retire and die
tranquilly -- at home."

"For my part," said Porthos, "I desire to be made a baron."

"You shall be one."

"And have you not seen any of our other friends?"

"Yes, I have seen Aramis."

"And what does he wish? To be a bishop?"

"Aramis," answered D'Artagnan, who did not wish to undeceive
Porthos, "Aramis, fancy, has become a monk and a Jesuit, and
lives like a bear. My offers did not arouse him, -- did not
even tempt him."

"So much the worse! He was a clever man. And Athos?"

"I have not yet seen him. Do you know where I shall find
him?"

"Near Blois. He is called Bragelonne. Only imagine, my dear
friend. Athos, who was of as high birth as the emperor and
who inherits one estate which gives him the title of comte,
what is he to do with all those dignities -- the Comte de la
Fere, Comte de Bragelonne?"

"And he has no children with all these titles?"

"Ah!" said Porthos, "I have heard that he had adopted a
young man who resembles him greatly."

"What, Athos? Our Athos, who was as virtuous as Scipio? Have
you seen him?

"No."

"Well, I shall see him to-morrow and tell him about you; but
I'm afraid, entre nous, that his liking for wine has aged
and degraded him."

"Yes, he used to drink a great deal," replied Porthos.

"And then he was older than any of us," added D'Artagnan.

"Some years only. His gravity made him look older than he
was."

"Well then, if we can get Athos, all will be well. If we
cannot, we will do without him. We two are worth a dozen."

"Yes," said Porthos, smiling at the remembrance of his
former exploits; "but we four, altogether, would be equal to
thirty-six, more especially as you say the work will not be
child's play. Will it last long?"

"By'r Lady! two or three years perhaps."

"So much the better," cried Porthos. "You have no idea, my
friend, how my bones ache since I came here. Sometimes on a
Sunday, I take a ride in the fields and on the property of
my neighbours, in order to pick up a nice little quarrel,
which I am really in want of, but nothing happens. Either
they respect or they fear me, which is more likely, but they
let me trample down the clover with my dogs, insult and
obstruct every one, and I come back still more weary and
low-spirited, that's all. At any rate, tell me: there's more
chance of fighting in Paris, is there not?"

"In that respect, my dear friend, it's delightful. No more
edicts, no more of the cardinal's guards, no more De
Jussacs, nor other bloodhounds. I'Gad! underneath a lamp in
an inn, anywhere, they ask `Are you one of the Fronde?' They
unsheathe, and that's all that is said. The Duke de Guise
killed Monsieur de Coligny in the Place Royale and nothing
was said of it."

"Ah, things go on gaily, then," said Porthos.

"Besides which, in a short time," resumed D'Artagnan, "We
shall have set battles, cannonades, conflagrations and there
will be great variety."

"Well, then, I decide."

"I have your word, then?"

"Yes, 'tis given. I shall fight heart and soul for Mazarin;
but ---- "

"But?"

"But he must make me a baron."

"Zounds!" said D'Artagnan, "that's settled already; I will
be responsible for the barony."

On this promise being given, Porthos, who had never doubted
his friend's assurance, turned back with him toward the
castle.

12

In which it is shown that if Porthos was discontented with
his Condition, Musqueton was completely satisfied with his.

As they returned toward the castle, D'Artagnan thought of
the miseries of poor human nature, always dissatisfied with
what it has, ever desirous of what it has not.

In the position of Porthos, D'Artagnan would have been
perfectly happy; and to make Porthos contented there was
wanting -- what? five letters to put before his three names,
a tiny coronet to paint upon the panels of his carriage!

"I shall pass all my life," thought D'Artagnan, "in seeking
for a man who is really contented with his lot."

Whilst making this reflection, chance seemed, as it were, to
give him the lie direct. When Porthos had left him to give
some orders he saw Musqueton approaching. The face of the
steward, despite one slight shade of care, light as a summer
cloud, seemed a physiognomy of absolute felicity.

"Here is what I am looking for," thought D'Artagnan; "but
alas! the poor fellow does not know the purpose for which I
am here."

He then made a sign for Musqueton to come to him.

"Sir," said the servant, "I have a favour to ask you."

"Speak out, my friend."

"I am afraid to do so. Perhaps you will think, sir, that
prosperity has spoiled me?"

"Art thou happy, friend?" asked D'Artagnan.

"As happy as possible; and yet, sir, you may make me even
happier than I am."

"Well, speak, if it depends on me."

"Oh, sir! it depends on you only."

"I listen -- I am waiting to hear."

"Sir, the favor I have to ask of you is, not to call me
`Musqueton' but `Mouston.' Since I have had the honor of
being my lord's steward I have taken the last name as more
dignified and calculated to make my inferiors respect me.
You, sir, know how necessary subordination is in any large
establishment of servants."

D'Artagnan smiled; Porthos wanted to lengthen out his names,
Musqueton to cut his short.

"Well, my dear Mouston," he said, "rest satisfied. I will
call thee Mouston; and if it makes thee happy I will not
`tutoyer' you any longer."

"Oh!" cried Musqueton, reddening with joy; "if you do me,
sir, such honor, I shall be grateful all my life; it is too
much to ask."

"Alas!" thought D'Artagnan, "it is very little to offset the
unexpected tribulations I am bringing to this poor devil who
has so warmly welcomed me."

"Will monsieur remain long with us?" asked Musqueton, with a
serene and glowing countenance.

"I go to-morrow, my friend," replied D'Artagnan.

"Ah, monsieur," said Musqueton, "then you have come here
only to awaken our regrets."

"I fear that is true," said D'Artagnan, in a low tone.

D'Artagnan was secretly touched with remorse, not at
inducing Porthos to enter into schemes in which his life and
fortune would be in jeopardy, for Porthos, in the title of
baron, had his object and reward; but poor Musqueton, whose
only wish was to be called Mouston -- was it not cruel to
snatch him from the delightful state of peace and plenty in
which he was?

He was thinking of these matters when Porthos summoned him
to dinner.

"What! to dinner?" said D'Artagnan. "What time is it, then?"

"Eh! why, it is after one o'clock."

"Your home is a paradise, Porthos; one takes no note of
time. I follow you, though I am not hungry."

"Come, if one can't always eat, one can always drink -- a
maxim of poor Athos, the truth of which I have discovered
since I began to be lonely."

D'Artagnan, who as a Gascon, was inclined to sobriety,
seemed not so sure as his friend of the truth of Athos's
maxim, but he did his best to keep up with his host.
Meanwhile his misgivings in regard to Musqueton recurred to
his mind and with greater force because Musqueton, though he
did not himself wait on the table, which would have been
beneath him in his new position, appeared at the door from
time to time and evinced his gratitude to D'Artagnan by the
quality of the wine he directed to be served. Therefore,
when, at dessert, upon a sign from D'Artagnan, Porthos had
sent away his servants and the two friends were alone:

"Porthos," said D'Artagnan, "who will attend you in your
campaigns?"

"Why," replied Porthos, "Mouston, of course."

This was a blow to D'Artagnan. He could already see the
intendant's beaming smile change to a contortion of grief.
"But," he said, "Mouston is not so young as he was, my dear
fellow; besides, he has grown fat and perhaps has lost his
fitness for active service."

"That may be true," replied Porthos; "but I am used to him,
and besides, he wouldn't be willing to let me go without
him, he loves me so much."

"Oh, blind self-love!" thought D'Artagnan.

"And you," asked Porthos, "haven't you still in your service
your old lackey, that good, that brave, that intelligent
---what, then, is his name?"

"Planchet -- yes, I have found him again, but he is lackey
no longer."

"What is he, then?"

"With his sixteen hundred francs -- you remember, the
sixteen hundred francs he earned at the siege of La Rochelle
by carrying a letter to Lord de Winter -- he has set up a
little shop in the Rue des Lombards and is now a
confectioner."

"Ah, he is a confectioner in the Rue des Lombards! How does
it happen, then, that he is in your service?"

"He has been guilty of certain escapades and fears he may be
disturbed." And the musketeer narrated to his friend
Planchet's adventure.

"Well," said Porthos, "if any one had told you in the old
times that the day would come when Planchet would rescue
Rochefort and that you would protect him in it ---- "

"I should not have believed him; but men are changed by
events."

"There is nothing truer than that," said Porthos; "but what
does not change, or changes for the better, is wine. Taste
of this; it is a Spanish wine which our friend Athos thought
much of."

At that moment the steward came in to consult his master
upon the proceedings of the next day and also with regard to
the shooting party which had been proposed.

"Tell me, Mouston," said Porthos, "are my arms in good
condition?"

"Your arms, my lord -- what arms?"

"Zounds! my weapons."

"What weapons?"

"My military weapons."

"Yes, my lord; at any rate, I think so."

"Make sure of it, and if they want it, have them burnished
up. Which is my best cavalry horse?"

"Vulcan."

"And the best hack?"

"Bayard."

"What horse dost thou choose for thyself?"

"I like Rustaud, my lord; a good animal, whose paces suit
me."

"Strong, think's" thou?"

"Half Norman, half Mecklenburger; will go night and day."

"That will do for us. See to these horses. Polish up or make
some one else polish my arms. Then take pistols with thee
and a hunting-knife."

"Are we then going to travel, my lord?" asked Musqueton,
rather uneasy.

"Something better still, Mouston."

"An expedition, sir?" asked the steward, whose roses began
to change into lilies.

"We are going to return to the service, Mouston," replied
Porthos, still trying to restore his mustache to the
military curl it had long lost.

"Into the service -- the king's service?" Musqueton
trembled; even his fat, smooth cheeks shook as he spoke, and
he looked at D'Artagnan with an air of reproach; he
staggered, and his voice was almost choked.

"Yes and no. We shall serve in a campaign, seek out all
sorts of adventures -- return, in short, to our former
life."

These last words fell on Musqueton like a thunderbolt. It
was those very terrible old days that made the present so
excessively delightful, and the blow was so great he rushed
out, overcome, and forgot to shut the door.

The two friends remained alone to speak of the future and to
build castles in the air. The good wine which Musqueton had
placed before them traced out in glowing drops to D'Artagnan
a fine perspective, shining with quadruples and pistoles,
and showed to Porthos a blue ribbon and a ducal mantle; they
were, in fact, asleep on the table when the servants came to
light them to their bed.

Musqueton was, however, somewhat consoled by D'Artagnan, who
the next day told him that in all probability war would
always be carried on in the heart of Paris and within reach
of the Chateau du Vallon, which was near Corbeil, or
Bracieux, which was near Melun, and of Pierrefonds, which
was between Compiegne and Villars-Cotterets.

"But -- formerly -- it appears," began Musqueton timidly.

"Oh!" said D'Artagnan, "we don't now make war as we did
formerly. To-day it's a sort of diplomatic arrangement; ask
Planchet."

Musqueton inquired, therefore, the state of the case of his
old friend, who confirmed the statement of D'Artagnan.
"But," he added, "in this war prisoners stand a chance of
being hung."

"The deuce they do!" said Musqueton; "I think I should like
the siege of Rochelle better than this war, then!"

Porthos, meantime, asked D'Artagnan to give him his
instructions how to proceed on his journey.

"Four days," replied his friend, "are necessary to reach
Blois; one day to rest there; three or four days to return
to Paris. Set out, therefore, in a week, with your suite,
and go to the Hotel de la Chevrette, Rue Tiquetonne, and
there await me."

"That's agreed," said Porthos.

"As to myself, I shall go around to see Athos; for though I
don't think his aid worth much, one must with one's friends
observe all due politeness," said D'Artagnan.

The friends then took leave of each other on the very border
of the estate of Pierrefonds, to which Porthos escorted his
friend.

"At least," D'Artagnan said to himself, as he took the road
to Villars-Cotterets, "at least I shall not be alone in my
undertaking. That devil, Porthos, is a man of prodigious
strength; still, if Athos joins us, well, we shall be three
of us to laugh at Aramis, that little coxcomb with his too
good luck."

At Villars-Cotterets he wrote to the cardinal:

"My Lord, -- I have already one man to offer to your
eminence, and he is well worth twenty men. I am just setting
out for Blois. The Comte de la Fere inhabits the Castle of
Bragelonne, in the environs of that city."

13

Two Angelic Faces.

The road was long, but the horses upon which D'Artagnan and
Planchet rode had been refreshed in the well supplied
stables of the Lord of Bracieux; the master and servant rode
side by side, conversing as they went, for D'Artagnan had by
degrees thrown off the master and Planchet had entirely
ceased to assume the manners of a servant. He had been
raised by circumstances to the rank of a confidant to his
master. It was many years since D'Artagnan had opened his
heart to any one; it happened, however, that these two men,
on meeting again, assimilated perfectly. Planchet was in
truth no vulgar companion in these new adventures; he was a
man of uncommonly sound sense. Without courting danger he
never shrank from an encounter; in short, he had been a
soldier and arms ennoble a man; it was, therefore, on the
footing of friends that D'Artagnan and Planchet arrived in
the neighborhood of Blois.

Going along, D'Artagnan, shaking his head, said:

"I know that my going to Athos is useless and absurd; but
still I owe this courtesy to my old friend, a man who had in
him material for the most noble and generous of characters."

"Oh, Monsieur Athos was a noble gentleman," said Planchet,
"was he not? Scattering money round about him as Heaven
sprinkles rain. Do you remember, sir, that duel with the
Englishman in the inclosure des Carmes? Ah! how lofty, how
magnificent Monsieur Athos was that day, when he said to his
adversary: `You have insisted on knowing my name, sir; so
much the worse for you, since I shall be obliged to kill
you.' I was near him, those were his exact words, when he
stabbed his foe as he said he would, and his adversary fell
without saying, `Oh!' 'Tis a noble gentleman -- Monsieur
Athos."

"Yes, true as Gospel," said D'Artagnan; "but one single
fault has swallowed up all these fine qualities."

"I remember well," said Planchet, "he was fond of drinking
-- in truth, he drank, but not as other men drink. One
seemed, as he raised the wine to his lips, to hear him say,
`Come, juice of the grape, and chase away my sorrows.' And
how he used to break the stem of a glass or the neck of a
bottle! There was no one like him for that."

"And now," replied D'Artagnan, "behold the sad spectacle
that awaits us. This noble gentleman with his lofty glance,
this handsome cavalier, so brilliant in feats of arms that
every one was surprised that he held in his hand a sword
only instead of a baton of command! Alas! we shall find him
changed into a broken down old man, with garnet nose and
eyes that slobber; we shall find him extended on some lawn,
whence he will look at us with a languid eye and
peradventure will not recognize us. God knows, Planchet,
that I should fly from a sight so sad if I did not wish to
show my respect for the illustrious shadow of what was once
the Comte de la Fere, whom we loved so much."

Planchet shook his head and said nothing. It was evident
that he shared his master's apprehensions.

"And then," resumed D'Artagnan, "to this decrepitude is
probably added poverty, for he must have neglected the
little that he had, and the dirty scoundrel, Grimaud, more
taciturn than ever and still more drunken than his master --
stay, Planchet, it breaks my heart to merely think of it."

"I fancy myself there and that I see him staggering and hear
him stammering," said Planchet, in a piteous tone, "but at
all events we shall soon know the real state of things, for
I imagine that those lofty walls, now turning ruby in the
setting sun, are the walls of Blois."

"Probably; and those steeples, pointed and sculptured, that
we catch a glimpse of yonder, are similar to those that I
have heard described at Chambord."

At this moment one of those heavy wagons, drawn by bullocks,
which carry the wood cut in the fine forests of the country
to the ports of the Loire, came out of a byroad full of ruts
and turned on that which the two horsemen were following. A
man carrying a long switch with a nail at the end of it,
with which he urged on his slow team, was walking with the
cart.

"Ho! friend," cried Planchet.

"What's your pleasure, gentlemen?" replied the peasant, with
a purity of accent peculiar to the people of that district
and which might have put to shame the cultured denizens of
the Sorbonne and the Rue de l'Universite.

"We are looking for the house of Monsieur de la Fere," said
D'Artagnan.

The peasant took off his hat on hearing this revered name.

"Gentlemen," he said, "the wood that I am carting is his; I
cut it in his copse and I am taking it to the chateau."

D'Artagnan determined not to question this man; he did not
wish to hear from another what he had himself said to
Planchet.

"The chateau!" he said to himself, "what chateau? Ah, I
understand! Athos is not a man to be thwarted; he, like
Porthos, has obliged his peasantry to call him `my lord,'
and to dignify his pettifogging place by the name of
chateau. He had a heavy hand -- dear old Athos -- after
drinking."

D'Artagnan, after asking the man the right way, continued
his route, agitated in spite of himself at the idea of
seeing once more that singular man whom he had so truly
loved and who had contributed so much by advice and example
to his education as a gentleman. He checked by degrees the
speed of his horse and went on, his head drooping as if in
deep thought.

Soon, as the road turned, the Chateau de la Valliere
appeared in view; then, a quarter of a mile beyond, a white
house, encircled in sycamores, was visible at the farther
end of a group of trees, which spring had powdered with a
snow of flowers.

On beholding this house, D'Artagnan, calm as he was in
general, felt an unusual disturbance within his heart -- so
powerful during the whole course of life are the
recollections of youth. He proceeded, nevertheless, and came
opposite to an iron gate, ornamented in the taste of the
period.

Through the gate was seen kitchen-gardens, carefully
attended to, a spacious courtyard, in which neighed several
horses held by valets in various liveries, and a carriage,
drawn by two horses of the country.

"We are mistaken," said D'Artagnan. "This cannot be the
establishment of Athos. Good heavens! suppose he is dead and
that this property now belongs to some one who bears his
name. Alight, Planchet, and inquire, for I confess that I
have scarcely courage so to do."

Planchet alighted.

"Thou must add," said D'Artagnan, "that a gentleman who is
passing by wishes to have the honor of paying his respects
to the Comte de la Fere, and if thou art satisfied with what
thou hearest, then mention my name!"

Planchet, leading his horse by the bridle, drew near to the
gate and rang the bell, and immediately a servant-man with
white hair and of erect stature, notwithstanding his age,
presented himself.

"Does Monsieur le Comte de la Fere live here?" asked
Planchet.

"Yes, monsieur, it is here he lives," the servant replied to
Planchet, who was not in livery.

"A nobleman retired from service, is he not?"

"Yes."

"And who had a lackey named Grimaud?" persisted Planchet,
who had prudently considered that he couldn't have too much
information.

"Monsieur Grimaud is absent from the chateau for the time
being," said the servitor, who, little used as he was to
such inquiries, began to examine Planchet from head to foot.

"Then," cried Planchet joyously, "I see well that it is the
same Comte de la Fere whom we seek. Be good enough to open
to me, for I wish to announce to monsieur le comte that my
master, one of his friends, is here, and wishes to greet
him."

"Why didn't you say so?" said the servitor, opening the
gate. "But where is your master?"

"He is following me."

The servitor opened the gate and walked before Planchet, who
made a sign to D'Artagnan. The latter, his heart palpitating
more than ever, entered the courtyard without dismounting.

Whilst Planchet was standing on the steps before the house
he heard a voice say:

"Well, where is this gentleman and why do they not bring him
here?"

This voice, the sound of which reached D'Artagnan,
reawakened in his heart a thousand sentiments, a thousand
recollections that he had forgotten. He vaulted hastily from
his horse, whilst Planchet, with a smile on his lips,
advanced toward the master of the house.

"But I know you, my lad," said Athos, appearing on the
threshold.

"Oh, yes, monsieur le comte, you know me and I know you. I
am Planchet -- Planchet, whom you know well." But the honest
servant could say no more, so much was he overcome by this
unexpected interview.

"What, Planchet, is Monsieur d'Artagnan here?"

"Here I am, my friend, dear Athos!" cried D'Artagnan, in a
faltering voice and almost staggering from agitation.

At these words a visible emotion was expressed on the
beautiful countenance and calm features of Athos. He rushed
toward D'Artagnan with eyes fixed upon him and clasped him
in his arms. D'Artagnan, equally moved, pressed him also
closely to him, whilst tears stood in his eyes. Athos then
took him by the hand and led him into the drawing-room,
where there were several people. Every one arose.

"I present to you," he said, "Monsieur le Chevalier
D'Artagnan, lieutenant of his majesty's musketeers, a
devoted friend and one of the most excellent, brave
gentlemen that I have ever known."

D'Artagnan received the compliments of those who were
present in his own way, and whilst the conversation became
general he looked earnestly at Athos.

Strange! Athos was scarcely aged at all! His fine eyes, no
longer surrounded by that dark line which nights of
dissipation pencil too infallibly, seemed larger, more
liquid than ever. His face, a little elongated, had gained
in calm dignity what it had lost in feverish excitement. His
hand, always wonderfully beautiful and strong, was set off
by a ruffle of lace, like certain hands by Titian and
Vandyck. He was less stiff than formerly. His long, dark
hair, softly powdered here and there with silver tendrils,
fell elegantly over his shoulders in wavy curls; his voice
was still youthful, as if belonging to a Hercules of
twenty-five, and his magnificent teeth, which he had
preserved white and sound, gave an indescribable charm to
his smile.

Meanwhile the guests, seeing that the two friends were
longing to be alone, prepared to depart, when a noise of
dogs barking resounded through the courtyard and many
persons said at the same moment:

"Ah! 'tis Raoul, who is come home."

Athos, as the name of Raoul was pronounced, looked
inquisitively at D'Artagnan, in order to see if any
curiosity was painted on his face. But D'Artagnan was still
in confusion and turned around almost mechanically when a
fine young man of fifteen years of age, dressed simply, but
in perfect taste, entered the room, raising, as he came, his
hat, adorned with a long plume of scarlet feathers.

Nevertheless, D'Artagnan was struck by the appearance of
this new personage. It seemed to explain to him the change
in Athos; a resemblance between the boy and the man
explained the mystery of this regenerated existence. He
remained listening and gazing.

"Here you are, home again, Raoul," said the comte.

"Yes, sir," replied the youth, with deep respect, "and I
have performed the commission that you gave me."

"But what's the matter, Raoul?" said Athos, very anxiously.
"You are pale and agitated."

"Sir," replied the young man, "it is on account of an
accident which has happened to our little neighbor."

"To Mademoiselle de la Valliere?" asked Athos, quickly.

"What is it?" cried many persons present.

"She was walking with her nurse Marceline, in the place
where the woodmen cut the wood, when, passing on horseback,
I stopped. She saw me also and in trying to jump from the
end of a pile of wood on which she had mounted, the poor
child fell and was not able to rise again. I fear that she
has badly sprained her ankle."

"Oh, heavens!" cried Athos. "And her mother, Madame de
Saint-Remy, have they yet told her of it?"

"No, sir, Madame de Saint-Remy is at Blois with the Duchess
of Orleans. I am afraid that what was first done was
unskillful, if not worse than useless. I am come, sir, to
ask your advice."

"Send directly to Blois, Raoul; or, rather, take horse and
ride immediately yourself."

Raoul bowed.

"But where is Louise?" asked the comte.

"I have brought her here, sir, and I have deposited her in
charge of Charlotte, who, till better advice comes, has
bathed the foot in cold well-water."

The guests now all took leave of Athos, excepting the old
Duc de Barbe, who, as an old friend of the family of La
Valliere, went to see little Louise and offered to take her
to Blois in his carriage.

"You are right, sir," said Athos. "She will be the sooner
with her mother. As for you, Raoul, I am sure it is your
fault, some giddiness or folly."

"No, sir, I assure you," muttered Raoul, "it is not."

"Oh, no, no, I declare it is not!" cried the young girl,
while Raoul turned pale at the idea of his being perhaps the
cause of her disaster.

"Nevertheless, Raoul, you must go to Blois and you must make
your excuses and mine to Madame de Saint-Remy."

The youth looked pleased. He again took in his strong arms
the little girl, whose pretty golden head and smiling face
rested on his shoulder, and placed her gently in the
carriage; then jumping on his horse with the elegance of a
first-rate esquire, after bowing to Athos and D'Artagnan, he
went off close by the door of the carriage, on somebody
inside of which his eyes were riveted.

14

The Castle of Bragelonne.

Whilst this scene was going on, D'Artagnan remained with
open mouth and a confused gaze. Everything had turned out so
differently from what he expected that he was stupefied with
wonder.

Athos, who had been observing him and guessing his thoughts,
took his arm and led him into the garden.

"Whilst supper is being prepared," he said, smiling, "you
will not, my friend, be sorry to have the mystery which so
puzzles you cleared up."

"True, monsieur le comte," replied D'Artagnan, who felt that
by degrees Athos was resuming that great influence which
aristocracy had over him.

Athos smiled.

"First and foremost, dear D'Artagnan, we have no title such
as count here. When I call you `chevalier,' it is in
presenting you to my guests, that they may know who you are.
But to you, D'Artagnan, I am, I hope, still dear Athos, your
comrade, your friend. Do you intend to stand on ceremony
because you are less attached to me than you were?"

"Oh! God forbid!"

"Then let us be as we used to be; let us be open with each
other. You are surprised at what you see here?"

"Extremely."

"But above all things, I am a marvel to you?"

"I confess it."

"I am still young, am I not? Should you not have known me
again, in spite of my eight-and-forty years of age?"

"On the contrary, I do not find you the same person at all."

"I understand," cried Athos, with a gentle blush.
"Everything, D'Artagnan, even folly, has its limit."

"Then your means, it appears, are improved; you have a
capital house -- your own, I presume? You have a park, and
horses, servants."

Athos smiled.

"Yes, I inherited this little property when I quitted the
army, as I told you. The park is twenty acres -- twenty,
comprising kitchen-gardens and a common. I have two horses,
-- I do not count my servant's bobtailed nag. My sporting
dogs consist of two pointers, two harriers and two setters.
But then all this extravagance is not for myself," added
Athos, laughing.

"Yes, I see, for the young man Raoul," said D'Artagnan.

"You guess aright, my friend; this youth is an orphan,
deserted by his mother, who left him in the house of a poor
country priest. I have brought him up. It is Raoul who has
worked in me the change you see; I was dried up like a
miserable tree, isolated, attached to nothing on earth; it
was only a deep affection that could make me take root again
and drag me back to life. This child has caused me to
recover what I had lost. I had no longer any wish to live
for myself, I have lived for him. I have corrected the vices
that I had; I have assumed the virtues that I had not.
Precept something, but example more. I may be mistaken, but
I believe that Raoul will be as accomplished a gentleman as
our degenerate age could display."

The remembrance of Milady recurred to D'Artagnan.

"And you are happy?" he said to his friend.

"As happy as it is allowed to one of God's creatures to be
on this earth; but say out all you think, D'Artagnan, for
you have not yet done so."

"You are too bad, Athos; one can hide nothing from you,"
answered D'Artagnan. "I wished to ask you if you ever feel
any emotions of terror resembling ---- "

"Remorse! I finish your phrase. Yes and no. I do not feel
remorse, because that woman, I profoundly hold, deserved her
punishment. Had she one redeeming trait? I doubt it. I do
not feel remorse, because had we allowed her to live she
would have persisted in her work of destruction. But I do
not mean, my friend that we were right in what we did.
Perhaps all blood demands some expiation. Hers had been
accomplished; it remains, possibly, for us to accomplish
ours."

"I have sometimes thought as you do, Athos."

"She had a son, that unhappy woman?"

"Yes."

"Have you ever heard of him?"

"Never."

"He must be about twenty-three years of age," said Athos, in
a low tone. "I often think of that young man, D'Artagnan."

"Strange! for I had forgotten him," said the lieutenant.

Athos smiled; the smile was melancholy.

"And Lord de Winter -- do you know anything about him?"

"I know that he is in high favor with Charles I."

"The fortunes of that monarch now are at low water. He shed
the blood of Strafford; that confirms what I said just now
-- blood will have blood. And the queen?"

"What queen?"

"Madame Henrietta of England, daughter of Henry IV."

"She is at the Louvre, as you know."

"Yes, and I hear in bitter poverty. Her daughter, during the
severest cold, was obliged for want of fire to remain in
bed. Do you grasp that?" said Athos, shrugging his
shoulders; "the daughter of Henry IV. shivering for want of
a fagot! Why did she not ask from any one of us a home
instead of from Mazarin? She should have wanted nothing."

"Have you ever seen the queen of England?" inquired
D'Artagnan.

"No; but my mother, as a child, saw her. Did I ever tell you
that my mother was lady of honor to Marie de Medici "

"Never. You know, Athos, you never spoke much of such
matters."

"Ah, mon Dieu, yes, you are right," Athos replied; "but then
there must be some occasion for speaking."

"Porthos wouldn't have waited for it so patiently," said
D'Artagnan, with a smile.

"Every one according to his nature, my dear D'Artagnan.
Porthos, in spite of a touch of vanity, has many excellent
qualities. Have you seen him?"

"I left him five days ago," said D'Artagnan, and he
portrayed with Gascon wit and sprightliness the magnificence
of Porthos in his Chateau of Pierrefonds; nor did he neglect
to launch a few arrows of wit at the excellent Monsieur
Mouston.

"I sometimes wonder," replied Athos, smiling at that gayety
which recalled the good old days, "that we could form an
association of men who would be, after twenty years of
separation, still so closely bound together. Friendship
throws out deep roots in honest hearts, D'Artagnan. Believe
me, it is only the evil-minded who deny friendship; they
cannot understand it. And Aramis?"

"I have seen him also," said D'Artagnan; "but he seemed to
me cold."

"Ah, you have seen Aramis?" said Athos, turning on
D'Artagnan a searching look. "Why, it is a veritable
pilgrimage, my dear friend, that you are making to the
Temple of Friendship, as the poets would say."

"Why, yes," replied D'Artagnan, with embarrassment.

"Aramis, you know," continued Athos, "is naturally cold, and
then he is always involved in intrigues with women."

"I believe he is at this moment in a very complicated one,"
said D'Artagnan.

Athos made no reply.

"He is not curious," thought D'Artagnan.

Athos not only failed to reply, he even changed the subject
of conversation.

"You see," said he, calling D'Artagnan's attention to the
fact that they had come back to the chateau after an hour's
walk, "we have made a tour of my domains."

"All is charming and everything savors of nobility," replied
D'Artagnan.

At this instant they heard the sound of horses' feet.

"'Tis Raoul who has come back," said Athos; "and we can now
hear how the poor child is."

In fact, the young man appeared at the gate, covered with
dust, entered the courtyard, leaped from his horse, which he
consigned to the charge of a groom, and then went to greet
the count and D'Artagnan.

"Monsieur," said Athos, placing his hand on D'Artagnan's
shoulder, "monsieur is the Chevalier D'Artagnan of whom you
have often heard me speak, Raoul."

"Monsieur," said the young man, saluting again and more
profoundly, "monsieur le comte has pronounced your name
before me as an example whenever he wished to speak of an
intrepid and generous gentleman."

That little compliment could not fail to move D'Artagnan. He
extended a hand to Raoul and said:

"My young friend, all the praises that are given me should
be passed on to the count here; for he has educated me in
everything and it is not his fault that his pupil profited
so little from his instructions. But he will make it up in
you I am sure. I like your manner, Raoul, and your
politeness has touched me."

Athos was more delighted than can be told. He looked at
D'Artagnan with an expression of gratitude and then bestowed
on Raoul one of those strange smiles, of which children are
so proud when they receive them.

"Now," said D'Artagnan to himself, noticing that silent play
of countenance, "I am sure of it."

"I hope the accident has been of no consequence?"

"They don't yet know, sir, on account of the swelling; but
the doctor is afraid some tendon has been injured."

At this moment a little boy, half peasant, half foot-boy,
came to announce supper.

Athos led his guest into a dining-room of moderate size, the
windows of which opened on one side on a garden, on the
other on a hot-house full of magnificent flowers.

D'Artagnan glanced at the dinner service. The plate was
magnificent, old, and appertaining to the family. D'Artagnan
stopped to look at a sideboard on which was a superb ewer of
silver.

"That workmanship is divine!" he exclaimed.

"Yes, a chef d'oeuvre of the great Florentine sculptor,
Benvenuto Cellini," replied Athos.

"What battle does it represent?"

"That of Marignan, just at the point where one of my
forefathers is offering his sword to Francis I., who has
broken his. It was on that occasion that my ancestor,
Enguerrand de la Fere, was made a knight of the Order of St.
Michael; besides which, the king, fifteen years afterward,
gave him also this ewer and a sword which you may have seen
formerly in my house, also a lovely specimen of workmanship.
Men were giants in those times," said Athos; "now we are
pigmies in comparison. Let us sit down to supper. Call
Charles," he added, addressing the boy who waited.

"My good Charles, I particularly recommend to your care
Planchet, the laquais of Monsieur D'Artagnan. He likes good
wine; now you have the key of the cellar. He has slept a
long time on a hard bed, so he won't object to a soft one;
take every care of him, I beg of you." Charles bowed and
retired.

"You think of everything," said D'Artagnan; "and I thank you
for Planchet, my dear Athos."

Raoul stared on hearing this name and looked at the count to
be quite sure that it was he whom the lieutenant thus
addressed.

"That name sounds strange to you," said Athos, smiling; "it
was my nom de guerre when Monsieur D'Artagnan, two other
gallant friends and myself performed some feats of arms at
the siege of La Rochelle, under the deceased cardinal and
Monsieur de Bassompierre. My friend is still so kind as to
address me by that old and well beloved appellation, which
makes my heart glad when I hear it."

"'Tis an illustrious name," said the lieutenant, "and had
one day triumphal honors paid to it."

"What do you mean, sir?" inquired Raoul.

"You have not forgotten St. Gervais, Athos, and the napkin
which was converted into a banner?" and he then related to
Raoul the story of the bastion, and Raoul fancied he was
listening to one of those deeds of arms belonging to days of
chivalry, so gloriously recounted by Tasso and Ariosto.

"D'Artagnan does not tell you, Raoul," said Athos, in his
turn, "that he was reckoned one of the finest swordsmen of
his time -- a knuckle of iron, a wrist of steel, a sure eye
and a glance of fire; that's what his adversary met with. He
was eighteen, only three years older than you are, Raoul,
when I saw him set to work, pitted against tried men."

"And did Monsieur D'Artagnan come off the conqueror?" asked
the young man, with glistening eye.

"I killed one man, if I recollect rightly," replied
D'Artagnan, with a look of inquiry directed to Athos;
"another I disarmed or wounded, I don't remember which."

"Wounded!" said Athos; "it was a phenomenon of skill."

The young man would willingly have prolonged this
conversation far into the night, but Athos pointed out to
him that his guest must need repose. D'Artagnan would fain
have declared that he was not fatigued, but Athos insisted
on his retiring to his chamber, conducted thither by Raoul.

15

Athos as a Diplomatist.

D'Artagnan retired to bed -- not to sleep, but to think over
all he had heard that evening. Being naturally goodhearted,
and having had once a liking for Athos, which had grown into
a sincere friendship, he was delighted at thus meeting a man
full of intelligence and moral strength, instead of a
drunkard. He admitted without annoyance the continued
superiority of Athos over himself, devoid as he was of that
jealousy which might have saddened a less generous
disposition; he was delighted also that the high qualities
of Athos appeared to promise favorably for his mission.
Nevertheless, it seemed to him that Athos was not in all
respects sincere and frank. Who was the youth he had adopted
and who bore so striking a resemblance to him? What could
explain Athos's having re-entered the world and the extreme
sobriety he had observed at table? The absence of Grimaud,
whose name had never once been uttered by Athos, gave
D'Artagnan uneasiness. It was evident either that he no
longer possessed the confidence of his friend, or that Athos
was bound by some invisible chain, or that he had been
forewarned of the lieutenant's visit.

He could not help thinking of M. Rochefort, whom he had seen
in Notre Dame; could De Rochefort have forestalled him with
Athos? Again, the moderate fortune which Athos possessed,
concealed as it was, so skillfully, seemed to show a regard
for appearances and to betray a latent ambition which might
be easily aroused. The clear and vigorous intellect of Athos
would render him more open to conviction than a less able
man would be. He would enter into the minister's schemes
with the more ardor, because his natural activity would be
doubled by necessity.

Resolved to seek an explanation on all these points on the
following day, D'Artagnan, in spite of his fatigue, prepared
for an attack and determined that it should take place after
breakfast. He determined to cultivate the good-will of the
youth Raoul and, either whilst fencing with him or when out
shooting, to extract from his simplicity some information
which would connect the Athos of old times with the Athos of
the present. But D'Artagnan at the same time, being a man of
extreme caution, was quite aware what injury he should do
himself, if by any indiscretion or awkwardness he should
betray has manoeuvering to the experienced eye of Athos.
Besides, to tell truth, whilst D'Artagnan was quite disposed
to adopt a subtle course against the cunning of Aramis or
the vanity of Porthos, he was ashamed to equivocate with
Athos, true-hearted, open Athos. It seemed to him that if
Porthos and Aramis deemed him superior to them in the arts
of diplomacy, they would like him all the better for it; but
that Athos, on the contrary, would despise him.

"Ah! why is not Grimaud, the taciturn Grimaud, here?"
thought D'Artagnan, "there are so many things his silence
would have told me; with Grimaud silence was another form of
eloquence!"

There reigned a perfect stillness in the house. D'Artagnan
had heard the door shut and the shutters barred; the dogs
became in their turn silent. At last a nightingale, lost in
a thicket of shrubs, in the midst of its most melodious
cadences had fluted low and lower into stillness and fallen
asleep. Not a sound was heard in the castle, except of a
footstep up and down, in the chamber above -- as he
supposed, the bedroom of Athos.

"He is walking about and thinking," thought D'Artagnan; "but
of what? It is impossible to know; everything else might be
guessed, but not that."

At length Athos went to bed, apparently, for the noise
ceased.

Silence and fatigue together overcame D'Artagnan and sleep
overtook him also. He was not, however, a good sleeper.
Scarcely had dawn gilded his window curtains when he sprang
out of bed and opened the windows. Somebody, he perceived,
was in the courtyard, moving stealthily. True to his custom
of never passing anything over that it was within his power
to know, D'Artagnan looked out of the window and perceived
the close red coat and brown hair of Raoul.

The young man was opening the door of the stable. He then,
with noiseless haste, took out the horse that he had ridden
on the previous evening, saddled and bridled it himself and
led the animal into the alley to the right of the
kitchen-garden, opened a side door which conducted him to a
bridle road, shut it after him, and D'Artagnan saw him pass
by like a dart, bending, as he went, beneath the pendent
flowery branches of maple and acacia. The road, as
D'Artagnan had observed, was the way to Blois.

"So!" thought the Gascon "here's a young blade who has
already his love affair, who doesn't at all agree with Athos
in his hatred to the fair sex. He's not going to hunt, for
he has neither dogs nor arms; he's not going on a message,
for he goes secretly. Why does he go in secret? Is he afraid
of me or of his father? for I am sure the count is his
father. By Jove! I shall know about that soon, for I shall
soon speak out to Athos."

Day was now advanced; all the noises that had ceased the
night before reawakened, one after the other. The bird on
the branch, the dog in his kennel, the sheep in the field,
the boats moored in the Loire, even, became alive and vocal.
The latter, leaving the shore, abandoned themselves gaily to
the current. The Gascon gave a last twirl to his mustache, a
last turn to his hair, brushed, from habit, the brim of his
hat with the sleeve of his doublet, and went downstairs.
Scarcely had he descended the last step of the threshold
when he saw Athos bent down toward the ground, as if he were
looking for a crown-piece in the dust.

"Good-morning, my dear host," cried D'Artagnan.

"Good-day to you; have you slept well?"

"Excellently, Athos, but what are you looking for? You are
perhaps a tulip fancier?"

"My dear friend, if I am, you must not laugh at me for being
so. In the country people alter; one gets to like, without
knowing it, all those beautiful objects that God causes to
spring from the earth, which are despised in cities. I was
looking anxiously for some iris roots I planted here, close
to this reservoir, and which some one has trampled upon this
morning. These gardeners are the most careless people in the
world; in bringing the horse out to the water they've
allowed him to walk over the border."

D'Artagnan began to smile.

"Ah! you think so, do you?"

And he took his friend along the alley, where a number of
tracks like those which had trampled down the flowerbeds,
were visible.

"Here are the horse's hoofs again, it seems, Athos," he said
carelessly.

"Yes, indeed, the marks are recent."

"Quite so," replied the lieutenant.

"Who went out this morning?" Athos asked, uneasily. "Has any
horse got loose?"

"Not likely," answered the Gascon; "these marks are
regular."

"Where is Raoul?" asked Athos; "how is it that I have not
seen him?"

"Hush!" exclaimed D'Artagnan, putting his finger on his
lips; and he related what he had seen, watching Athos all
the while.

"Ah, he's gone to Blois; the poor boy ---- "

"Wherefore?"

"Ah, to inquire after the little La Valliere; she has
sprained her foot, you know."

"You think he has?"

"I am sure of it," said Athos; "don't you see that Raoul is
in love?"

"Indeed! with whom -- with a child seven years old?"

"Dear friend, at Raoul's age the heart is so expansive that
it must encircle one object or another, fancied or real.
Well, his love is half real, half fanciful. She is the
prettiest little creature in the world, with flaxen hair,
blue eyes, -- at once saucy and languishing."

"But what say you to Raoul's fancy?"

"Nothing -- I laugh at Raoul; but this first desire of the
heart is imperious. I remember, just at his age, how deep in
love I was with a Grecian statue which our good king, then
Henry IV., gave my father, insomuch that I was mad with
grief when they told me that the story of Pygmalion was
nothing but a fable."

"It is mere want of occupation. You do not make Raoul work,
so he takes his own way of employing himself."

"Exactly; therefore I think of sending him away from here."

"You will be wise to do so."

"No doubt of it; but it will break his heart. So long as
three or four years ago he used to adorn and adore his
little idol, whom he will some day fall in love with in
right earnest if he remains here. The parents of little La
Valliere have for a long time perceived and been amused at
it; now they begin to look concerned."

"Nonsense! However, Raoul must be diverted from this fancy.
Send him away or you will never make a man of him."

"I think I shall send him to Paris."

"So!" thought D'Artagnan, and it seemed to him that the
moment for attack had arrived.

"Suppose," he said, "we roughly chalk out a career for this
young man. I wish to consult you about some thing."

"Do so."

"Do you think it is time for us to enter the service?"

"But are you not still in the service -- you, D'Artagnan?"

"I mean active service. Our former life, has it still no
attractions for you? would you not be happy to begin anew in
my society and in that of Porthos, the exploits of our
youth?"

"Do you propose to me to do so, D'Artagnan?"

"Decidedly and honestly."

"On whose side?" asked Athos, fixing his clear, benevolent
glance on the countenance of the Gascon.

"Ah, devil take it, you speak in earnest ---- "

"And must have a definite answer. Listen, D'Artagnan. There
is but one person, or rather, one cause, to whom a man like
me can be useful -- that of the king."

"Exactly," answered the musketeer.

"Yes, but let us understand each other," returned Athos,
seriously. "If by the cause of the king you mean that of
Monsieur de Mazarin, we do not understand each other."

"I don't say exactly," answered the Gascon, confused.

"Come, D'Artagnan, don't let us play a sidelong game; your
hesitation, your evasion, tells me at once on whose side you
are; for that party no one dares openly to recruit, and when
people recruit for it, it is with averted eyes and humble
voice."

"Ah! my dear Athos!"

"You know that I am not alluding to you; you are the pearl
of brave, bold men. I speak of that spiteful and intriguing
Italian -- of the pedant who has tried to put on his own
head a crown which he stole from under a pillow -- of the
scoundrel who calls his party the party of the king -- who
wants to send the princes of the blood to prison, not daring
to kill them, as our great cardinal -- our cardinal did --
of the miser, who weighs his gold pieces and keeps the
clipped ones for fear, though he is rich, of losing them at
play next morning -- of the impudent fellow who insults the
queen, as they say -- so much the worse for her -- and who
is going in three months to make war upon us, in order that
he may retain his pensions; is that the master whom you
propose to me? I thank you, D'Artagnan."

"You are more impetuous than you were," returned D'Artagnan.
"Age has warmed, not chilled your blood. Who informed you
this was the master I propose to you? Devil take it," he
muttered to himself, "don't let me betray my secrets to a
man not inclined to entertain them."

"Well, then," said Athos, "what are your schemes? what do
you propose?"

"Zounds! nothing more than natural. You live on your estate,
happy in golden mediocrity. Porthos has, perhaps, sixty
thousand francs income. Aramis has always fifty duchesses
quarreling over the priest, as they quarreled formerly over
the musketeer; but I -- what have I in the world? I have
worn my cuirass these twenty years, kept down in this
inferior rank, without going forward or backward, hardly
half living. In fact, I am dead. Well! when there is some
idea of being resuscitated, you say he's a scoundrel, an
impudent fellow, a miser, a bad master! By Jove! I am of
your opinion, but find me a better one or give me the means
of living."

Athos was for a few moments thoughtful.

"Good! D'Artagnan is for Mazarin," he said to himself.

From that moment he grew very guarded.

On his side D'Artagnan became more cautious also.

"You spoke to me," Athos resumed, "of Porthos; have you
persuaded him to seek his fortune? But he has wealth, I
believe, already."

"Doubtless he has. But such is man, we always want something
more than we already have."

"What does Porthos wish for?"

"To be a baron."

"Ah, true! I forgot," said Athos, laughing.

"'Tis true!" thought the Gascon, "where has he heard it?
Does he correspond with Aramis? Ah! if I knew that he did I
should know all."

The conversation was interrupted by the entrance of Raoul.

"Is our little neighbor worse?" asked D'Artagnan, seeing a
look of vexation on the face of the youth.

"Ah, sir!" replied Raoul, "her fall is a very serious one,
and without any ostensible injury, the physician fears she
will be lame for life."

"This is terrible," said Athos.

"And what makes me all the more wretched, sir, is, that I
was the cause of this misfortune."

"How so?" asked Athos.

"It was to run to meet me that she leaped from that pile of
wood."

"There's only one remedy, dear Raoul -- that is, to marry
her as a compensation " remarked D'Artagnan.

"Ah, sir!" answered Raoul, "you joke about a real
misfortune; that is cruel, indeed."

The good understanding between the two friends was not in
the least altered by the morning's skirmish. They
breakfasted with a good appetite, looking now and then at
poor Raoul, who with moist eyes and a full heart, scarcely
ate at all.

After breakfast two letters arrived for Athos, who read them
with profound attention, whilst D'Artagnan could not
restrain himself from jumping up several times on seeing him
read these epistles, in one of which, there being at the
time a very strong light, he perceived the fine writing of
Aramis. The other was in a feminine hand, long, and crossed.

"Come," said D'Artagnan to Raoul, seeing that Athos wished
to be alone, "come, let us take a turn in the fencing
gallery; that will amuse you."

And they both went into a low room where there were foils,
gloves, masks, breastplates, and all the accessories for a
fencing match.

In a quarter of an hour Athos joined them and at the same
moment Charles brought in a letter for D'Artagnan, which a
messenger had just desired might be instantly delivered.

It was now Athos's turn to take a sly look.

D'Artagnan read the letter with apparent calmness and said,
shaking his head:

"See, dear friend, what it is to belong to the army. Faith,
you are indeed right not to return to it. Monsieur de
Treville is ill, so my company can't do without me; there!
my leave is at an end!"

"Do you return to Paris?" asked Athos, quickly.

"Egad! yes; but why don't you come there also?"

Athos colored a little and answered:

"Should I go, I shall be delighted to see you there."

"Halloo, Planchet!" cried the Gascon from the door, "we must
set out in ten minutes; give the horses some hay.

Then turning to Athos he added:

"I seem to miss something here. I am really sorry to go away
without having seen Grimaud."

"Grimaud!" replied Athos. "I'm surprised you have never so
much as asked after him. I have lent him to a friend ---- "

"Who will understand the signs he makes?" returned
D'Artagnan.

"I hope so."

The friends embraced cordially; D'Artagnan pressed Raoul's
hand.

"Will you not come with me?" he said; "I shall pass by
Blois."

Raoul turned toward Athos, who showed him by a secret sign
that he did not wish him to go.

"No, monsieur," replied the young man; "I will remain with
monsieur le comte."

"Adieu, then, to both, my good friends," said D'Artagnan;
"may God preserve you! as we used to say when we said
good-bye to each other in the late cardinal's time."

Athos waved his hand, Raoul bowed, and D'Artagnan and
Planchet set out.

The count followed them with his eyes, his hands resting on
the shoulders of the youth, whose height was almost equal to
his own; but as soon as they were out of sight he said:

"Raoul, we set out to-night for Paris."

"Eh?" cried the young man, turning pale.

"You may go and offer your adieux and mine to Madame de
Saint-Remy. I shall wait for you here till seven."

The young man bent low, with an expression of sorrow and
gratitude mingled, and retired in order to saddle his horse.

As to D'Artagnan, scarcely, on his side, was he out of sight
when he drew from his pocket a letter, which he read over
again:

"Return immediately to Paris. -- J. M ---- ."

"The epistle is laconic," said D'Artagnan; "and if there had
not been a postscript, probably I should not have understood
it; but happily there is a postscript."

And he read that welcome postscript, which made him forget
the abruptness of the letter.

"P. S. -- Go to the king's treasurer, at Blois; tell him
your name and show him this letter; you will receive two
hundred pistoles."

"Assuredly," said D'Artagnan, "I admire this piece of prose.
The cardinal writes better than I thought. Come, Planchet,
let us pay a visit to the king's treasurer and then set
off."

"Toward Paris, sir?"

"Toward Paris."

And they set out at as hard a canter as their horses could
maintain.

16

The Duc de Beaufort.

The circumstances that had hastened the return of D'Artagnan
to Paris were as follows:

One evening, when Mazarin, according to custom, went to
visit the queen, in passing the guard-chamber he heard loud
voices; wishing to know on what topic the soldiers were
conversing, he approached with his wonted wolf-like step,
pushed open the door and put his head close to the chink.

There was a dispute among the guards.

"I tell you," one of them was saying, "that if Coysel
predicted that, 'tis as good as true; I know nothing about
it, but I have heard say that he's not only an astrologer,
but a magician."

"Deuce take it, friend, if he's one of thy friends thou wilt
ruin him in saying so."

"Why?"

"Because he may be tried for it."

"Ah! absurd! they don't burn sorcerers nowadays."

"No? 'Tis not a long time since the late cardinal burnt
Urban Grandier, though."

"My friend, Urban Grandier wasn't a sorcerer, he was a
learned man. He didn't predict the future, he knew the past
-- often a more dangerous thing."

Mazarin nodded an assent, but wishing to know what this
prediction was, about which they disputed, he remained in
the same place.

"I don't say," resumed the guard, "that Coysel is not a
sorcerer, but I say that if his prophecy gets wind, it's a
sure way to prevent it's coming true."

"How so?"

"Why, in this way: if Coysel says loud enough for the
cardinal to hear him, on such or such a day such a prisoner
will escape, 'tis plain that the cardinal will take measures
of precaution and that the prisoner will not escape."

"Good Lord!" said another guard, who might have been thought
asleep on a bench, but who had lost not a syllable of the
conversation, "do you suppose that men can escape their
destiny? If it is written yonder, in Heaven, that the Duc de
Beaufort is to escape, he will escape; and all the
precautions of the cardinal will not prevent it."

Mazarin started. He was an Italian and therefore
superstitious. He walked straight into the midst of the
guards, who on seeing him were silent.

"What were you saying?" he asked with his flattering manner;
"that Monsieur de Beaufort had escaped, were you not?"

"Oh, no, my lord!" said the incredulous soldier. "He's well
guarded now; we only said he would escape."

"Who said so?"

"Repeat your story, Saint Laurent," replied the man, turning
to the originator of the tale.

"My lord," said the guard, "I have simply mentioned the
prophecy I heard from a man named Coysel, who believes that,
be he ever so closely watched and guarded, the Duke of
Beaufort will escape before Whitsuntide."

"Coysel is a madman!" returned the cardinal.

"No," replied the soldier, tenacious in his credulity; "he
has foretold many things which have come to pass; for
instance, that the queen would have a son; that Monsieur
Coligny would be killed in a duel with the Duc de Guise; and
finally, that the coadjutor would be made cardinal. Well!
the queen has not only one son, but two; then, Monsieur de
Coligny was killed, and ---- "

"Yes," said Mazarin, "but the coadjutor is not yet made
cardinal!"

"No, my lord, but he will be," answered the guard.

Mazarin made a grimace, as if he meant to say, "But he does
not wear the cardinal's cap;" then he added:

"So, my friend, it's your opinion that Monsieur de Beaufort
will escape?"

"That's my idea, my lord; and if your eminence were to offer
to make me at this moment governor of the castle of
Vincennes, I should refuse it. After Whitsuntide it would be
another thing."

There is nothing so convincing as a firm conviction. It has
its own effect upon the most incredulous; and far from being
incredulous, Mazarin was superstitious. He went away
thoughtful and anxious and returned to his own room, where
he summoned Bernouin and desired him to fetch thither in the
morning the special guard he had placed over Monsieur de
Beaufort and to awaken him whenever he should arrive.

The guard had, in fact, touched the cardinal in the
tenderest point. During the whole five years in which the
Duc de Beaufort had been in prison not a day had passed in
which the cardinal had not felt a secret dread of his
escape. It was not possible, as he knew well, to confine for
the whole of his life the grandson of Henry IV., especially
when this young prince was scarcely thirty years of age. But
however and whensoever he did escape, what hatred he must
cherish against him to whom he owed his long imprisonment;
who had taken him, rich, brave, glorious, beloved by women,
feared by men, to cut off his life's best, happiest years;
for it is not life, it is merely existence, in prison!
Meantime, Mazarin redoubled his surveillance over the duke.
But like the miser in the fable, he could not sleep for
thinking of his treasure. Often he awoke in the night,
suddenly, dreaming that he had been robbed of Monsieur de
Beaufort. Then he inquired about him and had the vexation of
hearing that the prisoner played, drank, sang, but that
whilst playing, drinking, singing, he often stopped short to
vow that Mazarin should pay dear for all the amusements he
had forced him to enter into at Vincennes.

So much did this one idea haunt the cardinal even in his
sleep, that when at seven in the morning Bernouin came to
arouse him, his first words were: "Well, what's the matter?
Has Monsieur de Beaufort escaped from Vincennes?"

"I do not think so, my lord," said Bernouin; "but you will
hear about him, for La Ramee is here and awaits the commands
of your eminence."

"Tell him to come in," said Mazarin, arranging his pillows,
so that he might receive the visitor sitting up in bed.

The officer entered, a large fat man, with an open
physiognomy. His air of perfect serenity made Mazarin
uneasy.

"Approach, sir," said the cardinal.

The officer obeyed.

"Do you know what they are saying here?"

"No, your eminence."

"Well, they say that Monsieur de Beaufort is going to escape
from Vincennes, if he has not done so already."

The officer's face expressed complete stupefaction. He
opened at once his little eyes and his great mouth, to
inhale better the joke his eminence deigned to address to
him, and ended by a burst of laughter, so violent that his
great limbs shook in hilarity as they would have done in an
ague.

"Escape! my lord -- escape! Your eminence does not then know
where Monsieur de Beaufort is?"

"Yes, I do, sir; in the donjon of Vincennes."

"Yes, sir; in a room, the walls of which are seven feet
thick, with grated windows, each bar as thick as my arm."

"Sir," replied Mazarin, "with perseverance one may penetrate
through a wall; with a watch-spring one may saw through an
iron bar."

"Then my lord does not know that there are eight guards
about him, four in his chamber, four in the antechamber, and
that they never leave him."

"But he leaves his room, he plays at tennis at the Mall?"

"Sir, those amusements are allowed; but if your eminence
wishes it, we will discontinue the permission."

"No, no!" cried Mazarin, fearing that should his prisoner
ever leave his prison he would be the more exasperated
against him if he thus retrenched his amusement. He then
asked with whom he played.

"My lord, either with the officers of the guard, with the
other prisoners, or with me."

"But does he not approach the walls while playing?"

"Your eminence doesn't know those walls; they are sixty feet
high and I doubt if Monsieur de Beaufort is sufficiently
weary of life to risk his neck by jumping off."

"Hum!" said the cardinal, beginning to feel more
comfortable. "You mean to say, then, my dear Monsieur la
Ramee ---- "

"That unless Monsieur de Beaufort can contrive to
metamorphose himself into a little bird, I will continue
answerable for him."

"Take care! you assert a great deal," said Mazarin.
"Monsieur de Beaufort told the guards who took him to
Vincennes that he had often thought what he should do in
case he were put into prison, and that he had found out
forty ways of escaping."

"My lord, if among these forty there had been one good way
he would have been out long ago."

"Come, come; not such a fool as I fancied!" thought Mazarin.

"Besides, my lord must remember that Monsieur de Chavigny is
governor of Vincennes," continued La Ramee, "and that
Monsieur de Chavigny is not friendly to Monsieur de
Beaufort."

"Yes, but Monsieur de Chavigny is sometimes absent."

"When he is absent I am there."

"But when you leave him, for instance?"

"Oh! when I leave him, I place in my stead a bold fellow who
aspires to be his majesty's special guard. I promise you he
keeps a good watch over the prisoner. During the three weeks
that he has been with me, I have only had to reproach him
with one thing -- being too severe with the prisoners."

"And who is this Cerberus?"

"A certain Monsieur Grimaud, my lord."

"And what was he before he went to Vincennes?"

"He was in the country, as I was told by the person who
recommended him to me."

"And who recommended this man to you?"

"The steward of the Duc de Grammont."

"He is not a gossip, I hope?"

"Lord a mercy, my lord! I thought for a long time that he
was dumb; he answers only by signs. It seems his former
master accustomed him to that."

"Well, dear Monsieur la Ramee," replied the cardinal "let
him prove a true and thankful keeper and we will shut our
eyes upon his rural misdeeds and put on his back a uniform
to make him respectable, and in the pockets of that uniform
some pistoles to drink to the king's health."

Mazarin was large in promises, -- quite unlike the virtuous
Monsieur Grimaud so bepraised by La Ramee; for he said
nothing and did much.

It was now nine o'clock. The cardinal, therefore, got up,
perfumed himself, dressed, and went to the queen to tell her
what had detained him. The queen, who was scarcely less
afraid of Monsieur de Beaufort than the cardinal himself,
and who was almost as superstitious as he was, made him
repeat word for word all La Ramee's praises of his deputy.
Then, when the cardinal had ended:

"Alas, sir! why have we not a Grimaud near every prince?"

"Patience!" replied Mazarin, with his Italian smile; "that
may happen one day; but in the meantime ---- "

"Well, in the meantime?"

"I shall still take precautions."

And he wrote to D'Artagnan to hasten his return.

17

Describes how the Duc de Beaufort amused his Leisure Hours
in the Donjon of Vincennes.

The captive who was the source of so much alarm to the
cardinal and whose means of escape disturbed the repose of
the whole court, was wholly unconscious of the terror he
caused at the Palais Royal.

He had found himself so strictly guarded that he soon
perceived the fruitlessness of any attempt at escape. His
vengeance, therefore, consisted in coining curses on the
head of Mazarin; he even tried to make some verses on him,
but soon gave up the attempt, for Monsieur de Beaufort had
not only not received from Heaven the gift of versifying, he
had the greatest difficulty in expressing himself in prose.

The duke was the grandson of Henry VI. and Gabrielle
d'Estrees -- as good-natured, as brave, as proud, and above
all, as Gascon as his ancestor, but less elaborately
educated. After having been for some time after the death of
Louis XIII. the favorite, the confidant, the first man, in
short, at the court, he had been obliged to yield his place
to Mazarin and so became the second in influence and favor;
and eventually, as he was stupid enough to be vexed at this
change of position, the queen had had him arrested and sent
to Vincennes in charge of Guitant, who made his appearance
in these pages in the beginning of this history and whom we
shall see again. It is understood, of course, that when we
say "the queen," Mazarin is meant.

During the five years of this seclusion, which would have
improved and matured the intellect of any other man, M. de
Beaufort, had he not affected to brave the cardinal, despise
princes, and walk alone without adherents or disciples,
would either have regained his liberty or made partisans.
But these considerations never occurred to the duke and
every day the cardinal received fresh accounts of him which
were as unpleasant as possible to the minister.

After having failed in poetry, Monsieur de Beaufort tried
drawing. He drew portraits, with a piece of coal, of the
cardinal; and as his talents did not enable him to produce a
very good likeness, he wrote under the picture that there
might be little doubt regarding the original: "Portrait of
the Illustrious Coxcomb, Mazarin." Monsieur de Chavigny, the
governor of Vincennes, waited upon the duke to request that
he would amuse himself in some other way, or that at all
events, if he drew likenesses, he would not put mottoes
underneath them. The next day the prisoner's room was full
of pictures and mottoes. Monsieur de Beaufort, in common
with many other prisoners, was bent upon doing things that
were prohibited; and the only resource the governor had was,
one day when the duke was playing at tennis, to efface all
these drawings, consisting chiefly of profiles. M. de
Beaufort did not venture to draw the cardinal's fat face.

The duke thanked Monsieur de Chavigny for having, as he
said, cleaned his drawing-paper for him; he then divided the
walls of his room into compartments and dedicated each of
these compartments to some incident in Mazarin's life. In
one was depicted the "Illustrious Coxcomb" receiving a
shower of blows from Cardinal Bentivoglio, whose servant he
had been; another, the "Illustrious Mazarin" acting the part
of Ignatius Loyola in a tragedy of that name; a third, the
"Illustrious Mazarin" stealing the portfolio of prime
minister from Monsieur de Chavigny, who had expected to have
it; a fourth, the "Illustrious Coxcomb Mazarin" refusing to
give Laporte, the young king's valet, clean sheets, and
saving that "it was quite enough for the king of France to
have clean sheets every three months."

The governor, of course, thought proper to threaten his
prisoner that if he did not give up drawing such pictures he
should be obliged to deprive him of all the means of amusing
himself in that manner. To this Monsieur de Beaufort replied
that since every opportunity of distinguishing himself in
arms was taken from him, he wished to make himself
celebrated in the arts; since he could not be a Bayard, he
would become a Raphael or a Michael Angelo. Nevertheless,
one day when Monsieur de Beaufort was walking in the meadow
his fire was put out, his charcoal all removed, taken away;
and thus his means of drawing utterly destroyed.

The poor duke swore, fell into a rage, yelled, and declared
that they wished to starve him to death as they had starved
the Marechal Ornano and the Grand Prior of Vendome; but he
refused to promise that he would not make any more drawings
and remained without any fire in the room all the winter.

His next act was to purchase a dog from one of his keepers.
With this animal, which he called Pistache, he was often
shut up for hours alone, superintending, as every one
supposed, its education. At last, when Pistache was
sufficiently well trained, Monsieur de Beaufort invited the
governor and officers of Vincennes to attend a
representation which he was going to have in his apartment

The party assembled, the room was lighted with waxlights,
and the prisoner, with a bit of plaster he had taken out of
the wall of his room, had traced a long white line,
representing a cord, on the floor. Pistache, on a signal
from his master, placed himself on this line, raised himself
on his hind paws, and holding in his front paws a wand with
which clothes used to be beaten, he began to dance upon the
line with as many contortions as a rope-dancer. Having been
several times up and down it, he gave the wand back to his
master and began without hesitation to perform the same
evolutions over again.

The intelligent creature was received with loud applause.

The first part of the entertainment being concluded Pistache
was desired to say what o'clock it was; he was shown
Monsieur de Chavigny's watch; it was then half-past six; the
dog raised and dropped his paw six times; the seventh he let
it remain upraised. Nothing could be better done; a sun-dial
could not have shown the hour with greater precision.

Then the question was put to him who was the best jailer in
all the prisons in France.

The dog performed three evolutions around the circle and
laid himself, with the deepest respect, at the feet of
Monsieur de Chavigny, who at first seemed inclined to like
the joke and laughed long and loud, but a frown succeeded,
and he bit his lips with vexation.

Then the duke put to Pistache this difficult question, who
was the greatest thief in the world?

Pistache went again around the circle, but stopped at no
one, and at last went to the door and began to scratch and
bark.

"See, gentlemen," said M. de Beaufort, "this wonderful
animal, not finding here what I ask for, seeks it out of
doors; you shall, however, have his answer. Pistache, my
friend, come here. Is not the greatest thief in the world,
Monsieur (the king's secretary) Le Camus, who came to Paris
with twenty francs in his pocket and who now possesses ten
millions?"

The dog shook his head.

"Then is it not," resumed the duke, "the Superintendent
Emery, who gave his son, when he was married, three hundred
thousand francs and a house, compared to which the Tuileries
are a heap of ruins and the Louvre a paltry building?"

The dog again shook his head as if to say "no."

"Then," said the prisoner, "let's think who it can be. Can
it be, can it possibly be, the `Illustrious Coxcomb, Mazarin
de Piscina,' hey?"

Pistache made violent signs that it was, by raising and
lowering his head eight or ten times successively.

"Gentlemen, you see," said the duke to those present, who
dared not even smile, "that it is the `Illustrious Coxcomb'
who is the greatest thief in the world; at least, according
to Pistache."

"Let us go on to another of his exercises."

"Gentlemen!" -- there was a profound silence in the room
when the duke again addressed them -- "do you not remember
that the Duc de Guise taught all the dogs in Paris to jump
for Mademoiselle de Pons, whom he styled `the fairest of the
fair?' Pistache is going to show you how superior he is to
all other dogs. Monsieur de Chavigny, be so good as to lend
me your cane."

Monsieur de Chavigny handed his cane to Monsieur de
Beaufort. Monsieur de Beaufort placed it horizontally at the
height of one foot.

"Now, Pistache, my good dog, jump the height of this cane
for Madame de Montbazon."

"But," interposed Monsieur de Chavigny, "it seems to me that
Pistache is only doing what other dogs have done when they
jumped for Mademoiselle de Pons."

"Stop," said the duke, "Pistache, jump for the queen." And
he raised his cane six inches higher.

The dog sprang, and in spite of the height jumped lightly
over it.

"And now," said the duke, raising it still six inches
higher, "jump for the king."

The dog obeyed and jumped quickly over the cane.

"Now, then," said the duke, and as he spoke, lowered the
cane almost level with the ground; "Pistache, my friend,
jump for the `Illustrious Coxcomb, Mazarin de Piscina.'"

The dog turned his back to the cane.

"What," asked the duke, "what do you mean?" and he gave him
the cane again, first making a semicircle from the head to
the tail of Pistache. "Jump then, Monsieur Pistache."

But Pistache, as at first, turned round on his legs and
stood with his back to the cane.

Monsieur de Beaufort made the experiment a third time, but
by this time Pistache's patience was exhausted; he threw
himself furiously upon the cane, wrested it from the hands
of the prince and broke it with his teeth.

Monsieur de Beaufort took the pieces out of his mouth and
presented them with great formality to Monsieur de Chavigny,
saying that for that evening the entertainment was ended,
but in three months it should be repeated, when Pistache
would have learned a few new tricks.

Three days afterward Pistache was found dead -- poisoned.

Then the duke said openly that his dog had been killed by a
drug with which they meant to poison him; and one day after
dinner he went to bed, calling out that he had pains in his
stomach and that Mazarin had poisoned him.

This fresh impertinence reached the ears of the cardinal and
alarmed him greatly. The donjon of Vincennes was considered
very unhealthy and Madame de Rambouillet had said that the
room in which the Marechal Ornano and the Grand Prior de
Vendome had died was worth its weight in arsenic -- a bon
mot which had great success. So it was ordered the prisoner
was henceforth to eat nothing that had not previously been
tasted, and La Ramee was in consequence placed near him as
taster.

Every kind of revenge was practiced upon the duke by the
governor in return for the insults of the innocent Pistache.
De Chavigny, who, according to report, was a son of
Richelieu's, and had been a creature of the late cardinal's,
understood tyranny. He took from the duke all the steel
knives and silver forks and replaced them with silver knives
and wooden forks, pretending that as he had been informed
that the duke was to pass all his life at Vincennes, he was
afraid of his prisoner attempting suicide. A fortnight
afterward the duke, going to the tennis court, found two
rows of trees about the size of his little finger planted by
the roadside; he asked what they were for and was told that
they were to shade him from the sun on some future day. One
morning the gardener went to him and told him, as if to
please him, that he was going to plant a bed of asparagus
for his especial use. Now, since, as every one knows,
asparagus takes four years in coming to perfection, this
civility infuriated Monsieur de Beaufort.

At last his patience was exhausted. He assembled his
keepers, and notwithstanding his well-known difficulty of
utterance, addressed them as follows:

"Gentlemen! will you permit a grandson of Henry IV. to be
overwhelmed with insults and ignominy?

"Odds fish! as my grandfather used to say, I once reigned in
Paris! do you know that? I had the king and Monsieur the
whole of one day in my care. The queen at that time liked me
and called me the most honest man in the kingdom. Gentlemen
and citizens, set me free; I shall go to the Louvre and
strangle Mazarin. You shall be my body-guard. I will make
you all captains, with good pensions! Odds fish! On! march
forward!"

But eloquent as he might be, the eloquence of the grandson
of Henry IV. did not touch those hearts of stone; not one
man stirred, so Monsieur de Beaufort was obliged to be
satisfied with calling them all kinds of rascals underneath
the sun.

Sometimes, when Monsieur de Chavigny paid him a visit, the
duke used to ask him what he should think if he saw an army
of Parisians, all fully armed, appear at Vincennes to
deliver him from prison.

"My lord," answered De Chavigny, with a low bow, "I have on
the ramparts twenty pieces of artillery and in my casemates
thirty thousand guns. I should bombard the troops till not
one grain of gunpowder was unexploded."

"Yes, but after you had fired off your thirty thousand guns
they would take the donjon; the donjon being taken, I should
be obliged to let them hang you -- at which I should be most
unhappy, certainly."

And in his turn the duke bowed low to Monsieur de Chavigny.

"For myself, on the other hand, my lord," returned the
governor, "when the first rebel should pass the threshold of
my postern doors I should be obliged to kill you with my own
hand, since you were confided peculiarly to my care and as I
am obliged to give you up, dead or alive."

And once more he bowed low before his highness.

These bitter-sweet pleasantries lasted ten minutes,
sometimes longer, but always finished thus:

Monsieur de Chavigny, turning toward the door, used to call
out: "Halloo! La Ramee!"

La Ramee came into the room.

"La Ramee, I recommend Monsieur le Duc to you, particularly;
treat him as a man of his rank and family ought to be
treated; that is, never leave him alone an instant."

La Ramee became, therefore, the duke's dinner guest by
compulsion -- an eternal keeper, the shadow of his person;
but La Ramee -- gay, frank, convivial, fond of play, a great
hand at tennis, had one defect in the duke's eyes -- his
incorruptibility.

Now, although La Ramee appreciated, as of a certain value,
the honor of being shut up with a prisoner of so great
importance, still the pleasure of living in intimacy with
the grandson of Henry IV. hardly compensated for the loss of
that which he had experienced in going from time to time to
visit his family.

One may be a jailer or a keeper and at the same time a good
father and husband. La Ramee adored his wife and children,
whom now he could only catch a glimpse of from the top of
the wall, when in order to please him they used to walk on
the opposite side of the moat. 'Twas too brief an enjoyment,
and La Ramee felt that the gayety of heart he had regarded
as the cause of health (of which it was perhaps rather the
result) would not long survive such a mode of life.

He accepted, therefore, with delight, an offer made to him
by his friend the steward of the Duc de Grammont, to give
him a substitute; he also spoke of it to Monsieur de
Chavigny, who promised that he would not oppose it in any
way -- that is, if he approved of the person proposed.

We consider it useless to draw a physical or moral portrait
of Grimaud; if, as we hope, our readers have not wholly
forgotten the first part of this work, they must have
preserved a clear idea of that estimable individual, who is
wholly unchanged, except that he is twenty years older, an
advance in life that has made him only more silent;
although, since the change that had been working in himself,
Athos had given Grimaud permission to speak.

But Grimaud had for twelve or fifteen years preserved
habitual silence, and a habit of fifteen or twenty years'
duration becomes second nature.

18

Grimaud begins his Functions.

Grimaud thereupon presented himself with his smooth exterior
at the donjon of Vincennes. Now Monsieur de Chavigny piqued
himself on his infallible penetration; for that which almost
proved that he was the son of Richelieu was his everlasting
pretension; he examined attentively the countenance of the
applicant for place and fancied that the contracted
eyebrows, thin lips, hooked nose, and prominent cheek-bones
of Grimaud were favorable signs. He addressed about twelve
words to him; Grimaud answered in four.

"Here's a promising fellow and it is I who have found out
his merits," said Monsieur de Chavigny. "Go," he added, "and
make yourself agreeable to Monsieur la Ramee, and tell him
that you suit me in all respects."

Grimaud had every quality that could attract a man on duty
who wishes to have a deputy. So, after a thousand questions
which met with only a word in reply, La Ramee, fascinated by
this sobriety in speech, rubbed his hands and engaged
Grimaud.

"My orders?" asked Grimaud.

"They are these; never to leave the prisoner alone; to keep
away from him every pointed or cutting instrument, and to
prevent his conversing any length of time with the keepers."

"Those are all?" asked Grimaud.

"All now," replied La Ramee.

"Good," answered Grimaud; and he went right to the prisoner.

The duke was in the act of combing his beard, which he had
allowed to grow, as well as his hair, in order to reproach
Mazarin with his wretched appearance and condition. But
having some days previously seen from the top of the donjon
Madame de Montbazon pass in her carriage, and still
cherishing an affection for that beautiful woman, he did not
wish to be to her what he wished to be to Mazarin, and in
the hope of seeing her again, had asked for a leaden comb,
which was allowed him. The comb was to be a leaden one,
because his beard, like that of most fair people, was rather
red; he therefore dyed it thus whilst combing it.

As Grimaud entered he saw this comb on the tea-table; he
took it up, and as he took it he made a low bow.

The duke looked at this strange figure with surprise. The
figure put the comb in its pocket.

"Ho! hey! what's that?" cried the duke. "Who is this
creature?"

Grimaud did not answer, but bowed a second time.

"Art thou dumb?" cried the duke.

Grimaud made a sign that he was not.

"What art thou, then? Answer! I command thee!" said the
duke.

"A keeper," replied Grimaud.

"A keeper!" reiterated the duke; "there was nothing wanting
in my collection, except this gallows-bird. Halloo! La
Ramee! some one!"

La Ramee ran in haste to obey the call.

"Who is this wretch who takes my comb and puts it in his
pocket?" asked the duke.

"One of your guards, my prince; a man of talent and merit,
whom you will like, as I and Monsieur de Chavigny do, I am
sure."

"Why does he take my comb?"

"Why do you take my lord's comb?" asked La Ramee.

Grimaud drew the comb from his pocket and passing his
fingers over the largest teeth, pronounced this one word,
"Pointed."

"True," said La Ramee.

"What does the animal say?" asked the duke.

"That the king has forbidden your lordship to have any
pointed instrument."

"Are you mad, La Ramee? You yourself gave me this comb."

"I was very wrong, my lord, for in giving it to you I acted
in opposition to my orders."

The duke looked furiously at Grimaud.

"I perceive that this creature will be my particular
aversion," he muttered.

Grimaud, nevertheless, was resolved for certain reasons not
at once to come to a full rupture with the prisoner; he
wanted to inspire, not a sudden repugnance, but a good,
sound, steady hatred; he retired, therefore, and gave place
to four guards, who, having breakfasted, could attend on the
prisoner.

A fresh practical joke now occurred to the duke. He had
asked for crawfish for his breakfast on the following
morning; he intended to pass the day in making a small
gallows and hang one of the finest of these fish in the
middle of his room -- the red color evidently conveying an
allusion to the cardinal -- so that he might have the
pleasure of hanging Mazarin in effigy without being accused
of having hung anything more significant than a crawfish.

The day was employed in preparations for the execution.
Every one grows childish in prison, but the character of
Monsieur de Beaufort was particularly disposed to become so.
In the course of his morning's walk he collected two or
three small branches from a tree and found a small piece of
broken glass, a discovery that quite delighted him. When he
came home he formed his handkerchief into a loop.

Nothing of all this escaped Grimaud, but La Ramee looked on
with the curiosity of a father who thinks that he may
perhaps get a cheap idea concerning a new toy for his
children. The guards looked on it with indifference. When
everything was ready, the gallows hung in the middle of the
room, the loop made, and when the duke had cast a glance
upon the plate of crawfish, in order to select the finest
specimen among them, he looked around for his piece of
glass; it had disappeared.

"Who has taken my piece of glass?" asked the duke, frowning.
Grimaud made a sign to denote that he had done so.

"What! thou again! Why didst thou take it?"

"Yes -- why?" asked La Ramee.

Grimaud, who held the piece of glass in his hand, said:
"Sharp."

"True, my lord!" exclaimed La Ramee. "Ah! deuce take it! we
have a precious fellow here!"

"Monsieur Grimaud!" said the duke, "for your sake I beg of
you, never come within the reach of my fist!"

"Hush! hush!" cried La Ramee, "give me your gibbet, my lord.
I will shape it out for you with my knife."

And he took the gibbet and shaped it out as neatly as
possible.

"That's it," said the duke, "now make me a little hole in
the floor whilst I go and fetch the culprit."

La Ramee knelt down and made a hole in the floor; meanwhile
the duke hung the crawfish up by a thread. Then he placed
the gibbet in the middle of the room, bursting with
laughter.

La Ramee laughed also and the guards laughed in chorus;
Grimaud, however, did not even smile. He approached La Ramee
and showing him the crawfish hung up by the thread:

"Cardinal," he said.

"Hung by order of his Highness the Duc de Beaufort!" cried
the prisoner, laughing violently, "and by Master Jacques
Chrysostom La Ramee, the king's commissioner."

La Ramee uttered a cry of horror and rushed toward the
gibbet, which he broke at once and threw the pieces out of
the window. He was going to throw the crawfish out also,
when Grimaud snatched it from his hands.

"Good to eat!" he said, and put it in his pocket.

This scene so enchanted the duke that at the moment he
forgave Grimaud for his part in it; but on reflection he
hated him more and more, being convinced he had some evil
motive for his conduct.

But the story of the crab made a great noise through the
interior of the donjon and even outside. Monsieur de
Chavigny, who at heart detested the cardinal, took pains to
tell the story to two or three friends, who put it into
immediate circulation.

The prisoner happened to remark among the guards one man
with a very good countenance; and he favored this man the
more as Grimaud became the more and more odious to him. One
morning he took this man on one side and had succeeded in
speaking to him, when Grimaud entered and seeing what was
going on approached the duke respectfully, but took the
guard by the arm.

"Go away," he said.

The guard obeyed.

"You are insupportable!" cried the duke; "I shall beat you."

Grimaud bowed.

"I will break every bone in your body!" cried the duke.

Grimaud bowed, but stepped back.

"Mr. Spy," cried the duke, more and more enraged, "I will
strangle you with my own hands."

And he extended his hands toward Grimaud, who merely thrust
the guard out and shut the door behind him. At the same time
he felt the duke's arms on his shoulders like two iron
claws; but instead either of calling out or defending
himself, he placed his forefinger on his lips and said in a
low tone:

"Hush!" smiling as he uttered the word.

A gesture, a smile and a word from Grimaud, all at once,
were so unusual that his highness stopped short, astounded.

Grimaud took advantage of that instant to draw from his vest
a charming little note with an aristocratic seal, and
presented it to the duke without a word.

The duke, more and more bewildered, let Grimaud loose and
took the note.

"From Madame de Montbazon?" he cried.

Grimaud nodded assent.

The duke tore open the note, passed his hands over his eyes,
for he was dazzled and confused, and read:

"My Dear Duke, -- You may entirely confide in the brave lad
who will give you this note; he has consented to enter the
service of your keeper and to shut himself up at Vincennes
with you, in order to prepare and assist your escape, which
we are contriving. The moment of your deliverance is at
hand; have patience and courage and remember that in spite
of time and absence all your friends continue to cherish for
you the sentiments they have so long professed and truly
entertained.

"Yours wholly and most affectionately

"Marie de Montbazon.

"P.S. -- I sign my full name, for I should be vain if I
could suppose that after five years of absence you would
remember my initials."

The poor duke became perfectly giddy. What for five years he
had been wanting -- a faithful servant, a friend, a helping
hand -- seemed to have fallen from Heaven just when he
expected it the least.

"Oh, dearest Marie! she thinks of me, then, after five years
of separation! Heavens! there is constancy!" Then turning to
Grimaud, he said:

"And thou, my brave fellow, thou consentest thus to aid me?"

Grimaud signified his assent.

"And you have come here with that purpose?"

Grimaud repeated the sign.

"And I was ready to strangle you!" cried the duke.

Grimaud smiled.

"Wait, then," said the duke, fumbling in his pocket. "Wait,"
he continued, renewing his fruitless search; "it shall not
be said that such devotion to a grandson of Henry IV. went
without recompense."

The duke's endeavors evinced the best intention in the
world, but one of the precautions taken at Vincennes was
that of allowing prisoners to keep no money. Whereupon
Grimaud, observing the duke's disappointment, drew from his
pocket a purse filled with gold and handed it to him.

"Here is what you are looking for," he said.

The duke opened the purse and wanted to empty it into
Grimaud's hands, but Grimaud shook his head.

"Thank you, monseigneur," he said, drawing back; "I am
paid."

The duke went from one surprise to another. He held out his
hand. Grimaud drew near and kissed it respectfully. The
grand manner of Athos had left its mark on Grimaud.

"What shall we do? and when? and how proceed?"

"It is now eleven," answered Grimaud. "Let my lord at two
o'clock ask leave to make up a game at tennis with La Ramee
and let him send two or three balls over the ramparts."

"And then?"

"Your highness will approach the walls and call out to a man
who works in the moat to send them back again."

"I understand," said the duke.

Grimaud made a sign that he was going away.

"Ah!" cried the duke, "will you not accept any money from
me?"

"I wish my lord would make me one promise."

"What! speak!"

"'Tis this: when we escape together, that I shall go
everywhere and be always first; for if my lord should be
overtaken and caught, there's every chance of his being
brought back to prison, whereas if I am caught the least
that can befall me is to be -- hung."

"True, on my honor as a gentleman it shall be as thou dost
suggest."

"Now," resumed Grimaud, "I've only one thing more to ask --
that your highness will continue to detest me."

"I'll try," said the duke.

At this moment La Ramee, after the interview we have
described with the cardinal, entered the room. The duke had
thrown himself, as he was wont to do in moments of dullness
and vexation, on his bed. La Ramee cast an inquiring look
around him and observing the same signs of antipathy between
the prisoner and his guardian he smiled in token of his
inward satisfaction. Then turning to Grimaud:

"Very good, my friend, very good. You have been spoken of in
a promising quarter and you will soon, I hope, have news
that will be agreeable to you."

Grimaud saluted in his politest manner and withdrew, as was
his custom on the entrance of his superior.

"Well, my lord," said La Ramee, with his rude laugh, "you
still set yourself against this poor fellow?"

"So! 'tis you, La Ramee; in faith, 'tis time you came back
again. I threw myself on the bed and turned my nose to the
wall, that I mightn't break my promise and strangle
Grimaud."

"I doubt, however," said La Ramee, in sprightly allusion to
the silence of his subordinate, "if he has said anything
disagreeable to your highness."

"Pardieu! you are right -- a mute from the East! I swear it
was time for you to come back, La Ramee, and I was eager to
see you again."

"Monseigneur is too good," said La Ramee, flattered by the
compliment.

"Yes," continued the duke, "really, I feel bored today
beyond the power of description."

"Then let us have a match in the tennis court," exclaimed La
Ramee.

"If you wish it."

"I am at your service, my lord."

"I protest, my dear La Ramee," said the duke, "that you are
a charming fellow and that I would stay forever at Vincennes
to have the pleasure of your society."

"My lord," replied La Ramee, "I think if it depended on the
cardinal your wishes would be fulfilled."

"What do you mean? Have you seen him lately?"

"He sent for me to-day."

"Really! to speak to you about me?"

"Of what else do you imagine he would speak to me? Really,
my lord, you are his nightmare."

The duke smiled with bitterness.

"Ah, La Ramee! if you would but accept my offers! I would
make your fortune."

"How? you would no sooner have left prison than your goods
would be confiscated."

"I shall no sooner be out of prison than I shall be master
of Paris."

"Pshaw! pshaw! I cannot hear such things said as that; this
is a fine conversation with an officer of the king! I see,
my lord, I shall be obliged to fetch a second Grimaud!"

"Very well, let us say no more about it. So you and the
cardinal have been talking about me? La Ramee, some day when
he sends for you, you must let me put on your clothes; I
will go in your stead; I will strangle him, and upon my
honor, if that is made a condition I will return to prison."

"Monseigneur, I see well that I must call Grimaud."

"Well, I am wrong. And what did the cuistre [pettifogger]
say about me?"

"I admit the word, monseigneur, because it rhymes with
ministre [minister]. What did he say to me? He told me to
watch you."

"And why so? why watch me?" asked the duke uneasily.

"Because an astrologer had predicted that you would escape."

"Ah! an astrologer predicted that?" said the duke, starting
in spite of himself.

"Oh, mon Dieu! yes! those imbeciles of magicians can only
imagine things to torment honest people."

"And what did you reply to his most illustrious eminence?"

"That if the astrologer in question made almanacs I would
advise him not to buy one."

"Why not?"

"Because before you could escape you would have to be turned
into a bird."

"Unfortunately, that is true. Let us go and have a game at
tennis, La Ramee."

"My lord -- I beg your highness's pardon -- but I must beg
for half an hour's leave of absence."

"Why?"

"Because Monseigneur Mazarin is a prouder man than his
highness, though not of such high birth: he forgot to ask me
to breakfast."

"Well, shall I send for some breakfast here?"

"No, my lord; I must tell you that the confectioner who
lived opposite the castle -- Daddy Marteau, as they called
him ---- "

"Well?"

"Well, he sold his business a week ago to a confectioner
from Paris, an invalid, ordered country air for his health."

"Well, what have I to do with that?"

"Why, good Lord! this man, your highness, when he saw me
stop before his shop, where he has a display of things which
would make your mouth water, my lord, asked me to get him
the custom of the prisoners in the donjon. `I bought,' said
he, `the business of my predecessor on the strength of his
assurance that he supplied the castle; whereas, on my honor,
Monsieur de Chavigny, though I've been here a week, has not
ordered so much as a tartlet.' `But,' I then replied,
`probably Monsieur de Chavigny is afraid your pastry is not
good.' `My pastry not good! Well, Monsieur La Ramee, you
shall judge of it yourself and at once.' `I cannot,' I
replied; `it is absolutely necessary for me to return to the
chateau.' `Very well,' said he, `go and attend to your
affairs, since you seem to be in a hurry, but come back in
half an hour.' `In half an hour?' `Yes, have you
breakfasted?' `Faith, no.' `Well, here is a pate that will
be ready for you, with a bottle of old Burgundy.' So, you
see, my lord, since I am hungry, I would, with your
highness's leave ---- " And La Ramee bent low.

"Go, then, animal," said the duke; "but remember, I only
allow you half an hour."

"May I promise your custom to the successor of Father
Marteau, my lord?"

"Yes, if he does not put mushrooms in his pies; thou knowest
that mushrooms from the wood of Vincennes are fatal to my
family."

La Ramee went out, but in five minutes one of the officers
of the guard entered in compliance with the strict orders of
the cardinal that the prisoner should never be left alone a
moment.

But during these five minutes the duke had had time to read
again the note from Madame de Montbazon, which proved to the
prisoner that his friends were concerting plans for his
deliverance, but in what way he knew not.

But his confidence in Grimaud, whose petty persecutions he
now perceived were only a blind, increased, and he conceived
the highest opinion of his intellect and resolved to trust
entirely to his guidance.

19

In which the Contents of the Pates made by the Successor of
Father Marteau are described.

In half an hour La Ramee returned, full of glee, like most
men who have eaten, and more especially drank to their
heart's content. The pates were excellent, the wine
delicious.

The weather was fine and the game at tennis took place in
the open air.

At two o'clock the tennis balls began, according to
Grimaud's directions, to take the direction of the moat,
much to the joy of La Ramee, who marked fifteen whenever the
duke sent a ball into the moat; and very soon balls were
wanting, so many had gone over. La Ramee then proposed to
send some one to pick them up, but the duke remarked that it
would be losing time; and going near the rampart himself and
looking over, he saw a man working in one of the numerous
little gardens cleared out by the peasants on the opposite
side of the moat.

"Hey, friend!" cried the duke.

The man raised his head and the duke was about to utter a
cry of surprise. The peasant, the gardener, was Rochefort,
whom he believed to be in the Bastile.

"Well? Who's up there?" said the man.

"Be so good as to collect and throw us back our balls," said
the duke.

The gardener nodded and began to fling up the balls, which
were picked up by La Ramee and the guard. One, however, fell
at the duke's feet, and seeing that it was intended for him,
he put it into his pocket.

La Ramee was in ecstasies at having beaten a prince of the
blood.

The duke went indoors and retired to bed, where he spent,
indeed, the greater part of every day, as they had taken his
books away. La Ramee carried off all his clothes, in order
to be certain that the duke would not stir. However, the
duke contrived to hide the ball under his bolster and as
soon as the door was closed he tore off the cover of the
ball with his teeth and found underneath the following
letter:

My Lord, -- Your friends are watching over you and the hour
of your deliverance is at hand. Ask day after to-morrow to
have a pie supplied you by the new confectioner opposite the
castle, and who is no other than Noirmont, your former
maitre d'hotel. Do not open the pie till you are alone. I
hope you will be satisfied with its contents.

"Your highness's most devoted servant,

"In the Bastile, as elsewhere,

"Comte de Rochefort.

The duke, who had latterly been allowed a fire, burned the
letter, but kept the ball, and went to bed, hiding the ball
under his bolster. La Ramee entered; he smiled kindly on the
prisoner, for he was an excellent man and had taken a great
liking for the captive prince. He endeavored to cheer him up
in his solitude.

"Ah, my friend!" cried the duke, "you are so good; if I
could but do as you do, and eat pates and drink Burgundy at
the house of Father Marteau's successor."

"'Tis true, my lord," answered La Ramee, "that his pates are
famous and his wine magnificent."

"In any case," said the duke, "his cellar and kitchen might
easily excel those of Monsieur de Chavigny."

"Well, my lord," said La Ramee, falling into the trap, "what
is there to prevent your trying them? Besides, I have
promised him your patronage."

"You are right," said the duke. "If I am to remain here
permanently, as Monsieur Mazarin has kindly given me to
understand, I must provide myself with a diversion for my
old age, I must turn gourmand."

"My lord," said La Ramee, "if you will take a bit of good
advice, don't put that off till you are old."

"Good!" said the Duc de Beaufort to himself, "every man in
order that he may lose his heart and soul, must receive from
celestial bounty one of the seven capital sins, perhaps two;
it seems that Master La Ramee's is gluttony. Let us then
take advantage of it." Then, aloud:

"Well, my dear La Ramee! the day after to-morrow is a
holiday."

"Yes, my lord -- Pentecost."

"Will you give me a lesson the day after to-morrow?"

"In what?"

"In gastronomy?"

"Willingly, my lord."

"But tete-a-tete. Send the guards to take their meal in the
canteen of Monsieur de Chavigny; we'll have a supper here
under your direction."

"Hum!" said La Ramee.

The proposal was seductive, but La Ramee was an old stager,
acquainted with all the traps a prisoner was likely to set.
Monsieur de Beaufort had said that he had forty ways of
getting out of prison. Did this proposed breakfast cover
some stratagem? He reflected, but he remembered that he
himself would have charge of the food and the wine and
therefore that no powder could be mixed with the food, no
drug with the wine. As to getting him drunk, the duke
couldn't hope to do that, and he laughed at the mere thought
of it. Then an idea came to him which harmonized everything.

The duke had followed with anxiety La Ramee's unspoken
soliloquy, reading it from point to point upon his face. But
presently the exempt's face suddenly brightened.

"Well," he asked, "that will do, will it not?"

"Yes, my lord, on one condition."

"What?"

"That Grimaud shall wait on us at table."

Nothing could be more agreeable to the duke, however, he had
presence of mind enough to exclaim:

"To the devil with your Grimaud! He will spoil the feast."

"I will direct him to stand behind your chair, and since he
doesn't speak, your highness will neither see nor hear him
and with a little effort can imagine him a hundred miles
away."

"Do you know, my friend, I find one thing very evident in
all this, you distrust me."

"My lord, the day after to-morrow is Pentecost."

"Well, what is Pentecost to me? Are you afraid that the Holy
Spirit will come as a tongue of fire to open the doors of my
prison?"

"No, my lord; but I have already told you what that damned
magician predicted."