The three musketeers
“A little town on the Lys; I shall only have to cross the river, and I
shall be in a foreign country.”
“Capital! but it is understood you will only cross the river in case of
danger.”
“That is well understood.”
“And in that case, how shall I know where you are?”
“You do not want your lackey?”
“Is he a sure man?”
“To the proof.”
“Give him to me. Nobody knows him. I will leave him at the place I
quit, and he will conduct you to me.”
“And you say you will wait for me at Armentières?”
“At Armentières.”
“Write that name on a bit of paper, lest I should forget it. There is
nothing compromising in the name of a town. Is it not so?”
“Eh, who knows? Never mind,” said Milady, writing the name on half a
sheet of paper; “I will compromise myself.”
“Well,” said Rochefort, taking the paper from Milady, folding it, and
placing it in the lining of his hat, “you may be easy. I will do as
children do, for fear of losing the paper—repeat the name along the
route. Now, is that all?”
“I believe so.”
“Let us see: Buckingham dead or grievously wounded; your conversation
with the cardinal overheard by the four Musketeers; Lord de Winter
warned of your arrival at Portsmouth; D’Artagnan and Athos to the
Bastille; Aramis the lover of Madame de Chevreuse; Porthos an ass;
Madame Bonacieux found again; to send you the chaise as soon as
possible; to place my lackey at your disposal; to make you out a victim
of the cardinal in order that the abbess may entertain no suspicion;
Armentières, on the banks of the Lys. Is that all, then?”
“In truth, my dear Chevalier, you are a miracle of memory. _A propos_,
add one thing—”
“What?”
“I saw some very pretty woods which almost touch the convent garden.
Say that I am permitted to walk in those woods. Who knows? Perhaps I
shall stand in need of a back door for retreat.”
“You think of everything.”
“And you forget one thing.”
“What?”
“To ask me if I want money.”
“That’s true. How much do you want?”
“All you have in gold.”
“I have five hundred pistoles, or thereabouts.”
“I have as much. With a thousand pistoles one may face everything.
Empty your pockets.”
“There.”
“Right. And you go—”
“In an hour—time to eat a morsel, during which I shall send for a post
horse.”
“Capital! Adieu, Chevalier.”
“Adieu, Countess.”
“Commend me to the cardinal.”
“Commend me to Satan.”
Milady and Rochefort exchanged a smile and separated. An hour afterward
Rochefort set out at a grand gallop; five hours after that he passed
through Arras.
Our readers already know how he was recognized by D’Artagnan, and how
that recognition by inspiring fear in the four Musketeers had given
fresh activity to their journey.
Chapter LXIII.
THE DROP OF WATER
Rochefort had scarcely departed when Mme. Bonacieux re-entered. She
found Milady with a smiling countenance.
“Well,” said the young woman, “what you dreaded has happened. This
evening, or tomorrow, the cardinal will send someone to take you away.”
“Who told you that, my dear?” asked Milady.
“I heard it from the mouth of the messenger himself.”
“Come and sit down close to me,” said Milady.
“Here I am.”
“Wait till I assure myself that nobody hears us.”
“Why all these precautions?”
“You shall know.”
Milady arose, went to the door, opened it, looked in the corridor, and
then returned and seated herself close to Mme. Bonacieux.
“Then,” said she, “he has well played his part.”
“Who has?”
“He who just now presented himself to the abbess as a messenger from
the cardinal.”
“It was, then, a part he was playing?”
“Yes, my child.”
“That man, then, was not—”
“That man,” said Milady, lowering her voice, “is my brother.”
“Your brother!” cried Mme. Bonacieux.
“No one must know this secret, my dear, but yourself. If you reveal it
to anyone in the world, I shall be lost, and perhaps yourself
likewise.”
“Oh, my God!”
“Listen. This is what has happened: My brother, who was coming to my
assistance to take me away by force if it were necessary, met with the
emissary of the cardinal, who was coming in search of me. He followed
him. At a solitary and retired part of the road he drew his sword, and
required the messenger to deliver up to him the papers of which he was
the bearer. The messenger resisted; my brother killed him.”
“Oh!” said Mme. Bonacieux, shuddering.
“Remember, that was the only means. Then my brother determined to
substitute cunning for force. He took the papers, and presented himself
here as the emissary of the cardinal, and in an hour or two a carriage
will come to take me away by the orders of his Eminence.”
“I understand. It is your brother who sends this carriage.”
“Exactly; but that is not all. That letter you have received, and which
you believe to be from Madame de Chevreuse—”
“Well?”
“It is a forgery.”
“How can that be?”
“Yes, a forgery; it is a snare to prevent your making any resistance
when they come to fetch you.”
“But it is D’Artagnan that will come.”
“Do not deceive yourself. D’Artagnan and his friends are detained at
the siege of La Rochelle.”
“How do you know that?”
“My brother met some emissaries of the cardinal in the uniform of
Musketeers. You would have been summoned to the gate; you would have
believed yourself about to meet friends; you would have been abducted,
and conducted back to Paris.”
“Oh, my God! My senses fail me amid such a chaos of iniquities. I feel,
if this continues,” said Mme. Bonacieux, raising her hands to her
forehead, “I shall go mad!”
“Stop—”
“What?”
“I hear a horse’s steps; it is my brother setting off again. I should
like to offer him a last salute. Come!”
Milady opened the window, and made a sign to Mme. Bonacieux to join
her. The young woman complied.
Rochefort passed at a gallop.
“Adieu, brother!” cried Milady.
The chevalier raised his head, saw the two young women, and without
stopping, waved his hand in a friendly way to Milady.
“The good George!” said she, closing the window with an expression of
countenance full of affection and melancholy. And she resumed her seat,
as if plunged in reflections entirely personal.
“Dear lady,” said Mme. Bonacieux, “pardon me for interrupting you; but
what do you advise me to do? Good heaven! You have more experience than
I have. Speak; I will listen.”
“In the first place,” said Milady, “it is possible I may be deceived,
and that D’Artagnan and his friends may really come to your
assistance.”
“Oh, that would be too much!” cried Mme. Bonacieux, “so much happiness
is not in store for me!”
“Then you comprehend it would be only a question of time, a sort of
race, which should arrive first. If your friends are the more speedy,
you are to be saved; if the satellites of the cardinal, you are lost.”
“Oh, yes, yes; lost beyond redemption! What, then, to do? What to do?”
“There would be a very simple means, very natural—”
“Tell me what!”
“To wait, concealed in the neighborhood, and assure yourself who are
the men who come to ask for you.”
“But where can I wait?”
“Oh, there is no difficulty in that. I shall stop and conceal myself a
few leagues hence until my brother can rejoin me. Well, I take you with
me; we conceal ourselves, and wait together.”
“But I shall not be allowed to go; I am almost a prisoner.”
“As they believe that I go in consequence of an order from the
cardinal, no one will believe you anxious to follow me.”
“Well?”
“Well! The carriage is at the door; you bid me adieu; you mount the
step to embrace me a last time; my brother’s servant, who comes to
fetch me, is told how to proceed; he makes a sign to the postillion,
and we set off at a gallop.”
“But D’Artagnan! D’Artagnan! if he comes?”
“Shall we not know it?”
“How?”
“Nothing easier. We will send my brother’s servant back to Béthune,
whom, as I told you, we can trust. He shall assume a disguise, and
place himself in front of the convent. If the emissaries of the
cardinal arrive, he will take no notice; if it is Monsieur d’Artagnan
and his friends, he will bring them to us.”
“He knows them, then?”
“Doubtless. Has he not seen Monsieur d’Artagnan at my house?”
“Oh, yes, yes; you are right. Thus all may go well—all may be for the
best; but we do not go far from this place?”
“Seven or eight leagues at the most. We will keep on the frontiers, for
instance; and at the first alarm we can leave France.”
“And what can we do there?”
“Wait.”
“But if they come?”
“My brother’s carriage will be here first.”
“If I should happen to be any distance from you when the carriage comes
for you—at dinner or supper, for instance?”
“Do one thing.”
“What is that?”
“Tell your good superior that in order that we may be as much together
as possible, you ask her permission to share my repast.”
“Will she permit it?”
“What inconvenience can it be?”
“Oh, delightful! In this way we shall not be separated for an instant.”
“Well, go down to her, then, to make your request. I feel my head a
little confused; I will take a turn in the garden.”
“Go; and where shall I find you?”
“Here, in an hour.”
“Here, in an hour. Oh, you are so kind, and I am so grateful!”
“How can I avoid interesting myself for one who is so beautiful and so
amiable? Are you not the beloved of one of my best friends?”
“Dear D’Artagnan! Oh, how he will thank you!”
“I hope so. Now, then, all is agreed; let us go down.”
“You are going into the garden?”
“Yes.”
“Go along this corridor, down a little staircase, and you are in it.”
“Excellent; thank you!”
And the two women parted, exchanging charming smiles.
Milady had told the truth—her head was confused, for her ill-arranged
plans clashed one another like chaos. She required to be alone that she
might put her thoughts a little into order. She saw vaguely the future;
but she stood in need of a little silence and quiet to give all her
ideas, as yet confused, a distinct form and a regular plan.
What was most pressing was to get Mme. Bonacieux away, and convey her
to a place of safety, and there, if matters required, make her a
hostage. Milady began to have doubts of the issue of this terrible
duel, in which her enemies showed as much perseverance as she did
animosity.
Besides, she felt as we feel when a storm is coming on—that this issue
was near, and could not fail to be terrible.
The principal thing for her, then, was, as we have said, to keep Mme.
Bonacieux in her power. Mme. Bonacieux was the very life of D’Artagnan.
This was more than his life, the life of the woman he loved; this was,
in case of ill fortune, a means of temporizing and obtaining good
conditions.
Now, this point was settled; Mme. Bonacieux, without any suspicion,
accompanied her. Once concealed with her at Armentières, it would be
easy to make her believe that D’Artagnan had not come to Béthune. In
fifteen days at most, Rochefort would be back; besides, during that
fifteen days she would have time to think how she could best avenge
herself on the four friends. She would not be weary, thank God! for she
should enjoy the sweetest pastime such events could accord a woman of
her character—perfecting a beautiful vengeance.
Revolving all this in her mind, she cast her eyes around her, and
arranged the topography of the garden in her head. Milady was like a
good general who contemplates at the same time victory and defeat, and
who is quite prepared, according to the chances of the battle, to march
forward or to beat a retreat.
At the end of an hour she heard a soft voice calling her; it was Mme.
Bonacieux’s. The good abbess had naturally consented to her request;
and as a commencement, they were to sup together.
On reaching the courtyard, they heard the noise of a carriage which