The three musketeers
follows great catastrophes.
“I was not deceived,” said he; “here is Monsieur d’Artagnan; and you
are his friends, Messieurs Athos, Porthos, and Aramis.”
The persons whose names were thus pronounced looked at the stranger
with astonishment. It seemed to all three that they knew him.
“Gentlemen,” resumed the newcomer, “you are, as I am, in search of a
woman who,” added he, with a terrible smile, “must have passed this
way, for I see a corpse.”
The three friends remained mute—for although the voice as well as the
countenance reminded them of someone they had seen, they could not
remember under what circumstances.
“Gentlemen,” continued the stranger, “since you do not recognize a man
who probably owes his life to you twice, I must name myself. I am Lord
de Winter, brother-in-law of that _woman_.”
The three friends uttered a cry of surprise.
Athos rose, and offering him his hand, “Be welcome, my Lord,” said he,
“you are one of us.”
“I set out five hours after her from Portsmouth,” said Lord de Winter.
“I arrived three hours after her at Boulogne. I missed her by twenty
minutes at St. Omer. Finally, at Lilliers I lost all trace of her. I
was going about at random, inquiring of everybody, when I saw you
gallop past. I recognized Monsieur d’Artagnan. I called to you, but you
did not answer me; I wished to follow you, but my horse was too much
fatigued to go at the same pace with yours. And yet it appears, in
spite of all your diligence, you have arrived too late.”
“You see!” said Athos, pointing to Mme. Bonacieux dead, and to
D’Artagnan, whom Porthos and Aramis were trying to recall to life.
“Are they both dead?” asked Lord de Winter, sternly.
“No,” replied Athos, “fortunately Monsieur d’Artagnan has only
fainted.”
“Ah, indeed, so much the better!” said Lord de Winter.
At that moment D’Artagnan opened his eyes. He tore himself from the
arms of Porthos and Aramis, and threw himself like a madman on the
corpse of his mistress.
Athos rose, walked toward his friend with a slow and solemn step,
embraced him tenderly, and as he burst into violent sobs, he said to
him with his noble and persuasive voice, “Friend, be a man! Women weep
for the dead; men avenge them!”
“Oh, yes!” cried D’Artagnan, “yes! If it be to avenge her, I am ready
to follow you.”
Athos profited by this moment of strength which the hope of vengeance
restored to his unfortunate friend to make a sign to Porthos and Aramis
to go and fetch the superior.
The two friends met her in the corridor, greatly troubled and much
upset by such strange events; she called some of the nuns, who against
all monastic custom found themselves in the presence of five men.
“Madame,” said Athos, passing his arm under that of D’Artagnan, “we
abandon to your pious care the body of that unfortunate woman. She was
an angel on earth before being an angel in heaven. Treat her as one of
your sisters. We will return someday to pray over her grave.”
D’Artagnan concealed his face in the bosom of Athos, and sobbed aloud.
“Weep,” said Athos, “weep, heart full of love, youth, and life! Alas,
would I could weep like you!”
And he drew away his friend, as affectionate as a father, as consoling
as a priest, noble as a man who has suffered much.
All five, followed by their lackeys leading their horses, took their
way to the town of Béthune, whose outskirts they perceived, and stopped
before the first inn they came to.
“But,” said D’Artagnan, “shall we not pursue that woman?”
“Later,” said Athos. “I have measures to take.”
“She will escape us,” replied the young man; “she will escape us, and
it will be your fault, Athos.”
“I will be accountable for her,” said Athos.
D’Artagnan had so much confidence in the word of his friend that he
lowered his head, and entered the inn without reply.
Porthos and Aramis regarded each other, not understanding this
assurance of Athos.
Lord de Winter believed he spoke in this manner to soothe the grief of
D’Artagnan.
“Now, gentlemen,” said Athos, when he had ascertained there were five
chambers free in the hôtel, “let everyone retire to his own apartment.
D’Artagnan needs to be alone, to weep and to sleep. I take charge of
everything; be easy.”
“It appears, however,” said Lord de Winter, “if there are any measures
to take against the countess, it concerns me; she is my sister-in-law.”
“And me,” said Athos, “—she is my wife!”
D’Artagnan smiled—for he understood that Athos was sure of his
vengeance when he revealed such a secret. Porthos and Aramis looked at
each other, and grew pale. Lord de Winter thought Athos was mad.
“Now, retire to your chambers,” said Athos, “and leave me to act. You
must perceive that in my quality of a husband this concerns me. Only,
D’Artagnan, if you have not lost it, give me the paper which fell from
that man’s hat, upon which is written the name of the village of—”
“Ah,” said D’Artagnan, “I comprehend! that name written in her hand.”
“You see, then,” said Athos, “there is a god in heaven still!”
Chapter LXIV.
THE MAN IN THE RED CLOAK
The despair of Athos had given place to a concentrated grief which only
rendered more lucid the brilliant mental faculties of that
extraordinary man.
Possessed by one single thought—that of the promise he had made, and of
the responsibility he had taken—he retired last to his chamber, begged
the host to procure him a map of the province, bent over it, examined
every line traced upon it, perceived that there were four different
roads from Béthune to Armentières, and summoned the lackeys.
Planchet, Grimaud, Bazin, and Mousqueton presented themselves, and
received clear, positive, and serious orders from Athos.
They must set out the next morning at daybreak, and go to
Armentières—each by a different route. Planchet, the most intelligent
of the four, was to follow that by which the carriage had gone upon
which the four friends had fired, and which was accompanied, as may be
remembered, by Rochefort’s servant.
Athos set the lackeys to work first because, since these men had been
in the service of himself and his friends he had discovered in each of
them different and essential qualities. Then, lackeys who ask questions
inspire less mistrust than masters, and meet with more sympathy among
those to whom they address themselves. Besides, Milady knew the
masters, and did not know the lackeys; on the contrary, the lackeys
knew Milady perfectly.
All four were to meet the next day at eleven o’clock. If they had
discovered Milady’s retreat, three were to remain on guard; the fourth
was to return to Béthune in order to inform Athos and serve as a guide
to the four friends. These arrangements made, the lackeys retired.
Athos then arose from his chair, girded on his sword, enveloped himself
in his cloak, and left the hôtel. It was nearly ten o’clock. At ten
o’clock in the evening, it is well known, the streets in provincial
towns are very little frequented. Athos nevertheless was visibly
anxious to find someone of whom he could ask a question. At length he
met a belated passenger, went up to him, and spoke a few words to him.
The man he addressed recoiled with terror, and only answered the few
words of the Musketeer by pointing. Athos offered the man half a
pistole to accompany him, but the man refused.
Athos then plunged into the street the man had indicated with his
finger; but arriving at four crossroads, he stopped again, visibly
embarrassed. Nevertheless, as the crossroads offered him a better
chance than any other place of meeting somebody, he stood still. In a
few minutes a night watch passed. Athos repeated to him the same
question he had asked the first person he met. The night watch evinced
the same terror, refused, in his turn, to accompany Athos, and only
pointed with his hand to the road he was to take.
Athos walked in the direction indicated, and reached the suburb
situated at the opposite extremity of the city from that by which he
and his friends had entered it. There he again appeared uneasy and
embarrassed, and stopped for the third time.
Fortunately, a mendicant passed, who, coming up to Athos to ask
charity, Athos offered him half a crown to accompany him where he was
going. The mendicant hesitated at first, but at the sight of the piece
of silver which shone in the darkness he consented, and walked on
before Athos.
Arrived at the angle of a street, he pointed to a small house,
isolated, solitary, and dismal. Athos went toward the house, while the
mendicant, who had received his reward, left as fast as his legs could
carry him.
Athos went round the house before he could distinguish the door, amid
the red color in which the house was painted. No light appeared through
the chinks of the shutters; no noise gave reason to believe that it was
inhabited. It was dark and silent as the tomb.
Three times Athos knocked without receiving an answer. At the third
knock, however, steps were heard inside. The door at length was opened,
and a man appeared, of high stature, pale complexion, and black hair
and beard.
Athos and he exchanged some words in a low voice, then the tall man
made a sign to the Musketeer that he might come in. Athos immediately
profited by the permission, and the door was closed behind him.
The man whom Athos had come so far to seek, and whom he had found with
so much trouble, introduced him into his laboratory, where he was
engaged in fastening together with iron wire the dry bones of a
skeleton. All the frame was adjusted except the head, which lay on the
table.
All the rest of the furniture indicated that the dweller in this house
occupied himself with the study of natural science. There were large
bottles filled with serpents, ticketed according to their species;
dried lizards shone like emeralds set in great squares of black wood,
and bunches of wild odoriferous herbs, doubtless possessed of virtues
unknown to common men, were fastened to the ceiling and hung down in
the corners of the apartment. There was no family, no servant; the tall
man alone inhabited this house.
Athos cast a cold and indifferent glance upon the objects we have
described, and at the invitation of him whom he came to seek sat down
near him.
Then he explained to him the cause of his visit, and the service he
required of him. But scarcely had he expressed his request when the
unknown, who remained standing before the Musketeer, drew back with
signs of terror, and refused. Then Athos took from his pocket a small
paper, on which two lines were written, accompanied by a signature and
a seal, and presented them to him who had made too prematurely these
signs of repugnance. The tall man had scarcely read these lines, seen
the signature, and recognized the seal, when he bowed to denote that he
had no longer any objection to make, and that he was ready to obey.
Athos required no more. He arose, bowed, went out, returned by the same
way he came, re-entered the hôtel, and went to his apartment.
At daybreak D’Artagnan entered the chamber, and demanded what was to be
done.
“To wait,” replied Athos.
Some minutes after, the superior of the convent sent to inform the
Musketeers that the burial would take place at midday. As to the
poisoner, they had heard no tidings of her whatever, only that she must
have made her escape through the garden, on the sand of which her
footsteps could be traced, and the door of which had been found shut.
As to the key, it had disappeared.
At the hour appointed, Lord de Winter and the four friends repaired to
the convent; the bells tolled, the chapel was open, the grating of the
choir was closed. In the middle of the choir the body of the victim,
clothed in her novitiate dress, was exposed. On each side of the choir