The three musketeers
but sincerity in her beautiful eyes, embraced her tenderly.
“Do that,” cried she, “and you will have saved my life, you will have
saved my honor!”
“Do not exaggerate the service I have the happiness to render your
Majesty. I have nothing to save for your Majesty; you are only the
victim of perfidious plots.”
“That is true, that is true, my child,” said the queen, “you are
right.”
“Give me then, that letter, madame; time presses.”
The queen ran to a little table, on which were ink, paper, and pens.
She wrote two lines, sealed the letter with her private seal, and gave
it to Mme. Bonacieux.
“And now,” said the queen, “we are forgetting one very necessary
thing.”
“What is that, madame?”
“Money.”
Mme. Bonacieux blushed.
“Yes, that is true,” said she, “and I will confess to your Majesty that
my husband—”
“Your husband has none. Is that what you would say?”
“He has some, but he is very avaricious; that is his fault.
Nevertheless, let not your Majesty be uneasy, we will find means.”
“And I have none, either,” said the queen. Those who have read the
_Memoirs_ of Mme. de Motteville will not be astonished at this reply.
“But wait a minute.”
Anne of Austria ran to her jewel case.
“Here,” said she, “here is a ring of great value, as I have been
assured. It came from my brother, the King of Spain. It is mine, and I
am at liberty to dispose of it. Take this ring; raise money with it,
and let your husband set out.”
“In an hour you shall be obeyed.”
“You see the address,” said the queen, speaking so low that Mme.
Bonacieux could hardly hear what she said, “To my Lord Duke of
Buckingham, London.”
“The letter shall be given to himself.”
“Generous girl!” cried Anne of Austria.
Mme. Bonacieux kissed the hands of the queen, concealed the paper in
the bosom of her dress, and disappeared with the lightness of a bird.
Ten minutes afterward she was at home. As she told the queen, she had
not seen her husband since his liberation; she was ignorant of the
change that had taken place in him with respect to the cardinal—a
change which had since been strengthened by two or three visits from
the Comte de Rochefort, who had become the best friend of Bonacieux,
and had persuaded him, without much trouble, that no culpable
sentiments had prompted the abduction of his wife, but that it was only
a political precaution.
She found M. Bonacieux alone; the poor man was recovering with
difficulty the order in his house, in which he had found most of the
furniture broken and the closets nearly emptied—justice not being one
of the three things which King Solomon names as leaving no traces of
their passage. As to the servant, she had run away at the moment of her
master’s arrest. Terror had had such an effect upon the poor girl that
she had never ceased walking from Paris till she reached Burgundy, her
native place.
The worthy mercer had, immediately upon re-entering his house, informed
his wife of his happy return, and his wife had replied by
congratulating him, and telling him that the first moment she could
steal from her duties should be devoted to paying him a visit.
This first moment had been delayed five days, which, under any other
circumstances, might have appeared rather long to M. Bonacieux; but he
had, in the visit he had made to the cardinal and in the visits
Rochefort had made him, ample subjects for reflection, and as everybody
knows, nothing makes time pass more quickly than reflection.
This was the more so because Bonacieux’s reflections were all
rose-colored. Rochefort called him his friend, his dear Bonacieux, and
never ceased telling him that the cardinal had a great respect for him.
The mercer fancied himself already on the high road to honors and
fortune.
On her side Mme. Bonacieux had also reflected; but, it must be
admitted, upon something widely different from ambition. In spite of
herself her thoughts constantly reverted to that handsome young man who
was so brave and appeared to be so much in love. Married at eighteen to
M. Bonacieux, having always lived among her husband’s friends—people
little capable of inspiring any sentiment whatever in a young woman
whose heart was above her position—Mme. Bonacieux had remained
insensible to vulgar seductions; but at this period the title of
gentleman had great influence with the citizen class, and D’Artagnan
was a gentleman. Besides, he wore the uniform of the Guards, which,
next to that of the Musketeers, was most admired by the ladies. He was,
we repeat, handsome, young, and bold; he spoke of love like a man who
did love and was anxious to be loved in return. There was certainly
enough in all this to turn a head only twenty-three years old, and Mme.
Bonacieux had just attained that happy period of life.
The couple, then, although they had not seen each other for eight days,
and during that time serious events had taken place in which both were
concerned, accosted each other with a degree of preoccupation.
Nevertheless, Bonacieux manifested real joy, and advanced toward his
wife with open arms. Madame Bonacieux presented her cheek to him.
“Let us talk a little,” said she.
“How!” said Bonacieux, astonished.
“Yes, I have something of the highest importance to tell you.”
“True,” said he, “and I have some questions sufficiently serious to put
to you. Describe to me your abduction, I pray you.”
“Oh, that’s of no consequence just now,” said Mme. Bonacieux.
“And what does it concern, then—my captivity?”
“I heard of it the day it happened; but as you were not guilty of any
crime, as you were not guilty of any intrigue, as you, in short, knew
nothing that could compromise yourself or anybody else, I attached no
more importance to that event than it merited.”
“You speak very much at your ease, madame,” said Bonacieux, hurt at the
little interest his wife showed in him. “Do you know that I was plunged
during a day and night in a dungeon of the Bastille?”
“Oh, a day and night soon pass away. Let us return to the object that
brings me here.”
“What, that which brings you home to me? Is it not the desire of seeing
a husband again from whom you have been separated for a week?” asked
the mercer, piqued to the quick.
“Yes, that first, and other things afterward.”
“Speak.”
“It is a thing of the highest interest, and upon which our future
fortune perhaps depends.”
“The complexion of our fortune has changed very much since I saw you,
Madame Bonacieux, and I should not be astonished if in the course of a
few months it were to excite the envy of many folks.”
“Yes, particularly if you follow the instructions I am about to give
you.”
“Me?”
“Yes, you. There is good and holy action to be performed, monsieur, and
much money to be gained at the same time.”
Mme. Bonacieux knew that in talking of money to her husband, she took
him on his weak side. But a man, were he even a mercer, when he had
talked for ten minutes with Cardinal Richelieu, is no longer the same
man.
“Much money to be gained?” said Bonacieux, protruding his lip.
“Yes, much.”
“About how much?”
“A thousand pistoles, perhaps.”
“What you demand of me is serious, then?”
“It is indeed.”
“What must be done?”
“You must go away immediately. I will give you a paper which you must
not part with on any account, and which you will deliver into the
proper hands.”
“And whither am I to go?”
“To London.”
“I go to London? Go to! You jest! I have no business in London.”
“But others wish that you should go there.”
“But who are those others? I warn you that I will never again work in
the dark, and that I will know not only to what I expose myself, but
for whom I expose myself.”
“An illustrious person sends you; an illustrious person awaits you. The
recompense will exceed your expectations; that is all I promise you.”
“More intrigues! Nothing but intrigues! Thank you, madame, I am aware
of them now; Monsieur Cardinal has enlightened me on that head.”
“The cardinal?” cried Mme. Bonacieux. “Have you seen the cardinal?”
“He sent for me,” answered the mercer, proudly.
“And you responded to his bidding, you imprudent man?”
“Well, I can’t say I had much choice of going or not going, for I was
taken to him between two guards. It is true also, that as I did not
then know his Eminence, if I had been able to dispense with the visit,
I should have been enchanted.”
“He ill-treated you, then; he threatened you?”
“He gave me his hand, and called me his friend. His friend! Do you hear
that, madame? I am the friend of the great cardinal!”
“Of the great cardinal!”
“Perhaps you would contest his right to that title, madame?”
“I would contest nothing; but I tell you that the favor of a minister
is ephemeral, and that a man must be mad to attach himself to a
minister. There are powers above his which do not depend upon a man or
the issue of an event; it is to these powers we should rally.”
“I am sorry for it, madame, but I acknowledge no other power but that
of the great man whom I have the honor to serve.”
“You serve the cardinal?”
“Yes, madame; and as his servant, I will not allow you to be concerned
in plots against the safety of the state, or to serve the intrigues of
a woman who is not French and who has a Spanish heart. Fortunately we
have the great cardinal; his vigilant eye watches over and penetrates
to the bottom of the heart.”
Bonacieux was repeating, word for word, a sentence which he had heard
from the Comte de Rochefort; but the poor wife, who had reckoned on her
husband, and who, in that hope, had answered for him to the queen, did
not tremble the less, both at the danger into which she had nearly cast
herself and at the helpless state to which she was reduced.
Nevertheless, knowing the weakness of her husband, and more
particularly his cupidity, she did not despair of bringing him round to
her purpose.
“Ah, you are a cardinalist, then, monsieur, are you?” cried she; “and
you serve the party of those who maltreat your wife and insult your
queen?”
“Private interests are as nothing before the interests of all. I am for
those who save the state,” said Bonacieux, emphatically.
“And what do you know about the state you talk of?” said Mme.
Bonacieux, shrugging her shoulders. “Be satisfied with being a plain,
straightforward citizen, and turn to that side which offers the most
advantages.”
“Eh, eh!” said Bonacieux, slapping a plump, round bag, which returned
of sound a money; “what do you think of this, Madame Preacher?”
“Whence comes that money?”
“You do not guess?”
“From the cardinal?”
“From him, and from my friend the Comte de Rochefort.”
“The Comte de Rochefort! Why, it was he who carried me off!”
“That may be, madame!”
“And you receive silver from that man?”
“Have you not said that that abduction was entirely political?”
“Yes; but that abduction had for its object the betrayal of my
mistress, to draw from me by torture confessions that might compromise
the honor, and perhaps the life, of my august mistress.”
“Madame,” replied Bonacieux, “your august mistress is a perfidious
Spaniard, and what the cardinal does is well done.”
“Monsieur,” said the young woman, “I know you to be cowardly,
avaricious, and foolish, but I never till now believed you infamous!”
“Madame,” said Bonacieux, who had never seen his wife in a passion, and
who recoiled before this conjugal anger, “madame, what do you say?”
“I say you are a miserable creature!” continued Mme. Bonacieux, who saw
she was regaining some little influence over her husband. “You meddle
with politics, do you—and still more, with cardinalist politics? Why,
you sell yourself, body and soul, to the demon, the devil, for money!”
“No, to the cardinal.”