The three musketeers
shadows, glided through the interior door into the passage, ascended
the stairs as quietly as possible, and entered D’Artagnan’s chambers.
Once there, for greater security, the young man barricaded the door.
They both approached the window, and through a slit in the shutter they
saw Bonacieux talking with a man in a cloak.
At sight of this man, D’Artagnan started, and half drawing his sword,
sprang toward the door.
It was the man of Meung.
“What are you going to do?” cried Mme. Bonacieux; “you will ruin us
all!”
“But I have sworn to kill that man!” said D’Artagnan.
“Your life is devoted from this moment, and does not belong to you. In
the name of the queen I forbid you to throw yourself into any peril
which is foreign to that of your journey.”
“And do you command nothing in your own name?”
“In my name,” said Mme. Bonacieux, with great emotion, “in my name I
beg you! But listen; they appear to be speaking of me.”
D’Artagnan drew near the window, and lent his ear.
M. Bonacieux had opened his door, and seeing the apartment, had
returned to the man in the cloak, whom he had left alone for an
instant.
“She is gone,” said he; “she must have returned to the Louvre.”
“You are sure,” replied the stranger, “that she did not suspect the
intentions with which you went out?”
“No,” replied Bonacieux, with a self-sufficient air, “she is too
superficial a woman.”
“Is the young Guardsman at home?”
“I do not think he is; as you see, his shutter is closed, and you can
see no light shine through the chinks of the shutters.”
“All the same, it is well to be certain.”
“How so?”
“By knocking at his door. Go.”
“I will ask his servant.”
Bonacieux re-entered the house, passed through the same door that had
afforded a passage for the two fugitives, went up to D’Artagnan’s door,
and knocked.
No one answered. Porthos, in order to make a greater display, had that
evening borrowed Planchet. As to D’Artagnan, he took care not to give
the least sign of existence.
The moment the hand of Bonacieux sounded on the door, the two young
people felt their hearts bound within them.
“There is nobody within,” said Bonacieux.
“Never mind. Let us return to your apartment. We shall be safer there
than in the doorway.”
“Ah, my God!” whispered Mme. Bonacieux, “we shall hear no more.”
“On the contrary,” said D’Artagnan, “we shall hear better.”
D’Artagnan raised the three or four boards which made his chamber
another ear of Dionysius, spread a carpet on the floor, went upon his
knees, and made a sign to Mme. Bonacieux to stoop as he did toward the
opening.
“You are sure there is nobody there?” said the stranger.
“I will answer for it,” said Bonacieux.
“And you think that your wife—”
“Has returned to the Louvre.”
“Without speaking to anyone but yourself?”
“I am sure of it.”
“That is an important point, do you understand?”
“Then the news I brought you is of value?”
“The greatest, my dear Bonacieux; I don’t conceal this from you.”
“Then the cardinal will be pleased with me?”
“I have no doubt of it.”
“The great cardinal!”
“Are you sure, in her conversation with you, that your wife mentioned
no names?”
“I think not.”
“She did not name Madame de Chevreuse, the Duke of Buckingham, or
Madame de Vernet?”
“No; she only told me she wished to send me to London to serve the
interests of an illustrious personage.”
“The traitor!” murmured Mme. Bonacieux.
“Silence!” said D’Artagnan, taking her hand, which, without thinking of
it, she abandoned to him.
“Never mind,” continued the man in the cloak; “you were a fool not to
have pretended to accept the mission. You would then be in present
possession of the letter. The state, which is now threatened, would be
safe, and you—”
“And I?”
“Well you—the cardinal would have given you letters of nobility.”
“Did he tell you so?”
“Yes, I know that he meant to afford you that agreeable surprise.”
“Be satisfied,” replied Bonacieux; “my wife adores me, and there is yet
time.”
“The ninny!” murmured Mme. Bonacieux.
“Silence!” said D’Artagnan, pressing her hand more closely.
“How is there still time?” asked the man in the cloak.
“I go to the Louvre; I ask for Mme. Bonacieux; I say that I have
reflected; I renew the affair; I obtain the letter, and I run directly
to the cardinal.”
“Well, go quickly! I will return soon to learn the result of your
trip.”
The stranger went out.
“Infamous!” said Mme. Bonacieux, addressing this epithet to her
husband.
“Silence!” said D’Artagnan, pressing her hand still more warmly.
A terrible howling interrupted these reflections of D’Artagnan and Mme.
Bonacieux. It was her husband, who had discovered the disappearance of
the moneybag, and was crying “Thieves!”
“Oh, my God!” cried Mme. Bonacieux, “he will rouse the whole quarter.”
Bonacieux called a long time; but as such cries, on account of their
frequency, brought nobody in the Rue des Fossoyeurs, and as lately the
mercer’s house had a bad name, finding that nobody came, he went out
continuing to call, his voice being heard fainter and fainter as he
went in the direction of the Rue du Bac.
“Now he is gone, it is your turn to get out,” said Mme. Bonacieux.
“Courage, my friend, but above all, prudence, and think what you owe to
the queen.”
“To her and to you!” cried D’Artagnan. “Be satisfied, beautiful
Constance. I shall become worthy of her gratitude; but shall I likewise
return worthy of your love?”
The young woman only replied by the beautiful glow which mounted to her
cheeks. A few seconds afterward D’Artagnan also went out enveloped in a
large cloak, which ill-concealed the sheath of a long sword.
Mme. Bonacieux followed him with her eyes, with that long, fond look
with which he had turned the angle of the street, she fell on her
knees, and clasping her hands, “Oh, my God,” cried she, “protect the
queen, protect me!”
Chapter XIX.
PLAN OF CAMPAIGN
D’Artagnan went straight to M. de Tréville’s. He had reflected that in
a few minutes the cardinal would be warned by this cursed stranger, who
appeared to be his agent, and he judged, with reason, he had not a
moment to lose.
The heart of the young man overflowed with joy. An opportunity
presented itself to him in which there would be at the same time glory
to be acquired, and money to be gained; and as a far higher
encouragement, it brought him into close intimacy with a woman he
adored. This chance did, then, for him at once more than he would have
dared to ask of Providence.
M. de Tréville was in his saloon with his habitual court of gentlemen.
D’Artagnan, who was known as a familiar of the house, went straight to
his office, and sent word that he wished to see him on something of
importance.
D’Artagnan had been there scarcely five minutes when M. de Tréville
entered. At the first glance, and by the joy which was painted on his
countenance, the worthy captain plainly perceived that something new
was on foot.
All the way along D’Artagnan had been consulting with himself whether
he should place confidence in M. de Tréville, or whether he should only
ask him to give him _carte blanche_ for some secret affair. But M. de
Tréville had always been so thoroughly his friend, had always been so
devoted to the king and queen, and hated the cardinal so cordially,
that the young man resolved to tell him everything.
“Did you ask for me, my good friend?” said M. de Tréville.
“Yes, monsieur,” said D’Artagnan, lowering his voice, “and you will
pardon me, I hope, for having disturbed you when you know the
importance of my business.”
“Speak, then, I am all attention.”
“It concerns nothing less,” said D’Artagnan, “than the honor, perhaps
the life of the queen.”
“What did you say?” asked M. de Tréville, glancing round to see if they
were surely alone, and then fixing his questioning look upon
D’Artagnan.
“I say, monsieur, that chance has rendered me master of a secret—”
“Which you will guard, I hope, young man, as your life.”
“But which I must impart to you, monsieur, for you alone can assist me
in the mission I have just received from her Majesty.”
“Is this secret your own?”
“No, monsieur; it is her Majesty’s.”
“Are you authorized by her Majesty to communicate it to me?”
“No, monsieur, for, on the contrary, I am desired to preserve the
profoundest mystery.”
“Why, then, are you about to betray it to me?”
“Because, as I said, without you I can do nothing; and I am afraid you
will refuse me the favor I come to ask if you do not know to what end I
ask it.”
“Keep your secret, young man, and tell me what you wish.”
“I wish you to obtain for me, from Monsieur Dessessart, leave of
absence for fifteen days.”
“When?”
“This very night.”
“You leave Paris?”
“I am going on a mission.”
“May you tell me whither?”
“To London.”
“Has anyone an interest in preventing your arrival there?”
“The cardinal, I believe, would give the world to prevent my success.”
“And you are going alone?”
“I am going alone.”
“In that case you will not get beyond Bondy. I tell you so, by the
faith of de Tréville.”
“How so?”
“You will be assassinated.”
“And I shall die in the performance of my duty.”
“But your mission will not be accomplished.”
“That is true,” replied D’Artagnan.
“Believe me,” continued Tréville, “in enterprises of this kind, in
order that one may arrive, four must set out.”
“Ah, you are right, monsieur,” said D’Artagnan; “but you know Athos,
Porthos, and Aramis, and you know if I can dispose of them.”
“Without confiding to them the secret which I am not willing to know?”
“We are sworn, once for all, to implicit confidence and devotedness
against all proof. Besides, you can tell them that you have full
confidence in me, and they will not be more incredulous than you.”
“I can send to each of them leave of absence for fifteen days, that is
all—to Athos, whose wound still makes him suffer, to go to the waters
of Forges; to Porthos and Aramis to accompany their friend, whom they
are not willing to abandon in such a painful condition. Sending their
leave of absence will be proof enough that I authorize their journey.”
“Thanks, monsieur. You are a hundred times too good.”
“Begone, then, find them instantly, and let all be done tonight! Ha!
But first write your request to Dessessart. Perhaps you had a spy at
your heels; and your visit, if it should ever be known to the cardinal,
will thus seem legitimate.”
D’Artagnan drew up his request, and M. de Tréville, on receiving it,
assured him that by two o’clock in the morning the four leaves of
absence should be at the respective domiciles of the travelers.
“Have the goodness to send mine to Athos’s residence. I should dread
some disagreeable encounter if I were to go home.”
“Be easy. Adieu, and a prosperous voyage. _A propos_,” said M. de
Tréville, calling him back.
D’Artagnan returned.
“Have you any money?”
D’Artagnan tapped the bag he had in his pocket.
“Enough?” asked M. de Tréville.
“Three hundred pistoles.”
“Oh, plenty! That would carry you to the end of the world. Begone,
then!”
D’Artagnan saluted M. de Tréville, who held out his hand to him;
D’Artagnan pressed it with a respect mixed with gratitude. Since his
first arrival at Paris, he had had constant occasion to honor this
excellent man, whom he had always found worthy, loyal, and great.
His first visit was to Aramis, at whose residence he had not been since
the famous evening on which he had followed Mme. Bonacieux. Still
further, he had seldom seen the young Musketeer; but every time he had
seen him, he had remarked a deep sadness imprinted on his countenance.
This evening, especially, Aramis was melancholy and thoughtful.