The three musketeers
a beaver hat with blue feathers, a surtout of gray-pearl velvet,
fastened with diamond clasps, and a petticoat of blue satin,
embroidered with silver. On her left shoulder sparkled the diamond
studs, on a bow of the same color as the plumes and the petticoat.
The king trembled with joy and the cardinal with vexation; although,
distant as they were from the queen, they could not count the studs.
The queen had them. The only question was, had she ten or twelve?
At that moment the violins sounded the signal for the ballet. The king
advanced toward Madame the President, with whom he was to dance, and
his Highness Monsieur with the queen. They took their places, and the
ballet began.
The king danced facing the queen, and every time he passed by her, he
devoured with his eyes those studs of which he could not ascertain the
number. A cold sweat covered the brow of the cardinal.
The ballet lasted an hour, and had sixteen _entrées_. The ballet ended
amid the applause of the whole assemblage, and everyone reconducted his
lady to her place; but the king took advantage of the privilege he had
of leaving his lady, to advance eagerly toward the queen.
“I thank you, madame,” said he, “for the deference you have shown to my
wishes, but I think you want two of the studs, and I bring them back to
you.”
With these words he held out to the queen the two studs the cardinal
had given him.
“How, sire?” cried the young queen, affecting surprise, “you are giving
me, then, two more: I shall have fourteen.”
In fact the king counted them, and the twelve studs were all on her
Majesty’s shoulder.
The king called the cardinal.
“What does this mean, Monsieur Cardinal?” asked the king in a severe
tone.
“This means, sire,” replied the cardinal, “that I was desirous of
presenting her Majesty with these two studs, and that not daring to
offer them myself, I adopted this means of inducing her to accept
them.”
“And I am the more grateful to your Eminence,” replied Anne of Austria,
with a smile that proved she was not the dupe of this ingenious
gallantry, “from being certain that these two studs alone have cost you
as much as all the others cost his Majesty.”
Then saluting the king and the cardinal, the queen resumed her way to
the chamber in which she had dressed, and where she was to take off her
costume.
The attention which we have been obliged to give, during the
commencement of the chapter, to the illustrious personages we have
introduced into it, has diverted us for an instant from him to whom
Anne of Austria owed the extraordinary triumph she had obtained over
the cardinal; and who, confounded, unknown, lost in the crowd gathered
at one of the doors, looked on at this scene, comprehensible only to
four persons—the king, the queen, his Eminence, and himself.
The queen had just regained her chamber, and D’Artagnan was about to
retire, when he felt his shoulder lightly touched. He turned and saw a
young woman, who made him a sign to follow her. The face of this young
woman was covered with a black velvet mask; but notwithstanding this
precaution, which was in fact taken rather against others than against
him, he at once recognized his usual guide, the light and intelligent
Mme. Bonacieux.
On the evening before, they had scarcely seen each other for a moment
at the apartment of the Swiss guard, Germain, whither D’Artagnan had
sent for her. The haste which the young woman was in to convey to the
queen the excellent news of the happy return of her messenger prevented
the two lovers from exchanging more than a few words. D’Artagnan
therefore followed Mme. Bonacieux moved by a double sentiment—love and
curiosity. All the way, and in proportion as the corridors became more
deserted, D’Artagnan wished to stop the young woman, seize her and gaze
upon her, were it only for a minute; but quick as a bird she glided
between his hands, and when he wished to speak to her, her finger
placed upon her mouth, with a little imperative gesture full of grace,
reminded him that he was under the command of a power which he must
blindly obey, and which forbade him even to make the slightest
complaint. At length, after winding about for a minute or two, Mme.
Bonacieux opened the door of a closet, which was entirely dark, and led
D’Artagnan into it. There she made a fresh sign of silence, and opened
a second door concealed by tapestry. The opening of this door disclosed
a brilliant light, and she disappeared.
D’Artagnan remained for a moment motionless, asking himself where he
could be; but soon a ray of light which penetrated through the chamber,
together with the warm and perfumed air which reached him from the same
aperture, the conversation of two of three ladies in language at once
respectful and refined, and the word “Majesty” several times repeated,
indicated clearly that he was in a closet attached to the queen’s
apartment. The young man waited in comparative darkness and listened.
The queen appeared cheerful and happy, which seemed to astonish the
persons who surrounded her and who were accustomed to see her almost
always sad and full of care. The queen attributed this joyous feeling
to the beauty of the fête, to the pleasure she had experienced in the
ballet; and as it is not permissible to contradict a queen, whether she
smile or weep, everybody expatiated on the gallantry of the aldermen of
the city of Paris.
Although D’Artagnan did not at all know the queen, he soon
distinguished her voice from the others, at first by a slightly foreign
accent, and next by that tone of domination naturally impressed upon
all royal words. He heard her approach and withdraw from the partially
open door; and twice or three times he even saw the shadow of a person
intercept the light.
At length a hand and an arm, surpassingly beautiful in their form and
whiteness, glided through the tapestry. D’Artagnan at once comprehended
that this was his recompense. He cast himself on his knees, seized the
hand, and touched it respectfully with his lips. Then the hand was
withdrawn, leaving in his an object which he perceived to be a ring.
The door immediately closed, and D’Artagnan found himself again in
complete obscurity.
D’Artagnan placed the ring on his finger, and again waited; it was
evident that all was not yet over. After the reward of his devotion,
that of his love was to come. Besides, although the ballet was danced,
the evening had scarcely begun. Supper was to be served at three, and
the clock of St. Jean had struck three quarters past two.
The sound of voices diminished by degrees in the adjoining chamber. The
company was then heard departing; then the door of the closet in which
D’Artagnan was, was opened, and Mme. Bonacieux entered.
“You at last?” cried D’Artagnan.
“Silence!” said the young woman, placing her hand upon his lips;
“silence, and go the same way you came!”
“But where and when shall I see you again?” cried D’Artagnan.
“A note which you will find at home will tell you. Begone, begone!”
At these words she opened the door of the corridor, and pushed
D’Artagnan out of the room. D’Artagnan obeyed like a child, without the
least resistance or objection, which proved that he was really in love.
Chapter XXIII.
THE RENDEZVOUS
D’Artagnan ran home immediately, and although it was three o’clock in
the morning and he had some of the worst quarters of Paris to traverse,
he met with no misadventure. Everyone knows that drunkards and lovers
have a protecting deity.
He found the door of his passage open, sprang up the stairs and knocked
softly in a manner agreed upon between him and his lackey. Planchet*,
whom he had sent home two hours before from the Hôtel de Ville, telling
him to sit up for him, opened the door for him.
* The reader may ask, “How came Planchet here?” when he was left “stiff
as a rush” in London. In the intervening time Buckingham perhaps sent
him to Paris, as he did the horses.
“Has anyone brought a letter for me?” asked D’Artagnan, eagerly.
“No one has _brought_ a letter, monsieur,” replied Planchet; “but one
has come of itself.”
“What do you mean, blockhead?”
“I mean to say that when I came in, although I had the key of your
apartment in my pocket, and that key had never quit me, I found a
letter on the green table cover in your bedroom.”
“And where is that letter?”
“I left it where I found it, monsieur. It is not natural for letters to
enter people’s houses in this manner. If the window had been open or
even ajar, I should think nothing of it; but, no—all was hermetically
sealed. Beware, monsieur; there is certainly some magic underneath.”
Meanwhile, the young man had darted in to his chamber, and opened the
letter. It was from Mme. Bonacieux, and was expressed in these terms:
“There are many thanks to be offered to you, and to be transmitted to
you. Be this evening about ten o’clock at St. Cloud, in front of the
pavilion which stands at the corner of the house of M. d’Estrées.—C.B.”
While reading this letter, D’Artagnan felt his heart dilated and
compressed by that delicious spasm which tortures and caresses the
hearts of lovers.
It was the first billet he had received; it was the first rendezvous
that had been granted him. His heart, swelled by the intoxication of
joy, felt ready to dissolve away at the very gate of that terrestrial
paradise called Love!
“Well, monsieur,” said Planchet, who had observed his master grow red
and pale successively, “did I not guess truly? Is it not some bad
affair?”
“You are mistaken, Planchet,” replied D’Artagnan; “and as a proof,
there is a crown to drink my health.”
“I am much obliged to Monsieur for the crown he has given me, and I
promise him to follow his instructions exactly; but it is not the less
true that letters which come in this way into shut-up houses—”
“Fall from heaven, my friend, fall from heaven.”
“Then Monsieur is satisfied?” asked Planchet.
“My dear Planchet, I am the happiest of men!”
“And I may profit by Monsieur’s happiness, and go to bed?”
“Yes, go.”
“May the blessings of heaven fall upon Monsieur! But it is not the less
true that that letter—”
And Planchet retired, shaking his head with an air of doubt, which the
liberality of D’Artagnan had not entirely effaced.
Left alone, D’Artagnan read and reread his billet. Then he kissed and
rekissed twenty times the lines traced by the hand of his beautiful
mistress. At length he went to bed, fell asleep, and had golden dreams.
At seven o’clock in the morning he arose and called Planchet, who at
the second summons opened the door, his countenance not yet quite freed
from the anxiety of the preceding night.
“Planchet,” said D’Artagnan, “I am going out for all day, perhaps. You
are, therefore, your own master till seven o’clock in the evening; but
at seven o’clock you must hold yourself in readiness with two horses.”
“There!” said Planchet. “We are going again, it appears, to have our
hides pierced in all sorts of ways.”
“You will take your musketoon and your pistols.”
“There, now! Didn’t I say so?” cried Planchet. “I was sure of it—the
cursed letter!”
“Don’t be afraid, you idiot; there is nothing in hand but a party of
pleasure.”
“Ah, like the charming journey the other day, when it rained bullets
and produced a crop of steel traps!”
“Well, if you are really afraid, Monsieur Planchet,” resumed
D’Artagnan, “I will go without you. I prefer traveling alone to having
a companion who entertains the least fear.”
“Monsieur does me wrong,” said Planchet; “I thought he had seen me at
work.”
“Yes, but I thought perhaps you had worn out all your courage the first
time.”
“Monsieur shall see that upon occasion I have some left; only I beg
Monsieur not to be too prodigal of it if he wishes it to last long.”