The three musketeers
street at opposite ends, one having to quit Paris by the Barrière de la
Villette and the other by the Barrière Montmartre, to meet again beyond
St. Denis—a strategic maneuver which, having been executed with equal
punctuality, was crowned with the most fortunate results. D’Artagnan
and Planchet entered Pierrefitte together.
Planchet was more courageous, it must be admitted, by day than by
night. His natural prudence, however, never forsook him for a single
instant. He had forgotten not one of the incidents of the first
journey, and he looked upon everybody he met on the road as an enemy.
It followed that his hat was forever in his hand, which procured him
some severe reprimands from D’Artagnan, who feared that his excess of
politeness would lead people to think he was the lackey of a man of no
consequence.
Nevertheless, whether the passengers were really touched by the
urbanity of Planchet or whether this time nobody was posted on the
young man’s road, our two travelers arrived at Chantilly without any
accident, and alighted at the tavern of Great St. Martin, the same at
which they had stopped on their first journey.
The host, on seeing a young man followed by a lackey with two extra
horses, advanced respectfully to the door. Now, as they had already
traveled eleven leagues, D’Artagnan thought it time to stop, whether
Porthos were or were not in the inn. Perhaps it would not be prudent to
ask at once what had become of the Musketeer. The result of these
reflections was that D’Artagnan, without asking information of any
kind, alighted, commended the horses to the care of his lackey, entered
a small room destined to receive those who wished to be alone, and
desired the host to bring him a bottle of his best wine and as good a
breakfast as possible—a desire which further corroborated the high
opinion the innkeeper had formed of the traveler at first sight.
D’Artagnan was therefore served with miraculous celerity. The regiment
of the Guards was recruited among the first gentlemen of the kingdom;
and D’Artagnan, followed by a lackey, and traveling with four
magnificent horses, despite the simplicity of his uniform, could not
fail to make a sensation. The host desired himself to serve him; which
D’Artagnan perceiving, ordered two glasses to be brought, and commenced
the following conversation.
“My faith, my good host,” said D’Artagnan, filling the two glasses, “I
asked for a bottle of your best wine, and if you have deceived me, you
will be punished in what you have sinned; for seeing that I hate
drinking by myself, you shall drink with me. Take your glass, then, and
let us drink. But what shall we drink to, so as to avoid wounding any
susceptibility? Let us drink to the prosperity of your establishment.”
“Your Lordship does me much honor,” said the host, “and I thank you
sincerely for your kind wish.”
“But don’t mistake,” said D’Artagnan, “there is more selfishness in my
toast than perhaps you may think—for it is only in prosperous
establishments that one is well received. In hôtels that do not
flourish, everything is in confusion, and the traveler is a victim to
the embarrassments of his host. Now, I travel a great deal,
particularly on this road, and I wish to see all innkeepers making a
fortune.”
“It seems to me,” said the host, “that this is not the first time I
have had the honor of seeing Monsieur.”
“Bah, I have passed perhaps ten times through Chantilly, and out of the
ten times I have stopped three or four times at your house at least.
Why I was here only ten or twelve days ago. I was conducting some
friends, Musketeers, one of whom, by the by, had a dispute with a
stranger—a man who sought a quarrel with him, for I don’t know what.”
“Exactly so,” said the host; “I remember it perfectly. It is not
Monsieur Porthos that your Lordship means?”
“Yes, that is my companion’s name. My God, my dear host, tell me if
anything has happened to him?”
“Your Lordship must have observed that he could not continue his
journey.”
“Why, to be sure, he promised to rejoin us, and we have seen nothing of
him.”
“He has done us the honor to remain here.”
“What, he had done you the honor to remain here?”
“Yes, monsieur, in this house; and we are even a little uneasy—”
“On what account?”
“Of certain expenses he has contracted.”
“Well, but whatever expenses he may have incurred, I am sure he is in a
condition to pay them.”
“Ah, monsieur, you infuse genuine balm into my blood. We have made
considerable advances; and this very morning the surgeon declared that
if Monsieur Porthos did not pay him, he should look to me, as it was I
who had sent for him.”
“Porthos is wounded, then?”
“I cannot tell you, monsieur.”
“What! You cannot tell me? Surely you ought to be able to tell me
better than any other person.”
“Yes; but in our situation we must not say all we know—particularly as
we have been warned that our ears should answer for our tongues.”
“Well, can I see Porthos?”
“Certainly, monsieur. Take the stairs on your right; go up the first
flight and knock at Number One. Only warn him that it is you.”
“Why should I do that?”
“Because, monsieur, some mischief might happen to you.”
“Of what kind, in the name of wonder?”
“Monsieur Porthos may imagine you belong to the house, and in a fit of
passion might run his sword through you or blow out your brains.”
“What have you done to him, then?”
“We have asked him for money.”
“The devil! Ah, I can understand that. It is a demand that Porthos
takes very ill when he is not in funds; but I know he must be so at
present.”
“We thought so, too, monsieur. As our house is carried on very
regularly, and we make out our bills every week, at the end of eight
days we presented our account; but it appeared we had chosen an unlucky
moment, for at the first word on the subject, he sent us to all the
devils. It is true he had been playing the day before.”
“Playing the day before! And with whom?”
“Lord, who can say, monsieur? With some gentleman who was traveling
this way, to whom he proposed a game of _lansquenet_.”
“That’s it, then, and the foolish fellow lost all he had?”
“Even to his horse, monsieur; for when the gentleman was about to set
out, we perceived that his lackey was saddling Monsieur Porthos’s
horse, as well as his master’s. When we observed this to him, he told
us all to trouble ourselves about our own business, as this horse
belonged to him. We also informed Monsieur Porthos of what was going
on; but he told us we were scoundrels to doubt a gentleman’s word, and
that as he had said the horse was his, it must be so.”
“That’s Porthos all over,” murmured D’Artagnan.
“Then,” continued the host, “I replied that as from the moment we
seemed not likely to come to a good understanding with respect to
payment, I hoped that he would have at least the kindness to grant the
favor of his custom to my brother host of the Golden Eagle; but
Monsieur Porthos replied that, my house being the best, he should
remain where he was. This reply was too flattering to allow me to
insist on his departure. I confined myself then to begging him to give
up his chamber, which is the handsomest in the hôtel, and to be
satisfied with a pretty little room on the third floor; but to this
Monsieur Porthos replied that as he every moment expected his mistress,
who was one of the greatest ladies in the court, I might easily
comprehend that the chamber he did me the honor to occupy in my house
was itself very mean for the visit of such a personage. Nevertheless,
while acknowledging the truth of what he said, I thought proper to
insist; but without even giving himself the trouble to enter into any
discussion with me, he took one of his pistols, laid it on his table,
day and night, and said that at the first word that should be spoken to
him about removing, either within the house or out of it, he would blow
out the brains of the person who should be so imprudent as to meddle
with a matter which only concerned himself. Since that time, monsieur,
nobody entered his chamber but his servant.”
“What! Mousqueton is here, then?”
“Oh, yes, monsieur. Five days after your departure, he came back, and
in a very bad condition, too. It appears that he had met with
disagreeableness, likewise, on his journey. Unfortunately, he is more
nimble than his master; so that for the sake of his master, he puts us
all under his feet, and as he thinks we might refuse what he asked for,
he takes all he wants without asking at all.”
“The fact is,” said D’Artagnan, “I have always observed a great degree
of intelligence and devotedness in Mousqueton.”
“That is possible, monsieur; but suppose I should happen to be brought
in contact, even four times a year, with such intelligence and
devotedness—why, I should be a ruined man!”
“No, for Porthos will pay you.”
“Hum!” said the host, in a doubtful tone.
“The favorite of a great lady will not be allowed to be inconvenienced
for such a paltry sum as he owes you.”
“If I durst say what I believe on that head—”
“What you believe?”
“I ought rather to say, what I know.”
“What you know?”
“And even what I am sure of.”
“And of what are you so sure?”
“I would say that I know this great lady.”
“You?”
“Yes; I.”
“And how do you know her?”
“Oh, monsieur, if I could believe I might trust in your discretion.”
“Speak! By the word of a gentleman, you shall have no cause to repent
of your confidence.”
“Well, monsieur, you understand that uneasiness makes us do many
things.”
“What have you done?”
“Oh, nothing which was not right in the character of a creditor.”
“Well?”
“Monsieur Porthos gave us a note for his duchess, ordering us to put it
in the post. This was before his servant came. As he could not leave
his chamber, it was necessary to charge us with this commission.”
“And then?”
“Instead of putting the letter in the post, which is never safe, I took
advantage of the journey of one of my lads to Paris, and ordered him to
convey the letter to this duchess himself. This was fulfilling the
intentions of Monsieur Porthos, who had desired us to be so careful of
this letter, was it not?”
“Nearly so.”
“Well, monsieur, do you know who this great lady is?”
“No; I have heard Porthos speak of her, that’s all.”
“Do you know who this pretended duchess is?
“I repeat to you, I don’t know her.”
“Why, she is the old wife of a procurator* of the Châtelet, monsieur,
named Madame Coquenard, who, although she is at least fifty, still
gives herself jealous airs. It struck me as very odd that a princess
should live in the Rue aux Ours.”
* Attorney
“But how do you know all this?”
“Because she flew into a great passion on receiving the letter, saying
that Monsieur Porthos was a weathercock, and that she was sure it was
for some woman he had received this wound.”
“Has he been wounded, then?”
“Oh, good Lord! What have I said?”
“You said that Porthos had received a sword cut.”
“Yes, but he has forbidden me so strictly to say so.”
“And why so.”
“Zounds, monsieur! Because he had boasted that he would perforate the
stranger with whom you left him in dispute; whereas the stranger, on
the contrary, in spite of all his rodomontades quickly threw him on his
back. As Monsieur Porthos is a very boastful man, he insists that
nobody shall know he has received this wound except the duchess, whom
he endeavored to interest by an account of his adventure.”
“It is a wound that confines him to his bed?”
“Ah, and a master stroke, too, I assure you. Your friend’s soul must
stick tight to his body.”
“Were you there, then?”
“Monsieur, I followed them from curiosity, so that I saw the combat
without the combatants seeing me.”
“And what took place?”