The three musketeers
“Three? Marvelous! That falls out oddly! Three is just my number!”
“Now, then, who are you?” asked the Englishman.
“I am Monsieur d’Artagnan, a Gascon gentleman, serving in the king’s
Musketeers. And you?”
“I am Lord de Winter, Baron Sheffield.”
“Well, then, I am your servant, Monsieur Baron,” said D’Artagnan,
“though you have names rather difficult to recollect.” And touching his
horse with the spur, he cantered back to Paris. As he was accustomed to
do in all cases of any consequence, D’Artagnan went straight to the
residence of Athos.
He found Athos reclining upon a large sofa, where he was waiting, as he
said, for his outfit to come and find him. He related to Athos all that
had passed, except the letter to M. de Wardes.
Athos was delighted to find he was going to fight an Englishman. We
might say that was his dream.
They immediately sent their lackeys for Porthos and Aramis, and on
their arrival made them acquainted with the situation.
Porthos drew his sword from the scabbard, and made passes at the wall,
springing back from time to time, and making contortions like a dancer.
Aramis, who was constantly at work at his poem, shut himself up in
Athos’s closet, and begged not to be disturbed before the moment of
drawing swords.
Athos, by signs, desired Grimaud to bring another bottle of wine.
D’Artagnan employed himself in arranging a little plan, of which we
shall hereafter see the execution, and which promised him some
agreeable adventure, as might be seen by the smiles which from time to
time passed over his countenance, whose thoughtfulness they animated.
Chapter XXXI.
ENGLISH AND FRENCH
The hour having come, they went with their four lackeys to a spot
behind the Luxembourg given up to the feeding of goats. Athos threw a
piece of money to the goatkeeper to withdraw. The lackeys were ordered
to act as sentinels.
A silent party soon drew near to the same enclosure, entered, and
joined the Musketeers. Then, according to foreign custom, the
presentations took place.
The Englishmen were all men of rank; consequently the odd names of
their adversaries were for them not only a matter of surprise, but of
annoyance.
“But after all,” said Lord de Winter, when the three friends had been
named, “we do not know who you are. We cannot fight with such names;
they are names of shepherds.”
“Therefore your lordship may suppose they are only assumed names,” said
Athos.
“Which only gives us a greater desire to know the real ones,” replied
the Englishman.
“You played very willingly with us without knowing our names,” said
Athos, “by the same token that you won our horses.”
“That is true, but we then only risked our pistoles; this time we risk
our blood. One plays with anybody; but one fights only with equals.”
“And that is but just,” said Athos, and he took aside the one of the
four Englishmen with whom he was to fight, and communicated his name in
a low voice.
Porthos and Aramis did the same.
“Does that satisfy you?” said Athos to his adversary. “Do you find me
of sufficient rank to do me the honor of crossing swords with me?”
“Yes, monsieur,” said the Englishman, bowing.
“Well! now shall I tell you something?” added Athos, coolly.
“What?” replied the Englishman.
“Why, that is that you would have acted much more wisely if you had not
required me to make myself known.”
“Why so?”
“Because I am believed to be dead, and have reasons for wishing nobody
to know I am living; so that I shall be obliged to kill you to prevent
my secret from roaming over the fields.”
The Englishman looked at Athos, believing that he jested, but Athos did
not jest the least in the world.
“Gentlemen,” said Athos, addressing at the same time his companions and
their adversaries, “are we ready?”
“Yes!” answered the Englishmen and the Frenchmen, as with one voice.
“On guard, then!” cried Athos.
Immediately eight swords glittered in the rays of the setting sun, and
the combat began with an animosity very natural between men twice
enemies.
Athos fenced with as much calmness and method as if he had been
practicing in a fencing school.
Porthos, abated, no doubt, of his too-great confidence by his adventure
of Chantilly, played with skill and prudence. Aramis, who had the third
canto of his poem to finish, behaved like a man in haste.
Athos killed his adversary first. He hit him but once, but as he had
foretold, that hit was a mortal one; the sword pierced his heart.
Second, Porthos stretched his upon the grass with a wound through his
thigh, As the Englishman, without making any further resistance, then
surrendered his sword, Porthos took him up in his arms and bore him to
his carriage.
Aramis pushed his so vigorously that after going back fifty paces, the
man ended by fairly taking to his heels, and disappeared amid the
hooting of the lackeys.
As to D’Artagnan, he fought purely and simply on the defensive; and
when he saw his adversary pretty well fatigued, with a vigorous side
thrust sent his sword flying. The baron, finding himself disarmed, took
two or three steps back, but in this movement his foot slipped and he
fell backward.
D’Artagnan was over him at a bound, and said to the Englishman,
pointing his sword to his throat, “I could kill you, my Lord, you are
completely in my hands; but I spare your life for the sake of your
sister.”
D’Artagnan was at the height of joy; he had realized the plan he had
imagined beforehand, whose picturing had produced the smiles we noted
upon his face.
The Englishman, delighted at having to do with a gentleman of such a
kind disposition, pressed D’Artagnan in his arms, and paid a thousand
compliments to the three Musketeers, and as Porthos’s adversary was
already installed in the carriage, and as Aramis’s had taken to his
heels, they had nothing to think about but the dead.
As Porthos and Aramis were undressing him, in the hope of finding his
wound not mortal, a large purse dropped from his clothes. D’Artagnan
picked it up and offered it to Lord de Winter.
“What the devil would you have me do with that?” said the Englishman.
“You can restore it to his family,” said D’Artagnan.
“His family will care much about such a trifle as that! His family will
inherit fifteen thousand louis a year from him. Keep the purse for your
lackeys.”
D’Artagnan put the purse into his pocket.
“And now, my young friend, for you will permit me, I hope, to give you
that name,” said Lord de Winter, “on this very evening, if agreeable to
you, I will present you to my sister, Milady Clarik, for I am desirous
that she should take you into her good graces; and as she is not in bad
odor at court, she may perhaps on some future day speak a word that
will not prove useless to you.”
D’Artagnan blushed with pleasure, and bowed a sign of assent.
At this time Athos came up to D’Artagnan.
“What do you mean to do with that purse?” whispered he.
“Why, I meant to pass it over to you, my dear Athos.”
“Me! why to me?”
“Why, you killed him! They are the spoils of victory.”
“I, the heir of an enemy!” said Athos; “for whom, then, do you take
me?”
“It is the custom in war,” said D’Artagnan, “why should it not be the
custom in a duel?”
“Even on the field of battle, I have never done that.”
Porthos shrugged his shoulders; Aramis by a movement of his lips
endorsed Athos.
“Then,” said D’Artagnan, “let us give the money to the lackeys, as Lord
de Winter desired us to do.”
“Yes,” said Athos; “let us give the money to the lackeys—not to our
lackeys, but to the lackeys of the Englishmen.”
Athos took the purse, and threw it into the hand of the coachman. “For
you and your comrades.”
This greatness of spirit in a man who was quite destitute struck even
Porthos; and this French generosity, repeated by Lord de Winter and his
friend, was highly applauded, except by MM. Grimaud, Bazin, Mousqueton
and Planchet.
Lord de Winter, on quitting D’Artagnan, gave him his sister’s address.
She lived in the Place Royale—then the fashionable quarter—at Number 6,
and he undertook to call and take D’Artagnan with him in order to
introduce him. D’Artagnan appointed eight o’clock at Athos’s residence.
This introduction to Milady Clarik occupied the head of our Gascon
greatly. He remembered in what a strange manner this woman had hitherto
been mixed up in his destiny. According to his conviction, she was some
creature of the cardinal, and yet he felt himself invincibly drawn
toward her by one of those sentiments for which we cannot account. His
only fear was that Milady would recognize in him the man of Meung and
of Dover. Then she knew that he was one of the friends of M. de
Tréville, and consequently, that he belonged body and soul to the king;
which would make him lose a part of his advantage, since when known to
Milady as he knew her, he played only an equal game with her. As to the
commencement of an intrigue between her and M. de Wardes, our
presumptuous hero gave but little heed to that, although the marquis
was young, handsome, rich, and high in the cardinal’s favor. It is not
for nothing we are but twenty years old, above all if we were born at
Tarbes.
D’Artagnan began by making his most splendid toilet, then returned to
Athos’s, and according to custom, related everything to him. Athos
listened to his projects, then shook his head, and recommended prudence
to him with a shade of bitterness.
“What!” said he, “you have just lost one woman, whom you call good,
charming, perfect; and here you are, running headlong after another.”
D’Artagnan felt the truth of this reproach.
“I loved Madame Bonacieux with my heart, while I only love Milady with
my head,” said he. “In getting introduced to her, my principal object
is to ascertain what part she plays at court.”
“The part she plays, _pardieu!_ It is not difficult to divine that,
after all you have told me. She is some emissary of the cardinal; a
woman who will draw you into a snare in which you will leave your
head.”
“The devil! my dear Athos, you view things on the dark side, methinks.”
“My dear fellow, I mistrust women. Can it be otherwise? I bought my
experience dearly—particularly fair women. Milady is fair, you say?”
“She has the most beautiful light hair imaginable!”
“Ah, my poor D’Artagnan!” said Athos.
“Listen to me! I want to be enlightened on a subject; then, when I
shall have learned what I desire to know, I will withdraw.”
“Be enlightened!” said Athos, phlegmatically.
Lord de Winter arrived at the appointed time; but Athos, being warned
of his coming, went into the other chamber. He therefore found
D’Artagnan alone, and as it was nearly eight o’clock he took the young
man with him.
An elegant carriage waited below, and as it was drawn by two excellent
horses, they were soon at the Place Royale.
Milady Clarik received D’Artagnan ceremoniously. Her hôtel was
remarkably sumptuous, and while the most part of the English had quit,
or were about to quit, France on account of the war, Milady had just
been laying out much money upon her residence; which proved that the
general measure which drove the English from France did not affect her.
“You see,” said Lord de Winter, presenting D’Artagnan to his sister, “a
young gentleman who has held my life in his hands, and who has not
abused his advantage, although we have been twice enemies, although it
was I who insulted him, and although I am an Englishman. Thank him,
then, madame, if you have any affection for me.”
Milady frowned slightly; a scarcely visible cloud passed over her brow,
and so peculiar a smile appeared upon her lips that the young man, who
saw and observed this triple shade, almost shuddered at it.
The brother did not perceive this; he had turned round to play with