The three musketeers
made of his influence over Kitty was to try and find out what had
become of Mme. Bonacieux; but the poor girl swore upon the crucifix to
D’Artagnan that she was entirely ignorant on that head, her mistress
never admitting her into half her secrets—only she believed she could
say she was not dead.
As to the cause which was near making Milady lose her credit with the
cardinal, Kitty knew nothing about it; but this time D’Artagnan was
better informed than she was. As he had seen Milady on board a vessel
at the moment he was leaving England, he suspected that it was, almost
without a doubt, on account of the diamond studs.
But what was clearest in all this was that the true hatred, the
profound hatred, the inveterate hatred of Milady, was increased by his
not having killed her brother-in-law.
D’Artagnan came the next day to Milady’s, and finding her in a very
ill-humor, had no doubt that it was lack of an answer from M. de Wardes
that provoked her thus. Kitty came in, but Milady was very cross with
her. The poor girl ventured a glance at D’Artagnan which said, “See how
I suffer on your account!”
Toward the end of the evening, however, the beautiful lioness became
milder; she smilingly listened to the soft speeches of D’Artagnan, and
even gave him her hand to kiss.
D’Artagnan departed, scarcely knowing what to think, but as he was a
youth who did not easily lose his head, while continuing to pay his
court to Milady, he had framed a little plan in his mind.
He found Kitty at the gate, and, as on the preceding evening, went up
to her chamber. Kitty had been accused of negligence and severely
scolded. Milady could not at all comprehend the silence of the Comte de
Wardes, and she ordered Kitty to come at nine o’clock in the morning to
take a third letter.
D’Artagnan made Kitty promise to bring him that letter on the following
morning. The poor girl promised all her lover desired; she was mad.
Things passed as on the night before. D’Artagnan concealed himself in
his closet; Milady called, undressed, sent away Kitty, and shut the
door. As the night before, D’Artagnan did not return home till five
o’clock in the morning.
At eleven o’clock Kitty came to him. She held in her hand a fresh
billet from Milady. This time the poor girl did not even argue with
D’Artagnan; she gave it to him at once. She belonged body and soul to
her handsome soldier.
D’Artagnan opened the letter and read as follows:
This is the third time I have written to you to tell you that I love
you. Beware that I do not write to you a fourth time to tell you that I
detest you.
If you repent of the manner in which you have acted toward me, the
young girl who brings you this will tell you how a man of spirit
may obtain his pardon.
D’Artagnan colored and grew pale several times in reading this billet.
“Oh, you love her still,” said Kitty, who had not taken her eyes off
the young man’s countenance for an instant.
“No, Kitty, you are mistaken. I do not love her, but I will avenge
myself for her contempt.”
“Oh, yes, I know what sort of vengeance! You told me that!”
“What matters it to you, Kitty? You know it is you alone whom I love.”
“How can I know that?”
“By the scorn I will throw upon her.”
D’Artagnan took a pen and wrote:
MADAME, Until the present moment I could not believe that it was to me
your first two letters were addressed, so unworthy did I feel myself of
such an honor; besides, I was so seriously indisposed that I could not
in any case have replied to them.
But now I am forced to believe in the excess of your kindness,
since not only your letter but your servant assures me that I have
the good fortune to be beloved by you.
She has no occasion to teach me the way in which a man of spirit
may obtain his pardon. I will come and ask mine at eleven o’clock
this evening.
To delay it a single day would be in my eyes now to commit a fresh
offense.
From him whom you have rendered the happiest of men,
COMTE DE WARDES
This note was in the first place a forgery; it was likewise an
indelicacy. It was even, according to our present manners, something
like an infamous action; but at that period people did not manage
affairs as they do today. Besides, D’Artagnan from her own admission
knew Milady culpable of treachery in matters more important, and could
entertain no respect for her. And yet, notwithstanding this want of
respect, he felt an uncontrollable passion for this woman boiling in
his veins—passion drunk with contempt; but passion or thirst, as the
reader pleases.
D’Artagnan’s plan was very simple. By Kitty’s chamber he could gain
that of her mistress. He would take advantage of the first moment of
surprise, shame, and terror, to triumph over her. He might fail, but
something must be left to chance. In eight days the campaign would
open, and he would be compelled to leave Paris; D’Artagnan had no time
for a prolonged love siege.
“There,” said the young man, handing Kitty the letter sealed; “give
that to Milady. It is the count’s reply.”
Poor Kitty became as pale as death; she suspected what the letter
contained.
“Listen, my dear girl,” said D’Artagnan; “you cannot but perceive that
all this must end, some way or other. Milady may discover that you gave
the first billet to my lackey instead of to the count’s; that it is I
who have opened the others which ought to have been opened by de
Wardes. Milady will then turn you out of doors, and you know she is not
the woman to limit her vengeance.”
“Alas!” said Kitty, “for whom have I exposed myself to all that?”
“For me, I well know, my sweet girl,” said D’Artagnan. “But I am
grateful, I swear to you.”
“But what does this note contain?”
“Milady will tell you.”
“Ah, you do not love me!” cried Kitty, “and I am very wretched.”
To this reproach there is always one response which deludes women.
D’Artagnan replied in such a manner that Kitty remained in her great
delusion. Although she cried freely before deciding to transmit the
letter to her mistress, she did at last so decide, which was all
D’Artagnan wished. Finally he promised that he would leave her
mistress’s presence at an early hour that evening, and that when he
left the mistress he would ascend with the maid. This promise completed
poor Kitty’s consolation.
Chapter XXXIV.
IN WHICH THE EQUIPMENT OF ARAMIS AND PORTHOS IS TREATED OF
Since the four friends had been each in search of his equipments, there
had been no fixed meeting between them. They dined apart from one
another, wherever they might happen to be, or rather where they could.
Duty likewise on its part took a portion of that precious time which
was gliding away so rapidly—only they had agreed to meet once a week,
about one o’clock, at the residence of Athos, seeing that he, in
agreement with the vow he had formed, did not pass over the threshold
of his door.
This day of reunion was the same day as that on which Kitty came to
find D’Artagnan. Soon as Kitty left him, D’Artagnan directed his steps
toward the Rue Férou.
He found Athos and Aramis philosophizing. Aramis had some slight
inclination to resume the cassock. Athos, according to his system,
neither encouraged nor dissuaded him. Athos believed that everyone
should be left to his own free will. He never gave advice but when it
was asked, and even then he required to be asked twice.
“People, in general,” he said, “only ask advice not to follow it; or if
they do follow it, it is for the sake of having someone to blame for
having given it.”
Porthos arrived a minute after D’Artagnan. The four friends were
reunited.
The four countenances expressed four different feelings: that of
Porthos, tranquillity; that of D’Artagnan, hope; that of Aramis,
uneasiness; that of Athos, carelessness.
At the end of a moment’s conversation, in which Porthos hinted that a
lady of elevated rank had condescended to relieve him from his
embarrassment, Mousqueton entered. He came to request his master to
return to his lodgings, where his presence was urgent, as he piteously
said.
“Is it my equipment?”
“Yes and no,” replied Mousqueton.
“Well, but can’t you speak?”
“Come, monsieur.”
Porthos rose, saluted his friends, and followed Mousqueton. An instant
after, Bazin made his appearance at the door.
“What do you want with me, my friend?” said Aramis, with that mildness
of language which was observable in him every time that his ideas were
directed toward the Church.
“A man wishes to see Monsieur at home,” replied Bazin.
“A man! What man?”
“A mendicant.”
“Give him alms, Bazin, and bid him pray for a poor sinner.”
“This mendicant insists upon speaking to you, and pretends that you
will be very glad to see him.”
“Has he sent no particular message for me?”
“Yes. If Monsieur Aramis hesitates to come,” he said, “tell him I am
from Tours.”
“From Tours!” cried Aramis. “A thousand pardons, gentlemen; but no
doubt this man brings me the news I expected.” And rising also, he went
off at a quick pace. There remained Athos and D’Artagnan.
“I believe these fellows have managed their business. What do you
think, D’Artagnan?” said Athos.
“I know that Porthos was in a fair way,” replied D’Artagnan; “and as to
Aramis to tell you the truth, I have never been seriously uneasy on his
account. But you, my dear Athos—you, who so generously distributed the
Englishman’s pistoles, which were our legitimate property—what do you
mean to do?”
“I am satisfied with having killed that fellow, my boy, seeing that it
is blessed bread to kill an Englishman; but if I had pocketed his
pistoles, they would have weighed me down like a remorse.”
“Go to, my dear Athos; you have truly inconceivable ideas.”
“Let it pass. What do you think of Monsieur de Tréville telling me,
when he did me the honor to call upon me yesterday, that you associated
with the suspected English, whom the cardinal protects?”
“That is to say, I visit an Englishwoman—the one I named.”
“Oh, ay! the fair woman on whose account I gave you advice, which
naturally you took care not to adopt.”
“I gave you my reasons.”
“Yes; you look there for your outfit, I think you said.”
“Not at all. I have acquired certain knowledge that that woman was
concerned in the abduction of Madame Bonacieux.”
“Yes, I understand now: to find one woman, you court another. It is the
longest road, but certainly the most amusing.”
D’Artagnan was on the point of telling Athos all; but one consideration
restrained him. Athos was a gentleman, punctilious in points of honor;
and there were in the plan which our lover had devised for Milady, he
was sure, certain things that would not obtain the assent of this
Puritan. He was therefore silent; and as Athos was the least
inquisitive of any man on earth, D’Artagnan’s confidence stopped there.
We will therefore leave the two friends, who had nothing important to
say to each other, and follow Aramis.
Upon being informed that the person who wanted to speak to him came
from Tours, we have seen with what rapidity the young man followed, or
rather went before, Bazin; he ran without stopping from the Rue Férou
to the Rue de Vaugirard. On entering he found a man of short stature
and intelligent eyes, but covered with rags.
“You have asked for me?” said the Musketeer.
“I wish to speak with Monsieur Aramis. Is that your name, monsieur?”
“My very own. You have brought me something?”
“Yes, if you show me a certain embroidered handkerchief.”
“Here it is,” said Aramis, taking a small key from his breast and
opening a little ebony box inlaid with mother of pearl, “here it is.
Look.”
“That is right,” replied the mendicant; “dismiss your lackey.”