The three musketeers
In fact, Bazin, curious to know what the mendicant could want with his
master, kept pace with him as well as he could, and arrived almost at
the same time he did; but his quickness was not of much use to him. At
the hint from the mendicant his master made him a sign to retire, and
he was obliged to obey.
Bazin gone, the mendicant cast a rapid glance around him in order to be
sure that nobody could either see or hear him, and opening his ragged
vest, badly held together by a leather strap, he began to rip the upper
part of his doublet, from which he drew a letter.
Aramis uttered a cry of joy at the sight of the seal, kissed the
superscription with an almost religious respect, and opened the
epistle, which contained what follows:
“My Friend, it is the will of fate that we should be still for some
time separated; but the delightful days of youth are not lost beyond
return. Perform your duty in camp; I will do mine elsewhere. Accept
that which the bearer brings you; make the campaign like a handsome
true gentleman, and think of me, who kisses tenderly your black eyes.
“Adieu; or rather, _au revoir_.”
The mendicant continued to rip his garments; and drew from amid his
rags a hundred and fifty Spanish double pistoles, which he laid down on
the table; then he opened the door, bowed, and went out before the
young man, stupefied by his letter, had ventured to address a word to
him.
Aramis then reperused the letter, and perceived a postscript:
PS. You may behave politely to the bearer, who is a count and a grandee
of Spain!
“Golden dreams!” cried Aramis. “Oh, beautiful life! Yes, we are young;
yes, we shall yet have happy days! My love, my blood, my life! all,
all, all, are thine, my adored mistress!”
And he kissed the letter with passion, without even vouchsafing a look
at the gold which sparkled on the table.
Bazin scratched at the door, and as Aramis had no longer any reason to
exclude him, he bade him come in.
Bazin was stupefied at the sight of the gold, and forgot that he came
to announce D’Artagnan, who, curious to know who the mendicant could
be, came to Aramis on leaving Athos.
Now, as D’Artagnan used no ceremony with Aramis, seeing that Bazin
forgot to announce him, he announced himself.
“The devil! my dear Aramis,” said D’Artagnan, “if these are the prunes
that are sent to you from Tours, I beg you will make my compliments to
the gardener who gathers them.”
“You are mistaken, friend D’Artagnan,” said Aramis, always on his
guard; “this is from my publisher, who has just sent me the price of
that poem in one-syllable verse which I began yonder.”
“Ah, indeed,” said D’Artagnan. “Well, your publisher is very generous,
my dear Aramis, that’s all I can say.”
“How, monsieur?” cried Bazin, “a poem sell so dear as that! It is
incredible! Oh, monsieur, you can write as much as you like; you may
become equal to Monsieur de Voiture and Monsieur de Benserade. I like
that. A poet is as good as an abbé. Ah! Monsieur Aramis, become a poet,
I beg of you.”
“Bazin, my friend,” said Aramis, “I believe you meddle with my
conversation.”
Bazin perceived he was wrong; he bowed and went out.
“Ah!” said D’Artagnan with a smile, “you sell your productions at their
weight in gold. You are very fortunate, my friend; but take care or you
will lose that letter which is peeping from your doublet, and which
also comes, no doubt, from your publisher.”
Aramis blushed to the eyes, crammed in the letter, and re-buttoned his
doublet.
“My dear D’Artagnan,” said he, “if you please, we will join our
friends; as I am rich, we will today begin to dine together again,
expecting that you will be rich in your turn.”
“My faith!” said D’Artagnan, with great pleasure. “It is long since we
have had a good dinner; and I, for my part, have a somewhat hazardous
expedition for this evening, and shall not be sorry, I confess, to
fortify myself with a few glasses of good old Burgundy.”
“Agreed, as to the old Burgundy; I have no objection to that,” said
Aramis, from whom the letter and the gold had removed, as by magic, his
ideas of conversion.
And having put three or four double pistoles into his pocket to answer
the needs of the moment, he placed the others in the ebony box, inlaid
with mother of pearl, in which was the famous handkerchief which served
him as a talisman.
The two friends repaired to Athos’s, and he, faithful to his vow of not
going out, took upon him to order dinner to be brought to them. As he
was perfectly acquainted with the details of gastronomy, D’Artagnan and
Aramis made no objection to abandoning this important care to him.
They went to find Porthos, and at the corner of the Rue Bac met
Mousqueton, who, with a most pitiable air, was driving before him a
mule and a horse.
D’Artagnan uttered a cry of surprise, which was not quite free from
joy.
“Ah, my yellow horse,” cried he. “Aramis, look at that horse!”
“Oh, the frightful brute!” said Aramis.
“Ah, my dear,” replied D’Artagnan, “upon that very horse I came to
Paris.”
“What, does Monsieur know this horse?” said Mousqueton.
“It is of an original color,” said Aramis; “I never saw one with such a
hide in my life.”
“I can well believe it,” replied D’Artagnan, “and that was why I got
three crowns for him. It must have been for his hide, for, _certes_,
the carcass is not worth eighteen livres. But how did this horse come
into your hands, Mousqueton?”
“Pray,” said the lackey, “say nothing about it, monsieur; it is a
frightful trick of the husband of our duchess!”
“How is that, Mousqueton?”
“Why, we are looked upon with a rather favorable eye by a lady of
quality, the Duchesse de—but, your pardon; my master has commanded me
to be discreet. She had forced us to accept a little souvenir, a
magnificent Spanish _genet_ and an Andalusian mule, which were
beautiful to look upon. The husband heard of the affair; on their way
he confiscated the two magnificent beasts which were being sent to us,
and substituted these horrible animals.”
“Which you are taking back to him?” said D’Artagnan.
“Exactly!” replied Mousqueton. “You may well believe that we will not
accept such steeds as these in exchange for those which had been
promised to us.”
“No, _pardieu;_ though I should like to have seen Porthos on my yellow
horse. That would give me an idea of how I looked when I arrived in
Paris. But don’t let us hinder you, Mousqueton; go and perform your
master’s orders. Is he at home?”
“Yes, monsieur,” said Mousqueton, “but in a very ill humor. Get up!”
He continued his way toward the Quai des Grands Augustins, while the
two friends went to ring at the bell of the unfortunate Porthos. He,
having seen them crossing the yard, took care not to answer, and they
rang in vain.
Meanwhile Mousqueton continued on his way, and crossing the Pont Neuf,
still driving the two sorry animals before him, he reached the Rue aux
Ours. Arrived there, he fastened, according to the orders of his
master, both horse and mule to the knocker of the procurator’s door;
then, without taking any thought for their future, he returned to
Porthos, and told him that his commission was completed.
In a short time the two unfortunate beasts, who had not eaten anything
since the morning, made such a noise in raising and letting fall the
knocker that the procurator ordered his errand boy to go and inquire in
the neighborhood to whom this horse and mule belonged.
Mme. Coquenard recognized her present, and could not at first
comprehend this restitution; but the visit of Porthos soon enlightened
her. The anger which fired the eyes of the Musketeer, in spite of his
efforts to suppress it, terrified his sensitive inamorata. In fact,
Mousqueton had not concealed from his master that he had met D’Artagnan
and Aramis, and that D’Artagnan in the yellow horse had recognized the
Béarnese pony upon which he had come to Paris, and which he had sold
for three crowns.
Porthos went away after having appointed a meeting with the
procurator’s wife in the cloister of St. Magloire. The procurator,
seeing he was going, invited him to dinner—an invitation which the
Musketeer refused with a majestic air.
Mme. Coquenard repaired trembling to the cloister of St. Magloire, for
she guessed the reproaches that awaited her there; but she was
fascinated by the lofty airs of Porthos.
All that which a man wounded in his self-love could let fall in the
shape of imprecations and reproaches upon the head of a woman Porthos
let fall upon the bowed head of the procurator’s wife.
“Alas,” said she, “I did all for the best! One of our clients is a
horsedealer; he owes money to the office, and is backward in his pay. I
took the mule and the horse for what he owed us; he assured me that
they were two noble steeds.”
“Well, madame,” said Porthos, “if he owed you more than five crowns,
your horsedealer is a thief.”
“There is no harm in trying to buy things cheap, Monsieur Porthos,”
said the procurator’s wife, seeking to excuse herself.
“No, madame; but they who so assiduously try to buy things cheap ought
to permit others to seek more generous friends.” And Porthos, turning
on his heel, made a step to retire.
“Monsieur Porthos! Monsieur Porthos!” cried the procurator’s wife. “I
have been wrong; I see it. I ought not to have driven a bargain when it
was to equip a cavalier like you.”
Porthos, without reply, retreated a second step. The procurator’s wife
fancied she saw him in a brilliant cloud, all surrounded by duchesses
and marchionesses, who cast bags of money at his feet.
“Stop, in the name of heaven, Monsieur Porthos!” cried she. “Stop, and
let us talk.”
“Talking with you brings me misfortune,” said Porthos.
“But, tell me, what do you ask?”
“Nothing; for that amounts to the same thing as if I asked you for
something.”
The procurator’s wife hung upon the arm of Porthos, and in the violence
of her grief she cried out, “Monsieur Porthos, I am ignorant of all
such matters! How should I know what a horse is? How should I know what
horse furniture is?”
“You should have left it to me, then, madame, who know what they are;
but you wished to be frugal, and consequently to lend at usury.”
“It was wrong, Monsieur Porthos; but I will repair that wrong, upon my
word of honor.”
“How so?” asked the Musketeer.
“Listen. This evening M. Coquenard is going to the house of the Duc de
Chaulnes, who has sent for him. It is for a consultation, which will
last three hours at least. Come! We shall be alone, and can make up our
accounts.”
“In good time. Now you talk, my dear.”
“You pardon me?”
“We shall see,” said Porthos, majestically; and the two separated
saying, “Till this evening.”
“The devil!” thought Porthos, as he walked away, “it appears I am
getting nearer to Monsieur Coquenard’s strongbox at last.”
Chapter XXXV.
A GASCON A MATCH FOR CUPID
The evening so impatiently waited for by Porthos and by D’Artagnan at
last arrived.
As was his custom, D’Artagnan presented himself at Milady’s at about
nine o’clock. He found her in a charming humor. Never had he been so
well received. Our Gascon knew, by the first glance of his eye, that
his billet had been delivered, and that this billet had had its effect.
Kitty entered to bring some sherbet. Her mistress put on a charming
face, and smiled on her graciously; but alas! the poor girl was so sad
that she did not even notice Milady’s condescension.
D’Artagnan looked at the two women, one after the other, and was forced
to acknowledge that in his opinion Dame Nature had made a mistake in
their formation. To the great lady she had given a heart vile and
venal; to the _soubrette_ she had given the heart of a duchess.
At ten o’clock Milady began to appear restless. D’Artagnan knew what