The three musketeers
“Pledge it, then; you can borrow at least a thousand crowns on it. With
that sum you can extricate yourself from your present difficulties; and
when you are full of money again, you can redeem it, and take it back
cleansed from its ancient stains, as it will have passed through the
hands of usurers.”
Athos smiled.
“You are a capital companion, D’Artagnan,” said he; “your never-failing
cheerfulness raises poor souls in affliction. Well, let us pledge the
ring, but upon one condition.”
“What?”
“That there shall be five hundred crowns for you, and five hundred
crowns for me.”
“Don’t dream it, Athos. I don’t need the quarter of such a sum—I who am
still only in the Guards—and by selling my saddles, I shall procure it.
What do I want? A horse for Planchet, that’s all. Besides, you forget
that I have a ring likewise.”
“To which you attach more value, it seems, than I do to mine; at least,
I have thought so.”
“Yes, for in any extreme circumstance it might not only extricate us
from some great embarrassment, but even a great danger. It is not only
a valuable diamond, but it is an enchanted talisman.”
“I don’t at all understand you, but I believe all you say to be true.
Let us return to my ring, or rather to yours. You shall take half the
sum that will be advanced upon it, or I will throw it into the Seine;
and I doubt, as was the case with Polycrates, whether any fish will be
sufficiently complaisant to bring it back to us.”
“Well, I will take it, then,” said D’Artagnan.
At this moment Grimaud returned, accompanied by Planchet; the latter,
anxious about his master and curious to know what had happened to him,
had taken advantage of the opportunity and brought the garments
himself.
D’Artagnan dressed himself, and Athos did the same. When the two were
ready to go out, the latter made Grimaud the sign of a man taking aim,
and the lackey immediately took down his musketoon, and prepared to
follow his master.
They arrived without accident at the Rue des Fossoyeurs. Bonacieux was
standing at the door, and looked at D’Artagnan hatefully.
“Make haste, dear lodger,” said he; “there is a very pretty girl
waiting for you upstairs; and you know women don’t like to be kept
waiting.”
“That’s Kitty!” said D’Artagnan to himself, and darted into the
passage.
Sure enough! Upon the landing leading to the chamber, and crouching
against the door, he found the poor girl, all in a tremble. As soon as
she perceived him, she cried, “You have promised your protection; you
have promised to save me from her anger. Remember, it is you who have
ruined me!”
“Yes, yes, to be sure, Kitty,” said D’Artagnan; “be at ease, my girl.
But what happened after my departure?”
“How can I tell!” said Kitty. “The lackeys were brought by the cries
she made. She was mad with passion. There exist no imprecations she did
not pour out against you. Then I thought she would remember it was
through my chamber you had penetrated hers, and that then she would
suppose I was your accomplice; so I took what little money I had and
the best of my things, and I got away.
“Poor dear girl! But what can I do with you? I am going away the day
after tomorrow.”
“Do what you please, Monsieur Chevalier. Help me out of Paris; help me
out of France!”
“I cannot take you, however, to the siege of La Rochelle,” said
D’Artagnan.
“No; but you can place me in one of the provinces with some lady of
your acquaintance—in your own country, for instance.”
“My dear little love! In my country the ladies do without chambermaids.
But stop! I can manage your business for you. Planchet, go and find
Aramis. Request him to come here directly. We have something very
important to say to him.”
“I understand,” said Athos; “but why not Porthos? I should have thought
that his duchess—”
“Oh, Porthos’s duchess is dressed by her husband’s clerks,” said
D’Artagnan, laughing. “Besides, Kitty would not like to live in the Rue
aux Ours. Isn’t it so, Kitty?”
“I do not care where I live,” said Kitty, “provided I am well
concealed, and nobody knows where I am.”
“Meanwhile, Kitty, when we are about to separate, and you are no longer
jealous of me—”
“Monsieur Chevalier, far off or near,” said Kitty, “I shall always love
you.”
“Where the devil will constancy niche itself next?” murmured Athos.
“And I, also,” said D’Artagnan, “I also. I shall always love you; be
sure of that. But now answer me. I attach great importance to the
question I am about to put to you. Did you never hear talk of a young
woman who was carried off one night?”
“There, now! Oh, Monsieur Chevalier, do you love that woman still?”
“No, no; it is one of my friends who loves her—Monsieur Athos, this
gentleman here.”
“I?” cried Athos, with an accent like that of a man who perceives he is
about to tread upon an adder.
“You, to be sure!” said D’Artagnan, pressing Athos’s hand. “You know
the interest we both take in this poor little Madame Bonacieux.
Besides, Kitty will tell nothing; will you, Kitty? You understand, my
dear girl,” continued D’Artagnan, “she is the wife of that frightful
baboon you saw at the door as you came in.”
“Oh, my God! You remind me of my fright! If he should have known me
again!”
“How? know you again? Did you ever see that man before?”
“He came twice to Milady’s.”
“That’s it. About what time?”
“Why, about fifteen or eighteen days ago.”
“Exactly so.”
“And yesterday evening he came again.”
“Yesterday evening?”
“Yes, just before you came.”
“My dear Athos, we are enveloped in a network of spies. And do you
believe he knew you again, Kitty?”
“I pulled down my hood as soon as I saw him, but perhaps it was too
late.”
“Go down, Athos—he mistrusts you less than me—and see if he be still at
his door.”
Athos went down and returned immediately.
“He has gone,” said he, “and the house door is shut.”
“He has gone to make his report, and to say that all the pigeons are at
this moment in the dovecot.”
“Well, then, let us all fly,” said Athos, “and leave nobody here but
Planchet to bring us news.”
“A minute. Aramis, whom we have sent for!”
“That’s true,” said Athos; “we must wait for Aramis.”
At that moment Aramis entered.
The matter was all explained to him, and the friends gave him to
understand that among all his high connections he must find a place for
Kitty.
Aramis reflected for a minute, and then said, coloring, “Will it be
really rendering you a service, D’Artagnan?”
“I shall be grateful to you all my life.”
“Very well. Madame de Bois-Tracy asked me, for one of her friends who
resides in the provinces, I believe, for a trustworthy maid. If you
can, my dear D’Artagnan, answer for Mademoiselle—”
“Oh, monsieur, be assured that I shall be entirely devoted to the
person who will give me the means of quitting Paris.”
“Then,” said Aramis, “this falls out very well.”
He placed himself at the table and wrote a little note which he sealed
with a ring, and gave the billet to Kitty.
“And now, my dear girl,” said D’Artagnan, “you know that it is not good
for any of us to be here. Therefore let us separate. We shall meet
again in better days.”
“And whenever we find each other, in whatever place it may be,” said
Kitty, “you will find me loving you as I love you today.”
“Dicers’ oaths!” said Athos, while D’Artagnan went to conduct Kitty
downstairs.
An instant afterward the three young men separated, agreeing to meet
again at four o’clock with Athos, and leaving Planchet to guard the
house.
Aramis returned home, and Athos and D’Artagnan busied themselves about
pledging the sapphire.
As the Gascon had foreseen, they easily obtained three hundred pistoles
on the ring. Still further, the Jew told them that if they would sell
it to him, as it would make a magnificent pendant for earrings, he
would give five hundred pistoles for it.
Athos and D’Artagnan, with the activity of two soldiers and the
knowledge of two connoisseurs, hardly required three hours to purchase
the entire equipment of the Musketeer. Besides, Athos was very easy,
and a noble to his fingers’ ends. When a thing suited him he paid the
price demanded, without thinking to ask for any abatement. D’Artagnan
would have remonstrated at this; but Athos put his hand upon his
shoulder, with a smile, and D’Artagnan understood that it was all very
well for such a little Gascon gentleman as himself to drive a bargain,
but not for a man who had the bearing of a prince. The Musketeer met
with a superb Andalusian horse, black as jet, nostrils of fire, legs
clean and elegant, rising six years. He examined him, and found him
sound and without blemish. They asked a thousand livres for him.
He might perhaps have been bought for less; but while D’Artagnan was
discussing the price with the dealer, Athos was counting out the money
on the table.
Grimaud had a stout, short Picard cob, which cost three hundred livres.
But when the saddle and arms for Grimaud were purchased, Athos had not
a sou left of his hundred and fifty pistoles. D’Artagnan offered his
friend a part of his share which he should return when convenient.
But Athos only replied to this proposal by shrugging his shoulders.
“How much did the Jew say he would give for the sapphire if he
purchased it?” said Athos.
“Five hundred pistoles.”
“That is to say, two hundred more—a hundred pistoles for you and a
hundred pistoles for me. Well, now, that would be a real fortune to us,
my friend; let us go back to the Jew’s again.”
“What! will you—”
“This ring would certainly only recall very bitter remembrances; then
we shall never be masters of three hundred pistoles to redeem it, so
that we really should lose two hundred pistoles by the bargain. Go and
tell him the ring is his, D’Artagnan, and bring back the two hundred
pistoles with you.”
“Reflect, Athos!”
“Ready money is needful for the present time, and we must learn how to
make sacrifices. Go, D’Artagnan, go; Grimaud will accompany you with
his musketoon.”
A half hour afterward, D’Artagnan returned with the two thousand
livres, and without having met with any accident.
It was thus Athos found at home resources which he did not expect.
Chapter XXXIX.
A VISION
At four o’clock the four friends were all assembled with Athos. Their
anxiety about their outfits had all disappeared, and each countenance
only preserved the expression of its own secret disquiet—for behind all
present happiness is concealed a fear for the future.
Suddenly Planchet entered, bringing two letters for D’Artagnan.
The one was a little billet, genteelly folded, with a pretty seal in
green wax on which was impressed a dove bearing a green branch.
The other was a large square epistle, resplendent with the terrible
arms of his Eminence the cardinal duke.
At the sight of the little letter the heart of D’Artagnan bounded, for
he believed he recognized the handwriting, and although he had seen
that writing but once, the memory of it remained at the bottom of his
heart.
He therefore seized the little epistle, and opened it eagerly.
“Be,” said the letter, “on Thursday next, at from six to seven o’clock
in the evening, on the road to Chaillot, and look carefully into the
carriages that pass; but if you have any consideration for your own
life or that of those who love you, do not speak a single word, do not
make a movement which may lead anyone to believe you have recognized
her who exposes herself to everything for the sake of seeing you but
for an instant.”
No signature.
“That’s a snare,” said Athos; “don’t go, D’Artagnan.”
“And yet,” replied D’Artagnan, “I think I recognize the writing.”
“It may be counterfeit,” said Athos. “Between six and seven o’clock the