The three musketeers
retreat which resembled a flight.
On arriving at the angle of the trench which was to serve them as a
rampart, one of the Guardsmen fell. A ball had passed through his
breast. The other, who was safe and sound, continued his way toward the
camp.
D’Artagnan was not willing to abandon his companion thus, and stooped
to raise him and assist him in regaining the lines; but at this moment
two shots were fired. One ball struck the head of the already-wounded
guard, and the other flattened itself against a rock, after having
passed within two inches of D’Artagnan.
The young man turned quickly round, for this attack could not have come
from the bastion, which was hidden by the angle of the trench. The idea
of the two soldiers who had abandoned him occurred to his mind, and
with them he remembered the assassins of two evenings before. He
resolved this time to know with whom he had to deal, and fell upon the
body of his comrade as if he were dead.
He quickly saw two heads appear above an abandoned work within thirty
paces of him; they were the heads of the two soldiers. D’Artagnan had
not been deceived; these two men had only followed for the purpose of
assassinating him, hoping that the young man’s death would be placed to
the account of the enemy.
As he might be only wounded and might denounce their crime, they came
up to him with the purpose of making sure. Fortunately, deceived by
D’Artagnan’s trick, they neglected to reload their guns.
When they were within ten paces of him, D’Artagnan, who in falling had
taken care not to let go his sword, sprang up close to them.
The assassins comprehended that if they fled toward the camp without
having killed their man, they should be accused by him; therefore their
first idea was to join the enemy. One of them took his gun by the
barrel, and used it as he would a club. He aimed a terrible blow at
D’Artagnan, who avoided it by springing to one side; but by this
movement he left a passage free to the bandit, who darted off toward
the bastion. As the Rochellais who guarded the bastion were ignorant of
the intentions of the man they saw coming toward them, they fired upon
him, and he fell, struck by a ball which broke his shoulder.
Meantime D’Artagnan had thrown himself upon the other soldier,
attacking him with his sword. The conflict was not long; the wretch had
nothing to defend himself with but his discharged arquebus. The sword
of the Guardsman slipped along the barrel of the now-useless weapon,
and passed through the thigh of the assassin, who fell.
D’Artagnan immediately placed the point of his sword at his throat.
“Oh, do not kill me!” cried the bandit. “Pardon, pardon, my officer,
and I will tell you all.”
“Is your secret of enough importance to me to spare your life for it?”
asked the young man, withholding his arm.
“Yes; if you think existence worth anything to a man of twenty, as you
are, and who may hope for everything, being handsome and brave, as you
are.”
“Wretch,” cried D’Artagnan, “speak quickly! Who employed you to
assassinate me?”
“A woman whom I don’t know, but who is called Milady.”
“But if you don’t know this woman, how do you know her name?”
“My comrade knows her, and called her so. It was with him she agreed,
and not with me; he even has in his pocket a letter from that person,
who attaches great importance to you, as I have heard him say.”
“But how did you become concerned in this villainous affair?”
“He proposed to me to undertake it with him, and I agreed.”
“And how much did she give you for this fine enterprise?”
“A hundred louis.”
“Well, come!” said the young man, laughing, “she thinks I am worth
something. A hundred louis? Well, that was a temptation for two
wretches like you. I understand why you accepted it, and I grant you my
pardon; but upon one condition.”
“What is that?” said the soldier, uneasy at perceiving that all was not
over.
“That you will go and fetch me the letter your comrade has in his
pocket.”
“But,” cried the bandit, “that is only another way of killing me. How
can I go and fetch that letter under the fire of the bastion?”
“You must nevertheless make up your mind to go and get it, or I swear
you shall die by my hand.”
“Pardon, monsieur; pity! In the name of that young lady you love, and
whom you perhaps believe dead but who is not!” cried the bandit,
throwing himself upon his knees and leaning upon his hand—for he began
to lose his strength with his blood.
“And how do you know there is a young woman whom I love, and that I
believed that woman dead?” asked D’Artagnan.
“By that letter which my comrade has in his pocket.”
“You see, then,” said D’Artagnan, “that I must have that letter. So no
more delay, no more hesitation; or else whatever may be my repugnance
to soiling my sword a second time with the blood of a wretch like you,
I swear by my faith as an honest man—” and at these words D’Artagnan
made so fierce a gesture that the wounded man sprang up.
“Stop, stop!” cried he, regaining strength by force of terror. “I will
go—I will go!”
D’Artagnan took the soldier’s arquebus, made him go on before him, and
urged him toward his companion by pricking him behind with his sword.
It was a frightful thing to see this wretch, leaving a long track of
blood on the ground he passed over, pale with approaching death, trying
to drag himself along without being seen to the body of his accomplice,
which lay twenty paces from him.
Terror was so strongly painted on his face, covered with a cold sweat,
that D’Artagnan took pity on him, and casting upon him a look of
contempt, “Stop,” said he, “I will show you the difference between a
man of courage and such a coward as you. Stay where you are; I will go
myself.”
And with a light step, an eye on the watch, observing the movements of
the enemy and taking advantage of the accidents of the ground,
D’Artagnan succeeded in reaching the second soldier.
There were two means of gaining his object—to search him on the spot,
or to carry him away, making a buckler of his body, and search him in
the trench.
D’Artagnan preferred the second means, and lifted the assassin onto his
shoulders at the moment the enemy fired.
A slight shock, the dull noise of three balls which penetrated the
flesh, a last cry, a convulsion of agony, proved to D’Artagnan that the
would-be assassin had saved his life.
D’Artagnan regained the trench, and threw the corpse beside the wounded
man, who was as pale as death.
Then he began to search. A leather pocketbook, a purse, in which was
evidently a part of the sum which the bandit had received, with a dice
box and dice, completed the possessions of the dead man.
He left the box and dice where they fell, threw the purse to the
wounded man, and eagerly opened the pocketbook.
Among some unimportant papers he found the following letter, that which
he had sought at the risk of his life:
“Since you have lost sight of that woman and she is now in safety in
the convent, which you should never have allowed her to reach, try, at
least, not to miss the man. If you do, you know that my hand stretches
far, and that you shall pay very dearly for the hundred louis you have
from me.”
No signature. Nevertheless it was plain the letter came from Milady. He
consequently kept it as a piece of evidence, and being in safety behind
the angle of the trench, he began to interrogate the wounded man. He
confessed that he had undertaken with his comrade—the same who was
killed—to carry off a young woman who was to leave Paris by the
Barrière de La Villette; but having stopped to drink at a cabaret, they
had missed the carriage by ten minutes.
“But what were you to do with that woman?” asked D’Artagnan, with
anguish.
“We were to have conveyed her to a hôtel in the Place Royale,” said the
wounded man.
“Yes, yes!” murmured D’Artagnan; “that’s the place—Milady’s own
residence!”
Then the young man tremblingly comprehended what a terrible thirst for
vengeance urged this woman on to destroy him, as well as all who loved
him, and how well she must be acquainted with the affairs of the court,
since she had discovered all. There could be no doubt she owed this
information to the cardinal.
But amid all this he perceived, with a feeling of real joy, that the
queen must have discovered the prison in which poor Mme. Bonacieux was
explaining her devotion, and that she had freed her from that prison;
and the letter he had received from the young woman, and her passage
along the road of Chaillot like an apparition, were now explained.
Then also, as Athos had predicted, it became possible to find Mme.
Bonacieux, and a convent was not impregnable.
This idea completely restored clemency to his heart. He turned toward
the wounded man, who had watched with intense anxiety all the various
expressions of his countenance, and holding out his arm to him, said,
“Come, I will not abandon you thus. Lean upon me, and let us return to
the camp.”
“Yes,” said the man, who could scarcely believe in such magnanimity,
“but is it not to have me hanged?”
“You have my word,” said he; “for the second time I give you your
life.”
The wounded man sank upon his knees, to again kiss the feet of his
preserver; but D’Artagnan, who had no longer a motive for staying so
near the enemy, abridged the testimonials of his gratitude.
The Guardsman who had returned at the first discharge announced the
death of his four companions. They were therefore much astonished and
delighted in the regiment when they saw the young man come back safe
and sound.
D’Artagnan explained the sword wound of his companion by a _sortie_
which he improvised. He described the death of the other soldier, and
the perils they had encountered. This recital was for him the occasion
of veritable triumph. The whole army talked of this expedition for a
day, and Monsieur paid him his compliments upon it. Besides this, as
every great action bears its recompense with it, the brave exploit of
D’Artagnan resulted in the restoration of the tranquility he had lost.
In fact, D’Artagnan believed that he might be tranquil, as one of his
two enemies was killed and the other devoted to his interests.
This tranquillity proved one thing—that D’Artagnan did not yet know
Milady.
Chapter XLII.
THE ANJOU WINE
After the most disheartening news of the king’s health, a report of his
convalescence began to prevail in the camp; and as he was very anxious
to be in person at the siege, it was said that as soon as he could
mount a horse he would set forward.
Meantime, Monsieur, who knew that from one day to the other he might
expect to be removed from his command by the Duc d’Angoulême, by
Bassompierre, or by Schomberg, who were all eager for his post, did but
little, lost his days in wavering, and did not dare to attempt any
great enterprise to drive the English from the Isle of Ré, where they
still besieged the citadel St. Martin and the fort of La Prée, as on
their side the French were besieging La Rochelle.
D’Artagnan, as we have said, had become more tranquil, as always
happens after a past danger, particularly when the danger seems to have
vanished. He only felt one uneasiness, and that was at not hearing any
tidings from his friends.
But one morning at the commencement of the month of November everything
was explained to him by this letter, dated from Villeroy:
M. D’ARTAGNAN, MM. Athos, Porthos, and Aramis, after having had an
entertainment at my house and enjoying themselves very much, created
such a disturbance that the provost of the castle, a rigid man, has
ordered them to be confined for some days; but I accomplish the order
they have given me by forwarding to you a dozen bottles of my Anjou