The three musketeers
he was to stand as sentinel. Only, to alleviate the tediousness of the
duty, Athos allowed him to take a loaf, two cutlets, and a bottle of
wine.
“And now to table,” said Athos.
The four friends seated themselves on the ground with their legs
crossed like Turks, or even tailors.
“And now,” said D’Artagnan, “as there is no longer any fear of being
overheard, I hope you are going to let me into your secret.”
“I hope at the same time to procure you amusement and glory,
gentlemen,” said Athos. “I have induced you to take a charming
promenade; here is a delicious breakfast; and yonder are five hundred
persons, as you may see through the loopholes, taking us for heroes or
madmen—two classes of imbeciles greatly resembling each other.”
“But the secret!” said D’Artagnan.
“The secret is,” said Athos, “that I saw Milady last night.”
D’Artagnan was lifting a glass to his lips; but at the name of Milady,
his hand trembled so, that he was obliged to put the glass on the
ground again for fear of spilling the contents.”
“You saw your wi—”
“Hush!” interrupted Athos. “You forget, my dear, you forget that these
gentlemen are not initiated into my family affairs like yourself. I
have seen Milady.”
“Where?” demanded D’Artagnan.
“Within two leagues of this place, at the inn of the Red Dovecot.”
“In that case I am lost,” said D’Artagnan.
“Not so bad yet,” replied Athos; “for by this time she must have quit
the shores of France.”
D’Artagnan breathed again.
“But after all,” asked Porthos, “who is Milady?”
“A charming woman!” said Athos, sipping a glass of sparkling wine.
“Villainous host!” cried he, “he has given us Anjou wine instead of
champagne, and fancies we know no better! Yes,” continued he, “a
charming woman, who entertained kind views toward our friend
D’Artagnan, who, on his part, has given her some offense for which she
tried to revenge herself a month ago by having him killed by two musket
shots, a week ago by trying to poison him, and yesterday by demanding
his head of the cardinal.”
“What! by demanding my head of the cardinal?” cried D’Artagnan, pale
with terror.
“Yes, that is true as the Gospel,” said Porthos; “I heard her with my
own ears.”
“I also,” said Aramis.
“Then,” said D’Artagnan, letting his arm fall with discouragement, “it
is useless to struggle longer. I may as well blow my brains out, and
all will be over.”
“That’s the last folly to be committed,” said Athos, “seeing it is the
only one for which there is no remedy.”
“But I can never escape,” said D’Artagnan, “with such enemies. First,
my stranger of Meung; then De Wardes, to whom I have given three sword
wounds; next Milady, whose secret I have discovered; finally, the
cardinal, whose vengeance I have balked.”
“Well,” said Athos, “that only makes four; and we are four—one for one.
_Pardieu!_ if we may believe the signs Grimaud is making, we are about
to have to do with a very different number of people. What is it,
Grimaud? Considering the gravity of the occasion, I permit you to
speak, my friend; but be laconic, I beg. What do you see?”
“A troop.”
“Of how many persons?”
“Twenty men.”
“What sort of men?”
“Sixteen pioneers, four soldiers.”
“How far distant?”
“Five hundred paces.”
“Good! We have just time to finish this fowl and to drink one glass of
wine to your health, D’Artagnan.”
“To your health!” repeated Porthos and Aramis.
“Well, then, to my health! although I am very much afraid that your
good wishes will not be of great service to me.”
“Bah!” said Athos, “God is great, as say the followers of Mohammed, and
the future is in his hands.”
Then, swallowing the contents of his glass, which he put down close to
him, Athos arose carelessly, took the musket next to him, and drew near
to one of the loopholes.
Porthos, Aramis and D’Artagnan followed his example. As to Grimaud, he
received orders to place himself behind the four friends in order to
reload their weapons.
“_Pardieu!_” said Athos, “it was hardly worth while to distribute
ourselves for twenty fellows armed with pickaxes, mattocks, and
shovels. Grimaud had only to make them a sign to go away, and I am
convinced they would have left us in peace.”
“I doubt that,” replied D’Artagnan, “for they are advancing very
resolutely. Besides, in addition to the pioneers, there are four
soldiers and a brigadier, armed with muskets.”
“That’s because they don’t see us,” said Athos.
“My faith,” said Aramis, “I must confess I feel a great repugnance to
fire on these poor devils of civilians.”
“He is a bad priest,” said Porthos, “who has pity for heretics.”
“In truth,” said Athos, “Aramis is right. I will warn them.”
“What the devil are you going to do?” cried D’Artagnan, “you will be
shot.”
But Athos heeded not his advice. Mounting on the breach, with his
musket in one hand and his hat in the other, he said, bowing
courteously and addressing the soldiers and the pioneers, who,
astonished at this apparition, stopped fifty paces from the bastion:
“Gentlemen, a few friends and myself are about to breakfast in this
bastion. Now, you know nothing is more disagreeable than being
disturbed when one is at breakfast. We request you, then, if you really
have business here, to wait till we have finished our repast, or to
come again a short time hence; unless, which would be far better, you
form the salutary resolution to quit the side of the rebels, and come
and drink with us to the health of the King of France.”
“Take care, Athos!” cried D’Artagnan; “don’t you see they are aiming?”
“Yes, yes,” said Athos; “but they are only civilians—very bad marksmen,
who will be sure not to hit me.”
In fact, at the same instant four shots were fired, and the balls were
flattened against the wall around Athos, but not one touched him.
Four shots replied to them almost instantaneously, but much better
aimed than those of the aggressors; three soldiers fell dead, and one
of the pioneers was wounded.
“Grimaud,” said Athos, still on the breach, “another musket!”
Grimaud immediately obeyed. On their part, the three friends had
reloaded their arms; a second discharge followed the first. The
brigadier and two pioneers fell dead; the rest of the troop took to
flight.
“Now, gentlemen, a _sortie!_” cried Athos.
And the four friends rushed out of the fort, gained the field of
battle, picked up the four muskets of the privates and the half-pike of
the brigadier, and convinced that the fugitives would not stop till
they reached the city, turned again toward the bastion, bearing with
them the trophies of their victory.
“Reload the muskets, Grimaud,” said Athos, “and we, gentlemen, will go
on with our breakfast, and resume our conversation. Where were we?”
“I recollect you were saying,” said D’Artagnan, “that after having
demanded my head of the cardinal, Milady had quit the shores of France.
Whither goes she?” added he, strongly interested in the route Milady
followed.
“She goes into England,” said Athos.
“With what view?”
“With the view of assassinating, or causing to be assassinated, the
Duke of Buckingham.”
D’Artagnan uttered an exclamation of surprise and indignation.
“But this is infamous!” cried he.
“As to that,” said Athos, “I beg you to believe that I care very little
about it. Now you have done, Grimaud, take our brigadier’s half-pike,
tie a napkin to it, and plant it on top of our bastion, that these
rebels of Rochellais may see that they have to deal with brave and
loyal soldiers of the king.”
Grimaud obeyed without replying. An instant afterward, the white flag
was floating over the heads of the four friends. A thunder of applause
saluted its appearance; half the camp was at the barrier.
“How?” replied D’Artagnan, “you care little if she kills Buckingham or
causes him to be killed? But the duke is our friend.”
“The duke is English; the duke fights against us. Let her do what she
likes with the duke; I care no more about him than an empty bottle.”
And Athos threw fifteen paces from him an empty bottle from which he
had poured the last drop into his glass.
“A moment,” said D’Artagnan. “I will not abandon Buckingham thus. He
gave us some very fine horses.”
“And moreover, very handsome saddles,” said Porthos, who at the moment
wore on his cloak the lace of his own.
“Besides,” said Aramis, “God desires the conversion and not the death
of a sinner.”
“Amen!” said Athos, “and we will return to that subject later, if such
be your pleasure; but what for the moment engaged my attention most
earnestly, and I am sure you will understand me, D’Artagnan, was the
getting from this woman a kind of _carte blanche_ which she had
extorted from the cardinal, and by means of which she could with
impunity get rid of you and perhaps of us.”
“But this creature must be a demon!” said Porthos, holding out his
plate to Aramis, who was cutting up a fowl.
“And this _carte blanche_,” said D’Artagnan, “this _carte blanche_,
does it remain in her hands?”
“No, it passed into mine; I will not say without trouble, for if I did
I should tell a lie.”
“My dear Athos, I shall no longer count the number of times I am
indebted to you for my life.”
“Then it was to go to her that you left us?” said Aramis.
“Exactly.”
“And you have that letter of the cardinal?” said D’Artagnan.
“Here it is,” said Athos; and he took the invaluable paper from the
pocket of his uniform. D’Artagnan unfolded it with one hand, whose
trembling he did not even attempt to conceal, to read:
“Dec. 3, 1627
“It is by my order and for the good of the state that the bearer of
this has done what he has done.
“RICHELIEU”
“In fact,” said Aramis, “it is an absolution according to rule.”
“That paper must be torn to pieces,” said D’Artagnan, who fancied he
read in it his sentence of death.
“On the contrary,” said Athos, “it must be preserved carefully. I would
not give up this paper if covered with as many gold pieces.”
“And what will she do now?” asked the young man.
“Why,” replied Athos, carelessly, “she is probably going to write to
the cardinal that a damned Musketeer, named Athos, has taken her
safe-conduct from her by force; she will advise him in the same letter
to get rid of his two friends, Aramis and Porthos, at the same time.
The cardinal will remember that these are the same men who have often
crossed his path; and then some fine morning he will arrest D’Artagnan,
and for fear he should feel lonely, he will send us to keep him company
in the Bastille.”
“Go to! It appears to me you make dull jokes, my dear,” said Porthos.
“I do not jest,” said Athos.
“Do you know,” said Porthos, “that to twist that damned Milady’s neck
would be a smaller sin than to twist those of these poor devils of
Huguenots, who have committed no other crime than singing in French the
psalms we sing in Latin?”
“What says the abbé?” asked Athos, quietly.
“I say I am entirely of Porthos’s opinion,” replied Aramis.
“And I, too,” said D’Artagnan.
“Fortunately, she is far off,” said Porthos, “for I confess she would
worry me if she were here.”
“She worries me in England as well as in France,” said Athos.
“She worries me everywhere,” said D’Artagnan.
“But when you held her in your power, why did you not drown her,
strangle her, hang her?” said Porthos. “It is only the dead who do not
return.”
“You think so, Porthos?” replied the Musketeer, with a sad smile which
D’Artagnan alone understood.
“I have an idea,” said D’Artagnan.
“What is it?” said the Musketeers.
“To arms!” cried Grimaud.
The young men sprang up, and seized their muskets.
This time a small troop advanced, consisting of from twenty to
twenty-five men; but they were not pioneers, they were soldiers of the
garrison.