The three musketeers
“You may even say, _My Lord_,” replied Athos, who stickled for
propriety.
“_My Lord, do you remember the little goat pasture of the Luxembourg?_”
“Good, _the Luxembourg!_ One might believe this is an allusion to the
queen-mother! That’s ingenious,” said Athos.
“Well, then, we will put simply, _My Lord, do you remember a certain
little enclosure where your life was spared?_”
“My dear D’Artagnan, you will never make anything but a very bad
secretary. _Where your life was spared!_ For shame! that’s unworthy. A
man of spirit is not to be reminded of such services. A benefit
reproached is an offense committed.”
“The devil!” said D’Artagnan, “you are insupportable. If the letter
must be written under your censure, my faith, I renounce the task.”
“And you will do right. Handle the musket and the sword, my dear
fellow. You will come off splendidly at those two exercises; but pass
the pen over to Monsieur Abbé. That’s his province.”
“Ay, ay!” said Porthos; “pass the pen to Aramis, who writes theses in
Latin.”
“Well, so be it,” said D’Artagnan. “Draw up this note for us, Aramis;
but by our Holy Father the Pope, cut it short, for I shall prune you in
my turn, I warn you.”
“I ask no better,” said Aramis, with that ingenious air of confidence
which every poet has in himself; “but let me be properly acquainted
with the subject. I have heard here and there that this sister-in-law
was a hussy. I have obtained proof of it by listening to her
conversation with the cardinal.”
“Lower! _sacré bleu!_” said Athos.
“But,” continued Aramis, “the details escape me.”
“And me also,” said Porthos.
D’Artagnan and Athos looked at each other for some time in silence. At
length Athos, after serious reflection and becoming more pale than
usual, made a sign of assent to D’Artagnan, who by it understood he was
at liberty to speak.
“Well, this is what you have to say,” said D’Artagnan: “_My Lord, your
sister-in-law is an infamous woman, who wished to have you killed that
she might inherit your wealth; but she could not marry your brother,
being already married in France, and having been_—” D’Artagnan stopped,
as if seeking for the word, and looked at Athos.
“Repudiated by her husband,” said Athos.
“Because she had been branded,” continued D’Artagnan.
“Bah!” cried Porthos. “Impossible! What do you say—that she wanted to
have her brother-in-law killed?”
“Yes.”
“She was married?” asked Aramis.
“Yes.”
“And her husband found out that she had a _fleur-de-lis_ on her
shoulder?” cried Porthos.
“Yes.”
These three _yeses_ had been pronounced by Athos, each with a sadder
intonation.
“And who has seen this _fleur-de-lis?_” inquired Aramis.
“D’Artagnan and I. Or rather, to observe the chronological order, I and
D’Artagnan,” replied Athos.
“And does the husband of this frightful creature still live?” said
Aramis.
“He still lives.”
“Are you quite sure of it?”
“I am he.”
There was a moment of cold silence, during which everyone was affected
according to his nature.
“This time,” said Athos, first breaking the silence, “D’Artagnan has
given us an excellent program, and the letter must be written at once.”
“The devil! You are right, Athos,” said Aramis; “and it is a rather
difficult matter. The chancellor himself would be puzzled how to write
such a letter, and yet the chancellor draws up an official report very
readily. Never mind! Be silent, I will write.”
Aramis accordingly took the quill, reflected for a few moments, wrote
eight or ten lines in a charming little female hand, and then with a
voice soft and slow, as if each word had been scrupulously weighed, he
read the following:
“My Lord, The person who writes these few lines had the honor of
crossing swords with you in the little enclosure of the Rue d’Enfer. As
you have several times since declared yourself the friend of that
person, he thinks it his duty to respond to that friendship by sending
you important information. Twice you have nearly been the victim of a
near relative, whom you believe to be your heir because you are
ignorant that before she contracted a marriage in England she was
already married in France. But the third time, which is the present,
you may succumb. Your relative left La Rochelle for England during the
night. Watch her arrival, for she has great and terrible projects. If
you require to know positively what she is capable of, read her past
history on her left shoulder.”
“Well, now that will do wonderfully well,” said Athos. “My dear Aramis,
you have the pen of a secretary of state. Lord de Winter will now be
upon his guard if the letter should reach him; and even if it should
fall into the hands of the cardinal, we shall not be compromised. But
as the lackey who goes may make us believe he has been to London and
may stop at Châtellerault, let us give him only half the sum promised
him, with the letter, with an agreement that he shall have the other
half in exchange for the reply. Have you the diamond?” continued Athos.
“I have what is still better. I have the price;” and D’Artagnan threw
the bag upon the table. At the sound of the gold Aramis raised his eyes
and Porthos started. As to Athos, he remained unmoved.
“How much in that little bag?”
“Seven thousand livres, in louis of twelve francs.”
“Seven thousand livres!” cried Porthos. “That poor little diamond was
worth seven thousand livres?”
“It appears so,” said Athos, “since here they are. I don’t suppose that
our friend D’Artagnan has added any of his own to the amount.”
“But, gentlemen, in all this,” said D’Artagnan, “we do not think of the
queen. Let us take some heed of the welfare of her dear Buckingham.
That is the least we owe her.”
“That’s true,” said Athos; “but that concerns Aramis.”
“Well,” replied the latter, blushing, “what must I say?”
“Oh, that’s simple enough!” replied Athos. “Write a second letter for
that clever personage who lives at Tours.”
Aramis resumed his pen, reflected a little, and wrote the following
lines, which he immediately submitted to the approbation of his
friends.
“_My dear cousin_.”
“Ah, ah!” said Athos. “This clever person is your relative, then?”
“Cousin-german.”
“Go on, to your cousin, then!”
Aramis continued:
“MY DEAR COUSIN, His Eminence, the cardinal, whom God preserve for the
happiness of France and the confusion of the enemies of the kingdom, is
on the point of putting an end to the hectic rebellion of La Rochelle.
It is probable that the succor of the English fleet will never even
arrive in sight of the place. I will even venture to say that I am
certain M. de Buckingham will be prevented from setting out by some
great event. His Eminence is the most illustrious politician of times
past, of times present, and probably of times to come. He would
extinguish the sun if the sun incommoded him. Give these happy tidings
to your sister, my dear cousin. I have dreamed that the unlucky
Englishman was dead. I cannot recollect whether it was by steel or by
poison; only of this I am sure, I have dreamed he was dead, and you
know my dreams never deceive me. Be assured, then, of seeing me soon
return.”
“Capital!” cried Athos; “you are the king of poets, my dear Aramis. You
speak like the Apocalypse, and you are as true as the Gospel. There is
nothing now to do but to put the address to this letter.”
“That is easily done,” said Aramis.
He folded the letter fancifully, and took up his pen and wrote:
“_To Mlle. Michon, seamstress, Tours_.”
The three friends looked at one another and laughed; they were caught.
“Now,” said Aramis, “you will please to understand, gentlemen, that
Bazin alone can carry this letter to Tours. My cousin knows nobody but
Bazin, and places confidence in nobody but him; any other person would
fail. Besides, Bazin is ambitious and learned; Bazin has read history,
gentlemen, he knows that Sixtus the Fifth became Pope after having kept
pigs. Well, as he means to enter the Church at the same time as myself,
he does not despair of becoming Pope in his turn, or at least a
cardinal. You can understand that a man who has such views will never
allow himself to be taken, or if taken, will undergo martyrdom rather
than speak.”
“Very well,” said D’Artagnan, “I consent to Bazin with all my heart,
but grant me Planchet. Milady had him one day turned out of doors, with
sundry blows of a good stick to accelerate his motions. Now, Planchet
has an excellent memory; and I will be bound that sooner than
relinquish any possible means of vengeance, he will allow himself to be
beaten to death. If your arrangements at Tours are your arrangements,
Aramis, those of London are mine. I request, then, that Planchet may be
chosen, more particularly as he has already been to London with me, and
knows how to speak correctly: _London, sir, if you please, and my
master, Lord D’Artagnan_. With that you may be satisfied he can make
his way, both going and returning.”
“In that case,” said Athos, “Planchet must receive seven hundred livres
for going, and seven hundred livres for coming back; and Bazin, three
hundred livres for going, and three hundred livres for returning—that
will reduce the sum to five thousand livres. We will each take a
thousand livres to be employed as seems good, and we will leave a fund
of a thousand livres under the guardianship of Monsieur Abbé here, for
extraordinary occasions or common wants. Will that do?”
“My dear Athos,” said Aramis, “you speak like Nestor, who was, as
everyone knows, the wisest among the Greeks.”
“Well, then,” said Athos, “it is agreed. Planchet and Bazin shall go.
Everything considered, I am not sorry to retain Grimaud; he is
accustomed to my ways, and I am particular. Yesterday’s affair must
have shaken him a little; his voyage would upset him quite.”
Planchet was sent for, and instructions were given him. The matter had
been named to him by D’Artagnan, who in the first place pointed out the
money to him, then the glory, and then the danger.
“I will carry the letter in the lining of my coat,” said Planchet; “and
if I am taken I will swallow it.”
“Well, but then you will not be able to fulfill your commission,” said
D’Artagnan.
“You will give me a copy this evening, which I shall know by heart
tomorrow.”
D’Artagnan looked at his friends, as if to say, “Well, what did I tell
you?”
“Now,” continued he, addressing Planchet, “you have eight days to get
an interview with Lord de Winter; you have eight days to return—in all
sixteen days. If, on the sixteenth day after your departure, at eight
o’clock in the evening you are not here, no money—even if it be but
five minutes past eight.”
“Then, monsieur,” said Planchet, “you must buy me a watch.”
“Take this,” said Athos, with his usual careless generosity, giving him
his own, “and be a good lad. Remember, if you talk, if you babble, if
you get drunk, you risk your master’s head, who has so much confidence
in your fidelity, and who answers for you. But remember, also, that if
by your fault any evil happens to D’Artagnan, I will find you, wherever
you may be, for the purpose of ripping up your belly.”
“Oh, monsieur!” said Planchet, humiliated by the suspicion, and
moreover, terrified at the calm air of the Musketeer.
“And I,” said Porthos, rolling his large eyes, “remember, I will skin
you alive.”
“Ah, monsieur!”
“And I,” said Aramis, with his soft, melodius voice, “remember that I
will roast you at a slow fire, like a savage.”
“Ah, monsieur!”
Planchet began to weep. We will not venture to say whether it was from
terror created by the threats or from tenderness at seeing four friends
so closely united.
D’Artagnan took his hand. “See, Planchet,” said he, “these gentlemen