The three musketeers
speaking to himself with all the amenity that he thought due himself,
“if you escape, of which there is not much chance, I would advise you
to practice perfect politeness for the future. You must henceforth be
admired and quoted as a model of it. To be obliging and polite does not
necessarily make a man a coward. Look at Aramis, now; Aramis is
mildness and grace personified. Well, did anybody ever dream of calling
Aramis a coward? No, certainly not, and from this moment I will
endeavor to model myself after him. Ah! That’s strange! Here he is!”
D’Artagnan, walking and soliloquizing, had arrived within a few steps
of the hôtel d’Arguillon and in front of that hôtel perceived Aramis,
chatting gaily with three gentlemen; but as he had not forgotten that
it was in presence of this young man that M. de Tréville had been so
angry in the morning, and as a witness of the rebuke the Musketeers had
received was not likely to be at all agreeable, he pretended not to see
him. D’Artagnan, on the contrary, quite full of his plans of
conciliation and courtesy, approached the young men with a profound
bow, accompanied by a most gracious smile. All four, besides,
immediately broke off their conversation.
D’Artagnan was not so dull as not to perceive that he was one too many;
but he was not sufficiently broken into the fashions of the gay world
to know how to extricate himself gallantly from a false position, like
that of a man who begins to mingle with people he is scarcely
acquainted with and in a conversation that does not concern him. He was
seeking in his mind, then, for the least awkward means of retreat, when
he remarked that Aramis had let his handkerchief fall, and by mistake,
no doubt, had placed his foot upon it. This appeared to be a favorable
opportunity to repair his intrusion. He stooped, and with the most
gracious air he could assume, drew the handkerchief from under the foot
of the Musketeer in spite of the efforts the latter made to detain it,
and holding it out to him, said, “I believe, monsieur, that this is a
handkerchief you would be sorry to lose?”
The handkerchief was indeed richly embroidered, and had a coronet and
arms at one of its corners. Aramis blushed excessively, and snatched
rather than took the handkerchief from the hand of the Gascon.
“Ah, ah!” cried one of the Guards, “will you persist in saying, most
discreet Aramis, that you are not on good terms with Madame de
Bois-Tracy, when that gracious lady has the kindness to lend you one of
her handkerchiefs?”
Aramis darted at D’Artagnan one of those looks which inform a man that
he has acquired a mortal enemy. Then, resuming his mild air, “You are
deceived, gentlemen,” said he, “this handkerchief is not mine, and I
cannot fancy why Monsieur has taken it into his head to offer it to me
rather than to one of you; and as a proof of what I say, here is mine
in my pocket.”
So saying, he pulled out his own handkerchief, likewise a very elegant
handkerchief, and of fine cambric—though cambric was dear at the
period—but a handkerchief without embroidery and without arms, only
ornamented with a single cipher, that of its proprietor.
This time D’Artagnan was not hasty. He perceived his mistake; but the
friends of Aramis were not at all convinced by his denial, and one of
them addressed the young Musketeer with affected seriousness. “If it
were as you pretend it is,” said he, “I should be forced, my dear
Aramis, to reclaim it myself; for, as you very well know, Bois-Tracy is
an intimate friend of mine, and I cannot allow the property of his wife
to be sported as a trophy.”
“You make the demand badly,” replied Aramis; “and while acknowledging
the justice of your reclamation, I refuse it on account of the form.”
“The fact is,” hazarded D’Artagnan, timidly, “I did not see the
handkerchief fall from the pocket of Monsieur Aramis. He had his foot
upon it, that is all; and I thought from having his foot upon it the
handkerchief was his.”
“And you were deceived, my dear sir,” replied Aramis, coldly, very
little sensible to the reparation. Then turning toward that one of the
guards who had declared himself the friend of Bois-Tracy, “Besides,”
continued he, “I have reflected, my dear intimate of Bois-Tracy, that I
am not less tenderly his friend than you can possibly be; so that
decidedly this handkerchief is as likely to have fallen from your
pocket as mine.”
“No, upon my honor!” cried his Majesty’s Guardsman.
“You are about to swear upon your honor and I upon my word, and then it
will be pretty evident that one of us will have lied. Now, here,
Montaran, we will do better than that—let each take a half.”
“Of the handkerchief?”
“Yes.”
“Perfectly just,” cried the other two Guardsmen, “the judgment of King
Solomon! Aramis, you certainly are full of wisdom!”
The young men burst into a laugh, and as may be supposed, the affair
had no other sequel. In a moment or two the conversation ceased, and
the three Guardsmen and the Musketeer, after having cordially shaken
hands, separated, the Guardsmen going one way and Aramis another.
“Now is my time to make peace with this gallant man,” said D’Artagnan
to himself, having stood on one side during the whole of the latter
part of the conversation; and with this good feeling drawing near to
Aramis, who was departing without paying any attention to him,
“Monsieur,” said he, “you will excuse me, I hope.”
“Ah, monsieur,” interrupted Aramis, “permit me to observe to you that
you have not acted in this affair as a gallant man ought.”
“What, monsieur!” cried D’Artagnan, “and do you suppose—”
“I suppose, monsieur, that you are not a fool, and that you knew very
well, although coming from Gascony, that people do not tread upon
handkerchiefs without a reason. What the devil! Paris is not paved with
cambric!”
“Monsieur, you act wrongly in endeavoring to mortify me,” said
D’Artagnan, in whom the natural quarrelsome spirit began to speak more
loudly than his pacific resolutions. “I am from Gascony, it is true;
and since you know it, there is no occasion to tell you that Gascons
are not very patient, so that when they have begged to be excused once,
were it even for a folly, they are convinced that they have done
already at least as much again as they ought to have done.”
“Monsieur, what I say to you about the matter,” said Aramis, “is not
for the sake of seeking a quarrel. Thank God, I am not a bravo! And
being a Musketeer but for a time, I only fight when I am forced to do
so, and always with great repugnance; but this time the affair is
serious, for here is a lady compromised by you.”
“By _us_, you mean!” cried D’Artagnan.
“Why did you so maladroitly restore me the handkerchief?”
“Why did you so awkwardly let it fall?”
“I have said, monsieur, and I repeat, that the handkerchief did not
fall from my pocket.”
“And thereby you have lied twice, monsieur, for I saw it fall.”
“Ah, you take it with that tone, do you, Master Gascon? Well, I will
teach you how to behave yourself.”
“And I will send you back to your Mass book, Master Abbé. Draw, if you
please, and instantly—”
“Not so, if you please, my good friend—not here, at least. Do you not
perceive that we are opposite the Hôtel d’Arguillon, which is full of
the cardinal’s creatures? How do I know that this is not his Eminence
who has honored you with the commission to procure my head? Now, I
entertain a ridiculous partiality for my head, it seems to suit my
shoulders so correctly. I wish to kill you, be at rest as to that, but
to kill you quietly in a snug, remote place, where you will not be able
to boast of your death to anybody.”
“I agree, monsieur; but do not be too confident. Take your
handkerchief; whether it belongs to you or another, you may perhaps
stand in need of it.”
“Monsieur is a Gascon?” asked Aramis.
“Yes. Monsieur does not postpone an interview through prudence?”
“Prudence, monsieur, is a virtue sufficiently useless to Musketeers, I
know, but indispensable to churchmen; and as I am only a Musketeer
provisionally, I hold it good to be prudent. At two o’clock I shall
have the honor of expecting you at the hôtel of Monsieur de Tréville.
There I will indicate to you the best place and time.”
The two young men bowed and separated, Aramis ascending the street
which led to the Luxembourg, while D’Artagnan, perceiving the appointed
hour was approaching, took the road to the Carmes-Deschaux, saying to
himself, “Decidedly I can’t draw back; but at least, if I am killed, I
shall be killed by a Musketeer.”
Chapter V.
THE KING’S MUSKETEERS AND THE CARDINAL’S GUARDS
D’Artagnan was acquainted with nobody in Paris. He went therefore to
his appointment with Athos without a second, determined to be satisfied
with those his adversary should choose. Besides, his intention was
formed to make the brave Musketeer all suitable apologies, but without
meanness or weakness, fearing that might result from this duel which
generally results from an affair of this kind, when a young and
vigorous man fights with an adversary who is wounded and weakened—if
conquered, he doubles the triumph of his antagonist; if a conqueror, he
is accused of foul play and want of courage.
Now, we must have badly painted the character of our adventure seeker,
or our readers must have already perceived that D’Artagnan was not an
ordinary man; therefore, while repeating to himself that his death was
inevitable, he did not make up his mind to die quietly, as one less
courageous and less restrained might have done in his place. He
reflected upon the different characters of those with whom he was going
to fight, and began to view his situation more clearly. He hoped, by
means of loyal excuses, to make a friend of Athos, whose lordly air and
austere bearing pleased him much. He flattered himself he should be
able to frighten Porthos with the adventure of the baldric, which he
might, if not killed upon the spot, relate to everybody a recital
which, well managed, would cover Porthos with ridicule. As to the
astute Aramis, he did not entertain much dread of him; and supposing he
should be able to get so far, he determined to dispatch him in good
style or at least, by hitting him in the face, as Cæsar recommended his
soldiers do to those of Pompey, to damage forever the beauty of which
he was so proud.
In addition to this, D’Artagnan possessed that invincible stock of
resolution which the counsels of his father had implanted in his heart:
“Endure nothing from anyone but the king, the cardinal, and Monsieur de
Tréville.” He flew, then, rather than walked, toward the convent of the
Carmes Déchaussés, or rather Deschaux, as it was called at that period,
a sort of building without a window, surrounded by barren fields—an
accessory to the Preaux-Clercs, and which was generally employed as the
place for the duels of men who had no time to lose.
When D’Artagnan arrived in sight of the bare spot of ground which
extended along the foot of the monastery, Athos had been waiting about
five minutes, and twelve o’clock was striking. He was, then, as
punctual as the Samaritan woman, and the most rigorous casuist with
regard to duels could have nothing to say.
Athos, who still suffered grievously from his wound, though it had been
dressed anew by M. de Tréville’s surgeon, was seated on a post and
waiting for his adversary with hat in hand, his feather even touching
the ground.
“Monsieur,” said Athos, “I have engaged two of my friends as seconds;
but these two friends are not yet come, at which I am astonished, as it
is not at all their custom.”
“I have no seconds on my part, monsieur,” said D’Artagnan; “for having
only arrived yesterday in Paris, I as yet know no one but Monsieur de