Twenty years after
place in D’Artagnan’s suite with that sublime confidence he had always
had in his master, which even fifteen years of separation had not
destroyed.
They had traveled onward about half a mile when Planchet came close up
to D’Artagnan.
“Stop, sir, look yonder,” he whispered; “don’t you see in the darkness
something pass by, like shadows? I fancy I hear horses’ feet.”
“Impossible!” returned D’Artagnan. “The ground is soaking wet; yet I
fancy, as thou sayest, that I see something.”
At this moment the neighing of a horse struck his ear, coming through
darkness and space.
“There are men somewhere about, but that’s of no consequence to us,”
said D’Artagnan; “let us ride onward.”
At about half-past eight o’clock they reached the first houses in
Noisy; every one was in bed and not a light was to be seen in the
village. The obscurity was broken only now and then by the still darker
lines of the roofs of houses. Here and there a dog barked behind a door
or an affrighted cat fled precipitately from the midst of the pavement
to take refuge behind a pile of faggots, from which retreat her eyes
would shine like peridores. These were the only living creatures that
seemed to inhabit the village.
Toward the middle of the town, commanding the principal open space,
rose a dark mass, separated from the rest of the world by two lanes and
overshadowed in the front by enormous lime-trees. D’Artagnan looked
attentively at the building.
“This,” he said to Planchet, “must be the archbishop’s château, the
abode of the fair Madame de Longueville; but the convent, where is
that?”
“The convent, your honor, is at the other end of the village; I know it
well.”
“Well, then, Planchet, gallop up to it whilst I tighten my horse’s
girth, and come back and tell me if there is a light in any of the
Jesuits’ windows.”
In about five minutes Planchet returned.
“Sir,” he said, “there is one window of the convent lighted up.”
“Hem! If I were a ‘Frondeur,’” said D’Artagnan, “I should knock here
and should be sure of a good supper. If I were a monk I should knock
yonder and should have a good supper there, too; whereas, ’tis very
possible that between the castle and the convent we shall sleep on hard
beds, dying with hunger and thirst.”
“Yes,” added Planchet, “like the famous ass of Buridan. Shall I knock?”
“Hush!” replied D’Artagnan; “the light no longer burns in yonder
window.”
“Do you hear nothing?” whispered Planchet.
“What is that noise?”
There came a sound like a whirlwind, at the same time two troops of
horsemen, each composed of ten men, sallied forth from each of the
lanes which encompassed the house and surrounded D’Artagnan and
Planchet.
“Heyday!” cried D’Artagnan, drawing his sword and taking refuge behind
his horse; “are you not mistaken? is it really for us that you mean
your attack?”
“Here he is! we have him!” cried the horsemen, rushing on D’Artagnan
with naked swords.
“Don’t let him escape!” said a loud voice.
“No, my lord; be assured we shall not.”
D’Artagnan thought it was now time for him to join in the conversation.
“Halloo, gentlemen!” he called out in his Gascon accent, “what do you
want? what do you demand?”
“That thou shalt soon know,” shouted a chorus of horsemen.
“Stop, stop!” cried he whom they had addressed as “my lord;” “’tis not
his voice.”
“Ah! just so, gentlemen! pray, do people get into a passion at random
at Noisy? Take care, for I warn you that the first man that comes
within the length of my sword—and my sword is long—I rip him up.”
The chieftain of the party drew near.
“What are you doing here?” he asked in a lofty tone, as that of one
accustomed to command.
“And you—what are _you_ doing here?” replied D’Artagnan.
“Be civil, or I shall beat you; for although one may not choose to
proclaim oneself, one insists on respect suitable to one’s rank.”
“You don’t choose to discover yourself, because you are the leader of
an ambuscade,” returned D’Artagnan; “but with regard to myself, who am
traveling quietly with my own servant, I have not the same reasons as
you have to conceal my name.”
“Enough! enough! what is your name?”
“I shall tell you my name in order that you may know where to find me,
my lord, or my prince, as it may suit you best to be called,” said our
Gascon, who did not choose to seem to yield to a threat. “Do you know
Monsieur d’Artagnan?”
“Lieutenant in the king’s musketeers?” said the voice; “you are
Monsieur d’Artagnan?”
“I am.”
“Then you came here to defend him?”
“Him? whom?”
“The man we are seeking.”
“It seems,” said D’Artagnan, “that whilst I thought I was coming to
Noisy I have entered, without suspecting it, into the kingdom of
mysteries.”
“Come,” replied the same lofty tone, “answer! Are you waiting for him
underneath these windows? Did you come to Noisy to defend him?”
“I am waiting for no one,” replied D’Artagnan, who was beginning to be
angry. “I propose to defend no one but myself, and I shall defend
myself vigorously, I give you warning.”
“Very well,” said the voice; “go away from here and leave the place to
us.”
“Go away from here!” said D’Artagnan, whose purposes were in conflict
with that order, “that is not so easy, since I am on the point of
falling, and my horse, too, through fatigue; unless, indeed, you are
disposed to offer me a supper and a bed in the neighborhood.”
“Rascal!”
“Eh! monsieur!” said D’Artagnan, “I beg you will have a care what you
say; for if you utter another word like that, be you marquis, duke,
prince or king, I will thrust it down your throat! do you hear?”
“Well, well,” rejoined the leader, “there’s no doubt ’tis a Gascon who
is speaking, and therefore not the man we are looking for. Our blow has
failed for to-night; let us withdraw. We shall meet again, Master
d’Artagnan,” continued the leader, raising his voice.
“Yes, but never with the same advantages,” said D’Artagnan, in a tone
of raillery; “for when you meet me again you will perhaps be alone and
there will be daylight.”
“Very good, very good,” said the voice. “_En route_, gentlemen.”
And the troop, grumbling angrily, disappeared in the darkness and took
the road to Paris. D’Artagnan and Planchet remained for some moments
still on the defensive; then, as the noise of the horsemen became more
and more distant, they sheathed their swords.
“Thou seest, simpleton,” said D’Artagnan to his servant, “that they
wished no harm to us.”
“But to whom, then?”
“I’faith! I neither know nor care. What I do care for now, is to make
my way into the Jesuits’ convent; so to horse and let us knock at their
door. Happen what will, the devil take them, they can’t eat us.”
And he mounted his horse. Planchet had just done the same when an
unexpected weight fell upon the back of the horse, which sank down.
“Hey! your honor!” cried Planchet, “I’ve a man behind me.”
D’Artagnan turned around and plainly saw two human forms on Planchet’s
horse.
“’Tis then the devil that pursues!” he cried; drawing his sword and
preparing to attack the new foe.
“No, no, dear D’Artagnan,” said the figure, “’tis not the devil, ’tis
Aramis; gallop fast, Planchet, and when you come to the end of the
village turn swiftly to the left.”
And Planchet, with Aramis behind him, set off at full gallop, followed
by D’Artagnan, who began to think he was in the merry maze of some
fantastic dream.
Chapter IX.
The Abbé D’Herblay.
At the extremity of the village Planchet turned to the left in
obedience to the orders of Aramis, and stopped underneath the window
which had light in it. Aramis alighted and clapped his hands three
times. Immediately the window was opened and a ladder of rope was let
down from it.
“My friend,” said Aramis, “if you like to ascend I shall be delighted
to receive you.”
“Ah,” said D’Artagnan, “is that the way you return to your apartment?”
“After nine at night, _pardieu!_” said Aramis, “the rule of the convent
is very severe.”
“Pardon me, my dear friend,” said D’Artagnan, “I think you said
‘_pardieu!_’”
“Do you think so?” said Aramis, smiling; “it is possible. You have no
idea, my dear fellow, how one acquires bad habits in these cursed
convents, or what evil ways all these men of the church have, with whom
I am obliged to live. But will you not go up?”
“Pass on before me, I beg of you.”
“As the late cardinal used to say to the late king, ‘only to show you
the way, sire.’” And Aramis ascended the ladder quickly and reached the
window in an instant.
D’Artagnan followed, but less nimbly, showing plainly that this mode of
ascent was not one to which he was accustomed.
“I beg your pardon,” said Aramis, noticing his awkwardness; “if I had
known that I was to have the honor of your visit I should have procured
the gardener’s ladder; but for me alone this is good enough.”
“Sir,” said Planchet when he saw D’Artagnan on the summit of the
ladder, “this way is easy for Monsieur Aramis and even for you; in case
of necessity I might also climb up, but my two horses cannot mount the
ladder.”
“Take them to yonder shed, my friend,” said Aramis, pointing to a low
building on the plain; “there you will find hay and straw for them;
then come back here and clap your hands three times, and we will give
you wine and food. Marry, forsooth, people don’t die of hunger here.”
And Aramis, drawing in the ladder, closed the window. D’Artagnan then
looked around attentively.
Never was there an apartment at the same time more warlike and more
elegant. At each corner were arranged trophies, presenting to view
swords of all sorts, and on the walls hung four great pictures
representing in their ordinary military costume the Cardinal de
Lorraine, the Cardinal de Richelieu, the Cardinal de la Valette, and
the Archbishop of Bordeaux. Exteriorly, nothing in the room showed that
it was the habitation of an abbé. The hangings were of damask, the
carpets from Alençon, and the bed, especially, had more the look of a
fine lady’s couch, with its trimmings of fine lace and its embroidered
counterpane, than that of a man who had made a vow that he would
endeavor to gain Heaven by fasting and mortification.
“You are examining my den,” said Aramis. “Ah, my dear fellow, excuse
me; I am lodged like a Chartreux. But what are you looking for?”
“I am looking for the person who let down the ladder. I see no one and
yet the ladder didn’t come down of itself.”
“No, it is Bazin.”
“Ah! ah!” said D’Artagnan.
“But,” continued Aramis, “Bazin is a well trained servant, and seeing
that I was not alone he discreetly retired. Sit down, my dear friend,
and let us talk.” And Aramis pushed forward a large easy-chair, in
which D’Artagnan stretched himself out.
“In the first place, you will sup with me, will you not?” asked Aramis.
“Yes, if you really wish it,” said D’Artagnan, “and even with great
pleasure, I confess; the journey has given me a devil of an appetite.”
“Ah, my poor friend!” said Aramis, “you will find meagre fare; you were
not expected.”
“Am I then threatened with the omelet of Crèvecœur?”
“Oh, let us hope,” said Aramis, “that with the help of God and of Bazin
we shall find something better than that in the larder of the worthy
Jesuit fathers. Bazin, my friend, come here.”
The door opened and Bazin entered; on perceiving the musketeer he
uttered an exclamation that was almost a cry of despair.
“My dear Bazin,” said D’Artagnan, “I am delighted to see with what
wonderful composure you can tell a lie even in church!”
“Sir,” replied Bazin, “I have been taught by the good Jesuit fathers
that it is permitted to tell a falsehood when it is told in a good
cause.”
“So far well,” said Aramis; “we are dying of hunger. Serve us up the