Twenty years after
might rejoin the prince on the morning of the fourth day; let us push
on, then, to Noyon; it will be a stage similar to those we traveled
from Blois to Paris. We shall arrive at eight o’clock. The horses will
have a long night’s rest, and at five o’clock to-morrow morning we can
be again on the road.”
Olivain dared offer no opposition to this determination but he followed
his master, grumbling.
“Go on, go on,” said he, between his teeth, “expend your ardor the
first day; to-morrow, instead of journeying twenty leagues, you will
travel ten, the day after to-morrow, five, and in three days you will
be in bed. There you must rest; young people are such braggarts.”
It was easy to see that Olivain had not been taught in the school of
the Planchets and the Grimauds. Raoul really felt tired, but he was
desirous of testing his strength, and, brought up in the principles of
Athos and certain of having heard him speak a thousand times of stages
of twenty-five leagues, he did not wish to fall far short of his model.
D’Artagnan, that man of iron, who seemed to be made of nerve and muscle
only, had struck him with admiration. Therefore, in spite of Olivain’s
remarks, he continued to urge his steed more and more, and following a
pleasant little path, leading to a ferry, and which he had been assured
shortened the journey by the distance of one league, he arrived at the
summit of a hill and perceived the river flowing before him. A little
troop of men on horseback were waiting on the edge of the stream, ready
to embark. Raoul did not doubt this was the gentleman and his escort;
he called out to him, but they were too distant to be heard; then, in
spite of the weariness of his beast, he made it gallop but the rising
ground soon deprived him of all sight of the travelers, and when he had
again attained a new height, the ferryboat had left the shore and was
making for the opposite bank. Raoul, seeing that he could not arrive in
time to cross the ferry with the travelers, halted to wait for Olivain.
At this moment a shriek was heard that seemed to come from the river.
Raoul turned toward the side whence the cry had sounded, and shaded his
eyes from the glare of the setting sun with his hand.
“Olivain!” he exclaimed, “what do I see below there?”
A second scream, more piercing than the first, now sounded.
“Oh, sir!” cried Olivain, “the rope which holds the ferryboat has
broken and the boat is drifting. But what do I see in the
water—something struggling?”
“Oh, yes,” exclaimed Raoul, fixing his glance on one point in the
stream, splendidly illumined by the setting sun, “a horse, a rider!”
“They are sinking!” cried Olivain in his turn.
It was true, and Raoul was convinced that some accident had happened
and that a man was drowning; he gave his horse its head, struck his
spurs into its sides, and the animal, urged by pain and feeling that he
had space open before him, bounded over a kind of paling which inclosed
the landing place, and fell into the river, scattering to a distance
waves of white froth.
“Ah, sir!” cried Olivain, “what are you doing? Good God!”
Raoul was directing his horse toward the unhappy man in danger. This
was, in fact, a custom familiar to him. Having been brought up on the
banks of the Loire, he might have been said to have been cradled on its
waves; a hundred times he had crossed it on horseback, a thousand times
had swum across. Athos, foreseeing the period when he should make a
soldier of the viscount, had inured him to all kinds of arduous
undertakings.
“Oh, heavens!” continued Olivain, in despair, “what would the count say
if he only saw you now!”
“The count would do as I do,” replied Raoul, urging his horse
vigorously forward.
“But I—but I,” cried Olivain, pale and disconsolate rushing about on
the shore, “how shall I cross?”
“Leap, coward!” cried Raoul, swimming on; then addressing the traveler,
who was struggling twenty yards in front of him: “Courage, sir!” said
he, “courage! we are coming to your aid.”
Olivain advanced, retired, then made his horse rear—turned it and then,
struck to the core by shame, leaped, as Raoul had done, only repeating:
“I am a dead man! we are lost!”
In the meantime, the ferryboat had floated away, carried down by the
stream, and the shrieks of those whom it contained resounded more and
more. A man with gray hair had thrown himself from the boat into the
river and was swimming vigorously toward the person who was drowning;
but being obliged to go against the current he advanced but slowly.
Raoul continued his way and was visibly gaining ground; but the horse
and its rider, of whom he did not lose sight, were evidently sinking.
The nostrils of the horse were no longer above water, and the rider,
who had lost the reins in struggling, fell with his head back and his
arms extended. One moment longer and all would disappear.
“Courage!” cried Raoul, “courage!”
“Too late!” murmured the young man, “too late!”
The water closed above his head and stifled his voice.
Raoul sprang from his horse, to which he left the charge of its own
preservation, and in three or four strokes was at the gentleman’s side;
he seized the horse at once by the curb and raised its head above
water; the animal began to breathe again and, as if he comprehended
that they had come to his aid, redoubled his efforts. Raoul at the same
time seized one of the young man’s hands and placed it on the mane,
which it grasped with the tenacity of a drowning man. Thus, sure that
the rider would not release his hold, Raoul now only directed his
attention to the horse, which he guided to the opposite bank, helping
it to cut through the water and encouraging it with words.
All at once the horse stumbled against a ridge and then placed its foot
on the sand.
“Saved!” exclaimed the man with gray hair, who also touched bottom.
“Saved!” mechanically repeated the young gentleman, releasing the mane
and sliding from the saddle into Raoul’s arms; Raoul was but ten yards
from the shore; there he bore the fainting man, and laying him down
upon the grass, unfastened the buttons of his collar and unhooked his
doublet. A moment later the gray-headed man was beside him. Olivain
managed in his turn to land, after crossing himself repeatedly; and the
people in the ferryboat guided themselves as well as they were able
toward the bank, with the aid of a pole which chanced to be in the
boat.
Thanks to the attentions of Raoul and the man who accompanied the young
gentleman, the color gradually returned to the pale cheeks of the dying
man, who opened his eyes, at first entirely bewildered, but who soon
fixed his gaze upon the person who had saved him.
“Ah, sir,” he exclaimed, “it was you! Without you I was a dead
man—thrice dead.”
“But one recovers, sir, as you perceive,” replied Raoul, “and we have
but had a little bath.”
“Oh! sir, what gratitude I feel!” exclaimed the man with gray hair.
“Ah, there you are, my good D’Arminges; I have given you a great
fright, have I not? but it is your own fault. You were my tutor, why
did you not teach me to swim?”
“Oh, monsieur le comte,” replied the old man, “had any misfortune
happened to you, I should never have dared to show myself to the
marshal again.”
“But how did the accident happen?” asked Raoul.
“Oh, sir, in the most natural way possible,” replied he to whom they
had given the title of count. “We were about a third of the way across
the river when the cord of the ferryboat broke. Alarmed by the cries
and gestures of the boatmen, my horse sprang into the water. I cannot
swim, and dared not throw myself into the river. Instead of aiding the
movements of my horse, I paralyzed them; and I was just going to drown
myself with the best grace in the world, when you arrived just in time
to pull me out of the water; therefore, sir, if you will agree,
henceforward we are friends until death.”
“Sir,” replied Raoul, bowing, “I am entirely at your service, I assure
you.”
“I am called the Count de Guiche,” continued the young man; “my father
is the Maréchal de Grammont; and now that you know who I am, do me the
honor to inform me who you are.”
“I am the Viscount de Bragelonne,” answered Raoul, blushing at being
unable to name his father, as the Count de Guiche had done.
“Viscount, your countenance, your goodness and your courage incline me
toward you; my gratitude is already due. Shake hands—I crave your
friendship.”
“Sir,” said Raoul, returning the count’s pressure of the hand, “I like
you already, from my heart; pray regard me as a devoted friend, I
beseech you.”
“And now, where are you going, viscount?” inquired De Guiche.
“To join the army, under the prince, count.”
“And I, too!” exclaimed the young man, in a transport of joy. “Oh, so
much the better, we will fire the first shot together.”
“It is well; be friends,” said the tutor; “young as you both are, you
were perhaps born under the same star and were destined to meet. And
now,” continued he, “you must change your clothes; your servants, to
whom I gave directions the moment they had left the ferryboat, ought to
be already at the inn. Linen and wine are both being warmed; come.”
The young men had no objection to this proposition; on the contrary,
they thought it very timely.
They mounted again at once, whilst looks of admiration passed between
them. They were indeed two elegant horsemen, with figures slight and
upright, noble faces, bright and proud looks, loyal and intelligent
smiles.
De Guiche might have been about eighteen years of age, but he was
scarcely taller than Raoul, who was only fifteen.
Chapter XXX.
Skirmishing.
The halt at Noyon was but brief, every one there being wrapped in
profound sleep. Raoul had desired to be awakened should Grimaud arrive,
but Grimaud did not arrive. Doubtless, too, the horses on their part
appreciated the eight hours of repose and the abundant stabling which
was granted them. The Count de Guiche was awakened at five o’clock in
the morning by Raoul, who came to wish him good-day. They breakfasted
in haste, and at six o’clock had already gone ten miles.
The young count’s conversation was most interesting to Raoul, therefore
he listened much, whilst the count talked well and long. Brought up in
Paris, where Raoul had been but once; at the court, which Raoul had
never seen; his follies as page; two duels, which he had already found
the means of fighting, in spite of the edicts against them and, more
especially, in spite of his tutor’s vigilance—these things excited the
greatest curiosity in Raoul. Raoul had only been at M. Scarron’s house;
he named to Guiche the people whom he had seen there. Guiche knew
everybody—Madame de Neuillan, Mademoiselle d’Aubigné, Mademoiselle de
Scudéry, Mademoiselle Paulet, Madame de Chevreuse. He criticised
everybody humorously. Raoul trembled, lest he should laugh among the
rest at Madame de Chevreuse, for whom he entertained deep and genuine
sympathy, but either instinctively, or from affection for the duchess,
he said everything in her favor. His praises increased Raoul’s
friendship twofold. Then came the question of gallantry and love
affairs. Under this head, also, Bragelonne had much more to hear than
to tell. He listened attentively and fancied that he discovered through
three or four rather frivolous adventures, that the count, like
himself, had a secret to hide in the depths of his heart.
De Guiche, as we have said before, had been educated at the court, and
the intrigues of this court were not unknown to him. It was the same
court of which Raoul had so often heard the Comte de la Fère speak,
except that its aspect had much changed since the period when Athos had
himself been part of it; therefore everything which the Count de Guiche