Twenty years after
And the queen raised her eyes solemnly upward.
“Madame,” said Athos, “when must we set out?”
“You consent then?” exclaimed the queen, joyfully.
“Yes, madame; only it seems to me that your majesty goes too far in
engaging to load us with a friendship so far above our merit. We render
service to God, madame, in serving a prince so unfortunate, a queen so
virtuous. Madame, we are yours, body and soul.”
“Oh, sirs,” said the queen, moved even to tears, “this is the first
time for five years I have felt the least approach to joy or hope. God,
who can read my heart, all the gratitude I feel, will reward you! Save
my husband! Save the king, and although you care not for the price that
is placed upon a good action in this world, leave me the hope that we
shall meet again, when I may be able to thank you myself. In the
meantime, I remain here. Have you anything to ask of me? From this
moment I become your friend, and since you are engaged in my affairs I
ought to occupy myself in yours.”
“Madame,” replied Athos, “I have only to ask your majesty’s prayers.”
“And I,” said Aramis, “I am alone in the world and have only your
majesty to serve.”
The queen held out her hand, which they kissed, and she said in a low
tone to De Winter:
“If you need money, my lord, separate the jewels I have given you;
detach the diamonds and sell them to some Jew. You will receive for
them fifty or sixty thousand francs; spend them if necessary, but let
these gentlemen be treated as they deserve, that is to say, like
kings.”
The queen had two letters ready, one written by herself, the other by
her daughter, the Princess Henrietta. Both were addressed to King
Charles. She gave the first to Athos and the other to Aramis, so that
should they be separated by chance they might make themselves known to
the king; after which they withdrew.
At the foot of the staircase De Winter stopped.
“Not to arouse suspicions, gentlemen,” said he, “go your way and I will
go mine, and this evening at nine o’clock we will assemble again at the
Gate Saint Denis. We will travel on horseback as far as our horses can
go and afterward we can take the post. Once more, let me thank you, my
good friends, both in my own name and the queen’s.”
The three gentlemen then shook hands, Lord de Winter taking the Rue
Saint Honoré, and Athos and Aramis remaining together.
“Well,” said Aramis, when they were alone, “what do you think of this
business, my dear count?”
“Bad,” replied Athos, “very bad.”
“But you received it with enthusiasm.”
“As I shall ever receive the defense of a great principle, my dear
D’Herblay. Monarchs are only strong by the assistance of the
aristocracy, but aristocracy cannot survive without the countenance of
monarchs. Let us, then, support monarchy, in order to support
ourselves.
“We shall be murdered there,” said Aramis. “I hate the English—they are
coarse, like every nation that swills beer.”
“Would it be better to remain here,” said Athos, “and take a turn in
the Bastile or the dungeon of Vincennes for having favored the escape
of Monsieur de Beaufort? I’faith, Aramis, believe me, there is little
left to regret. We avoid imprisonment and we play the part of heroes;
the choice is easy.”
“It is true; but in everything, friend, one must always return to the
same question—a stupid one, I admit, but very necessary—have you any
money?”
“Something like a hundred pistoles, that my farmer sent to me the day
before I left Bragelonne; but out of that sum I ought to leave fifty
for Raoul—a young man must live respectably. I have then about fifty
pistoles. And you?”
“As for me, I am quite sure that after turning out all my pockets and
emptying my drawers I shall not find ten louis at home. Fortunately
Lord de Winter is rich.”
“Lord de Winter is ruined for the moment; Oliver Cromwell has annexed
his income resources.”
“Now is the time when Baron Porthos would be useful.”
“Now it is that I regret D’Artagnan.”
“Let us entice them away.”
“This secret, Aramis, does not belong to us; take my advice, then, and
let no one into our confidence. And moreover, in taking such a step we
should appear to be doubtful of ourselves. Let us regret their absence
to ourselves for our own sakes, but not speak of it.”
“You are right; but what are you going to do until this evening? I have
two things to postpone.”
“And what are they?”
“First, a thrust with the coadjutor, whom I met last night at Madame de
Rambouillet’s and whom I found particular in his remarks respecting
me.”
“Oh, fie—a quarrel between priests, a duel between allies!”
“What can I do, friend? he is a bully and so am I; his cassock is a
burden to him and I imagine I have had enough of mine; in fact, there
is so much resemblance between us that I sometimes believe he is Aramis
and I am the coadjutor. This kind of life fatigues and oppresses me;
besides, he is a turbulent fellow, who will ruin our party. I am
convinced that if I gave him a box on the ear, such as I gave this
morning to the little citizen who splashed me, it would change the
appearance of things.”
“And I, my dear Aramis,” quietly replied Athos, “I think it would only
change Monsieur de Retz’s appearance. Take my advice, leave things just
as they are; besides, you are neither of you now your own masters; he
belongs to the Fronde and you to the queen of England. So, if the
second matter which you regret being unable to attend to is not more
important than the first——”
“Oh! that is of the first importance.”
“Attend to it, then, at once.”
“Unfortunately, it is a thing that I can’t perform at any time I
choose. It was arranged for the evening and no other time will serve.”
“I understand,” said Athos smiling, “midnight.”
“About that time.”
“But, my dear fellow, those are things that bear postponement and you
must put it off, especially with so good an excuse to give on your
return——”
“Yes, if I return.”
“If you do not return, how does it concern you? Be reasonable. Come,
you are no longer twenty years old.”
“To my great regret, _mordieu!_ Ah, if I were but twenty years old!”
“Yes,” said Athos, “doubtless you would commit great follies! But now
we must part. I have one or two visits to make and a letter yet to
write. Call for me at eight o’clock or shall I wait supper for you at
seven?”
“That will do very well,” said Aramis. “I have twenty visits to make
and as many letters to write.”
They then separated. Athos went to pay a visit to Madame de Vendôme,
left his name at Madame de Chevreuse’s and wrote the following letter
to D’Artagnan:
“Dear Friend,—I am about to set off with Aramis on important business.
I wished to make my adieux to you, but time does not permit. Remember
that I write to you now to repeat how much affection for you I still
cherish.
“Raoul is gone to Blois and is ignorant of my departure; watch over him
in my absence as much as you possibly can; and if by chance you receive
no news of me three months hence, tell him to open a packet which he
will find addressed to him in my bronze casket at Blois, of which I
send you now the key.
“Embrace Porthos from Aramis and myself. Adieu, perhaps farewell.”
At the hour agreed upon Aramis arrived; he was dressed as an officer
and had the old sword at his side which he had drawn so often and which
he was more than ever ready to draw.
“By-the-bye,” he said, “I think that we are decidedly wrong to depart
thus, without leaving a line for Porthos and D’Artagnan.”
“The thing is done, dear friend,” said Athos; “I foresaw that and have
embraced them both from you and myself.”
“You are a wonderful man, my dear count,” said Aramis; “you think of
everything.”
“Well, have you made up your mind to this journey?”
“Quite; and now that I reflect about it, I am glad to leave Paris at
this moment.”
“And so am I,” replied Athos; “my only regret is not having seen
D’Artagnan; but the rascal is so cunning, he might have guessed our
project.”
When supper was over Blaisois entered. “Sir,” said he, “here is
Monsieur d’Artagnan’s answer.”
“But I did not tell you there would be an answer, stupid!” said Athos.
“And I set off without waiting for one, but he called me back and gave
me this;” and he presented a little leather bag, plump and giving out a
golden jingle.
Athos opened it and began by drawing forth a little note, written in
these terms:
“My dear Count,—When one travels, and especially for three months, one
never has a superfluity of money. Now, recalling former times of mutual
distress, I send you half my purse; it is money to obtain which I made
Mazarin sweat. Don’t make a bad use of it, I entreat you.
“As to what you say about not seeing you again, I believe not a word of
it; with such a heart as yours—and such a sword—one passes through the
valley of the shadow of death a dozen times, unscathed and unalarmed.
Au revoir, not farewell.
“It is unnecessary to say that from the day I saw Raoul I loved him;
nevertheless, believe that I heartily pray that I may not become to him
a father, however much I might be proud of such a son.
“Your
“D’Artagnan.
“P.S.—Be it well understood that the fifty louis which I send are
equally for Aramis as for you—for you as Aramis.”
Athos smiled, and his fine eye was dimmed by a tear. D’Artagnan, who
had loved him so tenderly, loved him still, although a Mazarinist.
“There are the fifty louis, i’faith,” said Aramis, emptying the purse
on the table, all bearing the effigy of Louis XIII. “Well, what shall
you do with this money, count? Shall you keep it or send it back?”
“I shall keep it, Aramis, and even though I had no need of it I still
should keep it. What is offered from a generous heart should be
accepted generously. Take twenty-five of them, Aramis, and give me the
remaining twenty-five.”
“All right; I am glad to see you are of my opinion. There now, shall we
start?”
“When you like; but have you no groom?”
“No; that idiot Bazin had the folly to make himself verger, as you
know, and therefore cannot leave Notre Dame.
“Very well, take Blaisois, with whom I know not what to do, since I
already have Grimaud.”
“Willingly,” said Aramis.
At this moment Grimaud appeared at the door. “Ready,” said he, with his
usual curtness.
“Let us go, then,” said Athos.
The two friends mounted, as did their servants. At the corner of the
Quai they encountered Bazin, who was running breathlessly.
“Oh, sir!” exclaimed he, “thank Heaven I have arrived in time. Monsieur
Porthos has just been to your house and has left this for you, saying
that the letter was important and must be given to you before you
left.”
“Good,” said Aramis, taking a purse which Bazin presented to him. “What
is this?”
“Wait, your reverence, there is a letter.”
“You know I have already told you that if you ever call me anything but
chevalier I will break every bone in your body. Give me the letter.”
“How can you read?” asked Athos, “it is as dark as a cold oven.”
“Wait,” said Bazin, striking a flint, and setting afire a twisted
wax-light, with which he started the church candles. Thus illumined,
Aramis read the following epistle:
“My dear D’Herblay,—I learned from D’Artagnan who has embraced me on
the part of the Comte de la Fère and yourself, that you are setting out
on a journey which may perhaps last two or three months; as I know that
you do not like to ask money of your friends I offer you some of my own
accord. Here are two hundred pistoles, which you can dispose of as you
wish and return to me when opportunity occurs. Do not fear that you put
me to inconvenience; if I want money I can send for some to any of my
châteaux; at Bracieux alone, I have twenty thousand francs in gold. So,