Twenty years after
“Eh! Planchet,” said he.
The chief approached, and it was indeed Planchet; D’Artagnan had
recognized the voice of his old servant.
“How, sir!” said Planchet, “is it you?”
“Eh! _mon Dieu!_ yes, my good friend, this worthy Porthos has just
received a sword wound and I am taking him to his country house at
Saint Cloud.”
“Oh! really,” said Planchet.
“Porthos,” said D’Artagnan, “if you can still speak, say a word, my
dear Porthos, to this good Planchet.”
“Planchet, my friend,” said Porthos, in a melancholy voice, “I am very
ill; should you meet a doctor you will do me a favor by sending him to
me.”
“Oh! good Heaven,” said Planchet, “what a misfortune! and how did it
happen?”
“I will tell you all about it,” replied Mousqueton.
Porthos uttered a deep groan.
“Make way for us, Planchet,” said D’Artagnan in a whisper to him, “or
he will not arrive alive; the lungs are attacked, my friend.”
Planchet shook his head with the air of a man who says, “In that case
things look ill.” Then he exclaimed, turning to his men:
“Let them pass; they are friends.”
The carriage resumed its course, and Mazarin, who had held his breath,
ventured to breathe again.
“_Bricconi!_” muttered he.
A few steps in advance of the gate of Saint Honoré they met a third
troop; this latter party was composed of ill-looking fellows, who
resembled bandits more than anything else; they were the men of the
beggar of Saint Eustache.
“Attention, Porthos!” cried D’Artagnan.
Porthos placed his hand on the pistols.
“What is it?” asked Mazarin.
“My lord, I think we are in bad company.”
A man advanced to the door with a kind of scythe in his hand. “_Qui
vive?_” he asked.
“Eh, rascal!” said D’Artagnan, “do you not recognize his highness the
prince’s carriage?”
“Prince or not,” said the man, “open. We are here to guard the gate,
and no one whom we do not know shall pass.”
“What is to be done?” said Porthos.
“_Pardieu!_ pass,” replied D’Artagnan.
“But _how?_” asked Mazarin.
“Through or over; coachman, gallop on.”
The coachman raised his whip.
“Not a step further,” said the man, who appeared to be the captain, “or
I will hamstring your horses.”
“_Peste!_” said Porthos, “it would be a pity; animals which cost me a
hundred pistoles each.”
“I will pay you two hundred for them,” said Mazarin.
“Yes, but when once they are hamstrung, our necks will be strung next.”
“If one of them comes to my side,” asked Porthos, “must I kill him?”
“Yes, by a blow of your fist, if you can; we will not fire but at the
last extremity.”
“I can do it,” said Porthos.
“Come and open, then!” cried D’Artagnan to the man with the scythe,
taking one of the pistols up by the muzzle and preparing to strike with
the handle. And as the man approached, D’Artagnan, in order to have
more freedom for his actions, leaned half out of the door; his eyes
were fixed upon those of the mendicant, which were lighted up by a
lantern. Without doubt he recognized D’Artagnan, for he became deadly
pale; doubtless the musketeer knew him, for his hair stood up on his
head.
“Monsieur d’Artagnan!” he cried, falling back a step; “it is Monsieur
d’Artagnan! _let him pass_.”
D’Artagnan was perhaps about to reply, when a blow, similar to that of
a mallet falling on the head of an ox, was heard. The noise was caused
by Porthos, who had just knocked down his man.
D’Artagnan turned around and saw the unfortunate man upon his back
about four paces off.
“’Sdeath!” cried he to the coachman. “Spur your horses! whip! get on!”
The coachman bestowed a heavy blow of the whip upon his horses; the
noble animals bounded forward; then cries of men who were knocked down
were heard; then a double concussion was felt, and two of the wheels
seemed to pass over a round and flexible body. There was a moment’s
silence, then the carriage cleared the gate.
“To Cours la Reine!” cried D’Artagnan to the coachman; then turning to
Mazarin he said, “Now, my lord, you can say five _paters_ and five
_aves_, in thanks to Heaven for your deliverance. You are safe—you are
free.”
Mazarin replied only by a groan; he could not believe in such a
miracle. Five minutes later the carriage stopped, having reached Cours
la Reine.
“Is my lord pleased with his escort?” asked D’Artagnan.
“Enchanted, monsieur,” said Mazarin, venturing his head out of one of
the windows; “and now do as much for the queen.”
“It will not be so difficult,” replied D’Artagnan, springing to the
ground. “Monsieur du Vallon, I commend his eminence to your care.”
“Be quite at ease,” said Porthos, holding out his hand, which
D’Artagnan took and shook in his.
“Oh!” cried Porthos, as if in pain.
D’Artagnan looked with surprise at his friend.
“What is the matter, then?” he asked.
“I think I have sprained my wrist,’ said Porthos.
“The devil! why, you strike like a blind or a deaf man.”
“It was necessary; my man was going to fire a pistol at me; but you—how
did you get rid of yours?”
“Oh, mine,” replied D’Artagnan, “was not a man.”
“What was it then?”
“It was an apparition.”
“And——”
“I charmed it away.”
Without further explanation D’Artagnan took the pistols which were upon
the front seat, placed them in his belt, wrapped himself in his cloak,
and not wishing to enter by the same gate as that through which they
had left, he took his way toward the Richelieu gate.
Chapter LII.
The Carriage of Monsieur le Coadjuteur.
Instead of returning, then, by the Saint Honoré gate, D’Artagnan, who
had time before him, walked around and re-entered by the Porte
Richelieu. He was approached to be examined, and when it was discovered
by his plumed hat and his laced coat, that he was an officer of the
musketeers, he was surrounded, with the intention of making him cry,
“Down with Mazarin!” The demonstration did not fail to make him uneasy
at first; but when he discovered what it meant, he shouted it in such a
voice that even the most exacting were satisfied. He walked down the
Rue Richelieu, meditating how he should carry off the queen in her
turn, for to take her in a carriage bearing the arms of France was not
to be thought of, when he perceived an equipage standing at the door of
the hotel belonging to Madame de Guéménée.
He was struck by a sudden idea.
“Ah, _pardieu!_” he exclaimed; “that would be fair play.”
And approaching the carriage, he examined the arms on the panels and
the livery of the coachman on his box. This scrutiny was so much the
more easy, the coachman being sound asleep.
“It is, in truth, monsieur le coadjuteur’s carriage,” said D’Artagnan;
“upon my honor I begin to think that Heaven favors us.”
He mounted noiselessly into the chariot and pulled the silk cord which
was attached to the coachman’s little finger.
“To the Palais Royal,” he called out.
The coachman awoke with a start and drove off in the direction he was
desired, never doubting but that the order had come from his master.
The porter at the palace was about to close the gates, but seeing such
a handsome equipage he fancied that it was some visit of importance and
the carriage was allowed to pass and to stop beneath the porch. It was
then only the coachman perceived the grooms were not behind the
vehicle; he fancied monsieur le coadjuteur had sent them back, and
without dropping the reins he sprang from his box to open the door.
D’Artagnan, in his turn, sprang to the ground, and just at the moment
when the coachman, alarmed at not seeing his master, fell back a step,
he seized him by his collar with the left, whilst with the right hand
he placed the muzzle of a pistol at his breast.
“Pronounce one single word,” muttered D’Artagnan, “and you are a dead
man.”
The coachman perceived at once, by the expression of the man who thus
addressed him, that he had fallen into a trap, and he remained with his
mouth wide open and his eyes portentously staring.
Two musketeers were pacing the court, to whom D’Artagnan called by
their names.
“Monsieur de Bellière,” said he to one of them, “do me the favor to
take the reins from the hands of this worthy man, mount upon the box
and drive to the door of the private stair, and wait for me there; it
is an affair of importance on the service of the king.”
The musketeer, who knew that his lieutenant was incapable of jesting
with regard to the service, obeyed without a word, although he thought
the order strange. Then turning toward the second musketeer, D’Artagnan
said:
“Monsieur du Verger, help me to place this man in a place of safety.”
The musketeer, thinking that his lieutenant had just arrested some
prince in disguise, bowed, and drawing his sword, signified that he was
ready. D’Artagnan mounted the staircase, followed by his prisoner, who
in his turn was followed by the soldier, and entered Mazarin’s
ante-room. Bernouin was waiting there, impatient for news of his
master.
“Well, sir?” he said.
“Everything goes on capitally, my dear Monsieur Bernouin, but here is a
man whom I must beg you to put in a safe place.”
“Where, then, sir?”
“Where you like, provided that the place which you shall choose has
iron shutters secured by padlocks and a door that can be locked.”
“We have that, sir,” replied Bernouin; and the poor coachman was
conducted to a closet, the windows of which were barred and which
looked very much like a prison.
“And now, my good friend,” said D’Artagnan to him, “I must invite you
to deprive yourself, for my sake, of your hat and cloak.”
The coachman, as we can well understand, made no resistance; in fact,
he was so astonished at what had happened to him that he stammered and
reeled like a drunken man; D’Artagnan deposited his clothes under the
arm of one of the valets.
“And now, Monsieur du Verger,” he said, “shut yourself up with this man
until Monsieur Bernouin returns to open the door. The duty will be
tolerably long and not very amusing, I know; but,” added he, seriously,
“you understand, it is on the king’s service.”
“At your command, lieutenant,” replied the musketeer, who saw the
business was a serious one.
“By-the-bye,” continued D’Artagnan, “should this man attempt to fly or
to call out, pass your sword through his body.”
The musketeer signified by a nod that these commands should be obeyed
to the letter, and D’Artagnan went out, followed by Bernouin. Midnight
struck.
“Lead me into the queen’s oratory,” said D’Artagnan, “announce to her I
am here, and put this parcel, with a well-loaded musket, under the seat
of the carriage which is waiting at the foot of the private stair.”
Bernouin conducted D’Artagnan to the oratory, where he sat down
pensively. Everything had gone on as usual at the Palais Royal. As we
said before, by ten o’clock almost all the guests had dispersed; those
who were to fly with the court had the word of command and they were
each severally desired to be from twelve o’clock to one at Cours la
Reine.
At ten o’clock Anne of Austria had entered the king’s room. Monsieur
had just retired, and the youthful Louis, remaining the last, was
amusing himself by placing some lead soldiers in a line of battle, a
game which delighted him much. Two royal pages were playing with him.
“Laporte,” said the queen, “it is time for his majesty to go to bed.”
The king asked to remain up, having, he said, no wish to sleep; but the
queen was firm.
“Are you not going to-morrow morning at six o’clock, Louis, to bathe at
Conflans? I think you wished to do so of your own accord?”
“You are right, madame,” said the king, “and I am ready to retire to my
room when you have kissed me. Laporte, give the light to Monsieur the
Chevalier de Coislin.”
The queen touched with her lips the white, smooth brow the royal child