Twenty years after
queen found the prince awaiting her, bare-headed, to offer her his
hand.
“What an awakening for the Parisians!” said the queen, radiant.
“It is war,” said the prince.
“Well, then, let it be war! Have we not on our side the conqueror of
Rocroy, of Nordlingen, of Lens?”
The prince bowed low.
It was then three o’clock in the morning. The queen walked first, every
one followed her. About two hundred persons had accompanied her in her
flight.
“Gentlemen,” said the queen, laughing, “pray take up your abode in the
château; it is large, and there will be no want of room for you all;
but, as we never thought of coming here, I am informed that there are,
in all, only three beds in the whole establishment, one for the king,
one for me——”
“And one for the cardinal,” muttered the prince.
“Am I—am I, then, to sleep on the floor?” asked Gaston d’Orléans, with
a forced smile.
“No, my prince,” replied Mazarin, “the third bed is intended for your
highness.”
“But your eminence?” replied the prince.
“I,” answered Mazarin, “I shall not sleep at all; I have work to do.”
Gaston desired that he should be shown into the room wherein he was to
sleep, without in the least concerning himself as to where his wife and
daughter were to repose.
“Well, for my part, I shall go to bed,” said D’Artagnan; “come,
Porthos.”
Porthos followed the lieutenant with that profound confidence he ever
had in the wisdom of his friend. They walked from one end of the
château to the other, Porthos looking with wondering eyes at
D’Artagnan, who was counting on his fingers.
“Four hundred, at a pistole each, four hundred pistoles.”
“Yes,” interposed Porthos, “four hundred pistoles; but who is to make
four hundred pistoles?”
“A pistole is not enough,” said D’Artagnan, “’tis worth a louis.”
“What is worth a louis?”
“Four hundred, at a louis each, make four hundred louis.”
“Four hundred?” said Porthos.
“Yes, there are two hundred of them, and each of them will need two,
which will make four hundred.”
“But four hundred what?”
“Listen!” cried D’Artagnan.
But as there were all kinds of people about, who were in a state of
stupefaction at the unexpected arrival of the court, he whispered in
his friend’s ear.
“I understand,” answered Porthos, “I understand you perfectly, on my
honor; two hundred louis, each of us, would be making a pretty thing of
it; but what will people say?”
“Let them say what they will; besides, how will they know that we are
doing it?”
“But who will distribute these things?” asked Porthos.
“Isn’t Mousqueton there?”
“But he wears my livery; my livery will be known,” replied Porthos.
“He can turn his coat inside out.”
“You are always in the right, my dear friend,” cried Porthos; “but
where the devil do you discover all the notions you put into practice?”
D’Artagnan smiled. The two friends turned down the first street they
came to. Porthos knocked at the door of a house to the right, whilst
D’Artagnan knocked at the door of a house to the left.
“Some straw,” they said.
“Sir, we don’t keep any,” was the reply of the people who opened the
doors; “but please ask at the hay dealer’s.”
“Where is the hay dealer’s?”
“At the last large door in the street.”
“Are there any other people in Saint Germain who sell straw?”
“Yes; there’s the landlord of the Lamb, and Gros-Louis the farmer; they
both live in the Rue des Ursulines.”
“Very well.”
D’Artagnan went instantly to the hay dealer and bargained with him for
a hundred and fifty trusses of straw, which he obtained, at the rate of
three pistoles each. He went afterward to the innkeeper and bought from
him two hundred trusses at the same price. Finally, Farmer Louis sold
them eighty trusses, making in all four hundred and thirty.
There was no more to be had in Saint Germain. This foraging did not
occupy more than half an hour. Mousqueton, duly instructed, was put at
the head of this sudden and new business. He was cautioned not to let a
bit of straw out of his hands under a louis the truss, and they
intrusted to him straw to the amount of four hundred and thirty louis.
D’Artagnan, taking with him three trusses of straw, returned to the
château, where everybody, freezing with cold and more than half asleep,
envied the king, the queen, and the Duke of Orléans, on their camp
beds. The lieutenant’s entrance produced a burst of laughter in the
great drawing-room; but he did not appear to notice that he was the
object of general attention, but began to arrange, with so much
cleverness, nicety and gayety, his straw bed, that the mouths of all
these poor creatures, who could not go to sleep, began to water.
“Straw!” they all cried out, “straw! where is there any to be found?”
“I can show you,” answered the Gascon.
And he conducted them to Mousqueton, who freely distributed the trusses
at the rate of a louis apiece. It was thought rather dear, but people
wanted to sleep, and who would not give even two or three louis for a
few hours of sound sleep?
D’Artagnan gave up his bed to any one who wanted it, making it over
about a dozen times; and since he was supposed to have paid, like the
others, a louis for his truss of straw, he pocketed in that way thirty
louis in less than half an hour. At five o’clock in the morning the
straw was worth eighty francs a truss and there was no more to be had.
D’Artagnan had taken the precaution to set apart four trusses for his
own use. He put in his pocket the key of the room where he had hidden
them, and accompanied by Porthos returned to settle with Mousqueton,
who, naïvely, and like the worthy steward that he was, handed them four
hundred and thirty louis and kept one hundred for himself.
Mousqueton, who knew nothing of what was going on in the château,
wondered that the idea had not occurred to him sooner. D’Artagnan put
the gold in his hat, and in going back to the château settled the
reckoning with Porthos, each of them had cleared two hundred and
fifteen louis.
Porthos, however, found that he had no straw left for himself. He
returned to Mousqueton, but the steward had sold the last wisp. He then
repaired to D’Artagnan, who, thanks to his four trusses of straw, was
in the act of making up and tasting, by anticipation, the luxury of a
bed so soft, so well stuffed at the head, so well covered at the foot,
that it would have excited the envy of the king himself, if his majesty
had not been fast asleep in his own. D’Artagnan could on no account
consent to pull his bed to pieces again for Porthos, but for a
consideration of four louis that the latter paid him for it, he
consented that Porthos should share his couch with him. He laid his
sword at the head, his pistols by his side, stretched his cloak over
his feet, placed his felt hat on the top of his cloak and extended
himself luxuriously on the straw, which rustled under him. He was
already enjoying the sweet dream engendered by the possession of two
hundred and nineteen louis, made in a quarter of an hour, when a voice
was heard at the door of the hall, which made him stir.
“Monsieur d’Artagnan!” it cried.
“Here!” cried Porthos, “here!”
Porthos foresaw that if D’Artagnan was called away he should remain the
sole possessor of the bed. An officer approached.
“I am come to fetch you, Monsieur d’Artagnan.”
“From whom?”
“His eminence sent me.”
“Tell my lord that I’m going to sleep, and I advise him, as a friend,
to do the same.”
“His eminence is not gone to bed and will not go to bed, and wants you
instantly.”
“The devil take Mazarin, who does not know when to sleep at the proper
time. What does he want with me? Is it to make me a captain? In that
case I will forgive him.”
And the musketeer rose, grumbling, took his sword, hat, pistols, and
cloak, and followed the officer, whilst Porthos, alone and sole
possessor of the bed, endeavored to follow the good example of falling
asleep, which his predecessor had set him.
“Monsieur d’Artagnan,” said the cardinal, on perceiving him, “I have
not forgotten with what zeal you have served me. I am going to prove to
you that I have not.”
“Good,” thought the Gascon, “this is a promising beginning.”
“Monsieur d’Artagnan,” he resumed, “do you wish to become a captain?”
“Yes, my lord.”
“And your friend still longs to be made a baron?”
“At this very moment, my lord, he no doubt dreams that he is one
already.”
“Then,” said Mazarin, taking from his portfolio the letter which he had
already shown D’Artagnan, “take this dispatch and carry it to England.”
D’Artagnan looked at the envelope; there was no address on it.
“Am I not to know to whom to present it?”
“You will know when you reach London; at London you may tear off the
outer envelope.”
“And what are my instructions?”
“To obey in every particular the man to whom this letter is addressed.
You must set out for Boulogne. At the Royal Arms of England you will
find a young gentleman named Mordaunt.”
“Yes, my lord; and what am I to do with this young gentleman?”
“Follow wherever he leads you.”
D’Artagnan looked at the cardinal with a stupefied air.
“There are your instructions,” said Mazarin; “go!”
“Go! ’tis easy to say so, but that requires money, and I haven’t any.”
“Ah!” replied Mazarin, “so you have no money?”
“None, my lord.”
“But the diamond I gave you yesterday?”
“I wish to keep it in remembrance of your eminence.”
Mazarin sighed.
“’Tis very dear living in England, my lord, especially as envoy
extraordinary.”
“Zounds!” replied Mazarin, “the people there are very sedate, and their
habits, since the revolution, simple; but no matter.”
He opened a drawer and took out a purse.
“What do you say to a thousand crowns?”
D’Artagnan pouted out his lower lip in a most extraordinary manner.
“I reply, my lord, ’tis but little, as certainly I shall not go alone.”
“I suppose not. Monsieur du Vallon, that worthy gentleman, for, with
the exception of yourself, Monsieur d’Artagnan, there’s not a man in
France that I esteem and love so much as him——”
“Then, my lord,” replied D’Artagnan, pointing to the purse which
Mazarin still held, “if you love and esteem him so much, you—understand
me?”
“Be it so! on his account I add two hundred crowns.”
“Scoundrel!” muttered D’Artagnan. “But on our return,” he said aloud,
“may we, that is, my friend and I, depend on having, he his barony, and
I my promotion?”
“On the honor of Mazarin.”
“I should like another sort of oath better,” said D’Artagnan to
himself; then aloud, “May I not offer my duty to her majesty the
queen?”
“Her majesty is asleep and you must set off directly,” replied Mazarin;
“go, pray, sir——”
“One word more, my lord; if there’s any fighting where I’m going, must
I fight?”
“You are to obey the commands of the personage to whom I have addressed
the inclosed letter.”
“’Tis well,” said D’Artagnan, holding out his hand to receive the
money. “I offer my best respects and services to you, my lord.”
D’Artagnan then, returning to the officer, said:
“Sir, have the kindness also to awaken Monsieur du Vallon and to say
’tis by his eminence’s order, and that I shall await him at the
stables.”
The officer went off with an eagerness that showed the Gascon that he
had some personal interest in the matter.
Porthos was snoring most musically when some one touched him on the
shoulder.
“I come from the cardinal,” said the officer.
“Heigho!” said Porthos, opening his large eyes; “what have you got to
say?”
“That his eminence has ordered you to England and that Monsieur
d’Artagnan is waiting for you in the stables.”
Porthos sighed heavily, arose, took his hat, his pistols, and his
cloak, and departed, casting a look of regret upon the couch where he
had hoped to sleep so well.