The Three Musketeers - Dumas

11 IN WHICH THE PLOT THICKENS
His visit to M. de Treville being paid, the pensive D''Artagnan took the longest way homeward.
On what was D''Artagnan thinking, that he strayed thus from his
path, gazing at the stars of heaven, and sometimes sighing,
sometimes smiling?
He was thinking of Mme. Bonacieux. For an apprentice Musketeer
the young woman was almost an ideal of love. Pretty, mysterious,
initiated in almost all the secrets of the court, which reflected
such a charming gravity over her pleasing features, it might be
surmised that she was not wholly unmoved; and this is an
irresistible charm to novices in love. Moreover, D''Artagnan had
delivered her from the hands of the demons who wished to search
and ill treat her; and this important service had established
between them one of those sentiments of gratitude which so easily
assume a more tender character.
D''Artagnan already fancied himself, so rapid is the flight of our
dreams upon the wings of imagination, accosted by a messenger
from the young woman, who brought him some billet appointing a
meeting, a gold chain, or a diamond. We have observed that young
cavaliers received presents from their king without shame. Let
us add that in these times of lax morality they had no more
delicacy with respect to the mistresses; and that the latter
almost always left them valuable and durable remembrances, as if
they essayed to conquer the fragility of their sentiments by the
soli***y of their gifts.
Without a blush, men made their way in the world by the means of
women blushing. Such as were only beautiful gave their beauty,
whence, without doubt, comes the proverb, "The most beautiful
girl in the world can only give what she has." Such as were rich
gave in ad***ion a part of their money; and a vast number of
heroes of that gallant period may be cited who would neither have
won their spurs in the first place, nor their battles afterward,
without the purse, more or less furnished, which their mistress
fastened to the saddle bow.
D''Artagnan owned nothing. Provincial diffidence, that slight
varnish, the ephemeral flower, that down of the peach, had
evaporated to the winds through the little orthodox counsels
which the three Musketeers gave their friend. D''Artagnan,
following the strange custom of the times, considered himself at
Paris as on a campaign, neither more nor less than if he had been
in Flanders--Spain yonder, woman here, In each there was an
enemy to contend with, and contributions to be levied.
But, we must say, at the present moment D''Artagnan was ruled by
as feeling much more noble and disinterested. The mercer had
said that he was rich; the young man might easily guess that
with so weak a man as M. Bonacieux; and interest was almost
foreign to this commencement of love, which had been the
consequence of it. We say ALMOST, for the idea that a young,
handsome, kind, and witty woman is at the same time rich takes
nothing from the beginning of love, but on the contrary
strengthens it.
There are in affluence a crowd of aristocratic cares and caprices
which are highly becoming to beauty. A fine and white stocking,
a silken robe, a lace kerchief, a pretty slipper on the foot, a
tasty ribbon on the head do not make an ugly woman pretty, but
they make a pretty woman beautiful, without reckoning the hands,
which gain by all this; the hands, among women particularly, to
be beautiful must be idle.
Then D''Artagnan, as the reader, from whom we have not concealed
the state of his fortune, very well knows--D''Artagnan was not a
millionaire; he hoped to become one someday, but the time which
in his own mind he fixed upon for this happy change was still far
distant. In the meanwhile, how disheartening to see the woman
one loves long for those thousands of nothings which constitute a
woman''s happiness, and be unable to give her those thousands of
nothings. At least, when the woman is rich and the lover is not
that which he cannot offer she offers to herself; and although it
is generally with her husband''s money that she procures herself
this indulgence, the gratitude for it seldom reverts to him.
Then D''Artagnan, disposed to become the most tender of lovers,
was at the same time a very devoted friend, In the midst of his
amorous projects for the mercer''s wife, he did not forget his
friends. The pretty Mme. Bonacieux was just the woman to walk
with in the Plain St. Denis or in the fair of St. Germain, in
company with Athos, Porthos, and Aramis, to whom D''Artagnan had
often remarked this. Then one could enjoy charming little
dinners, where one touches on one side the hand of a friend, and
on the other the foot of a mistress. Besides, on pressing
occasions, in extreme difficulties, D''Artagnan would become the
preserver of his friends.
And M. Bonacieux? whom D''Artagnan had pushed into the hands of
the officers, denying him aloud although he had promised in a
whisper to save him. We are compelled to admit to our readers
that D''Artagnan thought nothing about him in any way; or that if
he did think of him, it was only to say to himself that he was
very well where he was, wherever it might be. Love is the most
selfish of all the passions.
Let our readers reassure themselves. IF D''Artagnan forgets his
host, or appears to forget him, under the pretense of not knowing
where he has been carried, we will not forget him, and we know
where he is. But for the moment, let us do as did the amorous
Gascon; we will see after the worthy mercer later.
D''Artagnan, reflecting on his future amours, addressing himself
to the beautiful night, and smiling at the stars, rescinded the
Rue Cherish-Midi, or Chase-Midi, as it was then called. As he
found himself in the quarter in which Aramis lived, he took it
into his head to pay his friend a visit in order to explain the
motives which had led him to send Planchet with a request that he
would come instantly to the mousetrap. Now, if Aramis had been
at home when Planchet came to his abode, he had doubtless
hastened to the Rue des Fossoyeurs, and finding nobody there but
his other two companions perhaps, they would not be able to
conceive what all this meant. This mystery required an
explanation; at least, so D''Artagnan declared to himself.
He likewise thought this was an opportunity for talking about
pretty little Mme. Bonacieux, of whom his head, if not his heart,
was already full. We must never look for discretion in first
love. First love is accompanied by such excessive joy that
unless the joy be allowed to overflow, it will stifle you.
Paris for two hours past had been dark, and seemed a desert.
Eleven o''clock sounded from all the clocks of the Faubourg St.
Germain. It was delightful weather. D''Artagnan was passing
along a lane on the spot where the Rue d''Assas is now situated,
breathing ********y emanations which were borne upon the wind
from the Rue de Vaugirard, and which arose from the gardens
refreshed by the dews of evening and the breeze of night. From a
distance resounded, deadened, however, by good shutters, the
songs of the tipplers, enjoying themselves in the cabarets
scattered along the plain. Arrived at the end of the lane,
D''Artagnan turned to the left. The house in which Aramis dwelt
was situated between the Rue Cassette and the Rue Servandoni.
D''Artagnan had just passed the Rue Cassette, and already
perceived the door of his friend''s house, shaded by a mass of
sycamores and clematis which formed a vast arch opposite the
front of it, when he perceived something like a shadow issuing
from the Rue Servandoni. This something was enveloped in a
cloak, and D''Artagnan at first believed it was a man; but by the
smallness of the form, the hesitation of the walk, and the
indecision of the step, he soon discovered that it was a woman.
Further, this woman, as if not certain of the house she was
seeking, lifted up her eyes to look around her, stopped, went
backward, and then returned again. D''Artagnan was perplexed.
"Shall I go and offer her my services?" thought he. "By her step
she must be young; perhaps she is pretty. Oh, yes! But a woman
who wanders in the streets at this hour only ventures out to meet
her lover. If I should disturb a rendezvous, that would not be
the best means of commencing an acquaintance."
Meantime the young woman continued to advance, counting the
houses and windows. This was neither long nor difficult. There
were but three hotels in this part of the street; and only two
windows looking toward the road, one of which was in a pavilion
parallel to that which Aramis occupied, the other belonging to
Aramis himself.
"PARIDIEU!" said D''Artagnan to himself, to whose mind the niece
of the theologian reverted, "PARDIEU, it would be droll if this
belated dove should be in search of our friend''s house. But on
my soul, it looks so. Ah, my dear Aramis, this time I shall find
you out." And D''Artagnan, making himself as small as he could,
concealed himself in the darkest side of the street near a stone
bench placed at the back of a niche.
The young woman continued to advance; and in ad***ion to the
lightness of her step, which had betrayed her, she emitted a
little cough which denoted a sweet voice. D''Artagnan believed
this cough to be a signal.
Nevertheless, whether the cough had been answered by a similar
signal which had fixed the irresolution of the nocturnal seeker,
or whether without this aid she saw that she had arrived at the
end of her journey, she resolutely drew near to Aramis''s shutter,
and tapped, at three equal intervals, with her bent finger.
"This is all very fine, dear Aramis," murmured D''Artagnan.
"Ah, Monsieur Hypocrite, I understand how you study theology."
The three blows were scarcely struck, when the inside blind was
opened and a light appeared through the panes of the outside
shutter.
"Ah, ah!" said the listener, "not through doors, but through
windows! Ah, this visit was expected. We shall see the windows
open, and the lady enter by escalade. Very pretty!"
But to the great astonishment of D''Artagnan, the shutter remained
closed. Still more, the light which had shone for an instant
disappeared, and all was again in obscurity.
D''Artagnan thought this could not last long, and continued to
look with all his eyes and listen with all his ears.
He was right; at the end of some seconds two sharp taps were
heard inside. The young woman in the street replied by a single
tap, and the shutter was opened a little way.
It may be judged whether D''Artagnan looked or listened with
avi***y. Unfortunately the light had been removed into another
chamber; but the eyes of the young man were accustomed to the
night. Besides, the eyes of the Gascons have, as it is asserted,
like those of cats, the faculty of seeing in the dark.
D''Artagnan then saw that the young woman took from her pocket a
white object, which she unfolded quickly, and which took the form
of a handkerchief. She made her interlocutor observe the corner
of this unfolded object.
This immediately recalled to D''Artagnan''s mind the handkerchief
which he had found at the feet of Mme. Bonacieux, which had
reminded him of that which he had dragged from under the feet of
Aramis.
"What the devil could that handkerchief signify?"
Placed where he was, D''Artagnan could not perceive the face of
Aramis. We say Aramis, because the young man entertained no
doubt that it was his friend who held this dialogue from the
interior with the lady of the exterior. Curiosity prevailed over
prudence; and profiting by the preoccupation into which the sight
of the handkerchief appeared to have plunged the two personages
now on the scene, he stole from his hiding place, and quick as
lightning, but stepping with utmost caution, he ran and placed
himself close to the angle of the wall, from which his eye could
pierce the interior of Aramis''s room.
Upon gaining this advantage D''Artagnan was near uttering a cry of
surprise; it was not Aramis who was conversing with the nocturnal
visitor, it was a woman! D''Artagnan, however, could only see
enough to recognize the form of her vestments, not enough to
distinguish her features.
At the same instant the woman inside drew a second handkerchief
from her pocket, and exchanged it for that which had just been
shown to her. Then some words were spoken by the two women. At
length the shutter closed. The woman who was outside the window
turned round, and passed within four steps of D''Artagnan, pulling
down the hood of her mantle; but the precaution was too late,
D''Artagnan had already recognized Mme. Bonacieux.
Mme. Bonacieux! The suspicion that it was she had crossed the
mind of D''Artagnan when she drew the handkerchief from her
pocket; but what probability was there that Mme. Bonacieux, who
had sent for M. Laporte in order to be reconducted to the Louvre,
should be running about the streets of Paris at half past eleven
at night, at the risk of being abducted a second time?
This must be, then, an affair of importance; and what is the most
important affair to a woman of twenty-five! Love.
But was it on her own account, or on account of another, that she
exposed herself *****ch hazards? This was a question the young
man asked himself, whom the demon of jealousy already gnawed,
being in heart neither more nor less than an accepted lover.
There was a very simple means of satisfying himself whither Mme.
Bonacieux was going; that was to follow her. This method was so
simple that D''Artagnan employed it quite naturally and
instinctively.
But at the sight of the young man, who detached himself from the
wall like a statue walking from its niche, and at the noise of
the steps which she heard resound behind her, Mme. Bonacieux
uttered a little cry and fled.
D''Artagnan ran after her. It was not difficult for him to
overtake a woman embarrassed with her cloak. He came up with her
before she had traversed a third of the street. The unfortunate
woman was exhausted, not by fatigue, but by terror, and when
D''Artagnan placed his hand upon her shoulder, she sank upon one
knee, crying in a choking voice, "Kill me, if you please, you
shall know nothing!"
D''Artagnan raised her by passing his arm round her waist; but as
he felt by her weight she was on the point of fainting, he made
haste to reassure her by protestations of devotedness. These
protestations were nothing for Mme. Bonacieux, for such
protestations may be made with the worst intentions in the world;
but the voice was all Mme. Bonacieux thought she recognized the
sound of that voice; she reopened her eyes, cast a quick glance
upon the man who had terrified her so, and at once perceiving it
was D''Artagnan, she uttered a cry of joy, "Oh, it is you, it is
you! Thank God, thank God!"
"Yes, it is I," said D''Artagnan, "it is I, whom God has sent to
watch over you."
"Was it with that intention you followed me?" asked the young
woman, with a coquettish smile, whose somewhat bantering
character resumed its influence, and with whom all fear had
disappeared from the moment in which she recognized a friend in
one she had taken for an enemy.
"No," said D''Artagnan; "no, I confess it. It was chance that
threw me in your way; I saw a woman knocking at the window of one
of my friends."
"One of your friends?" interrupted Mme. Bonacieux.
"Without doubt; Aramis is one of my best friends."
"Aramis! Who is he?"
"Come, come, you won''t tell me you don''t know Aramis?"
"This is the first time I ever heard his name pronounced."
"It is the first time I ever heard his name pronounced."
"It is the first time, then, that you ever went to that house?"
"Undoubtedly."
"And you did not know that it was inhabited by a young man?"
"No."
"By a Musketeer?"
"No, indeed!"
"It was not he, then, you came to seek?"
"Not the least in the world. Besides, you must have seen that
the person to whom I spoke was a woman."
"That is true; but this woman is a friend of Aramis--"
"I know nothing of that."
"--since she lodges with him."
"That does not concern me."
"But who is she?"
"Oh, that is not my secret."
"My dear Madame Bonacieux, you are charming; but at the same time
you are one of the most mysterious women."
"Do I lose by that?"
"No; you are, on the contrary, adorable."
"Give me your arm, then."
"Most willingly. And now?"
"Now escort me."
"Where?"
"Where I am going."
"But where are you going?"
"You will see, because you will leave me at the door."
"Shall I wait for you?"
"That will be useless."
"You will return alone, then?"
"Perhaps yes, perhaps no."
"But will the person who shall accompany you afterward be a man
or a woman?"
"I don''t know yet."
"But I will know it!"
"How so?"
"I will wait until you come out."
"In that case, adieu."
"Why so?"
"I do not want you."
"But you have claimed--"
"The aid of a gentleman, not the watchfulness of a spy."
"The word is rather hard."
"How are they called who follow others in spite of them?"
"They are indiscreet."
"The word is too mild."
"well, madame, I perceive I must do as you wish."
"Why did you deprive yourself of the merit of doing so at once?"
"Is there no merit in repentance?"
"And do you really repent?"
"I know nothing about it myself. But what I know is that I
promise to do all you wish if you allow me to accompany you where
you are going."
"And you will leave me then?"
"Yes."
"Without waiting for my coming out again?"
"Yes."
"Word of honor?"
"By the faith of a gentleman. Take my arm, and let us go."
D''Artagnan offered his arm to Mme. Bonacieux, who willingly took
it, half laughing, half trembling, and both gained the top of Rue
de la Harpe. Arriving there, the young woman seemed to hesitate,
as she had before done in the Rue Vaugirard. She seemed,
however, by certain signs, to recognize a door, and approaching
that door, "And now, monsieur," said she, "it is here I have
business; a thousand thanks for your honorable company, which has
saved me from all the dangers to which, alone I was exposed. But
the moment is come to keep your word; I have reached my
destination."
"And you will have nothing to fear on your return?"
"I shall have nothing to fear but robbers."
"And that is nothing?"
"What could they take from me? I have not a penny about me."
"You forget that beautiful handkerchief with the coat of arms."
"Which?"
"That which I found at your feet, and replaced in your pocket."
"Hold your tongue, imprudent man! Do you wish to destroy me?"
"You see very plainly that there is still danger for you, since a
single word makes you tremble; and you confess that if that word
were heard you would be ruined. Come, come, madame!" cried
D''Artagnan, seizing her hands, and surveying her with an ardent
glance, "come, be more generous. Confide in me. Have you not
read in my eyes that there is nothing but devotion and sympathy
in my heart?"
"Yes," replied Mme. Bonacieux; "therefore, ask my own secrets,
and I will reveal them to you; but those of others--that is quite
another thing."
"Very well," said D''Artagnan, "I shall discover them; as these
secrets may have an influence over your life, these secrets must
become mine."
"Beware of what you do!" cried the young woman, in a manner so
serious as to make D''Artagnan start in spite of himself. "Oh,
meddle in nothing which concerns me. Do not seek to assist me in
that which I am accomplishing. This I ask of you in the name of
the interest with which I inspire you, in the name of the service
you have rendered me and which I never shall forget while I have
life. Rather, place faith in what I tell you. Have no more
concern about me; I exist no longer for you, any more than if you
had never seen me."
"Must Aramis do as much as I, madame?" said D''Artagnan, deeply
piqued.
"This is the second or third time, monsieur, that you have
repeated that name, and yet I have told you that I do not know
him."
"You do not know the man at whose shutter you have just knocked?
Indeed, madame, you believe me too credulous!"
"Confess that it is for the sake of making me talk that you
invent this story and create this personage."
"I invent nothing, madame; I create nothing. I only speak that
exact truth."
"And you say that one of your friends lives in that house?"
"I say so, and I repeat it for the third time; that house is one
inhabited by my friend, and that friend is Aramis."
"All this will be cleared up at a later period," murmured the
young woman; "no, monsieur, be silent."
"If you could see my heart," said D''Artagnan, "you would there
read so much curiosity that you would pity me and so much love
that you would instantly satisfy my curiosity. We have nothing
to fear from those who love us."
"You speak very suddenly of love, monsieur," said the young
woman, shaking her head.
"That is because love has come suddenly upon me, and for the
first time; and because I am only twenty."
The young woman looked at him furtively.
"Listen; I am already upon the scent," resumed D''Artagnan.
"About three months ago I was near having a duel with Aramis
concerning a handkerchief resembling the one you showed to the
woman in his house--for a handkerchief marked in the same manner,
I am sure."
"Monsieur," said the young woman, "you weary me very much, I
assure you, with your questions."
"But you, madame, prudent as you are, think, if you were to be
arrested with that handkerchief, and that handkerchief were to be
seized, would you not be compromised?"
"In what way? The initials are only mine--C. B., Constance
Bonacieux."
"Or Camille de Bois-Tracy."
"Silence, monsieur! Once again, silence! Ah, since the dangers
I incur on my own account cannot stop you, think of those you may
yourself run!"
"Me?"
"Yes; there is peril of imprisonment, risk of life in knowing
me."
"Then I will not leave you."
"Monsieur!" said the young woman, supplicating him and clasping
her hands together, "monsieur, in the name of heaven, by the
honor of a soldier, by the courtesy of a gentleman, depart!
There, there midnight sounds! That is the hour when I am
expected."
"Madame," said the young man, bowing; "I can refuse nothing asked
of me thus. Be content; I will depart."
"But you will not follow me; you will not watch me?"
"I will return home instantly."
"Ah, I was quite sure you were a good and brave young man," said
Mme. Bonacieux, holding out her hand to him, and placing the
other upon the knocker of a little door almost hidden in the
wall.
D''Artagnan seized the hand held out to him, and kissed it
ardently.
"Ah! I wish I had never seen you!" cried D''Artagnan, with that
ingenuous roughness which women often prefer to the affectations
of politeness, because it betrays the depths of the thought and
proves that feeling prevails over reason.
"Well!" resumed Mme. Bonacieux, in a voice almost caressing, and
pressing the hand of D''Artagnan, who had not relinquished hers,
"well: I will not say as much as you do; what is lost for today
may not be lost forever. Who knows, when I shall be at liberty,
that I may not satisfy your curiosity?"
"And will you make the same promise to my love?" cried
D''Artagnan, beside himself with joy.
"Oh, as to that, I do not engage myself. That depends upon the
sentiments with which you may inspire me."
"Then today, madame--"
"Oh, today, I am no further than gratitude."
"Ah! You are too charming," said D''Artagnan, sorrowfully; "and
you abuse my love."
"No, I use your generosity, that''s all. But be of good cheer;
with certain people, everything comes round."
"Oh, you render me the happiest of men! Do not forget this
evening--do not forget that promise."
"Be satisfied. In the proper time and place I will remember
everything. Now then, go, go, in the name of heaven! I was
expected at sharp midnight, and I am late."
"By five minutes."
"Yes; but in certain circumstances five minutes are five ages."
"When one loves."
"Well! And who told you I had no affair with a lover?"
"It is a man, then, who expects you?" cried D''Artagnan. "A man!"
"The discussion is going to begin again!" said Mme. Bonacieux,
with a half-smile which was not exempt from a tinge of
impatience.
"No, no; I go, I depart! I believe in you, and I would have all
the merit of my devotion, even if that devotion were stupi***y.
Adieu, madame, adieu!"
And as if he only felt strength to detach himself by a violent
effort from the hand he held, he sprang away, running, while Mme.
Bonacieux knocked, as at the shutter, three light and regular
taps. When he had gained the angle of the street, he turned.
The door had been opened, and shut again; the mercer''s pretty
wife had disappeared.
D''Artagnan pursued his way. He had given his word not to watch
Mme. Bonacieux, and if his life had depended upon the spot to
which she was going or upon the person who should accompany her,
D''Artagnan would have returned home, since he had so promised.
Five minutes later he was in the Rue des Fossoyeurs.
"Poor Athos!" said he; "he will never guess what all this means.
He will have fallen asleep waiting for me, or else he will have
returned home, where he will have learned that a woman had been
there. A woman with Athos! After all," continued D''Artagnan,
"there was certainly one with Aramis. All this is very strange;
and I am curious to know how it will end."
"Badly, monsieur, badly!" replied a voice which the young man
recognized as that of Planchet; for, soliloquizing aloud, as very
preoccupied people do, he had entered the alley, at the end of
which were the stairs which led to his chamber.
"How badly? What do you mean by that, you idiot?" asked
D''Artagnan. "What has happened?"
"All sorts of misfortunes."
"What?"
"In the first place, Monsieur Athos is arrested."
"Arrested! Athos arrested! What for?"
"He was found in your lodging; they took him for you."
"And by whom was he arrested?"
"By Guards brought by the men in black whom you put to flight."
"Why did he not tell them his name? Why did he not tell them he
knew nothing about this affair?"
"He took care not to do so, monsieur; on the contrary, he came up
to me and said, ''It is your master that needs his liberty at this
moment and not I, since he knows everything and I know nothing.
They will believe he is arrested, and that will give him time; in
three days I will tell them who I am, and they cannot fail to let
me go.''"
"Bravo, Athos! Noble heart!" murmured D''Artagnan. "I know him
well there! And what did the officers do?"
"Four conveyed him away, I don''t know where--to the Bastille or
Fort l''Eveque. Two remained with the men in black, who rummaged
every place and took all the papers. The last two mounted guard
at the door during this examination; then, when all was over,
they went away, leaving the house empty and exposed."
"And Porthos and Aramis?"
"I could not find them; they did not come."
"But they may come any moment, for you left word that I awaited
them?"
"Yes, monsieur."
"Well, don''t budge, then; if they come, tell them what has
happened. Let them wait for me at the Pomme-de-Pin. Here it
would be dangerous; the house may be watched. I will run to
Monsieur de Treville to tell them all this, and will meet them
there."
"Very well, monsieur," said Planchet.
"But you will remain; you are not afraid?" said D''Artagnan,
coming back to recommend courage to his lackey.
"Be easy, monsieur," said Planchet; "you do not know me yet. I
am brave when I set about it. It is all in beginning. Besides,
I am a Picard."
"Then it is understood," said D''Artagnan; "you would rather be
killed than desert your post?"
"Yes, monsieur; and there is nothing I would not do to prove to
Monsieur that I am attached to him."
"Good!" said D''Artagnan to himself. "It appears that the method
I have adopted with this boy is decidedly the best. I shall use
it again upon occasion."
And with all the swiftness of his legs, already a little fatigued
however, with the perambulations of the day, D''Artagnan directed
his course toward M. de Treville''s.
M. de Treville was not at his hotel. His company was on guard at
the Louvre; he was at the Louvre with his company.
It was necessary to reach M. de Treville; it was important that
he should be informed of what was passing. D''Artagnan resolved
to try and enter the Louvre. His costume of Guardsman in the
company of M. Dessessart ought to be his passport.
He therefore went down the Rue des Petits Augustins, and came up
to the quay, in order to take the New Bridge. He had at first an
idea of crossing by the ferry; but on gaining the riverside, he
had mechanically put his hand into his pocket, and perceived that
he had not wherewithal to pay his passage.
As he gained the top of the Rue Guenegaud, he saw two persons
coming out of the Rue Dauphine whose appearance very much struck
him. Of the two persons who composed this group, one was a man
and the other a woman. The woman had the outline of Mme.
Bonacieux; the man resembled Aramis so much as to be mistaken for
him.
Besides, the woman wore that black mantle which D''Artagnan could
still see outlined on the shutter of the Rue de Vaugirard and on
the door of the Rue de la Harpe; still further, the man wore the
uniform of a Musketeer.
The woman''s hood was pulled down, and the man geld a handkerchief
to his face. Both, as this double precaution indicated, had an
interest in not being recognized.
They took the bridge. That was D''Artagnan''s road, as he was
going to the Louvre. D''Artagnan followed them.
He had not gone twenty steps before he became convinced that the
woman was really Mme. Bonacieux and that the man was Aramis.
He felt at that instant all the suspicions of jealousy agitating
his heart. He felt himself doubly betrayed, by his friend and by
her whom he already loved like a mistress. Mme. Bonacieux had
declared to him, by all the gods, that she did not know Aramis;
and a quarter of an hour after having made this assertion, he
found her hanging on the arm of Aramis.
D''Artagnan did not reflect that he had only known the mercer''s
pretty wife for three hours; that she owed him nothing but a
little gratitude for having delivered her from the men in black,
who wished to carry her off, and that she had promised him
nothing. He considered himself an outraged, betrayed, and
ridiculed lover. Blood and anger mounted to his face; he was
resolved to unravel the mystery.
The young man and young woman perceived they were watched, and
redoubled their speed. D''Artagnan determined upon his course.
He passed them, then returned so as to meet them exactly before
the Samaritaine. Which was illuminated by a lamp which threw its
light over all that part of the bridge.
D''Artagnan stopped before them, and they stopped before him.
"What do you want, monsieur?" demanded the Musketeer, recoiling a
step, and with a foreign accent, which proved to D''Artagnan that
he was deceived in one of his conjectures.
"It is not Aramis!" cried he.
"No, monsieur, it is not Aramis; and by your exclamation I
perceive you have mistaken me for another, and pardon you."
"You pardon me?" cried D''Artagnan.
"Yes," replied the stranger. "Allow me, then, to pass on, since
it is not with me you have anything to do."
"You are right, monsieur, it is not with you that I have anything
to do; it is with Madame."
"With Madame! You do not know her," replied the stranger.
"You are deceived, monsieur; I know her very well."
"Ah," said Mme. Bonacieux; in a tone of reproach, "ah, monsieur,
I had your promise as a soldier and your word as a gentleman. I
hoped to be able to rely upon that."
"And I, madame!" said D''Artagnan, embarrassed; "you promised me--
"
"Take my arm, madame," said the stranger, "and let us continue
our way."
D''Artagnan, however, stupefied, cast down, annihilated by all
that happened, stood, with crossed arms, before the Musketeer and
Mme. Bonacieux.
The Musketeer advanced two steps, and pushed D''Artagnan aside
with his hand. D''Artagnan made a spring backward and drew his
sword. At the same time, and with the rapi***y of lightning, the
stranger drew his.
"In the name of heaven, my Lord!" cried Mme. Bonacieux, throwing
herself between the combatants and seizing the swords with her
hands.
"My Lord!" cried D''Artagnan, enlightened by a sudden idea, "my
Lord! Pardon me, monsieur, but you are not--"
"My Lord the Duke of Buckingham," said Mme. Bonacieux, in an
undertone; "and now you may ruin us all."
"My Lord, Madame, I ask a hundred pardons! But I love her, my
Lord, and was jealous. You know what it is to love, my Lord.
Pardon me, and then tell me how I can risk my life to serve your
Grace?"
"You are a brave young man," said Buckingham, holding out his
hand to D''Artagnan, who pressed it respectfully. "You offer me
your services; with the same frankness I accept them. Follow us
at a distance of twenty paces, as far as the Louvre, and if
anyone watches us, slay him!"
D''Artagnan placed his naked sword under his arm, allowed the duke
and Mme. Bonacieux to take twenty steps ahead, and then followed
them, ready to execute the instructions of the noble and elegant
minister of Charles I.
Fortunately, he had no opportunity to give the duke this proof of
his devotion, and the young woman and the handsome Musketeer
entered the Louvre by the wicket of the Echelle without any
interference.
As for D''Artagnan, he immediately repaired to the cabaret of the
Pomme-de-Pin, where he found Porthos and Aramis awaiting him.
Without giving them any explanation of the alarm and
inconvenience he had caused them, he told them that he had
terminated the affair alone in which he had for a moment believed
he should need their assistance.
Meanwhile, carried away as we are by our narrative, we must leave
our three friends to themselves, and follow the Duke of
Buckingham and his guide through the labyrinths of the Louvre.

12 GEORGE VILLIERS, DUKE OF BUCKINGHAM
Mme. Bonacieux and the duke entered the Louvre without
difficulty. Mme. Bonacieux was known to belong to the queen; the
duke wore the uniform of the Musketeers of M. de Treville, who,
as we have said, were that evening on guard. Besides, Germain
was in the interests of the queen; and if anything should happen,
Mme. Bonacieux would be accused of having introduced her lover
into the Louvre, that was all. She took the risk upon herself.
Her reputation would be lost, it is true; but of what value in
the world was the reputation of the little wife of a mercer?
Once within the interior of the court, the duke and the young
woman followed the wall for the space of about twenty-five steps.
This space passed, Mme. Bonacieux pushed a little servants'' door,
open by day but generally closed at night. The door yielded.
Both entered, and found themselves in darkness; but Mme.
Bonacieux was acquainted with all the turnings and windings of
this part of the Louvre, appropriated for the people of the
household. She closed the door after her, took the duke by the
hand, and after a few experimental steps, grasped a balustrade,
put her foot upon the bottom step, and began to ascend the
staircase. The duke counted two stories. She then turned to the
right, followed the course of a long corridor, descended a
flight, went a few steps farther, introduced a key into a lock,
opened a door, and pushed the duke into an apartment lighted only
by a lamp, saying, "Remain here, my Lord Duke; someone will
come." She then went out by the same door, which she locked, so
that the duke found himself literally a prisoner.
Nevertheless, isolated as he was, we must say that the Duke of
Buckingham did not experience an instant of fear. One of the
salient points of his character was the search for adventures and
a love of romance. Brave, rash, and enterprising, this was not
the first time he had risked his life in such attempts. He had
learned that the pretended message from Anne of Austria, upon the
faith of which he had come to Paris, was a snare; but instead of
regaining England, he had, abusing the position in which he had
been placed, declared to the queen that he would not depart
without seeing her. The queen had at first positively refused;
but at length became afraid that the duke, if exasperated, would
commit some folly. She had already decided upon seeing him and
urging his immediate departure, when, on the very evening of
coming to this decision, Mme. Bonacieux, who was charged with
going to fetch the duke and conducting him to the Louvre, was
abducted. For two days no one knew what had become of her, and
everything remained in suspense; but once free, and placed in
communication with Laporte, matters resumed their course, and she
accomplished the perilous enterprise which, but for her arrest,
would have been executed three days earlier.
Buckingham, left alone, walked toward a mirror. His Musketeer''s
uniform became him marvelously.
At thirty-five, which was then his age, he passed, with just
title, for the handsomest gentleman and the most elegant cavalier
of France or England.
The favorite of two kings, immensely rich, all-powerful in a
kingdom which he disordered at his fancy and calmed again at his
caprice, George Villiers, Duke of Buckingham, had lived one of
those fabulous existences which survive, in the course of
centuries, to astonish posterity.
Sure of himself, convinced of his own power, certain that the
laws which rule other men could not reach him, he went straight
to the object he aimed at, even were this object were so elevated
and so dazzling that it would have been madness for any other
even to have contemplated it. It was thus he had succeeded in
approaching several times the beautiful and proud Anne of
Austria, and in making himself loved by dazzling her.
George Villiers placed himself before the glass, as we have said,
restored the undulations to his beautiful hair, which the weight
of his hat had disordered, twisted his mustache, and, his heart
swelling with joy, happy and proud at being near the moment he
had so long sighed for, he smiled upon himself with pride and
hope.
At this moment a door concealed in the tapestry opened, and a
woman appeared. Buckingham saw this apparition in the glass; he
uttered a cry. It was the queen!
Anne of Austria was then twenty-six or twenty-seven years of age;
that is to say, she was in the full splendor of her beauty.
Her carriage was that of a queen or a goddess; her eyes, which
cast the brilliancy of emeralds, were perfectly beautiful, and
yet were at the same time full of sweetness and majesty.
Her mouth was small and rosy; and although her underlip, like
that of all princes of the House of Austria, protruded slightly
beyond the other, it was eminently lovely in its smile, but as
profoundly disdainful in its contempt.
Her skin was admired for its velvety softness; her hands and arms
were of surpassing beauty, all the poets of the time singing them
as incomparable.
Lastly, her hair, which, from being light in her youth, had
become chestnut, and which she wore curled very plainly, and with
much powder, admirably set off her face, in which the most rigid
critic could only have desired a little less rouge, and the most
fastidious sculptor a little more fineness in the nose.
Buckingham remained for a moment dazzled. Never had Anna of
Austria appeared to him so beautiful, amid balls, fetes, or
carousals, as she appeared to him at this moment, dressed in a
simple robe of white satin, and accompanied by Donna Estafania--
the only one of her Spanish women who had not been driven from
her by the jealousy of the king or by the persecutions of
Richelieu.
Anne of Austria took two steps forward. Buckingham threw himself
at her feet, and before the queen could prevent him, kissed the
hem of her robe.
"Duke, you already know that it is not I who caused you to be
written to."
"Yes, yes, madame! Yes, your Majesty!" cried the duke. "I know
that I must have been mad, senseless, to believe that snow would
become animated or marble warm; but what then! They who love
believe easily in love. Besides, I have lost nothing by this
journey because I see you."
"Yes," replied Anne, "but you know why and how I see you;
because, insensible to all my sufferings, you persist in
remaining in a city where, by remaining, you run the risk of your
life, and make me run the risk of my honor. I see you to tell
you that everything separates us--the depths of the sea, the
enmity of kingdoms, the sanctity of vows. It is sacrilege to
struggle against so many things, my Lord. In short, I see you to
tell you that we must never see each other again."
"Speak on, madame, speak on, Queen," said Buckingham; "the
sweetness of your voice covers the harshness of your words. You
talk of sacrilege! Why, the sacrilege is the separation of two
hearts formed by God for each other."
"My Lord," cried the queen, "you forget that I have never said
that I love you."
"But you have never told me that you did not love me; and truly,
to speak such words to me would be, on the part of your Majesty,
too great an ingratitude. For tell me, where can you find a love
like mine--a love which neither time, nor absence, not despair
can extinguish, a love which contents itself with a lost ribbon,
a stray look, or a chance word? It is now three years, madame,
since I saw you for the first time, and during those three years
I have loved you thus. Shall I tell you each ornament of your
toilet? Mark! I see you now. You were seated upon cushions in
the Spanish fashion; you wore a robe of green satin embroidered
with gold and silver, hanging sleeves knotted upon your beautiful
arms--those lovely arms--with large diamonds. You wore a close
ruff, a small cap upon your head of the same color as your robe,
and in that cap a heron''s feather. Hold! Hold! I shut my eyes,
and I can see you as you then were; I open them again, and I see
what you are now--a hundred time more beautiful!"
"What folly," murmured Anne of Austria, who had not the courage
to find fault with the duke for having so well preserved her
portrait in his heart, "what folly to feed a useless passion with
such remembrances!"
"And upon what then must I live? I have nothing but memory. It
is my happiness, my treasure, my hope. Every time I see you is a
fresh diamond which I enclose in the casket of my heart. This
is the fourth which you have let fall and I have picked up; for
in three years, madame, I have only seen you four times--the
first, which I have described to you; the second, at the mansion
of Madame de Chevreuse; the third, in the gardens of Amiens."
"Duke," said the queen, blushing, "never speak of that evening."
"Oh, let us speak of it; on the contrary, let us speak of it!
That is the most happy and brilliant evening of my life! You
remember what a beautiful night it was? How soft and perfumed
was the air; how lovely the blue heavens and star-enameled sky!
Ah, then, madame, I was able for one instant to be alone with
you. Then you were about to tell me all--the isolation of your
life, the griefs of your heart. You leaned upon my arm--upon
this, madame! I felt, in bending my head toward you, your
beautiful hair touch my cheek; and every time that it touched me
I trembled from head to foot. Oh, Queen! Queen! You do not
know what felicity from heaven, what joys from paradise, are
comprised in a moment like that. Take my wealth, my fortune, my
glory, all the days I have to live, for such an instant, for a
night like that. For that night, madame, that night you loved
me, I will swear it."
"My Lord, yes; it is possible that the influence of the place,
the charm of the beautiful evening, the fascination of your
look--the thousand circumstances, in short, which sometimes unite
to destroy a woman--were grouped around me on that fatal evening;
but, my Lord, you saw the queen come to the aid of the woman who
faltered. At the first word you dared to utter, at the first
freedom to which I had to reply, I called for help."
"Yes, yes, that is true. And any other love but mine would have
sunk beneath this ordeal; but my love came out from it more
ardent and more eternal. You believed that you would fly from me
by returning to Paris; you believed that I would not dare to quit
the treasure over which my master had charged me to watch. What
to me were all the treasures in the world, or all the kings of
the earth! Eight days after, I was back again, madame. That
time you had nothing to say to me; I had risked my life and favor
to see you but for a second. I did not even touch your hand, and
you pardoned me on seeing me so submissive and so repentant."
"Yes, but calumny seized upon all those follies in which I took
no part, as you well know, my Lord. The king, excited by the
cardinal, made a terrible clamor. Madame de Vernet was driven
from me, Putange was exiled, Madame de Chevreuse fell into
disgrace, and when you wished to come back as ambassador to
France, the king himself--remember, my lord--the king himself
opposed to it."
"Yes, and France is about to pay for her king''s refusal with a
war. I am not allowed to see you, madame, but you shall every
day hear of me. What object, think you, have this expe***ion to
Re and this league with the Protestants of La Rochelle which I am
projecting? The pleasure of seeing you. I have no hope of
penetrating, sword in hand, to Paris, I know that well. But this
war may bring round a peace; this peace will require a
negotiator; that negotiator will be me. They will not dare to
refuse me then; and I will return to Paris, and will see you
again, and will be happy for an instant. Thousands of men, it is
true, will have to pay for my happiness with their lives; but
what is that to me, provided I see you again! All this is
perhaps folly--perhaps insanity; but tell me what woman has a
lover more truly in love; what queen a servant more ardent?"
"My Lord, my Lord, you invoke in your defense things which accuse
you more strongly. All these proofs of love which you would give
me are almost crimes."
"Because you do not love me, madame! If you loved me, you would
view all this otherwise. If you loved me, oh, if you loved me,
that would be too great happiness, and I should run mad. Ah,
Madame de Chevreuse was less cruel than you. Holland loved her,
and she responded to his love."
"Madame de Chevreuse was not queen," murmured Anne of Austria,
overcome, in spite of herself, by the expression of so profound a
passion.
"You would love me, then, if you were not queen! Madame, say
that you would love me then! I can believe that it is the
dignity of your rank alone which makes you cruel to me; I can
believe that you had been Madame de Chevreuse, poor Buckingham
might have hoped. Thanks for those sweet words! Oh, my
beautiful sovereign, a hundred times, thanks!"
"Oh, my Lord! You have ill understood, wrongly interpreted; I
did not mean to say--"
"Silence, silence!" cried the duke. "If I am happy in an error,
do not have the cruelty to lift me from it. You have told me
yourself, madame, that I have been drawn into a snare; I,
perhaps, may leave my life in it--for, although it may be
strange, I have for some time had a presentiment that I should
shortly die." And the duke smiled, with a smile at once sad and
charming.
"Oh, my God!" cried Anne of Austria, with an accent of terror
which proved how much greater an interest she took in the duke
than she ventured to tell.
"I do not tell you this, madame, to terrify you; no, it is even
ridiculous for me to name it to you, and, believe me, I take no
heed of such dreams. But the words you have just spoken, the
hope you have almost given me, will have richly paid all--were it
my life."
"Oh, but I," said Anne, "I also, duke, have had presentiments; I
also have had dreams. I dreamed that I saw you lying bleeding,
wounded."
"In the left side, was it not, and with a knife?" interrupted
Buckingham.
"Yes, it was so, my Lord, it was so--in the left side, and with a
knife. Who can possibly have told you I had had that dream? I
have imparted it to no one but my God, and that in my prayers."
"I ask for no more. You love me, madame; it is enough."
"I love you, I?"
"Yes, yes. Would God send the same dreams to you as to me if you
did not love me? Should we have the same presentiments if our
existences did not touch at the heart? You love me, my beautiful
queen, and you will weep for me?"
"Oh, my God, my God!" cried Anne of Austria, "this is more than I
can bear. In the name of heaven, Duke, leave me, go! I do not
know whether I love you or love you not; but what I know is that
I will not be perjured. Take pity on me, then, and go! Oh, if
you are stuck in France, if you die in France, if I could imagine
that your love for me was the cause of your death, I could not
console myself; I should run mad. Depart then, depart, I implore
you!"
"Oh, how beautiful you are thus! Oh, how I love you!" said
Buckingham.
"Go, go, I implore you, and return hereafter! Come back as
ambassador, come back as minister, come back surrounded with
guards who will defend you, with servants who will watch over
you, and then I shall no longer fear for your days, and I shall
be happy in seeing you."
"Oh, is this true what you say?"
"Yes."
"Oh, then, some pledge of your indulgence, some object which came
from you, and may remind me that I have not been dreaming;
something you have worn, and that I may wear in my turn--a ring,
a necklace, a chain."
"Will you depart--will you depart, if I give you that you
demand?"
"Yes."
"This very instant?"
"Yes."
"You will leave France, you will return to England?"
"I will, I swear to you."
"Wait, then, wait."
Anne of Austria re-entered her apartment, and came out again
almost immediately, holding a rosewood casket in her hand, with
her cipher encrusted with gold.
"Her, my Lord, here," said she, "keep this in memory of me."
Buckingham took the casket, and fell a second time on his knees.
"You have promised me to go," said the queen.
"And I keep my word. Your hand, madame, your hand, and I
depart!"
Anne of Austria stretched forth her hand, closing her eyes, and
leaning with the other upon Estafania, for she felt that her
strength was about to fail her.
Buckingham pressed his lips passionately to that beautiful hand,
and then rising, said, "Within six months, if I am not dead, I
shall have seen you again, madame--even if I have to overturn the
world." And faithful to the promise he had made, he rushed out
of the apartment.
In the corridor he met Mme. Bonacieux, who waited for him, and
who, with the same precautions and the same good luck, conducted
him out of the Louvre.

13 MONSIEUR BONACIEUX
There was in all this, as may have been observed, one personage
concerned, of whom, notwithstanding his precarious position, we
have appeared to take but very little notice. This personage was
M. Bonacieux, the respectable martyr of the political and amorous
intrigues which entangled themselves so nicely together at this
gallant and chivalric period.
Fortunately, the reader may remember, or may not remember--
fortunately we have promised not to lose sight of him.
The officers who arrested him conducted him straight to the
Bastille, where he passed trembling before a party of soldiers
who were loading their muskets. Thence, introduced into a half-
subterranean gallery, he became, on the part of those who had
brought him, the object of the grossest insults and the harshest
treatment. The officers perceived that they had not to deal with
a gentleman, and they treated him like a very peasant.
At the end of half an hour or thereabouts, a clerk came to put an
end to his tortures, but not to his anxiety, by giving the order
to conduct M. Bonacieux to the Chamber of Examination.
Ordinarily, prisoners were interrogated in their cells; but they
did not do so with M. Bonacieux.
Two guards attended the mercer who made him traverse a court and
enter a corridor in which were three sentinels, opened a door and
pushed him unceremoniously into a low room, where the only
furniture was a table, a chair, and a commissary. The commissary
was seated in the chair, and was writing at the table.
The two guards led the prisoner toward the table, and upon a sign
from the commissary drew back so far as to be unable to hear
anything.
The commissary, who had till this time held his head down over
his papers, looked up to see what sort of person he had to do
with. This commissary was a man of very repulsive mien, with a
pointed nose, with yellow and salient cheek bones, with eyes
small but keen and penetrating, and an expression of countenance
resembling at once the polecat and the fox. His head, supported
by a long and flexible neck, issued from his large black robe,
balancing itself with a motion very much like that of the
tortoise thrusting his head out of his shell. He began by asking
M. Bonacieux his name, age, con***ion, and abode.
The accused replied that his name was Jacques Michel Bonacieux,
that he was fifty-one years old, a retired mercer, and lived Rue
des Fossoyeurs, No. 14.
The commissary then, instead of continuing to interrogate him,
made him a long speech upon the danger there is for an obscure
citizen to meddle with public matters. He complicated this
exordium by an exposition in which he painted the power and the
deeds of the cardinal, that incomparable minister, that conqueror
of past minister, that conqueror of past ministers, that example
for ministers to come--deeds and power which none could thwart
with impunity.
After this second part of his discourse, fixing his hawk''s eye
upon poor Bonacieux, he bade him reflect upon the gravity of his
situation.
The reflections of the mercer were already made; he cursed the
instant when M. Laporte formed the idea of marrying him to his
goddaughter had been received as Lady of the Linen to her
Majesty.
At bottom the character of M. Bonacieux was one of profound
selfishness mixed with sordid avarice, the whole seasoned with
extreme cowardice. The love with which his young wife had
inspired him was a secondary sentiment, and was not strong enough
to contend with the primitive feelings we have just enumerated.
Bonacieux indeed reflected on what had just been said to him.
"But, Monsieur Commissary," said he, calmly, "believe that I know
and appreciate, more than anybody, the merit of the incomparable
eminence by whom we have the honor to be governed."
"Indeed?" asked the commissary, with an air of doubt. "If that
is really so, how came you in the Bastille?"
"How I came there, or rather why I am there," replied Bonacieux,
"that is entirely impossible for me to tell you, because I don''t
know myself; but to a certainty it is not for having, knowingly
at least, disobliged Monsieur the Cardinal."
"You must, nevertheless, have committed a crime, since you are
here and are accused of high treason."
"Of high treason!" cried Bonacieux, terrified; "of high treason!
How is it possible for a poor mercer, who detests Huguenots and
who abhors Spaniards, to be accused of high treason? Consider,
monsieur, the thing is absolutely impossible."
"Monsieur Bonacieux," said the commissary, looking at the accused
as if his little eyes had the faculty of reading to the very
depths of hearts, "you have a wife?"
"Yes, monsieur," replied the mercer, in a tremble, feeling that
it was at this point affairs were likely to become perplexing;
"that is to say, I HAD one."
"What, you ''had one''? What have you done with her, then, if you
have her no longer?"
"They have abducted her, monsieur."
"They have abducted her? Ah!"
Bonacieux inferred from this "Ah" that the affair grew more and
more intricate.
"They have abducted her," added the commissary; "and do you know
the man who has committed this deed?"
"I think I know him."
"Who is he?"
"Remember that I affirm nothing, Monsieur the Commissary, and
that I only suspect."
"Whom do you suspect? Come, answer freely."
M. Bonacieux was in the greatest perplexity possible. Had he
better deny everything or tell everything? By denying all, it
might be suspected that he must know too much to avow; by
confessing all he might prove his good will. He decided, then,
to tell all.
"I suspect," said he, "a tall, dark man, of lofty carriage, who
has the air of a great lord. He has followed us several times,
as I think, when I have waited for my wife at the wicket of the
Louvre to escort her home."
The commissary now appeared to experience a little uneasiness.
"And his name?" said he.
"Oh, as to his name, I know nothing about it; but if I were ever
to meet him, I should recognize him in an instant, I will answer
for it, were he among a thousand persons."
The face of the commissary grew still darker.
"You should recognize him among a thousand, say you?" continued
he.
"That is to say," cried Bonacieux, who saw he had taken a false
step, "that is to say--"
"You have answered that you should recognize him," said the
commissary. "That is all very well, and enough for today; before
we proceed further, someone must be informed that you know the
ravisher of your wife."
"But I have not told you that I know him!" cried Bonacieux, in
despair. "I told you, on the contrary--"
"Take away the prisoner," said the commissary to the two guards.
"Where must we place him?" demanded the chief.
"In a dungeon."
"Which?"
"Goof Lord! In the first one handy, provided it is safe," said
the commissary, with an indifference which penetrated poor
Bonacieux with horror.
"Alas, alas!" said he to himself, "misfortune is over my head; my
wife must have committed some frightful crime. They believe me
her accomplice, and will punish me with her. She must have
spoken; she must have confessed everything--a woman is so weak!
A dungeon! The first he comes to! That''s it! A night is soon
passed; and tomorrow to the wheel, to the gallows! Oh, my God,
my God, have pity on me!"
Without listening the least in the world to the lamentations of
M. Bonacieux--lamentations to which, besides, they must have been
pretty well accustomed--the two guards took the prisoner each by
an arm, and led him away, while the commissary wrote a letter in
haste and dispatched it by an officer in waiting.
Bonacieux could not close his eyes; not because his dungeon was
so very disagreeable, but because his uneasiness was so great.
He sat all night on his stool, starting at the least noise; and
when the first rays of the sun penetrated into his chamber, the
dawn itself appeared to him to have taken funereal tints.
All at once he heard his bolts drawn, and made a terrified bound.
He believed they were come to conduct him to the scaffold; so
that when he saw merely and simply, instead of the executioner he
expected, only his commissary of the preceding evening, attended
by his clerk, he was ready to embrace them both.
"Your affair has become more complicated since yesterday evening,
my good man, and I advise you to tell the whole truth; for your
repentance alone can remove the anger of the cardinal."
"Why, I am ready to tell everything," cried Bonacieux, "at least,
all that I know. Interrogate me, I entreat you!"
"Where is your wife, in the first place?"
"Why, did not I tell you she had been stolen from me?"
"Yes, but yesterday at five o''clock in the afternoon, thanks to
you, she escaped."
"My wife escaped!" cried Bonacieux. "Oh, unfortunate creature!
Monsieur, if she has escaped, it is not my fault, I swear."
"What business had you, then, to go into the chamber of Monsieur
D''Artagnan, your neighbor, with whom you had a long conference
during the day?"
"Ah, yes, Monsieur Commissary; yes, that is true, and I confess
that I was in the wrong. I did go to Monsieur D''Artagnan''s."
"What was the aim of that visit?"
"To beg him to assist me in finding my wife. I believed I had a
right to endeavor to find her. I was deceived, as it appears,
and I ask your pardon."
"And what did Monsieur d''Artagnan reply?"
"Monsieur d''Artagnan promised me his assistance; but I soon found
out that he was betraying me."
"You impose upon justice. Monsieur d''Artagnan made a compact
with you; and in virtue of that compact put to flight the police
who had arrested your wife, and has placed her beyond reach."
"Fortunately, Monsieur d''Artagnan is in our hands, and you shall
be confronted with him."
"By my faith, I ask no better," cried Bonacieux; "I shall not be
sorry to see the face of an acquaintance."
"Bring in the Monsieur d''Artagnan," said the commissary to the
guards. The two guards led in Athos.
"Monsieur d''Artagnan," said the commissary, addressing Athos,
"declare all that passed yesterday between you and Monsieur."
"But," cried Bonacieux, "this is not Monsieur d''Artagnan whom you
show me."
"What! Not Monsieur d''Artagnan?" exclaimed the commissary.
"Not the least in the world," replied Bonacieux.
"What is this gentleman''s name?" asked the commissary.
"I cannot tell you; I don''t know him."
"How! You don''t know him?"
"No."
"Did you never see him?"
"Yes, I have seen him, but I don''t know what he calls himself."
"Your name?" replied the commissary.
"Athos," replied the Musketeer.
"But that is not a man''s name; that is the name of a mountain,"
cried the poor questioner, who began to lose his head.
"That is my name," said Athos, quietly.
"But you said that your name was D''Artagnan."
"Who, I?"
"Yes, you."
"Somebody said to me, ''You are Monsieur d''Artagnan?'' I answered,
''You think so?'' My guards exclaimed that they were sure of it.
I did not wish to contradict them; besides, I might be deceived."
"Monsieur, you insult the majesty of justice."
"Not at all," said Athos, calmly.
"You are Monsieur d''Artagnan."
"You see, monsieur, that you say it again."
"But I tell you, Monsieur Commissary," cried Bonacieux, in his
turn, "there is not the least doubt about the matter. Monsieur
d''Artagnan is my tenant, although he does not pay me my rent--and
even better on that account ought I to know him. Monsieur
Dessessart''s Guards, and this gentleman is in the company of
Monsieur de Treville''s Musketeers. Look at his uniform, Monsieur
Commissary, look at his uniform!"
"That''s true," murmured the commissary; "PARDIEU, that''s true."
At this moment the door was opened quickly, and a messenger,
introduced by one of the gatekeepers of the Bastille, gave a
letter to the commissary.
"Oh, unhappy woman!" cried the commissary.
"How? What do you say? Of whom do you speak? It is not of my
wife, I hope!"
"On the contrary, it is of her. Yours is a pretty business."
"But," said the agitated mercer, "do me the pleasure, monsieur,
to tell me how my own proper affair can become worse by anything
my wife does while I am in prison?"
"Because that which she does is part of a plan concerted between
you--of an infernal plan."
"I swear to you, Monsieur Commissary, that you are in the
profoundest error, that I know nothing in the world about what my
wife had to do, that I am entirely a stranger to what she has
done; and that if she has committed any follies, I renounce her,
I abjure her, I curse her!"
"Bah!" said Athos to the commissary, "if you have no more need of
me, send me somewhere. Your Monsieur Bonacieux is very
tiresome."
The commissary designated by the same gesture Athos and
Bonacieux, "Let them be guarded more closely than ever."
"And yet," said Athos, with his habitual calmness, "if it be
Monsieur d''Artagnan who is concerned in this matter, I do not
perceive how I can take his place."
"Do as I bade you," cried the commissary, "and preserve absolute
secrecy. You understand!"
Athos shrugged his shoulders, and followed his guards silently,
while M. Bonacieux uttered lamentations enough to break the heart
of a tiger.
They locked the mercer in the same dungeon where he had passed
the night, and left him to himself during the day. Bonacieux
wept all day, like a true mercer, not being at all a military
man, as he himself informed us. In the evening, about nine
o''clock, at the moment he had made up his mind to go to bed, he
heard steps in his corridor. These steps drew near to his
dungeon, the door was thrown open, and the guards appeared.
"Follow me," said an officer, who came up behind the guards.
"Follow you!" cried Bonacieux, "follow you at this hour! Where,
my God?"
"Where we have orders to lead you."
"But that is not an answer."
"It is, nevertheless, the only one we can give."
"Ah, my God, my God!" murmured the poor mercer, "now, indeed, I
am lost!" And he followed the guards who came for him,
mechanically and without resistance.
He passed along the same corridor as before, crossed one court,
then a second side of a building; at length, at the gate of the
entrance court he found a carriage surrounded by four guards on
horseback. They made him enter this carriage, the officer placed
himself by his side, the door was locked, and they were left in a
rolling prison. The carriage was put in motion as slowly as a
funeral car. Through the closely fastened windows the prisoner
could perceive the houses and the pavement, that was all; but,
true Parisian as he was, Bonacieux could recognize every street
by the milestones, the signs, and the lamps. At the moment of
arriving at St. Paul--the spot where such as were condemned at
the Bastille were executed--he was near fainting and crossed
himself twice. He thought the carriage was about to stop there.
The carriage, however, passed on.
Farther on, a still greater terror seized him on passing by the
cemetery of St. Jean, where state criminals were buried. One
thing, however, reassured him; he remembered that before they
were buried their heads were generally cut off, and he felt that
his head was still on his shoulders. But when he saw the
carriage take the way to La Greve, when he perceived the pointed
roof of the Hotel de Ville, and the carriage passed under the
arcade, he believed it was over with him. He wished to confess
to the officer, and upon his refusal, uttered such pitiable cries
that the officer told him that if he continued to deafen him
thus, he should put a gag in his mouth.
This measure somewhat reassured Bonacieux. If they meant to
execute him at La Greve, it could scarcely be worth while to gag
him, as they had nearly reached the place of execution. Indeed,
the carriage crossed the fatal spot without stopping. There
remained, then, no other place to fear but the Traitor''s Cross;
the carriage was taking the direct road to it.
This time there was no longer any doubt; it was at the Traitor''s
Cross that lesser criminals were executed. Bonacieux had
flattered himself in believing himself worthy of St. Paul or of
the Place de Greve; it was at the Traitor''s Cross that his
journey and his destiny were about to end! He could not yet see
that dreadful cross, but he felt somehow as if it were coming to
meet him. When he was within twenty paces of it, he heard a
noise of people and the carriage stopped. This was more than
poor Bonacieux could endure, depressed as he was by the
successive emotions which he had experienced; he uttered a feeble
groan which night have been taken for the last sigh of a dying
man, and fainted.

​

14 THE MAN OF MEUNG
The crowd was caused, not by the expectation of a man to be
hanged, but by the contemplation of a man who was hanged.
The carriage, which had been stopped for a minute, resumed its
way, passed through the crowd, threaded the Rue St. Honore,
turned into the Rue des Bons Enfants, and stopped before a low
door.
The door opened; two guards received Bonacieux in their arms from
the officer who supported him. They carried him through an
alley, up a flight of stairs, and deposited him in an
antechamber.
All these movements had been effected mechanically, as far as he
was concerned. He had walked as one walks in a dream; he had a
glimpse of objects as through a fog. His ears had perceived
sounds without comprehending them; he might have been executed at
that moment without his making a single gesture in his own
defense or uttering a cry to implore mercy.
He remained on the bench, with his back leaning against the wall
and his hands hanging down, exactly on the spot where the guards
placed him.
On looking around him, however, as he could perceive no
threatening object, as nothing indicated that he ran any real
danger, as the bench was comfortably covered with a well-stuffed
cushion, as the wall was ornamented with a beautiful Cordova
leather, and as large red damask curtains, fastened back by gold
clasps, floated before the window, he perceived by degrees that
his fear was exaggerated, and he began to turn his head to the
right and the left, upward and downward.
At this movement, which nobody opposed, he resumed a little
courage, and ventured to draw up one leg and then the other. At
length, with the help of his two hands he lifted himself from the
bench, and found himself on his feet.
At this moment an officer with a pleasant face opened a door,
continued to exchange some words with a person in the next
chamber and then came up to the prisoner. "Is your name
Bonacieux?" said he.
"Yes, Monsieur Officer," stammered the mercer, more dead than
alive, "at your service."
"Come in," said the officer.
And he moved out of the way to let the mercer pass. The latter
obeyed without reply, and entered the chamber, where he appeared
to be expected.
It was a large cabinet, close and stifling, with the walls
furnished with arms offensive and defensive, and in which there
was already a fire, although it was scarcely the end of the month
of September. A square table, covered with books and papers,
upon which was unrolled an immense plan of the city of La
Rochelle, occupied the center of the room.
Standing before the chimney was a man of middle height, of a
haughty, proud mien; with piercing eyes, a large brow, and a thin
face, which was made still longer by a ROYAL (or IMPERIAL, as it
is now called), surmounted by a pair of mustaches. Although this
man was scarcely thirty-six or thirty-seven years of age, hair,
mustaches, and royal, all began to be gray. This man, except a
sword, had all the appearance of a soldier; and his buff boots
still slightly covered with dust, indicated that he had been on
horseback in the course of the day.
This man was Armand Jean Duplessis, Cardinal de Richelieu; not
such as he is now represented--broken down like an old man,
suffering like a martyr, his body bent, his voice failing, buried
in a large armchair as in an anticipated tomb; no longer living
but by the strength of his genius, and no longer maintaining the
struggle with Europe but by the eternal application of his
thoughts--but such as he really was at this period; that is to
say, an active and gallant cavalier, already weak of body, but
sustained by that moral power which made of him one of the most
extraordinary men that ever lived, preparing, after having
supported the Duc de Nevers in his duchy of Mantua, after having
taken Nimes, Castres, and Uzes, to drive the English from the
Isle of Re and lay siege to La Rochelle.
At first sight, nothing denoted the cardinal; and it was
impossible for those who did not know his face to guess in whose
presence they were.
The poor mercer remained standing at the door, while the eyes of
the personage we have just described were fixed upon him, and
appeared to wish to penetrate even into the depths of the past.
"Is this that Bonacieux?" asked he, after a moment of silence.
"Yes, monseigneur," replied the officer.
"That''s well. Give me those papers, and leave us."
The officer took from the table the papers pointed out, gave them
to him who asked for them, bowed to the ground, and retired.
Bonacieux recognized in these papers his interrogatories of the
Bastille. From time to time the man by the chimney raised his
eyes from the writings, and plunged them like poniards into the
heart of the poor mercer.
At the end of ten minutes of reading and ten seconds of
examination, the cardinal was satisfied.
"That head has never conspired," murmured he, "but it matters
not; we will see."
"You are accused of high treason," said the cardinal, slowly.
"So I have been told already, monseigneur," cried Bonacieux,
giving his interrogator the title he had heard the officer give
him, "but I swear to you that I know nothing about it."
The cardinal repressed a smile.
"You have conspired with your wife, with Madame de Chevreuse, and
with my Lord Duke of Buckingham."
"Indeed, monseigneur," responded the mercer, "I have heard her
pronounce all those names."
"And on what occasion?"
"She said that the Cardinal de Richelieu had drawn the Duke of
Buckingham to Paris to ruin him and to ruin the queen."
"She said that?" cried the cardinal, with violence.
"Yes, monseigneur, but I told her she was wrong to talk about
such things; and that his Eminence was incapable--"
"Hold your tongue! You are stupid," replied the cardinal.
"That''s exactly what my wife said, monseigneur."
"Do you know who carried off your wife?"
"No, monsigneur."
"You have suspicions, nevertheless?"
"Yes, monsigneur; but these suspicions appeared to be
disagreeable to Monsieur the Commissary, and I no longer have
them."
"Your wife has escaped. Did you know that?"
"No, monseigneur. I learned it since I have been in prison, and
that from the conversation of Monsieur the Commissary--an amiable
man."
The cardinal repressed another smile.
"Then you are ignorant of what has become of your wife since her
flight."
"Absolutely, monseigneur; but she has most likely returned to the
Louvre."
"At one o''clock this morning she had not returned."
"My God! What can have become of her, then?"
"We shall know, be assured. Nothing is concealed from the
cardinal; the cardinal knows everything."
"In that case, monseigneur, do you believe the cardinal will be
so kind as to tell me what has become of my wife?"
"Perhaps he may; but you must, in the first place, reveal to the
cardinal all you know of your wife''s relations with Madame de
Chevreuse."
"But, monseigneur, I know nothing about them; I have never seen
her."
"When you went to fetch your wife from the Louvre, did you always
return directly home?"
"Scarcely ever; she had business to transact with linen drapers,
to whose houses I conducted her."
"And how many were there of these linen drapers?"
"Two, monseigneur."
"And where did they live?"
"One in Rue de Vaugirard, the other Rue de la Harpe."
"Did you go into these houses with her?"
"Never, monseigneur; I waited at the door."
"And what excuse did she give you for entering all alone?"
"She gave me none; she told me to wait, and I waited."
"You are a very complacent husband, my dear Monsieur Bonacieux," said the cardinal.
"He calls me his dear Monsieur," said the mercer to himself.
"PESTE! Matters are going all right."
"Should you know those doors again?"
"Yes."
"Do you know the numbers?"
"Yes."
"What are they?"
"No. 25 in the Rue de Vaugirard; 75 in the Rue de la Harpe."
"That''s well," said the cardinal.
At these words he took up a silver bell, and rang it; the officer
entered.
"Go," said he, in a subdued voice, "and find Rochefort. Tell him
to come to me immediately, if he has returned."
"The count is here," said the officer, "and requests to speak
with your Eminence instantly."
"Let him come in, then!" said the cardinal, quickly.
The officer sprang out of the apartment with that alacrity which
all the servants of the cardinal displayed in obeying him.
"To your Eminence!" murmured Bonacieux, rolling his eyes round in
astonishment.
Five seconds has scarcely elapsed after the disappearance of the
officer, when the door opened, and a new personage entered.
"It is he!" cried Bonacieux.
"He! What he?" asked the cardinal.
"The man who abducted my wife."
The cardinal rang a second time. The officer reappeared.
"Place this man in the care of his guards again, and let him wait
till I send for him."
"No, monseigneur, no, it is not he!" cried Bonacieux; "no, I was
deceived. This is quite another man, and does not resemble him
at all. Monsieur is, I am sure, an honest man."
"Take away that fool!" said the cardinal.
The officer took Bonacieux by the arm, and led him into the
antechamber, where he found his two guards.
The newly introduced personage followed Bonacieux impatiently
with his eyes till he had gone out; and the moment the door
closed, "They have seen each other;" said he, approaching the
cardinal eagerly.
"Who?" asked his Eminence.
"He and she."
"The queen and the duke?" cried Richelieu.
"Yes."
"Where?"
"At the Louvre."
"Are you sure of it?"
"Perfectly sure."
"Who told you of it?"
"Madame de Lannoy, who is devoted to your Eminence, as you know."
"Why did she not let me know sooner?"
"Whether by chance or mistrust, the queen made Madame de Surgis
sleep in her chamber, and detained her all day."
"Well, we are beaten! Now let us try to take our revenge."
"I will assist you with all my heart, monseigneur; be assured of
that."
"How did it come about?"
"At half past twelve the queen was with her women--"
"Where?"
"In her bedchamber--"
"Go on."
"When someone came and brought her a handkerchief from her
laundress."
"And then?"
"The queen immediately exhibited strong emotion; and despite the
rouge with which her face was covered evidently turned pale--"
"And then, and then?"
"She then arose, and with altered voice, ''Ladies,'' said she,
''wait for me ten minutes, I shall soon return.'' She then opened
the door of her alcove, and went out."
"Why did not Madame de Lannoy come and inform you instantly?"
"Nothing was certain; besides, her Majesty had said, ''Ladies,
wait for me,'' and she did not dare to disobey the queen."
"How long did the queen remain out of the chamber?"
"Three-quarters of an hour."
"None of her women accompanied her?"
"Only Donna Estafania."
"Did she afterward return?"
"Yes; but only to take a little rosewood casket, with her cipher
upon it, and went out again immediately."
"And when she finally returned, did she bring that casket with
her?"
"No."
"Does Madame de Lannoy know what was in that casket?"
"Yes; the diamond studs which his Majesty gave the queen."
"And she came back without this casket?"
"Yes."
"Madame de Lannoy, then, is of opinion that she gave them to
Buckingham?"
"She is sure of it."
"How can she be so?"
"In the course of the day Madame de Lannoy, in her quality of
tire-woman of the queen, looked for this casket, appeared uneasy
at not finding it, and at length asked information of the queen."
"And then the queen?"
"The queen became exceedingly red, and replied that having in the
evening broken one of those studs, she had sent it to her
goldsmith to be repaired."
"He must be called upon, and so ascertain if the thing be true or
not."
"I have just been with him."
"And the goldsmith?"
"The goldsmith has heard nothing of it."
"Well, well! Rochefort, all is not lost; and perhaps--perhaps
everything is for the best."
"The fact is that I do not doubt your Eminence''s genius--"
"Will repair the blunders of his agent--is that it?"
"That is exactly what I was going to say, if your Eminence had
let me finish my sentence."
"Meanwhile, do you know where the Duchesse de Chevreuse and the
Duke of Buckingham are now concealed?"
"No, monseigneur; my people could tell me nothing on that head."
"But I know."
"You, monseigneur?"
"Yes; or at least I guess. They were, one in the Rue de
Vaugirard, No. 25; the other in the Rue de la Harpe, No. 75."
"Does your Eminence command that they both be instantly
arrested?"
"It will be too late; they will be gone."
"But still, we can make sure that they are so."
"Take ten men of my Guardsmen, and search the two houses
thoroughly."
"Instantly, monseigneur." And Rochefort went hastily out of the
apartment.
The cardinal being left alone, reflected for an instant and then
rang the bell a third time. The same officer appeared.
"Bring the prisoner in again," said the cardinal.
M. Bonacieux was introduced afresh, and upon a sign from the
cardinal, the officer retired.
"You have deceived me!" said the cardinal, sternly.
"I," cried Bonacieux, "I deceive your Eminence!"
"Your wife, in going to Rue de Vaugirard and Rue de la Harpe, did
not go to find linen drapers."
"Then why did she go, just God?"
"She went to meet the Duchesse de Chevreuse and the Duke of Buckingham."
"Yes," cried Bonacieux, recalling all his remembrances of the
circumstances, "yes, that''s it. Your Eminence is right. I told
my wife several times that it was surprising that linen drapers
should live in such houses as those, in houses that had no signs;
but she always laughed at me. Ah, monseigneur!" continued
Bonacieux, throwing himself at his Eminence''s feet, "ah, how
truly you are the cardinal, the great cardinal, the man of genius
whom all the world reveres!"
The cardinal, however contemptible might be the triumph gained
over so vulgar a being as Bonacieux, did not the less enjoy it
for an instant; then, almost immediately, as if a fresh thought
has occurred, a smile played upon his lips, and he said, offering
his hand to the mercer, "Rise, my friend, you are a worthy man."
"The cardinal has touched me with his hand! I have touched the
hand of the great man!" cried Bonacieux. "The great man has
called me his friend!"
"Yes, my friend, yes," said the cardinal, with that paternal tone
which he sometimes knew how to assume, but which deceived none
who knew him; "and as you have been unjustly suspected, well, you
must be indemnified. Here, take this purse of a hundred
pistoles, and pardon me."
"I pardon you, monseigneur!" said Bonacieux, hesitating to take
the purse, fearing, doubtless, that this pretended gift was but a
pleasantry. "But you are able to have me arrested, you are able
to have me tortured, you are able to have me hanged; you are the
master, and I could not have the least word to say. Pardon you,
monseigneur! You cannot mean that!"
"Ah, my dear Monsieur Bonacieux, you are generous in this matter.
I see it and I thank you for it. Thus, then, you will take this
bag, and you will go away without being too malcontent."
"I go away enchanted."
"Farewell, then, or rather, AU REVOIR!"
And the cardinal made him a sign with his hand, to which
Bonacieux replied by bowing to the ground. He then went out
backward, and when he was in the antechamber the cardinal heard
him, in his enthusiasm, crying aloud, "Long life to the
Monseigneur! Long life to his Eminence! Long life to the great
cardinal!" The cardinal listened with a smile to this vociferous
manifestation of the feelings of M. Bonacieux; and then, when
Bonacieux''s cries were no longer audible, "Good!" said he, "that
man would henceforward lay down his life for me." And the
cardinal began to examine with the greatest attention the map of
La Rochelle, which, as we have said, lay open on the desk,
tracing with a pencil the line in which the famous dyke was to
pass which, eighteen months later, shut up the port of the
besieged city. As he was in the deepest of his strategic
me***ations, the door opened, and Rochefort returned.
"Well?" said the cardinal, eagerly, rising with a promptitude
which proved the degree of importance he attached to the
commission with which he had charged the count.
"Well," said the latter, "a young woman of about twenty-six or
twenty-eight years of age, and a man of from thirty-five to
forty, have indeed lodged at the two houses pointed out by your
Eminence; but the woman left last night, and the man this
morning."
"It was they!" cried the cardinal, looking at the clock; "and now
it is too late to have them persued. The duchess is at Tours,
and the duke at Boulogne. It is in London they must be found."
"What are your Eminence''s orders?"
"Not a word of what has passed. Let the queen remain in perfect
security; let her be ignorant that we know her secret. Let her
believe that we are in search of some conspiracy or other. Send
me the keeper of the seals, Seguier."
"And that man, what has your Eminence done with him?"
"What man?" asked the cardinal.
"That Bonacieux."
"I have done with him all that could be done. I have made him a
spy upon his wife."
The Comte de Rochefort bowed like a man who acknowledges the
superiority of the master as great, and retired.
Left alone, the cardinal seated himself again and wrote a letter,
which he secured with his special seal. Then he rang. The
officer entered for the fourth time.
"Tell Vitray to come to me," said he, "and tell him to get ready
for a journey."
An instant after, the man he asked for was before him, booted and
spurred.
"Vitray," said he, "you will go with all speed to London. You
must not stop an instant on the way. You will deliver this
letter to Milady. Here is an order for two hundred pistoles;
call upon my treasurer and get the money. You shall have as much
again if you are back within six days, and have executed your
commission well."
The messenger, without replying a single word, bowed, took the
letter, with the order for the two hundred pistoles, and retired.
Here is what the letter contained:
MILADY, Be at the first ball at which the Duke of Buckingham
shall be present. He will wear on his doublet twelve diamond
studs; get as near to him as you can, and cut off two.
As soon as these studs shall be in your possession, inform me.

15 MEN OF THE ROBE AND MEN OF THE SWORD
On the day after these events had taken place, Athos not having
reappeared, M. de Treville was informed by D''Artagnan and Porthos
of the circumstance. As to Aramis, he had asked for leave of
absence for five days, and was gone, it was said, to Rouen on
family business.
M. de Treville was the father of his soldiers. The lowest or the
least known of them, as soon as he assumed the uniform of the
company, was as sure of his aid and support as if he had been his
own brother.
He repaired, then, instantly to the office of the LIEUTENANT-
CRIMINEL. The officer who commanded the post of the
Red Cross was sent for, and by successive inquiries they learned
that Athos was then lodged in the Fort l''Eveque.
Athos had passed through all the examinations we have seen
Bonacieux undergo.
We were present at the scene in which the two captives were
confronted with each other. Athos, who had till that time said
nothing for fear that D''Artagnan, interrupted in his turn, should
not have the time necessary, from this moment declared that his
name was Athos, and not D''Artagnan. He added that he did not
know either M. or Mme. Bonacieux; that he had never spoken to the
one or the other; that he had come, at about ten o''clock in the
evening, to pay a visit to his friend M. d''Artagnan, but that
till that hour he had been at M. de Treville''s, where he had
dined. "Twenty witnesses," added he, "could attest the fact";
and he named several distinguished gentlemen, and among them was
M. le Duc de la Tremouille.
The second commissary was as much bewildered as the first had
been by the simple and firm declaration of the Musketeer, upon
whom he was anxious to take the revenge which men of the robe
like at all times to gain over men of the sword; but the name of
M. de Treville, and that of M. de la Tremouille, commanded a
little reflection.
Athos was then sent to the cardinal; but unfortunately the
cardinal was at the Louvre with the king.
It was precisely at this moment that M. de Treville, on leaving
the residence of the LIEUTENANT-CRIMINEL and the governor of the
Fort l''Eveque without being able to find Athos, arrived at the
palace.
As captain of the Musketeers, M. de Treville had the right of
entry at all times.
It is well known how violent the king''s prejudices were against
the queen, and how carefully these prejudices were kept up by the
cardinal, who in affairs of intrigue mistrusted women infinitely
more than men. One of the grand causes of this prejudice was the
friendship of Anne of Austria for Mme. de Chevreuse. These two
women gave him more uneasiness than the war with Spain, the
quarrel with England, or the embarrassment of the finances. In
his eyes and to his conviction, Mme. de Chevreuse not only served
the queen in her political intrigues, but, what tormented him
still more, in her amorous intrigues.
At the first word the cardinal spoke of Mme. de Chevreuse--who,
though exiled to Tours and believed to be in that city, had come
to Paris, remained there five days, and outwitted the police--the
king flew into a furious passion. Capricious and unfaithful, the
king wished to be called Louis the Just and Louis the Chaste.
Posterity will find a difficulty in understanding this character,
which history explains only by facts and never by reason.
But when the cardinal added that not only Mme. de Chevreuse had
been in Paris, but still further, that the queen had renewed with
her one of those mysterious correspondences which at that time
was named a CABAL; when he affirmed that he, the cardinal, was
about to unravel the most closely twisted thread of this
intrigue; that at the moment of arresting in the very act, with
all the proofs about her, the queen''s emissary to the exiled
duchess, a Musketeer had dared to interrupt the course of justice
violently, by falling sword in hand upon the honest men of the
law, charged with investigating impartially the whole affair in
order to place it before the eyes of the king--Louis XIII could
not contain himself, and he made a step toward the queen''s
apartment with that pale and mute indignation which, when in
broke out, led this prince to the commission of the most pitiless
cruelty. And yet, in all this, the cardinal had not yet said a
word about the Duke of Buckingham.
At this instant M. de Treville entered, cool, polite, and in
irreproachable costume.
Informed of what had passed by the presence of the cardinal and
the alteration in the king''s countenance, M. de Treville felt
himself something like Samson before the Philistines.
Louis XIII had already placed his hand on the knob of the door;
at the noise of M. de Treville''s entrance he turned round. "You
arrive in good time, monsieur," said the king, who, when his
passions were raised to a certain point, could not dissemble; "I
have learned some fine things concerning your Musketeers."
"And I," said Treville, coldly, "I have some pretty things to tell your Majesty concerning these gownsmen."
"What?" said the king, with hauteur.
"I have the honor to inform your Majesty," continued M. de
Treville, in the same tone, "that a party of PROCUREURS,
commissaries, and men of the police--very estimable people, but
very inveterate, as it appears, against the uniform--have taken
upon themselves to arrest in a house, to lead away through the
open street, and throw into the Fort l''Eveque, all upon an order
which they have refused to show me, one of my, or rather your
Musketeers, sire, of irreproachable conduct, of an almost
illustrious reputation, and whom your Majesty knows favorably,
Monsieur Athos."
"Athos," said the king, mechanically; "yes, certainly I know that
name."
"Let your Majesty remember," said Treville, "that Monsieur Athos
is the Musketeer who, in the annoying duel which you are
acquainted with, had the misfortune to wound Monsieur de Cahusac
so seriously. A PROPOS, monseigneur," continued Treville.
Addressing the cardinal, "Monsieur de Cahusac is quite recovered,
is he not?"
"Thank you," said the cardinal, biting his lips with anger.
"Athos, then, went to pay a visit to one of his friends absent at
the time," continued Treville, "to a young Bearnais, a cadet in
his Majesty''s Guards, the company of Monsieur Dessessart, but
scarcely had he arrived at his friend''s and taken up a book,
while waiting his return, when a mixed crowd of bailiffs and
soldiers came and laid siege to the house, broke open several
doors--"
The cardinal made the king a sign, which signified, "That was on
account of the affair about which I spoke to you."
"We all know that," interrupted the king; "for all that was done
for our service."
"Then," said Treville, "it was also for your Majesty''s service
that one of my Musketeers, who was innocent, has been seized,
that he has been placed between two guards like a malefactor, and
that this gallant man, who has ten times shed his blood in your
Majesty''s service and is ready to shed it again, has been paraded
through the midst of an insolent populace?"
"Bah!" said the king, who began to be shaken, "was it so
managed?"
"Monsieur de Treville," said the cardinal, with the greatest
phlegm, "does not tell your Majesty that this innocent Musketeer,
this gallant man, had only an hour before attacked, sword in
hand, four commissaries of inquiry, who were delegated by myself
to examine into an affair of the highest importance."
"I defy your Eminence to prove it," cried Treville, with his
Gascon freedom and military frankness; "for one hour before,
Monsieur Athos, who, I will confide it to your Majesty, is really
a man of the highest quality, did me the honor after having dined
with me to be conversing in the saloon of my hotel, with the Duc
de la Tremouille and the Comte de Chalus, who happened to be
there."
The king looked at the cardinal.
"A written examination attests it," said the cardinal, replying
aloud to the mute interrogation of his Majesty; "and the ill-
treated people have drawn up the following, which I have the
honor to present to your Majesty."
"And is the written report of the gownsmen to be placed in
comparison with the word of honor of a swordsman?" replied
Treville haughtily.
"Come, come, Treville, hold your tongue," said the king.
"If his Eminence entertains any suspicion against one of my
Musketeers," said Treville, "the justice of Monsieur the Cardinal
is so well known that I demand an inquiry."
"In the house in which the judicial inquiry was made," continued
the impassive cardinal, "there lodges, I believe, a young
Bearnais, a friend of the Musketeer."
"Your Eminence means Monsieur d''Artagnan."
"I mean a young man whom you patronize, Monsieur de Treville."
"Yes, your Eminence, it is the same."
"Do you not suspect this young man of having given bad counsel?"
"To Athos, to a man double his age?" interrupted Treville. "No,
monseigneur. Besides, D''Artagnan passed the evening with me."
"Well," said the cardinal, "everybody seems to have passed the
evening with you."
"Does your Eminence doubt my word?" said Treville, with a brow
flushed with anger.
"No, God forbid," said the cardinal; "only, at what hour was he with you?"
"Oh, as to that I can speak positively, your Eminence; for as he
came in I remarked that it was but half past nine by the clock,
although I had believed it to be later."
"At what hour did he leave your hotel?"
"At half past ten--an hour after the event."
"Well," replied the cardinal, who could not for an instant
suspect the loyalty of Treville, and who felt that the victory
was escaping him, "well, but Athos WAS taken in the house in the
Rue des Fossoyeurs."
"Is one friend forbidden to visit another, or a Musketeer of my
company to fraternize with a Guard of Dessessart''s company?"
"Yes, when the house where he fraternizes is suspected."
"That house is suspected, Treville," said the king; "perhaps you
did not know it?"
"Indeed, sire, I did not. The house may be suspected; but I deny
that it is so in the part of it inhabited my Monsieur d''Artagnan,
for I can affirm, sire, if I can believe what he says, that there
does not exist a more devoted servant of your Majesty, or a more
profound admirer of Monsieur the Cardinal."
"Was it not this D''Artagnan who wounded Jussac one day, in that
unfortunate encounter which took place near the Convent of the
Carmes-Dechausses?" asked the king, looking at the cardinal, who
colored with vexation.
"And the next day, Bernajoux. Yes, sire, yes, it is the same; and
your Majesty has a good memory."
"Come, how shall we decide?" said the king.
"That concerns your Majesty more than me," said the cardinal. "I
should affirm the culpability."
"And I deny it," said Treville. "But his Majesty has judges, and
these judges will decide."
"That is best," said the king. "Send the case before the judges;
it is their business to judge, and they shall judge."
"Only," replied Treville, "it is a sad thing that in the
unfortunate times in which we live, the purest life, the most
incontestable virtue, cannot exempt a man from infamy and
persecution. The army, I will answer for it, will be but little
pleased at being exposed to rigorous treatment on account of
police affairs."
The expression was imprudent; but M. de Treville launched it with
knowledge of his cause. He was desirous of an explosion, because
in that case the mine throws forth fire, and fire enlightens.
"Police affairs!" cried the king, taking up Treville''s words,
"police affairs! And what do you know about them, Monsieur?
Meddle with your Musketeers, and do not annoy me in this way. It
appears, according to your account, that if by mischance a
Musketeer is arrested, France is in danger. What a noise about a
Musketeer! I would arrest ten of them, VENTREBLEU, a hundred,
even, all the company, and I would not allow a whisper."
"From the moment they are suspected by your Majesty," said
Treville, "the Musketeers are guilty; therefore, you see me
prepared *****rrender my sword--for after having accused my
soldiers, there can be no doubt that Monsieur the Cardinal will
end by accusing me. It is best to constitute myself at once a
prisoner with Athos, who is already arrested, and with
D''Artagnan, who most probably will be."
"Gascon-headed man, will you have done?" said the king.
"Sire," replied Treville, without lowering his voice in the
least, "either order my Musketeer to be restored to me, or let
him be tried."
"He shall be tried," said the cardinal.
"Well, so much the better; for in that case I shall demand of his
Majesty permission to plead for him."
The king feared an outbreak.
"If his Eminence," said he, "did not have personal motives--"
The cardinal saw what the king was about to say and interrupted
him:
"Pardon me," said he; "but the instant your Majesty considers me
a prejudiced judge, I withdraw."
"Come," said the king, "will you swear, by my father, that Athos
was at your residence during the event and that he took no part
in it?"
"By your glorious father, and by yourself, whom I love and
venerate above all the world, I swear it."
"Be so kind as to reflect, sire," said the cardinal. "If we
release the prisoner thus, we shall never know the truth."
"Athos may always be found," replied Treville, "ready to answer,
when it shall please the gownsmen to interrogate him. He will
not desert, Monsieur the Cardinal, be assured of that; I will
answer for him."
"No, he will not desert," said the king; "he can always be found,
as Treville says. Besides," added he, lowering his voice and
looking with a suppliant air at the cardinal, "let us give them
apparent security; that is policy."
This policy of Louis XIII made Richelieu smile.
"Order it as you please, sire; you possess the right of pardon."
"The right of pardoning only applies to the guilty," said
Treville, who was determined to have the last word, "and my
Musketeer is innocent. It is not mercy, then, that you are about
to accord, sire, it is justice."
"And he is in the Fort l''Eveque?" said the king.
"Yes, sire, in solitary confinement, in a dungeon, like the
lowest criminal."
"The devil!" murmured the king; "what must be done?"
"Sign an order for his release, and all will be said," replied
the cardinal. "I believe with your Majesty that Monsieur de
Treville''s guarantee is more than sufficient."
Treville bowed very respectfully, with a joy that was not unmixed
with fear; he would have preferred an obstinate resistance on the
part of the cardinal to this sudden yielding.
The king signed the order for release, and Treville carried it
away without delay. As he was about to leave the presence, the
cardinal have him a friendly smile, and said, "A perfect harmony
reigns, sire, between the leaders and the soldiers of your
Musketeers, which must be profitable for the service and
honorable to all."
"He will play me some dog''s trick or other, and that
immediately," said Treville. "One has never the last word with
such a man. But let us be quick--the king may change his mind in
an hour; and at all events it is more difficult to replace a man
in the Fort l''Eveque or the Bastille who has got out, than to
keep a prisoner there who is in."
M. de Treville made his entrance triumphantly into the Fort
l''Eveque, whence he delivered the Musketeer, whose peaceful
indifference had not for a moment abandoned him.
The first time he saw D''Artagnan, "You have come off well," said
he to him; "there is your Jussac thrust paid for. There still
remains that of Bernajoux, but you must not be too confident."
As to the rest, M. de Treville had good reason to mistrust the
cardinal and to think that all was not over, for scarcely had the
captain of the Musketeers closed the door after him, than his
Eminence said to the king, "Now that we are at length by
ourselves, we will, if your Majesty pleases, converse seriously.
Sire, Buckingham has been in Paris five days, and only left this
morning."

16 IN WHICH M. SEGUIER, KEEPER OF THE SEALS, LOOKS MORE THAN
ONCE FOR THE BELL, IN ORDER TO RING IT, AS HE DID BEFORE
It is impossible to form an idea of the impression these few
words made upon Louis XIII. He grew pale and red alternately;
and the cardinal saw at once that he had recovered by a single
blow all the ground he had lost.
"Buckingham in Paris!" cried he, "and why does he come?"
"To conspire, no doubt, with your enemies, the Huguenots and the
Spaniards."
"No, PARDIEU, no! To conspire against my honor with Madame de
Chevreuse, Madame de Longueville, and the Condes."
"Oh, sire, what an idea! The queen is too virtuous; and besides,
loves your Majesty too well."
"Woman is weak, Monsieur Cardinal," said the king; "and as to
loving me much, I have my own opinion as to that love."
"I not the less maintain," said the cardinal, "that the Duke of
Buckingham came to Paris for a project wholly political."
"And I am sure that he came for quite another purpose, Monsieur
Cardinal; but if the queen be guilty, let her tremble!"
"Indeed," said the cardinal, "whatever repugnance I may have to
directing my mind *****ch a treason, your Majesty compels me to
think of it. Madame de Lannoy, whom, according to your Majesty''s
command, I have frequently interrogated, told me this morning
that the night before last her Majesty sat up very late, that
this morning she wept much, and that she was writing all day."
"That''s it!" cried the king; "to him, no doubt. Cardinal, I must
have the queen''s papers."
"But how to take them, sire? It seems to me that it is neither
your Majesty not myself who can charge himself with such a
mission."
"How did they act with regard to the Marechale d''Ancre?" cried
the king, in the highest state of choler; "first her closets were
thoroughly searched, and then she herself."
"The Marechale d''Ancre was no more than the Marechale d''Ancre. A
Florentine adventurer, sire, and that was all; while the august
spouse of your Majesty is Anne of Austria, Queen of France--that
is to say, one of the greatest princesses in the world."
"She is not the less guilty, Monsieur Duke! The more she has
forgotten the high position in which she was placed, the more
degrading is her fall. Besides, I long ago determined to put an
end to all these petty intrigues of policy and love. She has
near her a certain Laporte."
"Who, I believe, is the mainspring of all this, I confess," said
the cardinal.
"You think then, as I do, that she deceives me?" said the king.
"I believe, and I repeat it to your Majesty, that the queen
conspires against the power of the king, but I have not said
against his honor."
"And I--I tell you against both. I tell you the queen does not
love me; I tell you she loves another; I tell you she loves that
infamous Buckingham! Why did you not have him arrested while in
Paris?"
"Arrest the Duke! Arrest the prime minister of King Charles I!
Think of it, sire! What a scandal! And if the suspicions of
your Majesty, which I still continue to doubt, should prove to
have any foundation, what a terrible disclosure, what a fearful
scandal!"
"But as he exposed himself like a vagabond or a thief, he should
have been--"
Louis XIII stopped, terrified at what he was about to say, while
Richelieu, stretching out his neck, waited uselessly for the word
which had died on the lips of the king.
"He should have been--?"
"Nothing," said the king, "nothing. But all the time he was in
Paris, you, of course, did not lose sight of him?"
"No, sire."
"Where did he lodge?"
"Rue de la Harpe. No. 75."
"Where is that?"
"By the side of the Luxembourg."
"And you are certain that the queen and he did not see each
other?"
"I believe the queen to have too high a sense of her duty, sire."
"But they have corresponded; it is to him that the queen has been
writing all the day. Monsieur Duke, I must have those letters!"
"Sire, notwithstanding--"
"Monsieur Duke, at whatever price it may be, I will have them."
"I would, however, beg your Majesty to observe--"
"Do you, then, also join in betraying me, Monsieur Cardinal, by
thus always opposing my will? Are you also in accord with Spain
and England, with Madame de Chevreuse and the queen?"
"Sire," replied the cardinal, sighing, "I believed myself secure
from such a suspicion."
"Monsieur Cardinal, you have heard me; I will have those
letters."
"There is but one way."
"What is that?"
"That would be to charge Monsieur de Seguier, the keeper of the
seals, with this mission. The matter enters completely into the
duties of the post."
"Let him be sent for instantly."
"He is most likely at my hotel. I requested him to call, and
when I came to the Louvre I left orders if he came, to desire him
to wait."
"Let him be sent for instantly."
"Your Majesty''s orders shall be executed; but--"
"But what?"
"But the queen will perhaps refuse to obey."
"My orders?"
"Yes, if she is ignorant that these orders come from the king."
"Well, that she may have no doubt on that head, I will go and
inform her myself."
"Your Majesty will not forget that I have done everything in my
power to prevent a rupture."
"Yes, Duke, yes, I know you are very indulgent toward the queen,
too indulgent, perhaps; we shall have occasion, I warn you, at
some future period to speak of that."
"Whenever it shall please your Majesty; but I shall be always
happy and proud, sire, to sacrifice myself to the harmony which I
desire to see reign between you and the Queen of France."
"Very well, Cardinal, very well; but, meantime, send for Monsieur
the Keeper of the Seals. I will go to the queen."
And Louis XIII, opening the door of communication, passed into
the corridor which led from his apartments to those of Anne of
Austria.
The queen was in the midst of her women--Mme. de Guitaut, Mme. de
Sable, Mme. de Montbazon, and Mme. de Guemene. In a corner was
the Spanish companion, Donna Estafania, who had followed her from
Madrid. Mme. Guemene was reading aloud, and everybody was
listening to her with attention with the exception of the queen,
who had, on the contrary, desired this reading in order that she
might be able, while feigning to listen, to pursue the thread of
her own thoughts.
These thoughts, gilded as they were by a last reflection of love,
were not the less sad. Anne of Austria, deprived of the
confidence of her husband, pursued by the hatred of the cardinal,
who could not pardon her for having repulsed a more tender
feeling, having before her eyes the example of the queen-mother
whom that hatred had tormented all her life--though Marie de
Medicis, if the memoirs of the time are to be believed, had begun
by according to the cardinal that sentiment which Anne of Austria
always refused him--Anne of Austria had seen her most devoted
servants fall around her, her most intimate confidants, her
dearest favorites. Like those unfortunate persons endowed with a
fatal gift, she brought misfortune upon everything she touched.
Her friendship was a fatal sign which called down persecution.
Mme. de Chevreuse and Mme. de Bernet were exiled, and Laporte did
not conceal from his mistress that he expected to be arrested
every instant.
It was at the moment when she was plunged in the deepest and
darkest of these reflections that the door of the chamber opened,
and the king entered.
The reader hushed herself instantly. All the ladies rose, and
there was a profound silence. As to the king, he made no
demonstration of politeness, only stopping before the queen.
"Madame," said he, "you are about to receive a visit from the
chancellor, who will communicate certain matters to you with
which I have charged him."
The unfortunate queen, who was constantly threatened with
divorce, exile, and trial even, turned pale under her rouge, and
could not refrain from saying, "But why this visit, sire? What
can the chancellor have to say to me that your Majesty could not
say yourself?"
The king turned upon his heel without reply, and almost at the
same instant the captain of the Guards, M. de Guitant, announced
the visit of the chancellor.
When the chancellor appeared, the king had already gone out by
another door.
The chancellor entered, half smiling, half blushing. As we shall
probably meet with him again in the course of our history, it may
be well for our readers to be made at once acquainted with him.
This chancellor was a pleasant man. He was Des Roches le Masle,
canon of Notre Dame, who had formerly been valet of a bishop, who
introduced him to his Eminence as a perfectly devout man. The
cardinal trusted him, and therein found his advantage.
There are many stories related of him, and among them this.
After a wild youth, he had retired into a convent, there to
expiate, at least for some time, the follies of adolescence. On
entering this holy place, the poor penitent was unable to shut
the door so close as to prevent the passions he fled from
entering with him. He was incessantly attacked by them, and the
superior, to whom he had confided this misfortune, wishing as
much as in him lay to free him from them, had advised him, in
order to conjure away the tempting demon, to have recourse to the
bell rope, and ring with all his might. At the denunciating
sound, the monks would be rendered aware that temptation was
besieging a brother, and all the community would go to prayers.
This advice appeared good to the future chancellor. He conjured
the evil spirit with abundance of prayers offered up by the
monks. But the devil does not suffer himself to be easily
dispossessed from a place in which he has fixed his garrison. In
proportion as they redoubled the exorcisms he redoubled the
temptations; so that day and night the bell was ringing full
swing, announcing the extreme desire for mortification which the
penitent experienced.
The monks had no longer an instant of repose. By day they did
nothing but ascend and descend the steps which led to the chapel;
at night, in ad***ion to complines and matins, they were further
obliged to leap twenty times out of their beds and prostrate
themselves on the floor of their cells.
It is not known whether it was the devil who gave way, or the
monks who grew tired; but within three months the penitent
reappeared in the world with the reputation of being the most
terrible POSSESSED that ever existed.
On leaving the convent he entered into the magistracy, became
president on the place of his uncle, embraced the cardinal''s
party, which did not prove want of sagacity, became chancellor,
served his Eminence with zeal in his hatred against the queen-
mother and his vengeance against Anne of Austria, stimulated the
judges in the affair of Calais, encouraged the attempts of M. de
Laffemas, chief gamekeeper of France; then, at length, invested
with the entire confidence of the cardinal--a confidence which he
had so well earned-he received the singular commission for the
execution of which he presented himself in the queen''s
apartments.
The queen was still standing when he entered; but scarcely had
she perceived him then she reseated herself in her armchair, and
made a sign to her women to resume their cushions and stools, and
with an air of supreme hauteur, said, "What do you desire,
monsieur, and with what object do you present yourself here?"
"To make, madame, in the name of the king, and without prejudice
to the respect which I have the honor to owe to your Majesty a
close examination into all your papers."
"How, monsieur, an investigation of my papers--mine! Truly, this
is an indignity!"
"Be kind enough to pardon me, madame; but in this circumstance I
am but the instrument which the king employs. Has not his
Majesty just left you, and has he not himself asked you to
prepare for this visit?"
"Search, then, monsieur! I am a criminal, as it appears.
Estafania, give up the keys of my drawers and my desks."
For form''s sake the chancellor paid a visit to the pieces of
furniture named; but he well knew that it was not in a piece of
furniture that the queen would place the important letter she had
written that day.
When the chancellor had opened and shut twenty times the drawers
of the secretaries, it became necessary, whatever hesitation he
might experience--it became necessary, I say, to come to the
conclusion of the affair; that is to say, to search the queen
herself. The chancellor advanced, therefore, toward Anne of
Austria, and said with a very perplexed and embarrassed air, "And
now it remains for me to make the principal examination."
"What is that?" asked the queen, who did not understand, or
rather was not willing to understand.
"His majesty is certain that a letter has been written by you
during the day; he knows that it has not yet been sent to its
address. This letter is not in your table nor in your secretary;
and yet this letter must be somewhere."
"Would you dare to lift your hand to your queen?" said Anne of
Austria, drawing herself up to her full height, and fixing her
eyes upon the chancellor with an expression almost threatening.
"I am a faithful subject of the king, madame, and all that his
Majesty commands I shall do."
"Well, it is true!" said Anne of Austria; "and the spies of the
cardinal have served him faithfully. I have written a letter
today; that letter is not yet gone. The letter is here." And
the queen laid her beautiful hand on her bosom.
"Then give me that letter, madame," said the chancellor.
"I will give it to none but the king monsieur," said Anne.
"If the king had desired that the letter should be given to him,
madame, he would have demanded it of you himself. But I repeat
to you, I am charged with reclaiming it; and if you do not give
it up--"
"Well?"
"He has, then, charged me to take it from you."
"How! What do you say?"
"That my orders go far, madame; and that I am authorized to seek
for the suspected paper, even on the person of your Majesty."
"What horror!" cried the queen.
"Be kind enough, then, madame, to act more compliantly."
"The conduct is infamously violent! Do you know that, monsieur?"
"The king commands it, madame; excuse me."
"I will not suffer it! No, no, I would rather die!" cried the
queen, in whom the imperious blood of Spain and Austria began to
rise.
The chancellor made a profound reverence. Then, with the
intention quite patent of not drawing back a foot from the
accomplishment of the commission with which he was charged, and
as the attendant of an executioner might have done in the chamber
of torture, he approached Anne of Austria, for whose eyes at the
same instant sprang tears of rage.
The queen was, as we have said, of great beauty. The commission
might well be called delicate; and the king had reached, in his
jealousy of Buckingham, the point of not being jealous of anyone
else.
Without doubt the chancellor, Seguier looked about at that moment
for the rope of the famous bell; but not finding it he summoned
his resolution, and stretched forth his hands toward the place
where the queen had acknowledged the paper was to be found.
Anne of Austria took one step backward, became so pale that it
might be said she was dying, and leaning with her left hand upon
a table behind her to keep herself from falling, she with her
right hand drew the paper from her bosom and held it out to the
keeper of the seals.
"There, monsieur, there is that letter!" cried the queen, with a
broken and trembling voice; "take it, and deliver me from your
odious presence."
The chancellor, who, on his part, trembled with an emotion easily
to be conceived, took the letter, bowed to the ground, and
retired. The door was scarcely closed upon him, when the queen
sank, half fainting, into the arms of her women.
The chancellor carried the letter to the king without having read
a single word of it. The king took it with a trembling hand,
looked for the address, which was wanting, became very pale,
opened it slowly, then seeing by the first words that it was
addressed to the King of Spain, he read it rapidly.
It was nothing but a plan of attack against the cardinal. The
queen pressed her brother and the Emperor of Austria to appear to
be wounded, as they really were, by the policy of Richelieu--the
eternal object of which was the abasement of the house of
Austria--to declare war against France, and as a con***ion of
peace, to insist upon the dismissal of the cardinal; but as to
love, there was not a single word about it in all the letter.
The king, quite delighted, inquired if the cardinal was still at
the Louvre; he was told that his Eminence awaited the orders of
his Majesty in the business cabinet.
The king went straight to him.
"There, Duke," said he, "you were right and I was wrong. The
whole intrigue is political, and there is not the least question
of love in this letter; but, on the other hand, there is abundant
question of you."
The cardinal took the letter, and read it with the greatest
attention; then, when he had arrived at the end of it, he read it
a second time. "Well, your Majesty," said he, "you see how far
my enemies go; they menace you with two wars if you do not
dismiss me. In your place, in truth, sire, I should yield to
such powerful instance; and on my part, it would be a real
happiness to withdraw from public affairs."
"What say you, Duke?"
"I say, sire, that my health is sinking under these excessive
struggles and these never-ending labors. I say that according to
all probability I shall not be able to undergo the fatigues of
the siege of La Rochelle, and that it would be far better that
you should appoint there either Monsieur de Conde, Monsieur de
Bassopierre, or some valiant gentleman whose business is war, and
not me, who am a churchman, and who am constantly turned aside
for my real vocation to look after matters for which I have no
aptitude. You would be the happier for it at home, sire, and I
do not doubt you would be the greater for it abroad."
"Monsieur Duke," said the king, "I understand you. Be satisfied,
all who are named in that letter shall be punished as they
deserve, even the queen herself."
"What do you say, sire? God forbid that the queen should suffer
the least inconvenience or uneasiness on my account! She has
always believed me, sire, to be her enemy; although your Majesty
can bear witness that I have always taken her part warmly, even
against you. Oh, if she betrayed your Majesty on the side of
your honor, it would be quite another thing, and I should be the
first to say, ''No grace, sire--no grace for the guilty!''
Happily, there is nothing of the kind, and your Majesty has just
acquired a new proof of it."
"That is true, Monsieur Cardinal," said the king, "and you were
right, as you always are; but the queen, not the less, deserves
all my anger."
"It is you, sire, who have now incurred hers. And even if she
were to be seriously offended, I could well understand it; your
Majesty has treated her with a severity--"
"It is thus I will always treat my enemies and yours, Duke,
however high they may be placed, and whatever peril I may incur
in acting severely toward them."
"The queen is my enemy, but is not yours, sire; on the contrary,
she is a devoted, submissive, and irreproachable wife. Allow me,
then, sire, to intercede for her with your Majesty."
"Let her humble herself, then, and come to me first."
"On the contrary, sire, set the example. You have committed the
first wrong, since it was you who suspected the queen."
"What! I make the first advances?" said the king. "Never!"
"Sire, I entreat you to do so."
"Besides, in what manner can I make advances first?"
"By doing a thing which you know will be agreeable to her."
"What is that?"
"Give a ball; you know how much the queen loves dancing. I will
answer for it, her resentment will not hold out against such an
attention."
"Monsieur Cardinal, you know that I do not like worldly
pleasures."
"The queen will only be the more grateful to you, as she knows
your antipathy for that amusement; besides, it will be an
opportunity for her to wear those beautiful diamonds which you
gave her recently on her birthday and with which she has since
had no occasion to adorn herself."
"We shall see, Monsieur Cardinal, we shall see," said the king,
who, in his joy at finding the queen guilty of a crime which he
cared little about, and innocent of a fault of which he had great
dread, was ready to make up all differences with her, "we shall
see, but upon my honor, you are too indulgent toward her."
"Sire," said the cardinal, "leave severity to your ministers.
Clemency is a royal virtue; employ it, and you will find that you
derive advantage therein."
Thereupon the cardinal, hearing the clock strike eleven, bowed
low, asking permission of the king to retire, and supplicating
him to come to a good understanding with the queen.
Anne of Austria, who, in consequence of the seizure of her
letter, expected reproaches, was much astonished the next day to
see the king make some attempts at reconciliation with her. Her
first movement was repellent. Her womanly pride and her queenly
dignity had both been so cruelly offended that she could not come
round at the first advance; but, overpersuaded by the advice of
her women, she at last had the appearance of beginning to forget.
The king took advantage of this favorable moment to tell her that
her had the intention of shortly giving a fete.
A fete was so rare a thing for poor Anne of Austria that at this
announcement, as the cardinal had predicted, the last trace of
her resentment disappeared, if not from her heart at least from
her countenance. She asked upon what day this fete would take
place, but the king replied that he must consult the cardinal
upon that head.
Indeed, every day the king asked the cardinal when this fete
should take place; and every day the cardinal, under some
pretext, deferred fixing it. Ten days passed away thus.
On the eighth day after the scene we have described, the cardinal
received a letter with the London stamp which only contained
these lines: "I have them; but I am unable to leave London for
want of money. Send me five hundred pistoles, and four or five
days after I have received them I shall be in Paris."
On the same day the cardinal received this letter the king put
his customary question to him.
Richelieu counted on his fingers, and said to himself, "She will
arrive, she says, four or five days after having received the
money. It will require four or five days for the transmission of
the money, four or five days for her to return; that makes ten
days. Now, allowing for contrary winds, accidents, and a woman''s
weakness, there are twelve days."
"Well, Monsieur Duke," said the king, "have you made your
calculations?"
"Yes, sire. Today is the twentieth of September. The aldermen
of the city give a fete on the third of October. That will fall
in wonderfully well; you will not appear to have gone out of your
way to please the queen."
Then the cardinal added, "A PROPOS, sire, do not forget to tell
her Majesty the evening before the fete that you should like to
see how her diamond studs become her."

17 BONACIEUX AT HOME
It was the second time the cardinal had mentioned these diamond
studs to the king. Louis XIII was struck with this insistence,
and began to fancy that this recommendation concealed some
mystery.
More than once the king had been humiliated by the cardinal,
whose police, without having yet attained the perfection of the
modern police, were excellent, being better informed than
himself, even upon what was going on in his own household. He
hoped, then, in a conversation with Anne of Austria, to obtain
some information from that conversation, and afterward to come
upon his Eminence with some secret which the cardinal either knew
or did not know, but which, in either case, would raise him
infinitely in the eyes of his minister.
He went then to the queen, and according to custom accosted her
with fresh menaces against those who surrounded her. Anne of
Austria lowered her head, allowed the torrent to flow on without
replying, hoping that it would cease of itself; but this was not
what Louis XIII meant. Louis XIII wanted a discussion from which
some light or other might break, convinced as he was that the
cardinal had some afterthought and was preparing for him one of
those terrible surprises which his Eminence was so skillful in
getting up. He arrived at this end by his persistence in
accusation.
"But," cried Anne of Austria, tired of these vague attacks, "but,
sire, you do not tell me all that you have in your heart. What
have I done, then? Let me know what crime I have committed. It
is impossible that your Majesty can make all this ado about a
letter written to my brother."
The king, attacked in a manner so direct, did not know what to
answer; and he thought that this was the moment for expressing
the desire which he was not have made until the evening before
the fete.
"Madame," said he, with dignity, "there will shortly be a ball at
the Hotel de Ville. I wish, in order to honor our worthy
aldermen, you should appear in ceremonial costume, and above all,
ornamented with the diamond studs which I gave you on your
birthday. That is my answer."
The answer was terrible. Anne of Austria believed that Louis
XIII knew all, and that the cardinal had persuaded him to employ
this long dissimulation of seven or eight days, which, likewise,
was characteristic. She became excessively pale, leaned her
beautiful hand upon a CONSOLE, which hand appeared then like one
of wax, and looking at the king with terror in her eyes, she was
unable to reply by a single syllable.
"You hear, madame," said the king, who enjoyed the embarrassment
to its full extent, but without guessing the cause. "You hear,
madame?"
"Yes, sire, I hear," stammered the queen.
"You will appear at this ball?"
"Yes."
"With those studs?"
"Yes."
The queen''s paleness, if possible, increased; the king perceived
it, and enjoyed it with that cold cruelty which was one of the
worst sides of his character.
"Then that is agreed," said the king, "and that is all I had to
say to you."
"But on what day will this ball take place?" asked Anne of
Austria.
Louis XIII felt instinctively that he ought not to reply to this
question, the queen having put it in an almost dying voice.
"Oh, very shortly, madame," said he; "but I do not precisely
recollect the date of the day. I will ask the cardinal."
"It was the cardinal, then, who informed you of this fete?"
"Yes, madame," replied the astonished king; "but why do you ask
that?"
"It was he who told you to invite me to appear with these studs?"
"That is to say, madame--"
"It was he, sire, it was he!"
"Well, and what does it signify whether it was he or I? Is there
any crime in this request?"
"No, sire."
"Then you will appear?"
"Yes, sire."
"That is well," said the king, retiring, "that is well; I count
upon it."
The queen made a curtsy, less from etiquette than because her
knees were sinking under her. The king went away enchanted.
"I am lost," murmured the queen, "lost!--for the cardinal knows
all, and it is he who urges on the king, who as yet knows nothing
but will soon know everything. I am lost! My God, my God, my
God!"
She knelt upon a cushion and prayed, with her head buried between
her palpitating arms.
In fact, her position was terrible. Buckingham had returned to
London; Mme. Chevreuse was at Tours. More closely watched than
ever, the queen felt certain, without knowing how to tell which,
that one of her women had betrayed her. Laporte could not leave
the Louvre; she had not a soul in the world in whom she could
confide. Thus, while contemplating the misfortune which
threatened her and the abandonment in which she was left, she
broke out into sobs and tears.
"Can I be of service to your Majesty?" said all at once a voice
full of sweetness and pity.
The queen turned sharply round, for there could be no deception
in the expression of that voice; it was a friend who spoke thus.
In fact, at one of the doors which opened into the queen''s
apartment appeared the pretty Mme. Bonacieux. She had been
engaged in arranging the dresses and linen in a closet when the
king entered; she could not get out and had heard all.
The queen uttered a piercing cry at finding herself surprised--
for in her trouble she did not at first recognize the young woman
who had been given to her by Laporte.
"Oh, fear nothing, madame!" said the young woman, clasping her
hands and weeping herself at the queen''s sorrows; "I am your
Majesty''s, body and soul, and however far I may be from you,
however inferior may be my position, I believe I have discovered
a means of extricating your Majesty from your trouble."
"You, oh, heaven, you!" cried the queen; "but look me in the
face. I am betrayed on all sides. Can I trust in you?"
"Oh, madame!" cried the young woman, falling on her knees; "upon
my soul, I am ready to die for your Majesty!"
This expression sprang from the very bottom of the heart, and,
like the first, there was no mistaking it.
"Yes," continued Mme. Bonacieux, "yes, there are traitors here;
but by the holy name of the Virgin, I swear that no one is more
devoted to your Majesty than I am. Those studs which the king
speaks of, you gave them to the Duke of Buckingham, did you not?
Those studs were enclosed in a little rosewood box which he held
under his arm? Am I deceived? Is it not so, madame?"
"Oh, my God, my God!" murmured the queen, whose teeth chattered
with fright.
"Well, those studs," continued Mme. Bonacieux, "we must have them
back again."
"Yes, without doubt, it is necessary," cried the queen; "but how
am I to act? How can it be effected?"
"Someone must be sent to the duke."
"But who, who? In whom can I trust?"
"Place confidence in me, madame; do me that honor, my queen, and
I will find a messenger."
"But I must write."
"Oh, yes; that is indispensable. Two words from the hand of your
Majesty and your private seal."
"But these two words would bring about my condemnation, divorce,
exile!"
"Yes, if they fell into infamous hands. But I will answer for
these two words being delivered to their address."
"Oh, my God! I must then place my life, my honor, my reputation,
in your hands?"
"Yes, yes, madame, you must; and I will save them all."
"But how? Tell me at least the means."
"My husband had been at liberty these two or three days. I have
not yet had time to see him again. He is a worthy, honest man
who entertains neither love nor hatred for anybody. He will do
anything I wish. He will set out upon receiving an order from
me, without knowing what he carries, and he will carry your
Majesty''s letter, without even knowing it is from your Majesty,
to the address which is on it."
The queen took the two hands of the young woman with a burst of
emotion, gazed at her as if to read her very heart, and seeing
nothing but sincerity in her beautiful eyes, embraced her
tenderly.
"Do that," cried she, "and you will have saved my life, you will
have saved my honor!"
"Do not exaggerate the service I have the happiness to render
your Majesty. I have nothing to save for your Majesty; you are
only the victim of perfidious plots."
"That is true, that is true, my child," said the queen, "you are
right."
"Give me then, that letter, madame; time presses."
The queen ran to a little table, on which were ink, paper, and
pens. She wrote two lines, sealed the letter with her private
seal, and gave it to Mme. Bonacieux.
"And now," said the queen, "we are forgetting one very necessary
thing."
"What is that, madame?"
"Money."
Mme. Bonacieux blushed.
"Yes, that is true," said she, "and I will confess to your
Majesty that my husband--"
"Your husband has none. Is that what you would say?"
"He has some, but he is very avaricious; that is his fault.
Nevertheless, let not your Majesty be uneasy, we will find
means."
"And I have none, either," said the queen. Those who have read
the MEMOIRS of Mme. de Motteville will not be astonished at this
reply. "But wait a minute."
Anne of Austria ran to her jewel case.
"Here," said she, "here is a ring of great value, as I have been
assured. It came from my brother, the King of Spain. It is
mine, and I am at liberty to dispose of it. Take this ring;
raise money with it, and let your husband set out."
"In an hour you shall be obeyed."
"You see the address," said the queen, speaking so low that Mme.
Bonacieux could hardly hear what she said, "To my Lord Duke of
Buckingham, London."
"The letter shall be given to himself."
"Generous girl!" cried Anne of Austria.
Mme. Bonacieux kissed the hands of the queen, concealed the paper
in the bosom of her dress, and disappeared with the lightness of
a bird.
Ten minutes afterward she was at home. As she told the queen,
she had not seen her husband since his liberation; she was
ignorant of the change that had taken place in him with respect
to the cardinal--a change which had since been strengthened by
two or three visits from the Comte de Rochefort, who had become
the best friend of Bonacieux, and had persuaded him, without much
trouble, order in his house, the furniture of which he had found
mostly broken and his closets nearly empty--justice not being one
of the three things which King Solomon names as leaving no traces
of their passage. As to the servant, she had run away at the
moment of her master''s arrest. Terror had had such an effect
upon the poor girl that she had never ceased walking from Paris
till she reached Burgundy, her native place.
The worthy mercer had, immediately upon re-entering his house,
informed his wife of his happy return, and his wife had replied
by congratulating him, and telling him that the first moment she
could steal from her duties should be devoted to paying him a
visit.
This first moment had been delayed five days, which, under any
other circumstances, might have appeared rather long to M.
Bonacieux; but he had, in the visit he had made to the cardinal
and in the visits Rochefort had made him, ample subjects for
reflection, and as everybody knows, nothing makes time pass more
quickly than reflection.
This was the more so because Bonacieux''s reflections were all
rose-colored. Rochefort called him his friend, his dear
Bonacieux, and never ceased telling him that the cardinal had a
great respect for him. The mercer fancied himself already on the
high road to honors and fortune.
On her side Mme. Bonacieux had also reflected; but, it must be
admitted, upon something widely different from ambition. In
spite of herself her thoughts constantly reverted to that
handsome young man who was so brave and appeared to be so much in
love. Married at eighteen to Mme. Bonacieux, having always lived
among her husband''s friends--people little capable of inspiring
any sentiment whatever in a young woman whose heart was above her
position--Mme. Bonacieux had remained insensible to vulgar
seductions; but at this period the title of gentleman had great
influence with the citizen class, and D''Artagnan was a gentleman.
Besides, he wore the uniform of the Guards, which next to that of
the Musketeers was most admired by the ladies. He was, we
repeat, handsome, young, and bold; he spoke of love like a man
who did love and was anxious to be loved in return. There was
certainly enough in all this to turn a head only twenty-three
years old, and Mme. Bonacieux had just attained that happy period
of life.
The couple, then, although they had not seen each other for eight
days, and during that time serious events had taken place in
which both were concerned, accosted each other with a degree of
preoccupation. Nevertheless, Bonacieux manifested real joy, and
advanced toward his wife with open arms. Madame Bonacieux
presented her cheek to him.
"Let us talk a little," said she.
"How!" said Bonacieux, astonished.
"Yes, I have something of the highest importance to tell you."
"True," said he, "and I have some questions sufficiently serious
to put to you. Describe to me your abduction, I pray you."
"Oh, that''s of no consequence just now," said Mme. Bonacieux.
"And what does it concern, then--my captivity?"
"I heard of it the day it happened; but as you were not guilty of
any crime, as you were not guilty of any intrigue, as you, in
short, knew nothing that could compromise yourself or anybody
else, I attached no more importance to that event than it
merited."
"You speak very much at your ease, madame," said Bonacieux, hurt
at the little interest his wife showed in him. "Do you know that
I was plunged during a day and night in a dungeon of the
Bastille?"
"Oh, a day and night soon pass away. Let us return to the object
that brings me here."
"What, that which brings you home to me? Is it not the desire of
seeing a husband again from whom you have been separated for a
week?" asked the mercer, piqued to the quick.
"Yes, that first, and other things afterward."
"Speak."
"It is a thing of the highest interest, and upon which our future
fortune perhaps depends."
"The complexion of our fortune has changed very much since I saw
you, Madam Bonacieux, and I should not be astonished if in the
course of a few months it were to excite the envy of many folks."
"Yes, particularly if you follow the instructions I am about to
give you."
"Me?"
"Yes, you. There is good and holy action to be performed,
monsieur, and much money to be gained at the same time."
Mme. Bonacieux knew that in talking of money to her husband, she
took him on his weak side. But a man, were he even a mercer,
when he had talked for ten minutes with Cardinal Richelieu, is no
longer the same man.
"Much money to be gained?" said Bonacieux, protruding his lip.
"Yes, much."
"About how much?"
"A thousand pistoles, perhaps."
"What you demand of me is serious, then?"
"It is indeed."
"What must be done?"
"You must go away immediately. I will give you a paper which you
must not part with on any account, and which you will deliver
into the proper hands."
"And whither am I to go?"
"To London."
"I go to London? Go to! You jest! I have no business in
London."
"But others wish that you should go there."
"But who are those others? I warn you that I will never again
work in the dark, and that I will know not only to what I expose
myself, but for whom I expose myself."
"An illustrious persons sends you; an illustrious person awaits
you. The recompense will exceed your expectations; that is all I
promise you."
"More intrigues! Nothing but intrigues! Thank you, madame, I am
aware of them now; Monsieur Cardinal has enlightened me on that
head."
"The cardinal?" cried Mme. Bonacieux. "Have you seen the
cardinal?"
"He sent for me," answered the mercer, proudly.
"And you responded to his bidding, you imprudent man?"
"Well, I can''t say I had much choice of going or not going, for I
was taken to him between two guards. It is true also, that as I
did not then know his Eminence, if I had been able to dispense
with the visit, I should have been enchanted."
"He ill-treated you, then; he threatened you?"
"He gave me his hand, and called me his friend. His friend! Do
you hear that, madame? I am the friend of the great cardinal!"
"Of the great cardinal!"
"Perhaps you would contest his right to that title, madame?"
"I would contest nothing; but I tell you that the favor of a
minister is ephemeral, and that a man must be mad to attach
himself to a minister. There are powers above his which do not
depend upon a man or the issue of an event; it is to these powers
we should rally."
"I am sorry for it, madame, but I acknowledge not her power but
that of the great man whom I have the honor to serve."
"You serve the cardinal?"
"Yes, madame; and as his servant, I will not allow you to be
concerned in plots against the safety of the state, or to serve
the intrigues of a woman who in not French and who has a Spanish
heart. Fortunately we have the great cardinal; his vigilant eye
watches over and penetrates to the bottom of the heart."
Bonacieux was repeating, word for word, a sentence which he had
heard from the Comte de Rochefort; but the poor wife, who had
reckoned on her husband, and who, in that hope, had answered for
him to the queen, did not tremble the less, both at the danger
into which she had nearly cast herself and at the helpless state
to which she was reduced. Nevertheless, knowing the weakness of
her husband, and more particularly his cupi***y, she did not
despair of bringing him round to her purpose.
"Ah, you are a cardinalist, then, monsieur, are you?" cried she;
"and you serve the party of those who maltreat your wife and
insult your queen?"
"Private interests are as nothing before the interests of all. I
am for those who save the state," said Bonacieux, emphatically.
"And what do you know about the state you talk of?" said Mme.
Bonacieux, shrugging her shoulders. "Be satisfied with being a
plain, straightforward citizen, and turn to that side which
offers the most advantages."
"Eh, eh!" said Bonacieux, slapping a plump, round bag, which
returned a sound a money; "what do you think of this, Madame
Preacher?"
"Whence comes that money?"
"You do not guess?"
"From the cardinal?"
"From him, and from my friend the Comte de Rochefort."
"The Comte de Rochefort! Why it was he who carried me off!"
"That may be, madame!"
"And you receive silver from that man?"
"Have you not said that that abduction was entirely political?"
"Yes; but that abduction had for its object the betrayal of my
mistress, to draw from me by torture confessions that might
compromise the honor, and perhaps the life, of my august
mistress."
"Madame," replied Bonacieux, "your august mistress is a
perfidious Spaniard, and what the cardinal does is well done."
"Monsieur," said the young woman, "I know you to be cowardly,
avaricious, and foolish, but I never till now believed you
infamous!"
"Madame," said Bonacieux, who had never seen his wife in a
passion, and who recoiled before this conjugal anger, "madame,
what do you say?"
"I say you are a miserable creature!" continued Mme. Bonacieux,
who saw she was regaining some little influence over her husband.
"You meddle with politics, do you--and still more, with
cardinalist politics? Why, you sell yourself, body and soul, to
the demon, the devil, for money!"
"No, to the cardinal."
"It''s the same thing," cried the young woman. "Who calls
Richelieu calls Satan."
"Hold your tongue, hold your tongue, madame! You may be
overheard."
"Yes, you are right; I should be ashamed for anyone to know your
baseness."
"But what do you require of me, then? Let us see."
"I have told you. You must depart instantly, monsieur. You must
accomplish loyally the commission with which I deign to charge
you, and on that con***ion I pardon everything, I forget
everything; and what is more," and she geld out her hand to him,
"I restore my love."
Bonacieux was cowardly and avaricious, but he loved his wife. He
was softened. A man of fifty cannot long bear malice with a wife
of twenty-three. Mme. Bonacieux saw that he hesitated.
"Come! Have you decided?" said she.
"But, my dear love, reflect a little upon what you require of me.
London is far from Paris, very far, and perhaps the commission
with which you charge me is not without dangers?"
"What matters it, if you avoid them?"
"Hold, Madame Bonacieux," said the mercer, "hold! I positively
refuse; intrigues terrify me. I have seen the Bastille. My!
Whew! That''s a frightful place, that Bastille! Only to think of
it makes my flesh crawl. They threatened me with torture. Do
you know what torture is? Wooden points that they stick in
between your legs till your bones stick out! No, positively I
will not go. And, MORBLEU, why do you not go yourself? For in
truth, I think I have hitherto been deceived in you. I really
believe you are a man, and a violent one, too."
"And you, you are a woman--a miserable woman, stupid and brutal.
You are afraid, are you? Well, if you do not go this very
instant, I will have you arrested by the queen''s orders, and I
will have you placed in the Bastille which you dread so much."
Bonacieux fell into a profound reflection. He weighed the two
angers in his brain--that of the cardinal and that of the queen;
that of the cardinal predominated enormously.
"Have me arrested on the part of the queen," said he, "and I--I
will appeal to his Eminence.
At once Mme. Bonacieux saw that she had gone too far, and she was
terrified at having communicated so much. She for a moment
contemplated with fright that stupid countenance, impressed with
the invincible resolution of a fool that is overcome by fear.
"Well, be it so!" said she. "Perhaps, when all is considered,
you are right. In the long run, a man knows more about politics
than a woman, particularly such as, like you, Monsieur Bonacieux,
have conversed with the cardinal. And yet it is very hard,"
added she, "that a man upon whose affection I thought I might
depend, treats me thus unkindly and will not comply with any of
my fancies."
"That is because your fancies go too far," replied the triumphant
Bonacieux, "and I mistrust them."
''Well, I will give it up, then," said the young woman, sighing.
"It is well as it is; say no more about it."
"At least you should tell me what I should have to do in London,"
replied Bonacieux, who remembered a little too late that
Rochefort had desired him to endeavor to obtain his wife''s
secrets.
"It is of no use for you to know anything about it," said the
young woman, whom an instinctive mistrust now impelled to draw
back. "It was about one of those purchases that interest women--
a purchase by which much might have been gained."
But the more the young woman excused herself, the more important
Bonacieux thought the secret which she declined to confide to
him. He resolved then to hasten immediately to the residence of
the Comte de Rochefort, and tell him that the queen was seeking
for a messenger to send to London.
"Pardon me for quitting you, my dear Madame Bonacieux," said he;
"but, not knowing you would come to see me, I had made an
engagement with a friend. I shall soon return; and if you will
wait only a few minutes for me, as soon as I have concluded my
business with that friend, as it is growing late, I will come
back and reconduct you to the Louvre."
"Thank you, monsieur, you are not brave enough to be of any use
to me whatever," replied Mme. Bonacieux. "I shall return very
safely to the Louvre all alone."
"As you please, Madame Bonacieux," said the ex-mercer. "Shall I
see you again soon?"
"Next week I hope my duties will afford me a little liberty, and
I will take advantage of it to come and put things in order here,
so they must necessarily be much deranged."
"Very well; I shall expect you. You are not angry with me?"
"Not the least in the world."
"Tell then, then?"
"Till then."
Bonacieux kissed his wife''s hand, and set off at a quick pace.
"Well," said Mme. Bonacieux, when her husband had shut the street
door and she found herself alone; "that imbecile lacked but one
thing to become a cardinalist. And I, who have answered for him
to the queen--I, who have promised my poor mistress--ah, my God,
my God! She will take me for one of those wretches with whom the
palace swarms and who are placed about her as spies! Ah,
Monsieur Bonacieux, I never did love you much, but now it is
worse than ever. I hate you, and on my word you shall pay for
this!"
At the moment she spoke these words a rap on the ceiling made her
raise her head, and a voice which reached her through the ceiling
cried, "Dear Madame Bonacieux, open for me the little door on the
alley, and I will come down to you."

18 LOVER AND HUSBAND
"Ah, Madame," said D''Artagnan, entering by the door which the
young woman opened for him, "allow me to tell you that you have a
bad sort of a husband."
"You have, then, overheard our conversation?" asked Mme.
Bonacieux, eagerly, and looking at D''Artagnan with disquiet.
"The whole?"
"But how, my God?"
"By a mode of proceeding known to myself, and by which I likewise
overheard the more animated conversation which had with the
cardinal''s police."
"And what did you understand by what we said?"
"A thousand things. In the first place, that, unfortunately,
your husband is a simpleton and a fool; in the next place, you
are in trouble, of which I am very glad, as it gives me a
opportunity of placing myself at your service, and God knows I am
ready to throw myself into the fire for you; finally, that the
queen wants a brave, intelligent, devoted man to make a journey
to London for her. I have at least two of the three qualities
you stand in need of, and here I am.
Mme. Bonacieux made no reply; but her heart beat with joy and
secret hope shone in her eyes.
"And what guarantee will you give me," asked she, "if I consent
to confide this message to you?"
"My love for you. Speak! Command! What is to be done?"
"My God, my God!" murmured the young woman, "ought I to confide
such a secret to you, monsieur? You are almost a boy."
"I see that you require someone to answer for me?"
"I admit that would reassure me greatly."
"Do you know Athos?"
"No."
"Porthos?"
"No."
"Aramis?"
"No. Who are these gentleman?"
"Three of the king''s Musketeers. Do you know Monsieur de
Treville, their captain?"
"Oh, yes, him! I know him; not personally, but from having heard
the queen speak of him more than once as a brave and loyal
gentleman."
"You do not fear lest he should betray you to the cardinal?"
"Oh, no, certainly not!"
"Well, reveal your secret to him, and ask him whether, however
important, however valuable, however terrible it may be, you may
not confide it to me."
"But this secret is not mine, and I cannot reveal it in this
manner."
"You were about to confide it to Monsieur Bonacieux," said
D''Artagnan, with chagrin.
"As one confides a letter to the hollow of a tree, to the wing of
a pigeon, to the collar of a dog."
"And yet, me--you see plainly that I love you."
"You say so."
"I am an honorable man."
"You say so."
"I am a gallant fellow."
"I believe it."
"I am brave."
"Oh, I am sure of that!"
"Then, put me to the proof."
Mme. Bonacieux looked at the young man, restrained for a minute
by a last hesitation; but there was such an ardor in his eyes,
such persuasion in his voice, that she felt herself constrained
to confide in him. Besides, she found herself in circumstances
where everything must be risked for the sake of everything. The
queen might be as much injured by too much reticence as by too
much confidence; and--let us admit it--the involuntary sentiment
which she felt for her young protector decided her to speak.
"Listen," said she; "I yield to your protestations, I yield to
your assurances. But I swear to you, before God who hears us,
that if you betray me, and my enemies pardon me, I will kill
myself, while accusing you of my death."
"And I--I swear to you before God, madame," said D''Artagnan.
"that if I am taken while accomplishing the orders you give me, I
will die sooner than do anything that may compromise anyone."
Then the young woman confided in him the terrible secret of which
chance had already communicated to him a part in front of the
Samaritaine. This was their mutual declaration of love.
D''Artagnan was radiant with joy and pride. This secret which he
possessed, this woman whom he loved! Confidence and love mad him
a giant.
"I go," said he; "I go at once."
"How, you will go!" said Mme. Bonacieux; "and your regiment, your
captain?"
"By my soul, you had made me forget all that, dear Constance!
Yes, you are right; a furlough is needful."
"Still another obstacle," murmured Mme. Bonacieux, sorrowfully.
"As to that," cried D''Artagnan, after a moment of reflection, "I
shall surmount it, be assured."
"How so?"
"I will go this very evening to Treville, whom I will request to
ask this favor for me of his brother-in-law, Monsieur
Dessessart."
"But another thing."
"What?" asked D''Artagnan, seeing that Mme. Bonacieux hesitated to
continue.
"You have, perhaps, no money?"
"PERHAPS is too much," said D''Artagnan, smiling.
"Then," replied Mme. Bonacieux, opening a cupboard and taking
from it the very bag which a half hour before her husband had
caressed so affectionately, "take this bag."
"The cardinal''s?" cried D''Artagnan, breaking into a loud laugh,
he having heard, as may be remembered, thanks to the broken
boards, every syllable of the conversation between the mercer and
his wife.
"The cardinal''s," replied Mme. Bonacieux. "You see it makes a
very respectable appearance."
"PARDIEU," cried D''Artagnan, "it will be a double amusing affair
to save the queen with the cardinal''s money!"
"You are an amiable and charming young man," said Mme. Bonacieux.
"Be assured you will not find her Majesty ungrateful."
"Oh, I am already grandly recompensed!" cried D''Artagnan. "I
love you; you permit me to tell you that I do--that is already
more happiness than I dared to hope."
"Silence!" said Mme. Bonacieux, starting.
"What!"
"Someone is talking in the street."
"It is the voice of--"
"Of my husband! Yes, I recognize it!"
D''Artagnan ran to the door and pushed the bolt.
"He shall not come in before I am gone," said he; "and when I am
gone, you can open to him."
"But I ought to be gone, too. And the disappearance of his
money; how am I to justify it if I am here?"
"You are right; we must go out."
"Go out? How? He will see us if we go out."
"Then you must come up into my room."
"Ah," said Mme. Bonacieux, "you speak that in a tone that
frightens me!"
Mme. Bonacieux pronounced these words with tears in her eyes.
D''Artagnan saw those tears, and much disturbed, softened, he
threw himself at her feet.
"With me you will be as safe as in a temple; I give you my word
of a gentleman."
"Let us go," said she, "I place full confidence in you, my
friend!"
D''Artagnan drew back the bolt with precaution, and both, light as
shadows, glided through the interior door into the passage,
ascended the stairs as quietly as possible, and entered
D''Artagnan''s chambers.
Once there, for greater security, the young man barricaded the
door. They both approached the window, and through a slit in the
shutter they saw Bonacieux talking with a man in a cloak.
At sight of this man, D''Artagnan started, and half drawing his
sword, sprang toward the door.
It was the man of Meung.
"What are you going to do?" cried Mme. Bonacieux; "you will ruin
us all!"
"But I have sworn to kill that man!" said D''Artagnan.
"Your life is devoted from this moment, and does not belong to
you. In the name of the queen I forbid you to throw yourself
into any peril which is foreign o that of your journey."
"And do you command nothing in your own name?"
"In my name," said Mme. Bonacieux, with great emotion, "in my
name I beg you! But listen; they appear to be speaking of me."
D''Artagnan drew near the window, and lent his ear.
M. Bonacieux had opened his door, and seeing the apartment, had
returned to the man in the cloak, whom he had left alone for an
instant.
"She is gone," said he; "she must have returned to the Louvre."
"You are sure," replied the stranger, "that she did not suspect
the intentions with which you went out?"
"No," replied Bonacieux, with a self-sufficient air, "she is too
superficial a woman."
"Is the young Guardsman at home?"
"I do not think he is; as you see, his shutter is closed, and you
can see no light shine through the chinks of the shutters."
"All the same, it is well to be certain."
"How so?"
"By knocking at his door. Go."
"I will ask his servant."
Bonacieux re-entered the house, passed through the same door that
had afforded a passage for the two fugitives, went up to
D''Artagnan''s door, and knocked.
No one answered. Porthos, in order to make a greater display,
had that evening borrowed Planchet. As to D''Artagnan, he took
care not to give the least sign of existence.
The moment the hand of Bonacieux sounded on the door, the two
young people felt their hearts bound within them.
"There is nobody within," said Bonacieux.
"Never mind. Let us return to your apartment. We shall be safer
there than in the doorway."
"Ah, my God!" whispered Mme. Bonacieux, "we shall hear no more."
"On the contrary," said D''Artagnan, "we shall hear better."
D''Artagnan raised the three or four boards which made his chamber
another ear of Dionysius, spread a carpet on the floor, went upon
his knees, and made a sign to Mme. Bonacieux to stoop as he did
toward the opening.
"You are sure there is nobody there?" said the stranger.
"I will answer for it," said Bonacieux.
"And you think that your wife--"
"Has returned to the Louvre."
"Without speaking to anyone but yourself?"
"I am sure of it."
"That is an important point, do you understand?"
"Then the news I brought you is of value?"
"The greatest, my dear Bonacieux; I don''t conceal this from you."
"Then the cardinal will be pleased with me?"
"I have no doubt of it."
"The great cardinal!"
"Are you sure, in her conversation with you, that your wife
mentioned no names?"
"I think not."
"She did not name Madame de Chevreuse, the Duke of Buckingham, or
Madame de Vernet?"
"No; she only told me she wished to send me to London to serve
the interests of an illustrious personage."
"The traitor!" murmured Mme. Bonacieux.
"Silence!" said D''Artagnan, taking her hand, which, without
thinking of it, she abandoned to him.
"Never mind," continued the man in the cloak; "you were a fool
not to have pretended to accept the mission. You would then be
in present possession of the letter. The state, which is now
threatened, would be safe, and you--"
"And I?"
"Well you--the cardinal would have given you letters of
nobility."
"Did he tell you so?"
"Yes, I know that he meant to afford you that agreeable
surprise."
"Be satisfied," replied Bonacieux; "my wife adores me, and there
is yet time."
"The ninny!" murmured Mme. Bonacieux.
"Silence!" said D''Artagnan, pressing her hand more closely.
"How is there still time?" asked the man in the cloak.
"I go to the Louvre; I ask for Mme. Bonacieux; I say that I have
reflected; I renew the affair; I obtain the letter, and I run
directly to the cardinal."
"Well, go quickly! I will return soon to learn the result of
your trip."
The stranger went out.
"Infamous!" said Mme. Bonacieux, addressing this epithet to her
husband.
"Silence!" said D''Artagnan, pressing her hand still more warmly.
A terrible howling interrupted these reflections of D''Artagnan
and Mme. Bonacieux. It was her husband, who had discovered the
disappearance of the moneybag, and was crying "Thieves!"
"Oh, my God!" cried Mme. Bonacieux, "he will rouse the whole
quarter."
Bonacieux called a long time; but as such cries, on account of
their frequency, brought nobody in the Rue des Fossoyeurs, and as
lately the mercer''s house had a bad name, finding that nobody
came, he went out continuing to call, his voice being heard
fainter and fainter as he went in the direction of the Rue du
Bac.
"Now he is gone, it is your turn to get out," said Mme.
Bonacieux. "Courage, my friend, but above all, prudence, and
think what you owe to the queen."
"To her and to you!" cried D''Artagnan. "Be satisfied, beautiful
Constance. I shall become worthy of her gratitude; but shall I
likewise return worthy of your love?"
The young woman only replied by the beautiful glow which mounted
to her cheeks. A few seconds afterward D''Artagnan also went out
enveloped in a large cloak, which ill-concealed the sheath of a
long sword.
Mme. Bonacieux followed him with her eyes, with that long, fond
look with which he had turned the angle of the street, she fell
on her knees, and clasping her hands, "Oh, my God," cried she,
"protect the queen, protect me!"

19 PLAN OF CAMPAIGN
D''Artagnan went straight to M. de Treville''s. He had reflected
that in a few minutes the cardinal would be warned by this cursed
stranger, who appeared to be his agent, and he judged, with
reason, he had not a moment to lose.
The heart of the young man overflowed with joy. An opportunity
presented itself to him in which there would be at the same time
glory to be acquired, and money to be gained; and as a far higher
encouragement, it brought him into close intimacy with a woman he
adored. This chance did, then, for him at once more than he
would have dared to ask of Providence.
M. de Treville was in his saloon with his habitual court of
gentlemen. D''Artagnan, who was known as a familiar of the house,
went straight to his office, and sent word that he wished to see
him on something of importance.
D''Artagnan had been there scarcely five minutes when M. de
Treville entered. At the first glance, and by the joy which was
painted on his countenance, the worthy captain plainly perceived
that something new was on foot.
All the way along D''Artagnan had been consulting with himself
whether he should place confidence in M. de Treville, or whether
he should only ask him to give him CARTE BLANCHE for some secret
affair. But M. de Treville had always been so thoroughly his
friend, had always been so devoted to the king and queen, and
hated the cardinal so cordially, that the young man resolved to
tell him everything.
"Did you ask for me, my good friend?" said M. de Treville.
''Yes, monsieur," said D''Artagnan, lowering his voice, "than the
honor, perhaps the life of the queen."
"What did you say?" asked M. de Treville, glancing round to see
if they were surely alone, and then fixing his questioning look
upon D''Artagnan.
"I say, monsieur, that chance has rendered me master of a
secret--"
"Which you will guard, I hope, young man, as your life."
"But which I must impart to you, monsieur, for you alone can
assist me in the mission I have just received from her Majesty."
"Is this secret your own?"
"No, monsieur; it is her Majesty''s."
"Are you authorized by her Majesty to communicate it to me?"
"No, monsieur, for, on the contrary, I am desired to preserve the
profoundest mystery."
"Why, then, are you about to betray it to me?"
"Because, as I said, without you I can do nothing; and I am
afraid you will refuse me the favor I come to ask if you do not
know to what end I ask it."
"Keep your secret, young man, and tell me what you wish."
"I wish you to obtain for me, from Monsieur Dessessart, leave of
absence for fifteen days."
"When?"
"This very night."
"You leave Paris?"
"I am going on a mission."
"May you tell me whither?"
"To London."
"Has anyone an interest in preventing your arrival there?"
"The cardinal, I believe, would give the world to prevent my
success."
"And you are going alone?"
"I am going alone."
"In that case you will not get beyond Bondy. I tell you so, by
the faith of De Treville."
"How so?"
"You will be assassinated."
"And I shall die in the performance of my duty."
"But your mission will not be accomplished."
"That is true," replied D''Artagnan.
"Believe me," continued Treville, "in enterprises of this kind,
in order that one may arrive, four must set out."
"Ah, you are right, monsieur," said D''Artagnan; "but you know
Athos, Porthos, and Aramis, and you know if I can dispose of
them."
"Without confiding to them the secret which I am not willing to
know?"
"We are sworn, once for all, to implicit confidence and
devotedness against all proof. Besides, you can tell them that
you have full confidence in me, and they will not be more
incredulous than you."
"I can send to each of them leave of absence for fifteen days,
that is all--to Athos, whose wound still makes him suffer, to go
to the waters of Forges; to Porthos and Aramis to accompany their
friend, whom they are not willing to abandon in such a painful
con***ion. Sending their leave of absence will be proof enough
that I authorize their journey."
"Thanks, monsieur. You are a hundred times too good."
"Begone, then, find them instantly, and let all be done tonight!
Ha! But first write your request to Dessessart. Perhaps you had
a spy at your heels; and your visit, if it should ever be known
to the cardinal, will thus seem legitimate."
D''Artagnan drew up his request, and M. de Treville, on receiving
it, assured him that by two o''clock in the morning the four
leaves of absence should be at the respective domiciles of the
travelers.
"Have the goodness to send mine to Athos''s residence. I should
dread some disagreeable encounter if I were to go home."
"Be easy. Adieu, and a prosperous voyage. A PROPOS," said M. de
Treville, calling him back.
D''Artagnan returned.
"Have you any money?"
D''Artagnan tapped the bag he had in his pocket.
"Enough?" asked M. de Treville.
"Three hundred pistoles."
"Oh, plenty! That would carry you to the end of the world.
Begone, then!"
D''Artagnan saluted M. de Treville, who held out his hand to him;
D''Artagnan pressed it with a respect mixed with gratitude. Since
his first arrival at Paris, he had had constant occasion to honor
this excellent man, whom he had always found worthy, loyal, and
great.
His first visit was to Aramis, at whose residence he ha not been
since the famous evening on which he had followed Mme. Bonacieux.
Still further, he had seldom seen the young Musketeer; but every
time he had seen him, he had remarked a deep sadness imprinted on
his countenance.
This evening, especially, Aramis was melancholy and thoughtful.
D''Artagnan asked some questions about this prolonged melancholy.
Aramis pleaded as his excuse a commentary upon the eighteenth
chapter of St. Augustine, which he was forced to write in Latin
for the following week, and which preoccupied him a good deal.
After the two friends had been chatting a few moments, a servant
from M. de Treville entered, bringing a sealed packet.
"What is that?" asked Aramis.
"The leave of absence Monsieur has asked for," replied the
lackey.
"For me! I have asked for no leave of absence."
"Hold your tongue and take it!" said D''Artagnan. "And you, my
friend, there is a demipistole for your trouble; you will tell
Monsieur de Treville that Monsieur Aramis is very much obliged to
him. Go."
The lackey bowed to the ground and departed.
"What does all this mean?" asked Aramis.
"Pack up all you want for a journey of a fortnight, and follow
me."
"But I cannot leave Paris just now without knowing--"
Aramis stopped.
"What is become of her? I suppose you mean--" continued
D''Artagnan.
"Become of whom?" replied Aramis.
"The woman who was here--the woman with the embroidered
handkerchief."
"Who told you there was a woman here?" replied Aramis, becoming
as pale as death.
"I saw her."
"And you know who she is?"
"I believe I can guess, at least."
"Listen!" said Aramis. "Since you appear to know so many things,
can you tell me what is become of that woman?"
"I presume that she has returned to Tours."
"To Tours? Yes, that may be. You evidently know her. But why
did she return to Tours without telling me anything?"
"Because she was in fear of being arrested."
"Why has she not written to me, then?"
"Because she was afraid of compromising you."
"D''Artagnan, you restore me to life!" cried Aramis. "I fancied
myself despised, betrayed. I was so delighted to see her again!
I could not have believed she would risk her liberty for me, and
yet for what other cause could she have returned to Paris?"
"for the cause which today takes us to England."
"And what is this cause?" demanded Aramis.
"Oh, you''ll know it someday, Aramis; but at present I must
imitate the discretion of ''the doctor''s niece.''"
Aramis smiled, as he remembered the tale he had told his friends
on a certain evening. "Well, then, since she has left Paris, and
you are sure of it, D''Artagnan, nothing prevents me, and I am
ready to follow you. You say we are going--"
"To see Athos now, and if you will come thither, I beg you to
make haste, for we have lost much time already. A PROPOS, inform
Bazin."
"Will Bazin go with us?" asked Aramis.
"Perhaps so. At all events, it is best that he should follow us
to Athos''s."
Aramis called Bazin, and, after having ordered him to join them
at Athos''s residence, said "Let us go then," at the same time
taking his cloak, sword, and three pistols, opening uselessly two
or three drawers to see if he could not find stray coin. When
well assured this search was superfluous, he followed D''Artagnan,
wondering to himself how this young Guardsman should know so well
who the lady was to whom he had given hospitality, and that he
should know better than himself what had become of her.
Only as they went out Aramis placed his hand upon the arm of
D''Artagnan, and looking at him earnestly, "You have not spoken of
this lady?" said he.
"To nobody in the world."
"Not even to Athos or Porthos?"
"I have not breathed a syllable to them."
"Good enough!"
Tranquil on this important point, Aramis continued his way with
D''Artagnan, and both soon arrived at Athos''s dwelling. They
found him holding his leave of absence in one hand, and M. de
Treville''s note in the other.
"Can you explain to me what signify this leave of absence and
this letter, which I have just received?" said the astonished
Athos.
My dear Athos, I wish, as your health absolutely requires it,
that you should rest for a fortnight. Go, then, and take the
waters of Forges, or any that may be more agreeable to you, and
recuperate yourself as quickly as possible.
Yours affectionate
De Treville
"Well, this leave of absence and that letter mean that you must
follow me, Athos."
"To the waters of Forges?"
"There or elsewhere."
"In the king''s service?"
"Either the king''s or the queen''s. Are we not their Majesties''
servants?"
At that moment Porthos entered. "PARDIEU!" said he, "here is a
strange thing! Since when, I wonder, in the Musketeers, did they
grant men leave of absence without their asking for it?"
"Since," said D''Artagnan, "they have friends who ask it for
them."
"Ah, ah!" said Porthos, "it appears there''s something fresh
here."
"Yes, we are going--" said Aramis.
"To what country?" demanded Porthos.
"My faith! I don''t much about it," said Athos. "Ask
D''Artagnan."
"To London, gentlemen," said D''Artagnan.
"To London!" cried Porthos; "and what the devil are we going to
do in London?"
"That is what I am not at liberty to tell you, gentlemen; you
must trust to me."
"But in order to go to London," added Porthos, "money is needed,
and I have none."
"Nor I," said Aramis.
"Nor I," said Athos.
"I have," replied D''Artagnan, pulling out his treasure from his
pocket, and placing it on the table. "There are in this bag
three hundred pistoles. Let each take seventy-five; that is
enough to take us to London and back. Besides, make yourselves
easy; we shall not all arrive at London."
"Why so?"
"Because, in all probability, some one of us will be left on the
road."
"Is this, then, a campaign upon which we are now entering?"
"One of a most dangerous kind, I give you notice."
"Ah! But if we do risk being killed," said Porthos, "at least I
should like to know what for."
"You would be all the wiser," said Athos.
"And yet," said Aramis, "I am somewhat of Porthos''s opinion."
"Is the king accustomed to give you such reasons? No. He says
to you jauntily, ''Gentlemen, there is fighting going on in
Gascony or in Flanders; go and fight,'' and you go there. Why?
You need give yourselves no more uneasiness about this."
"D''Artagnan is right," said Athos; "here are our three leaves of
absence which came from Monsieur de Treville, and here are three
hundred pistoles which came from I don''t know where. So let us
go and get killed where we are told to go. Is life worth the
trouble of so many questions? D''Artagnan, I am ready to follow
you."
"And I also," said Porthos.
"And I also," said Aramis. "And, indeed, I am not sorry to quit
Paris; I had need of distraction."
"Well, you will have distractions enough, gentlemen, be assured,"
said D''Artagnan.
"And, now, when are we to go?" asked Athos.
"Immediately," replied D''Artagnan; "we have not a minute to
lose."
"Hello, Grimaud! Planchet! Mousqueton! Bazin!" cried the four
young men, calling their lackeys, "clean my boots, and fetch the
horses from the hotel."
Each Musketeer was accustomed to leave at the general hotel, as
at a barrack, his own horse and that of his lackey. Planchet,
Grimaud, Mousqueton, and Bazin set off at full speed.
"Now let us lay down the plan of campaign," said Porthos. "Where
do we go first?"
"To Calais," said D''Artagnan; "that is the most direct line to
London."
"Well," said Porthos, "this is my advice--"
"Speak!"
"Four men traveling together would be suspected. D''Artagnan will
give each of us his instructions. I will go by the way of
Boulogne to clear the way; Athos will set out two hours after, by
that of Amiens; Aramis will follow us by that of Noyon; as to
D''Artagnan, he will go by what route he thinks is best, in
Planchet''s clothes, while Planchet will follow us like
D''Artagnan, in the uniform of the Guards."
"Gentlemen," said Athos, "my opinion is that it is not proper to
allow lackeys to have anything to do in such an affair. A secret
may, by chance, be betrayed by gentlemen; but it is almost
always sold by lackeys."
"Porthos''s plan appears to me to be impracticable," said
D''Artagnan, "inasmuch as I am myself ignorant of what
instructions I can give you. I am the bearer of a letter, that
is all, I have not, and I cannot make three copies of that
letter, because it is sealed. We must, then, as it appears to
me, travel in company. This letter is here, in this pocket," and
he pointed to the pocket which contained the letter. "If I
should be killed, one of you must take it, and continue the
route; if he be killed, it will be another''s turn, and so on--
provided a single one arrives, that is all that is required."
"Bravo, D''Artagnan, your opinion is mine," cried Athos, "Besides,
we must be consistent; I am going to take the waters, you will
accompany me. Instead of taking the waters of Forges, I go and
take sea waters; I am free to do so. If anyone wishes to stop
us, I will show Monsieur de Treville''s letter, and you will show
your leaves of absence. If we are attacked, we will defend
ourselves; if we are tried, we will stoutly maintain that we were
only anxious to dip ourselves a certain number of times in the
sea. They would have an easy bargain of four isolated men;
whereas four men together make a troop. We will arm our four
lackeys with pistols and musketoons; if they send an army out
against us, we will give battle, and the survivor, as D''Artagnan
says, will carry the letter."
"Well said," cried Aramis; "you don''t often speak, Athos, but
when you do speak, it is like St. John of the Golden Mouth. I
agree to Athos''s plan. And you, Porthos?"
"I agree to it, too," said Porthos, "if D''Artagnan approves of
it. D''Artagnan, being the bearer of the letter, is naturally the
head of the enterprise; let him decide, and we will execute."
"Well," said D''Artagnan, "I decide that we should adopt Athos''s
plan, and that we set off in half an hour."
"Agreed!" shouted the three Musketeers in chorus.
Each one, stretching out his hand to the bag, took his seventy-
five pistoles, and make his preparations to set out at the time
appointed.

20 THE JOURNEY
At two o''clock in the morning, our four adventurers left Paris by
the Barriere St. Denis. As long as it was dark they remained
silent; in spite of themselves they submitted to the influence of
the obscurity, and apprehended ambushes on every side.
With the first rays of day their tongues were loosened; with the
sun gaiety revived. It was like the eve of a battle; the heart
beat, the eyes laughed, and they felt that the life they were
perhaps going to lose, was, after all, a good thing.
Besides, the appearance of the caravan was formidable. The black
horses of the Musketeers, their martial carriage, with the
regimental step of these noble companions of the soldier, would
have betrayed the most strict incognito. The lackeys followed,
armed to the teeth.
All went well till they arrived at Chantilly, which they reached
about eight o''clock in the morning. They needed breakfast, and
alighted at the door of an AUBERGE, recommended by a sign
representing St. Martin giving half his cloak to a poor man.
They ordered the lackeys not to unsaddle the gorses, and to hold
themselves in readiness to set off again immediately.
They entered the common hall, and placed themselves at table. A
gentleman, who had just arrived by the route of Dammartin, was
seated at the same table, and was breakfasting. He opened the
conversation about rain and fine weather; the travelers replied.
He drank to their good health, and the travelers returned his
politeness.
But at the moment Mousqueton came to announce that the horses
were ready, and they were arising from table, the stranger
proposed to Porthos to drink the health of the cardinal. Porthos
replied that he asked no better if the stranger, in his turn,
would drink the health of the king. The stranger cried that he
acknowledged no other king but his Eminence. Porthos called him
drunk, and the stranger drew his sword.
"You have committed a piece of folly," said Athos, "but it can''t
be helped; there is no drawing back. Kill the fellow, and rejoin
us as soon as you can."
All three remounted their horses, and set out at a good pave,
while Porthos was promising his adversary to perforate him with
all the thrusts known in the fencing schools.
"There goes one!" cried Athos, at the end of five hundred paces.
"But why did that man attack Porthos rather than any other one of
us?" asked Aramis.
"Because, as Porthos was talking louder than the rest of us, he
took him for the chief," said D''Artagnan.
"I always said that this cadet from Gascony was a well of
wisdom," murmured Athos; and the travelers continued their route.
At Beauvais they stopped two hours, as well to breathe their
horses a little as to wait for Porthos. At the end of two hours,
as Porthos did not come, not any news of him, they resumed their
journey.
At a league from Beauvais, where the road was confined between
two high banks, they fell in with eight or ten men who, taking
advantage of the road being unpaved in this spot, appeared to be
employed in digging holes and filling up the ruts with mud.
Aramis, not liking to soil his boots with this artificial mortar,
apostrophized them rather sharply. Athos wished to restrain him,
but it was too late. The laborers began to jeer the travelers
and by their insolence disturbed the equanimity even of the cool
Athos, who urged on his horse against one of them.
Then each of these men retreated as far as the ***ch, from which
each took a concealed musket; the result was that our seven
travelers were outnumbered in weapons. Aramis received a ball
which passed through his shoulder, and Mousqueton another ball
which lodged in the fleshy part which prolongs the lower portion
of the loins. Therefore Mousqueton alone fell from his horse,
not because he was severely wounded, but not being able to see
the wound, he judged it to be more serious than it really was.
"It was an ambuscade!" shouted D''Artagnan. "Don''t waste a
charge! Forward!"
Aramis, wounded as he was, seized the mane of his horse, which
carried him on with the others. Mousqueton''s horse rejoined
them, and galloped by the side of his companions.
"That will serve us for a relay," said Athos.
"I would rather have had a hat," said D''Artagnan. "Mine was
carried away by a ball. By my faith, it is very fortunate that
the letter was not in it."
"They''ll kill poor Porthos when he comes up," said Aramis.
"If Porthos were on his legs, he would have rejoined us by this
time," said Athos. "My opinion is that on the ground the drunken
man was not intoxicated."
They continued at their best speed for two hours, although the
horses were so fatigued that it was to be feared they would soon
refuse service.
The travelers had chosen crossroads in the hope that they might
meet with less interruption; but at Crevecoeur, Aramis declared
he could proceed no farther. In fact, it required all the
courage which he concealed beneath his elegant form and polished
manners to bear him so far. He grew more pale every minute, and
they were obliged *****pport him on his horse. They lifted him
off at the door of a cabaret, left Bazin with him, who, besides,
in a skirmish was more embarrassing than useful, and set forward
again in the hope of sleeping at Amiens.
"MORBLEU," said Athos, as soon as they were again in motion,
"reduced to two masters and Grimaud and Planchet! MORBLEU! I
won''t be their dupe, I will answer for it. I will neither open
my mouth nor draw my sword between this and Calais. I swear
by--"
"Don''t waste time in swearing," said D''Artagnan; "let us gallop,
if our horses will consent."
And the travelers buried their rowels in their horses'' flanks,
who thus vigorously stimulated recovered their energies. They
arrived at Amiens at midnight, and alighted at the AUBERGE of the
Golden Lily.
The host had the appearance of as honest a man as any on earth.
He received the travelers with his candlestick in one hand and
his cotton nightcap in the other. He wished to ledge the two
travelers each in a charming chamber; but unfortunately these
charming chambers were at the opposite extremities of the hotel.
D''Artagnan and Athos refused them. The host replied that he had
no other worthy of their Excellencies; but the travelers declared
they would sleep in the common chamber, each on a mattress which
might be thrown upon the ground. The host insisted; but the
travelers were firm, and he was obliged to do as they wished.
They had just prepared their beds and barricaded their door
within, when someone knocked at the yard shutter; they demanded
who was there, and recognizing the voices of their lackeys,
opened the shutter. It was indeed Planchet and Grimaud.
"Grimaud can take care of the horses," said Planchet. "If you
are willing, gentlemen, I will sleep across your doorway, and you
will then be certain that nobody can reach you."
"And on what will you sleep?" said D''Artagnan.
"Here is my bed," replied Planchet, producing a bundle of straw.
"Come, then," said D''Artagnan, "you are right. Mine host''s face
does not please me at all; it is to gracious."
"Nor me either," said Athos.
Planchet mounted by the window and installed himself across the
doorway, while Grimaud went and shut himself up in the stable,
undertaking that by five o''clock in the morning he and the four
horses should be ready.
The night was quiet enough. Toward two o''clock in the morning
somebody endeavored to open the door; but as Planchet awoke in an
instant and cried, "Who goes there?" somebody replied that he was
mistaken, and went away.
At four o''clock in the morning they heard a terrible riot in the
stables. Grimaud had tried to waken the stable boys, and the
stable boys had beaten him. When they opened the window, they
saw the poor lad lying senseless, with his head split by a blow
with a pitchfork.
Planchet went down into the yard, and wished to saddle the
horses; but the horses were all used up. Mousqueton''s horse
which had traveled for five or six hours without a rider the day
before, might have been able to pursue the journey; but by an
inconceivable error the veterinary surgeon, who had been sent
for, as it appeared, to bleed one of the host''s horses, had bled
Mousqueton''s.
This began to be annoying. All these successive accidents were
perhaps the result of chance; but they might be the fruits of a
plot. Athos and D''Artagnan went out, while Planchet was sent to
inquire if there were not three horses for sale in the
neighborhood. At the door stood two horses, fresh, strong, and
fully equipped. These would just have suited them. He asked
where their masters were, and was informed that they had passed
the night in the inn, and were then settling their bill with the
host.
Athos went down to pay the reckoning, while D''Artagnan and
Planchet stood at the street door. The host was in a lower and
back room, to which Athos was requested to go.
Athos entered without the least mistrust, and took out two
pistoles to pay the bill. The host was alone, seated before his
desk, one of the drawers of which was partly open. He took the
money which Athos offered to him, and after turning and turning
it over and over in his hands, suddenly cried out that it was
bad, and that he would have him and his companions arrested as
forgers.
"You blackguard!" cried Athos, going toward him, "I''ll cut your
ears off!"
At the same instant, four men, armed to the teeth, entered by
side doors, and rushed upon Athos.
"I am taken!" shouted Athos, with all the power of his lungs.
"Go on, D''Artagnan! Spur, spur!" and he fired two pistols.
D''Artagnan and Planchet did not require twice bidding; they
unfastened the two horses that were waiting at the door, leaped
upon them, buried their spurs in their sides, and set off at full
gallop.
"Do you know what has become of Athos?" asked D''Artagnan of
Planchet, as they galloped on.
"Ah, monsieur," said Planchet, "I saw one fall at each of his two
shots, and he appeared to me, through the glass door, to be
fighting with his sword with the others."
"Brave Athos!" murmured D''Artagnan, "and to think that we are
compelled to leave him; maybe the same fate awaits us two paces
hence. Forward, Planchet, forward! You are a brave fellow."
"As I told you, monsieur," replied Planchet, "Picards are found
out by being used. Besides, I am here in my own country, and
that excites me."
And both, with free use of the spur, arrived at St. Omer without
drawing bit. At St. Omer they breathed their horses with the
bridles passed under their arms for fear of accident, and ate a
morsel from their hands on the stones of the street, after they
departed again.
At a hundred paces from the gates of Calais, D''Artagnan''s horse
gave out, and could not by any means be made to get up again, the
blood flowing from his eyes and his nose. There still remained
Planchet''s horse; but he stopped short, and could not be made to
move a step.
Fortunately, as we have said, they were within a hundred paces of
the city; they left their two nags upon the high road, and ran
toward the quay. Planchet called his master''s attention to a
gentleman who had just arrived with his lackey, and only preceded
them by about fifty paces. They made all speed to come up to
this gentleman, who appeared to be in great haste. His boots
were covered with dust, and he inquired if he could not instantly
cross over to England.
"Nothing would be more easy," said the captain of a vessel ready
to set sail, "but this morning came an order to let no one leave
without express permission from the cardinal."
"I have that permission," said the gentleman, drawing the paper
from his pocket; "here it is."
"Have it examined by the governor of the port," said the
shipmaster, "and give me the preference."
"Where shall I find the governor?"
"At his country house."
"And that is situated?"
"At a quarter of a league from the city. Look, you may see it
from here--at the foot of that little hill, that slated roof."
"Very well," said the gentleman. And, with his lackey, he took
the road to the governor''s country house.
D''Artagnan and Planchet followed the gentleman at a distance of
five hundred paces. Once outside the city, D''Artagnan overtook
the gentleman as he was entering a little wood.
"Monsieur," you appear to be in great haste?"
"No one can be more so, monsieur."
"I am sorry for that," said D''Artagnan; "for as I am in great
haste likewise, I wish to beg you to render me a service."
"What?"
"To let me sail first."
"That''s impossible," said the gentleman; "I have traveled sixty
leagues in forty hours, and by tomorrow at midday I must be in
London."
"I have performed that same distance in forty hours, and by ten
o''clock in the morning I must be in London."
"Very sorry, monsieur; but I was here first, and will not sail
second."
"I am sorry, too, monsieur; but I arrived second, and must sail
first."
"The king''s service!" said the gentleman.
"My own service!" said D''Artagnan.
"But this is a needless quarrel you seek with me, as it seems to
me."
"PARBLEU! What do you desire it to be?"
"What do you want?"
"Would you like to know?"
"Certainly."
"Well, then, I wish that order of which you are bearer, seeing
that I have not one of my own and must have one."
"You jest, I presume."
"I never jest."
"Let me pass!"
"You shall not pass."
"My brave young man, I will blow out your brains. HOLA, Lubin,
my pistols!"
"Planchet," called out D''Artagnan, "take care of the lackey; I
will manage the master."
Planchet, emboldened by the first exploit, sprang upon Lubin; and
being strong and vigorous, he soon got him on the broad of his
back, and placed his knee upon his breast.
"Go on with your affair, monsieur," cried Planchet; "I have
finished mine."
Seeing this, the gentleman drew his sword, and sprang upon
D''Artagnan; but he had too strong an adversary. In three seconds
D''Artagnan had wounded him three times, exclaiming at each
thrust, "One for Athos, one for Porthos; and one for Aramis!"
At the third hit the gentleman fell like a log. D''Artagnan
believed him to be dead, or at least insensible, and went toward
him for the purpose of taking the order; but the moment he
extended his hand to search for it, the wounded man, who had not
dropped his sword, plunged the point into D''Artagnan''s breast,
crying, "One for you!"
"And one for me--the best for last!" cried D''Artagnan, furious,
nailing him to the earth with a fourth thrust through his body.
This time the gentleman closed his eyes and fainted. D''Artagnan
searched his pockets, and took from one of them the order for the
passage. It was in the name of Comte de Wardes.
Then, casting a glance on the handsome young man, who was
scarcely twenty-five years of age, and whom he was leaving in his
gore, deprived of sense and perhaps dead, he gave a sigh for that
unaccountable destiny which leads men to destroy each other for
the interests of people who are strangers to them and who often
do not even know that they exist. But he was soon aroused from
these reflections by Lubin, who uttered loud cries and screamed
for help with all his might.
Planchet grasped him by the throat, and pressed as hard as he
could. "Monsieur," said he, "as long as I hold him in this
manner, he can''t cry, I''ll be bound; but as soon as I let go he
will howl again. I know him for a Norman, and Normans are
obstinate."
In fact, tightly held as he was, Lubin endeavored still to cry
out.
"Stay!" said D''Artagnan; and taking out his handkerchief, he
gagged him.
"Now," said Planchet, "let us bind him to a tree."
This being properly done, they drew the Comte de Wardes close to
his servant; and as night was approaching, and as the wounded man
and the bound man were at some little distance within the wood,
it was evident they were likely to remain there till the next
day.
"And now," said D''Artagnan, "to the Governor''s."
"But you are wounded, it seems," said Planchet.
"Oh, that''s nothing! Let us attend to what is more pressing
first, and then we will attend to my wound; besides, it does not
seem very dangerous."
And they both set forward as fast as they could toward the
country house of the worthy functionary.
The Comte de Wardes was announced, and D''Artagnan was introduced.
"You have an order signed by the cardinal?" said the governor.
"Yes, monsieur," replied D''Artagnan; "here it is."
"Ah, ah! It is quite regular and explicit," said the governor.
"Most likely," said D''Artagnan; "I am one of his most faithful
servants."
"It appears that his Eminence is anxious to prevent someone from
crossing to England?"
"Yes; a certain D''Artagnan, a Bearnese gentleman who left Paris
in company with three of his friends, with the intention of going
to London."
"Do you know him personally?" asked the governor.
"Whom?"
"This D''Artagnan."
"Perfectly well."
"Describe him to me, then."
"Nothing more easy."
And D''Artagnan have, feature for feature, a description of the
Comte de Wardes.
"Is he accompanied?"
"Yes; by a lackey named Lubin."
"We will keep a sharp lookout for them; and if we lay hands on
them his Eminence may be assured they will be reconducted to
Paris under a good escort."
"And by doing so, Monsieur the Governor," said D''Artagnan, "you
will deserve well of the cardinal."
"Shall you see him on your return, Monsieur Count?"
"Without a doubt."
"Tell him, I beg you, that I am his humble servant."
"I will not fail."
Delighted with this assurance the governor countersigned the
passport and delivered it to D''Artagnan. D''Artagnan lost no time
in useless compliments. He thanked the governor, bowed, and
departed. Once outside, he and Planchet set off as fast as they
could; and by making a long detour avoided the wood and reentered
the city by another gate.
The vessel was quite ready to sail, and the captain was waiting
on the wharf. "Well?" said he, on perceiving D''Artagnan.
"Here is my pass countersigned," said the latter.
"And that other gentleman?
"He will not go today," said D''Artagnan; "but here, I''ll pay you
for us two."
"In that case let us go," said the shipmaster.
"Let us go," repeated D''Artagnan.
He leaped with Planchet into the boat, and five minutes after
they were on board. It was time; for they had scarcely sailed
half a league, when D''Artagnan saw a flash and heard a
detonation. It was the cannon which announced the closing of the
port.
He had now leisure to look to his wound. Fortunately, as
D''Artagnan had thought, it was not dangerous. The point of the
sword had touched a rib, and glanced along the bone. Still
further, his shirt had stuck to the wound, and he had lost only a few drops of blood.
D''Artagnan was worn out with fatigue. A mattress was laid upon
the deck for him. He threw himself upon it, and fell asleep.
On the morrow, at break of day, they were still three or four
leagues from the coast of England. The breeze had been so light
all night, they had made but little progress. At ten o''clock the
vessel cast anchor in the harbor of Dover, and at half past ten
D''Artagnan placed his foot on English land, crying, "Here I am at
last!"
But that was not all; they must get to London. In England the
post was well served. D''Artagnan and Planchet took each a post
horse, and a postillion rode before them. In a few hours they
were in the capital.
D''Artagnan did not know London; he did not know a word of
English; but he wrote the name of Buckingham on a piece of paper,
and everyone pointed out to him the way to the duke''s hotel.
The duke was at Windsor hunting with the king. D''Artagnan
inquired for the confidential valet of the duke, who, having
accompanied him in all his voyages, spoke French perfectly well;
he told him that he came from Paris on an affair of life and
death, and that he must speak with his master instantly.
The confidence with which D''Artagnan spoke convinced Patrick,
which was the name of this minister of the minister. He ordered
two horses to be saddled, and himself went as guide to the young
Guardsman. As for Planchet, he had been lifted from his horse as
stiff as a rush; the poor lad''s strength was almost exhausted.
D''Artagnan seemed iron.
On their arrival at the castle they learned that Buckingham and
the king were hawking in the marshes two or three leagues away.
In twenty minutes they were on the spot named. Patrick soon
caught the sound of his master''s voice calling his falcon.
"Whom must I announce to my Lord Duke?" asked Patrick.
"The young man who one evening sought a quarrel with him on the
Pont Neuf, opposite the Samaritaine."
"A singular introduction!"
"You will find that it is as good as another."
Patrick galloped off, reached the duke, and announced to him in
the terms directed that a messenger awaited him.
Buckingham at once remembered the circumstance, and suspecting
that something was going on in France of which it was necessary
he should be informed, he only took the time to inquire where the
messenger was, and recognizing from afar the uniform of the
Guards, he put his horse into a gallop, and rode straight up to
D''Artagnan. Patrick discreetly kept in the background.
"No misfortune has happened to the queen?" cried Buckingham, the
instant he came up, throwing all his fear and love into the
question.
"I believe not; nevertheless I believe she runs some great peril
from which your Grace alone can extricate her."
"I!" cried Buckingham. "What is it? I should be too happy to be
of any service to her. Speak, speak!"
"Take this letter," said D''Artagnan.
"This letter! From whom comes this letter?"
"From her Majesty, as I think."
"From her Majesty!" said Buckingham, becoming so pale that
D''Artagnan feared he would faint as he broke the seal.
"What is this rent?" said he, showing D''Artagnan a place where it
had been pierced through.
"Ah," said D''Artagnan, "I did not see that; it was the sword of
the Comte de Wardes which made that hole, when he gave me a good
thrust in the breast."
"You are wounded?" asked Buckingham, as he opened the letter.
"Oh, nothing but a scratch," said D''Artagnan.
"Just heaven, what have I read?" cried the duke. "Patrick,
remain here, or rather join the king, wherever he may be, and
tell his Majesty that I humbly beg him to excuse me, but an
affair of the greatest importance recalls me to London. Come,
monsieur, come!" and both set off towards the capital at full
gallop.