"Devil take the vain fellow," said D'Artagnan. "However, I had better find him out first, since he can't want money. Athos must have become an idiot by this time from drinking. Aramis must have worn himself to a shadow of his former self by constant genuflexion."


He cast his eyes again on the letter. There was a postscript:


"I write by the same courier to our worthy friend Aramis in his convent."


"In his convent! What convent? There are about two hundred in Paris and three thousand in France; and then, perhaps, on entering the convent he changed his name. Ah! if I were but learned in theology I should recollect what it was he used to dispute about with the curate of Montdidier and the superior of the Jesuits, when we were at Crèvecœur; I should know what doctrine he leans to and I should glean from that what saint he has adopted as his patron.


"Well, suppose I go back to the cardinal and ask him for a passport into all the convents one can find, even into the nunneries? It would be a curious idea, and maybe I should find my friend under the name of Achilles. But, no! I should lose myself in the cardinal's opinion. Great people only thank you for doing the impossible; what's possible, they say, they can effect themselves, and they are right. But let us wait a little and reflect. I received a letter from him, the dear fellow, in which he even asked me for some small service, which, in fact, I rendered him. Yes, yes; but now what did I do with that letter?"


D'Artagnan thought a moment and then went to the wardrobe in which hung his old clothes. He looked for his doublet of the year 1648 and as he had orderly habits, he found it hanging on its nail. He felt in the pocket and drew from it a paper; it was the letter of Aramis:


"Monsieur D'Artagnan: You know that I have had a quarrel with a certain gentleman, who has given me an appointment for this evening in the Place Royale. As I am of the church, and the affair might injure me if I should share it with any other than a sure friend like you, I write to beg that you will serve me as second.


"You will enter by the Rue Neuve Sainte Catherine; under the second lamp on the right you will find your adversary. I shall be with mine under the third.


"Wholly yours,


D'Artagnan tried to recall his remembrances. He had gone to the rendezvous, had encountered there the adversary indicated, whose name he had never known, had given him a pretty sword-stroke on the arm, then had gone toward Aramis, who at the same time came to meet him, having already finished his affair. "It is over," Aramis had said. "I think I have killed the insolent fellow. But, dear friend, if you ever need me you know that I am entirely devoted to you." Thereupon Aramis had given him a clasp of the hand and had disappeared under the arcades.


So, then, he no more knew where Aramis was than where Athos and Porthos were, and the affair was becoming a matter of great perplexity, when he fancied he heard a pane of glass break in his room window. He thought directly of his bag and rushed from the inner room where he was sleeping. He was not mistaken; as he entered his bedroom a man was getting in by the window.


"Ah! you scoundrel!" cried D'Artagnan, taking the man for a thief and seizing his sword.


"Sir!" cried the man, "in the name of Heaven put your sword back into the sheath and don't kill me unheard. I'm no thief, but an honest citizen, well off in the world, with a house of my own. My name is—ah! but surely you are Monsieur d'Artagnan?"


"And thou—Planchet!" cried the lieutenant.


"At your service, sir," said Planchet, overwhelmed with joy; "if I were still capable of serving you."


"Perhaps so," replied D'Artagnan. "But why the devil dost thou run about the tops of houses at seven o'clock of the morning in the month of January?"


"Sir," said Planchet, "you must know; but, perhaps you ought not to know——"


"Tell us what," returned D'Artagnan, "but first put a napkin against the window and draw the curtains."


"Sir," said the prudent Planchet, "in the first place, are you on good terms with Monsieur de Rochefort?"


"Perfectly; one of my dearest friends."


"Ah! so much the better!"


"But what has De Rochefort to do with this manner you have of invading my room?"


"Ah, sir! I must first tell you that Monsieur de Rochefort is——"


Planchet hesitated.


"Egad, I know where he is," said D'Artagnan. "He's in the Bastile."


"That is to say, he was there," replied Planchet. "But in returning thither last night, when fortunately you did not accompany him, as his carriage was crossing the Rue de la Ferronnerie his guards insulted the people, who began to abuse them. The prisoner thought this a good opportunity for escape; he called out his name and cried for help. I was there. I heard the name of Rochefort. I remembered him well. I said in a loud voice that he was a prisoner, a friend of the Duc de Beaufort, who called for help. The people were infuriated; they stopped the horses and cut the escort to pieces, whilst I opened the doors of the carriage and Monsieur de Rochefort jumped out and soon was lost amongst the crowd. At this moment a patrol passed by. I was obliged to sound a retreat toward the Rue Tiquetonne; I was pursued and took refuge in the house next to this, where I have been concealed between two mattresses. This morning I ventured to run along the gutters and——"


"Well," interrupted D'Artagnan, "I am delighted that De Rochefort is free, but as for thee, if thou shouldst fall into the hands of the king's servants they will hang thee without mercy. Nevertheless, I promise thee thou shalt be hidden here, though I risk by concealing thee neither more nor less than my lieutenancy, if it was found out that I gave one rebel an asylum."


"Ah! sir, you know well I would risk my life for you."


"Thou mayst add that thou hast risked it, Planchet. I have not forgotten all I owe thee. Sit down there and eat in security. I see thee cast expressive glances at the remains of my supper."


"Yes, sir; for all I've had since yesterday was a slice of bread and butter, with preserves on it. Although I don't despise sweet things in proper time and place, I found the supper rather light."


"Poor fellow!" said D'Artagnan. "Well, come; set to."


"Ah, sir, you are going to save my life a second time!" cried Planchet.


And he seated himself at the table and ate as he did in the merry days of the Rue des Fossoyeurs, whilst D'Artagnan walked to and fro and thought how he could make use of Planchet under present circumstances. While he turned this over in his mind Planchet did his best to make up for lost time at table. At last he uttered a sigh of satisfaction and paused, as if he had partially appeased his hunger.


"Come," said D'Artagnan, who thought that it was now a convenient time to begin his interrogations, "dost thou know where Athos is?"


"No, sir," replied Planchet.


"The devil thou dost not! Dost know where Porthos is?"


"No—not at all."


"And Aramis?"


"The devil! the devil! the devil!"


"But, sir," said Planchet, with a look of shrewdness, "I know where Bazin is."


"At Notre Dame."


"What has he to do at Notre Dame?"


"He is beadle."


"Bazin beadle at Notre Dame! He must know where his master is!"


"Without a doubt he must."


D'Artagnan thought for a moment, then took his sword and put on his cloak to go out.


"Sir," said Planchet, in a mournful tone, "do you abandon me thus to my fate? Think, if I am found out here, the people of the house, who have not seen me enter it, will take me for a thief."


"True," said D'Artagnan. "Let's see. Canst thou speak any patois?"


"I can do something better than that, sir, I can speak Flemish."


"Where the devil didst thou learn it?"


"In Artois, where I fought for years. Listen, sir. Goeden morgen, mynheer, eth ben begeeray le weeten the ge sond heets omstand."


"Which means?"


"Good-day, sir! I am anxious to know the state of your health."


"He calls that a language! But never mind, that will do capitally."


D'Artagnan opened the door and called out to a waiter to desire Madeleine to come upstairs.


When the landlady made her appearance she expressed much astonishment at seeing Planchet.


"My dear landlady," said D'Artagnan, "I beg to introduce to you your brother, who is arrived from Flanders and whom I am going to take into my service."


"My brother?"


"Wish your sister good-morning, Master Peter."


"Goeden day, broder," replied the astonished landlady.


"This is the case," said D'Artagnan; "this is your brother, Madeleine; you don't know him perhaps, but I know him; he has arrived from Amsterdam. You must dress him up during my absence. When I return, which will be in about an hour, you must offer him to me as a servant, and upon your recommendation, though he doesn't speak a word of French, I take him into my service. You understand?"


"That is to say, I guess your wishes, and that is all that's necessary," said Madeleine.


"You are a precious creature, my pretty hostess, and I am much obliged to you."


The next moment D'Artagnan was on his way to Notre Dame.


Chapter VII. Touches upon the Strange Effects a Half-pistole may have.


D'Artagnan, as he crossed the Pont Neuf, congratulated himself on having found Planchet again, for at that time an intelligent servant was essential to him; nor was he sorry that through Planchet and the situation which he held in Rue des Lombards, a connection with the bourgeoisie might be commenced, at that critical period when that class were preparing to make war with the court party. It was like having a spy in the enemy's camp. In this frame of mind, grateful for the accidental meeting with Planchet, pleased with himself, D'Artagnan reached Notre Dame. He ran up the steps, entered the church, and addressing a verger who was sweeping the chapel, asked him if he knew Monsieur Bazin.


"Monsieur Bazin, the beadle?" said the verger. "Yes. There he is, attending mass, in the chapel of the Virgin."


D'Artagnan nearly jumped for joy; he had despaired of finding Bazin, but now, he thought, since he held one end of the thread he would be pretty sure to reach the other end.


He knelt down just opposite the chapel in order not to lose sight of his man; and as he had almost forgotten his prayers and had omitted to take a book with him, he made use of his time in gazing at Bazin.


Bazin wore his dress, it may be observed, with equal dignity and saintly propriety. It was not difficult to understand that he had gained the crown of his ambition and that the silver-mounted wand he brandished was in his eyes as honorable a distinction as the marshal's baton which Condé threw, or did not throw, into the enemy's line of battle at Fribourg. His person had undergone a change, analogous to the change in his dress; his figure had grown rotund and, as it were, canonical. The striking points of his face were effaced; he had still a nose, but his cheeks, fattened out, each took a portion of it unto themselves; his chin had joined his throat; his eyes were swelled up with the puffiness of his cheeks; his hair, cut straight in holy guise, covered his forehead as far as his eyebrows.


The officiating priest was just finishing mass whilst D'Artagnan was looking at Bazin; he pronounced the words of the holy Sacrament and retired, giving the benediction, which was received by the kneeling communicants, to the astonishment of D'Artagnan, who recognized in the priest the coadjutor* himself, the famous Jean Francois Gondy, who at that time, having a presentiment of the part he was to play, was beginning to court popularity by almsgiving. It was to this end that he performed from time to time some of those early masses which the common people, generally, alone attended.


A sacerdotal officer.


D'Artagnan knelt as well as the rest, received his share of the benediction and made the sign of the cross; but when Bazin passed in his turn, with his eyes raised to Heaven and walking, in all humility, the very last, D'Artagnan pulled him by the hem of his robe.


Bazin looked down and started, as if he had seen a serpent.


"So, my dear Bazin!" said the officer, laughing, "this is the way you receive an old friend."


"Sir," replied Bazin, "the true friends of a Christian are those who aid him in working out his salvation, not those who hinder him in doing so."


"I don't understand you, Bazin; nor can I see how I can be a stumbling-block in the way of your salvation," said D'Artagnan.


"You forget, sir, that you very nearly ruined forever that of my master; and that it was owing to you that he was very nearly being damned eternally for remaining a musketeer, whilst all the time his true vocation was the church."


"My dear Bazin, you ought to perceive," said D'Artagnan, "from the place in which you find me, that I am greatly changed in everything. Age produces good sense, and, as I doubt not but that your master is on the road to salvation, I want you to tell me where he is, that he may help me to mine."


"Rather say, to take him back with you into the world. Fortunately, I don't know where he is."


"How!" cried D'Artagnan; "you don't know where Aramis is?"


"Formerly," replied Bazin, "Aramis was his name of perdition. By Aramis is meant Simara, which is the name of a demon. Happily for him he has ceased to bear that name."


"And therefore," said D'Artagnan, resolved to be patient to the end, "it is not Aramis I seek, but the Abbé d'Herblay. Come, my dear Bazin, tell me where he is."


"Didn't you hear me tell you, Monsieur d'Artagnan, that I don't know where he is?"


"Yes, certainly; but to that I answer that it is impossible."


"It is, nevertheless, the truth, monsieur—the pure truth, the truth of the good God."


D'Artagnan saw clearly that he would get nothing out of this man, who was evidently telling a falsehood in his pretended ignorance of the abode of Aramis, but whose lies were bold and decided.


"Well, Bazin," said D'Artagnan, "since you do not know where your master lives, let us speak of it no more; let us part good friends. Accept this half-pistole to drink to my health."


"I do not drink"—Bazin pushed away with dignity the officer's hand—"'tis good only for the laity."


"Incorruptible!" murmured D'Artagnan; "I am unlucky;" and whilst he was lost in thought Bazin retreated toward the sacristy, and even there he could not think himself safe until he had shut and locked the door behind him.


D'Artagnan was still in deep thought when some one touched him on the shoulder. He turned and was about to utter an exclamation of surprise when the other made to him a sign of silence.


"You here, Rochefort?" he said, in a low voice.


"Hush!" returned Rochefort. "Did you know that I am at liberty?"


"I knew it from the fountain-head—from Planchet. And what brought you here?"


"I came to thank God for my happy deliverance," said Rochefort.


"And nothing more? I suppose that is not all."


"To take my orders from the coadjutor and to see if we cannot wake up Mazarin a little."


"A bad plan; you'll be shut up again in the Bastile."


"Oh, as to that, I shall take care, I assure you. The air, the fresh, free air is so good; besides," and Rochefort drew a deep breath as he spoke, "I am going into the country to make a tour."


"Stop," cried D'Artagnan; "I, too, am going."


"And if I may without impertinence ask—where are you going?"


"What friends?"


"Those that you asked about yesterday."


"Athos, Porthos and Aramis—you are looking for them?"


"On honor?"


"What, then, is there surprising in that?"


"Nothing. Queer, though. And in whose behalf are you looking for them?"


"You are in no doubt on that score."


"Unfortunately, I have no idea where they are."


"And you have no way to get news of them? Wait a week and I myself will give you some."


"A week is too long. I must find them within three days."


"Three days are a short time and France is large."


"No matter; you know the word must; with that word great things are done."


"And when do you set out?"


"I am now on my road."


"Good luck to you."


"And to you—a good journey."


"Perhaps we shall meet on our road."


"That is not probable."


"Who knows? Chance is so capricious. Adieu, till we meet again! Apropos, should Mazarin speak to you about me, tell him that I should have requested you to acquaint him that in a short time he will see whether I am, as he says, too old for action."


And Rochefort went away with one of those diabolical smiles which used formerly to make D'Artagnan shudder, but D'Artagnan could now see it without alarm, and smiling in his turn, with an expression of melancholy which the recollections called up by that smile could, perhaps, alone give to his countenance, he said:


"Go, demon, do what thou wilt! It matters little now to me. There's no second Constance in the world."


On his return to the cathedral, D'Artagnan saw Bazin, who was conversing with the sacristan. Bazin was making, with his spare little short arms, ridiculous gestures. D'Artagnan perceived that he was enforcing prudence with respect to himself.


D'Artagnan slipped out of the cathedral and placed himself in ambuscade at the corner of the Rue des Canettes; it was impossible that Bazin should go out of the cathedral without his seeing him.


In five minutes Bazin made his appearance, looking in every direction to see if he were observed, but he saw no one. Calmed by appearances he ventured to walk on through the Rue Notre Dame. Then D'Artagnan rushed out of his hiding place and arrived in time to see Bazin turn down the Rue de la Juiverie and enter, in the Rue de la Calandre, a respectable looking house; and this D'Artagnan felt no doubt was the habitation of the worthy beadle. Afraid of making any inquiries at this house, D'Artagnan entered a small tavern at the corner of the street and asked for a cup of hypocras. This beverage required a good half-hour to prepare. And D'Artagnan had time, therefore, to watch Bazin unsuspected.


He perceived in the tavern a pert boy between twelve and fifteen years of age whom he fancied he had seen not twenty minutes before under the guise of a chorister. He questioned him, and as the boy had no interest in deceiving, D'Artagnan learned that he exercised, from six o'clock in the morning until nine, the office of chorister, and from nine o'clock till midnight that of a waiter in the tavern.


Whilst he was talking to this lad a horse was brought to the door of Bazin's house. It was saddled and bridled. Almost immediately Bazin came downstairs.


"Look!" said the boy, "there's our beadle, who is going a journey."


"And where is he going?" asked D'Artagnan.


"Forsooth, I don't know."


"Half a pistole if you can find out," said D'Artagnan.


"For me?" cried the boy, his eyes sparkling with joy, "if I can find out where Bazin is going? That is not difficult. You are not joking, are you?"


"No, on the honor of an officer; there is the half-pistole;" and he showed him the seductive coin, but did not give it him.


"I shall ask him."


"Just the very way not to know. Wait till he is set out and then, marry, come up, ask, and find out. The half-pistole is ready," and he put it back again into his pocket.


"I understand," said the child, with that jeering smile which marks especially the "gamin de Paris." "Well, we must wait."


They had not long to wait. Five minutes afterward Bazin set off on a full trot, urging on his horse by the blows of a parapluie, which he was in the habit of using instead of a riding whip.


Scarcely had he turned the corner of the Rue de la Juiverie when the boy rushed after him like a bloodhound on full scent.


Before ten minutes had elapsed the child returned.


"Well!" answered the boy, "the thing is done."


"Where is he gone?"


"The half-pistole is for me?"


"Doubtless, answer me."


"I want to see it. Give it me, that I may see it is not false."


"There it is."


The child put the piece of money into his pocket.


"And now, where is he gone?" inquired D'Artagnan.


"He is gone to Noisy."


"How dost thou know?"


"Ah, faith! there was no great cunning necessary. I knew the horse he rode; it belonged to the butcher, who lets it out now and then to M. Bazin. Now I thought that the butcher would not let his horse out like that without knowing where it was going. And he answered 'that Monsieur Bazin went to Noisy.' 'Tis his custom. He goes two or three times a week."


"Dost thou know Noisy well?"


"I think so, truly; my nurse lives there."


"Is there a convent at Noisy?"


"Isn't there a great and grand one—the convent of Jesuits?"


"What is thy name?"


D'Artagnan wrote the child's name in his tablets.


"Please, sir," said the boy, "do you think I can gain any more half-pistoles in any way?"


And having got out all he wanted, he paid for the hypocras, which he did not drink, and went quickly back to the Rue Tiquetonne.


Chapter VIII. D'Artagnan, Going to a Distance to discover Aramis.


On entering the hotel D'Artagnan saw a man sitting in a corner by the fire. It was Planchet, but so completely transformed, thanks to the old clothes that the departing husband had left behind, that D'Artagnan himself could hardly recognize him. Madeleine introduced him in presence of all the servants. Planchet addressed the officer with a fine Flemish phrase; the officer replied in words that belonged to no language at all, and the bargain was concluded; Madeleine's brother entered D'Artagnan's service.


The plan adopted by D'Artagnan was soon perfected. He resolved not to reach Noisy in the day, for fear of being recognized; he had therefore plenty of time before him, for Noisy is only three or four leagues from Paris, on the road to Meaux.


He began his day by breakfasting substantially—a bad beginning when one wants to employ the head, but an excellent precaution when one wants to work the body; and about two o'clock he had his two horses saddled, and followed by Planchet he quitted Paris by the Barrière de la Villete. A most active search was still prosecuted in the house near the Hotel de la Chevrette for the discovery of Planchet.


At about a league and a half from the city, D'Artagnan, finding that in his impatience he had set out too soon, stopped to give the horses breathing time. The inn was full of disreputable looking people, who seemed as if they were on the point of commencing some nightly expedition. A man, wrapped in a cloak, appeared at the door, but seeing a stranger he beckoned to his companions, and two men who were drinking in the inn went out to speak to him.


D'Artagnan, on his side, went up to the landlady, praised her wine—which was a horrible production from the country of Montreuil—and heard from her that there were only two houses of importance in the village; one of these belonged to the Archbishop of Paris, and was at that time the abode of his niece the Duchess of Longueville; the other was a convent of Jesuits and was the property—a by no means unusual circumstance—of these worthy fathers.


At four o'clock D'Artagnan recommenced his journey. He proceeded slowly and in deep reverie. Planchet also was lost in thought, but the subject of their reflections was not the same.


One word which their landlady had pronounced had given a particular turn to D'Artagnan's deliberations; this was the name of Madame de Longueville.


That name was indeed one to inspire imagination and produce thought. Madame de Longueville was one of the highest ladies in the realm; she was also one of the greatest beauties at court. She had formerly been suspected of an intimacy of too tender a nature with Coligny, who, for her sake, had been killed in a duel, in the Place Royale, by the Duc de Guise. She was now connected by bonds of a political nature with the Prince de Marsillac, the eldest son of the old Duc de Rochefoucauld, whom she was trying to inspire with an enmity toward the Duc de Condé, her brother-in-law, whom she now hated mortally.


D'Artagnan thought of all these matters. He remembered how at the Louvre he had often seen, as she passed by him in the full radiance of her dazzling charms, the beautiful Madame de Longueville. He thought of Aramis, who, without possessing any greater advantages than himself, had formerly been the lover of Madame de Chevreuse, who had been to a former court what Madame de Longueville was in that day; and he wondered how it was that there should be in the world people who succeed in every wish, some in ambition, others in love, whilst others, either from chance, or from ill-luck, or from some natural defect or impediment, remain half-way upon the road toward fulfilment of their hopes and expectations.


He was confessing to himself that he belonged to the latter unhappy class, when Planchet approached and said:


"I will lay a wager, your honor, that you and I are thinking of the same thing."


"I doubt it, Planchet," replied D'Artagnan, "but what are you thinking of?"


"I am thinking, sir, of those desperate looking men who were drinking in the inn where we rested."


"Always cautious, Planchet."


"'Tis instinct, your honor."


"Well, what does your instinct tell you now?"


"Sir, my instinct told me that those people were assembled there for some bad purpose; and I was reflecting on what my instinct had told me, in the darkest corner of the stable, when a man wrapped in a cloak and followed by two other men, came in."


"Ah ah!" said D'Artagnan, Planchet's recital agreeing with his own observations. "Well?"


"One of these two men said, 'He must certainly be at Noisy, or be coming there this evening, for I have seen his servant.'


"'Art thou sure?' said the man in the cloak.


"'Yes, my prince.'"


"My prince!" interrupted D'Artagnan.


"Yes, 'my prince;' but listen. 'If he is here'—this is what the other man said—'let's see decidedly what to do with him.'


"'What to do with him?' answered the prince.


"'Yes, he's not a man to allow himself to be taken anyhow; he'll defend himself.'


"'Well, we must try to take him alive. Have you cords to bind him with and a gag to stop his mouth?'


"'We have.'


"'Remember that he will most likely be disguised as a horseman.'


"'Yes, yes, my lord; don't be uneasy.'


"'Besides, I shall be there.'


"'You will assure us that justice——'


"'Yes, yes! I answer for all that,' the prince said.


"'Well, then, we'll do our best.' Having said that, they went out of the stable."


"Well, what matters all that to us?" said D'Artagnan. "This is one of those attempts that happen every day."


"Are you sure that we are not its objects?"


"We? Why?"


"Just remember what they said. 'I have seen his servant,' said one, and that applies very well to me."


"'He must certainly be at Noisy, or be coming there this evening,' said the other; and that applies very well to you."


"Then the prince said: 'Take notice that in all probability he will be disguised as a cavalier;' which seems to me to leave no room for doubt, since you are dressed as a cavalier and not as an officer of musketeers. Now then, what do you say to that?"


"Alas! my dear Planchet," said D'Artagnan, sighing, "we are unfortunately no longer in those times in which princes would care to assassinate me. Those were good old days; never fear—these people owe us no grudge."


"Is your honor sure?"


"I can answer for it they do not."


"Well, we won't speak of it any more, then;" and Planchet took his place in D'Artagnan's suite with that sublime confidence he had always had in his master, which even fifteen years of separation had not destroyed.


They had traveled onward about half a mile when Planchet came close up to D'Artagnan.


"Stop, sir, look yonder," he whispered; "don't you see in the darkness something pass by, like shadows? I fancy I hear horses' feet."


"Impossible!" returned D'Artagnan. "The ground is soaking wet; yet I fancy, as thou sayest, that I see something."


At this moment the neighing of a horse struck his ear, coming through darkness and space.


"There are men somewhere about, but that's of no consequence to us," said D'Artagnan; "let us ride onward."


At about half-past eight o'clock they reached the first houses in Noisy; every one was in bed and not a light was to be seen in the village. The obscurity was broken only now and then by the still darker lines of the roofs of houses. Here and there a dog barked behind a door or an affrighted cat fled precipitately from the midst of the pavement to take refuge behind a pile of faggots, from which retreat her eyes would shine like peridores. These were the only living creatures that seemed to inhabit the village.


Toward the middle of the town, commanding the principal open space, rose a dark mass, separated from the rest of the world by two lanes and overshadowed in the front by enormous lime-trees. D'Artagnan looked attentively at the building.


"This," he said to Planchet, "must be the archbishop's château, the abode of the fair Madame de Longueville; but the convent, where is that?"


"The convent, your honor, is at the other end of the village; I know it well."


"Well, then, Planchet, gallop up to it whilst I tighten my horse's girth, and come back and tell me if there is a light in any of the Jesuits' windows."


In about five minutes Planchet returned.


"Sir," he said, "there is one window of the convent lighted up."


"Hem! If I were a 'Frondeur,'" said D'Artagnan, "I should knock here and should be sure of a good supper. If I were a monk I should knock yonder and should have a good supper there, too; whereas, 'tis very possible that between the castle and the convent we shall sleep on hard beds, dying with hunger and thirst."


"Yes," added Planchet, "like the famous ass of Buridan. Shall I knock?"


"Hush!" replied D'Artagnan; "the light no longer burns in yonder window."


"Do you hear nothing?" whispered Planchet.


"What is that noise?"


There came a sound like a whirlwind, at the same time two troops of horsemen, each composed of ten men, sallied forth from each of the lanes which encompassed the house and surrounded D'Artagnan and Planchet.


"Heyday!" cried D'Artagnan, drawing his sword and taking refuge behind his horse; "are you not mistaken? is it really for us that you mean your attack?"


"Here he is! we have him!" cried the horsemen, rushing on D'Artagnan with naked swords.


"No, my lord; be assured we shall not."


D'Artagnan thought it was now time for him to join in the conversation.


"Halloo, gentlemen!" he called out in his Gascon accent, "what do you want? what do you demand?"


"That thou shalt soon know," shouted a chorus of horsemen.


"Stop, stop!" cried he whom they had addressed as "my lord;" "'tis not his voice."


"Ah! just so, gentlemen! pray, do people get into a passion at random at Noisy? Take care, for I warn you that the first man that comes within the length of my sword—and my sword is long—I rip him up."


The chieftain of the party drew near.


"What are you doing here?" he asked in a lofty tone, as that of one accustomed to command.


"And you—what are you doing here?" replied D'Artagnan.


"Be civil, or I shall beat you; for although one may not choose to proclaim oneself, one insists on respect suitable to one's rank."


"You don't choose to discover yourself, because you are the leader of an ambuscade," returned D'Artagnan; "but with regard to myself, who am traveling quietly with my own servant, I have not the same reasons as you have to conceal my name."


"Enough! enough! what is your name?"


"I shall tell you my name in order that you may know where to find me, my lord, or my prince, as it may suit you best to be called," said our Gascon, who did not choose to seem to yield to a threat. "Do you know Monsieur d'Artagnan?"


"Lieutenant in the king's musketeers?" said the voice; "you are Monsieur d'Artagnan?"


"Then you came here to defend him?"


"Him? whom?"


"The man we are seeking."


"It seems," said D'Artagnan, "that whilst I thought I was coming to Noisy I have entered, without suspecting it, into the kingdom of mysteries."


"Come," replied the same lofty tone, "answer! Are you waiting for him underneath these windows? Did you come to Noisy to defend him?"


"I am waiting for no one," replied D'Artagnan, who was beginning to be angry. "I propose to defend no one but myself, and I shall defend myself vigorously, I give you warning."


"Very well," said the voice; "go away from here and leave the place to us."


"Go away from here!" said D'Artagnan, whose purposes were in conflict with that order, "that is not so easy, since I am on the point of falling, and my horse, too, through fatigue; unless, indeed, you are disposed to offer me a supper and a bed in the neighborhood."


"Eh! monsieur!" said D'Artagnan, "I beg you will have a care what you say; for if you utter another word like that, be you marquis, duke, prince or king, I will thrust it down your throat! do you hear?"


"Well, well," rejoined the leader, "there's no doubt 'tis a Gascon who is speaking, and therefore not the man we are looking for. Our blow has failed for to-night; let us withdraw. We shall meet again, Master d'Artagnan," continued the leader, raising his voice.


"Yes, but never with the same advantages," said D'Artagnan, in a tone of raillery; "for when you meet me again you will perhaps be alone and there will be daylight."


"Very good, very good," said the voice. "En route, gentlemen."


And the troop, grumbling angrily, disappeared in the darkness and took the road to Paris. D'Artagnan and Planchet remained for some moments still on the defensive; then, as the noise of the horsemen became more and more distant, they sheathed their swords.


"Thou seest, simpleton," said D'Artagnan to his servant, "that they wished no harm to us."


"But to whom, then?"


"I'faith! I neither know nor care. What I do care for now, is to make my way into the Jesuits' convent; so to horse and let us knock at their door. Happen what will, the devil take them, they can't eat us."


And he mounted his horse. Planchet had just done the same when an unexpected weight fell upon the back of the horse, which sank down.


"Hey! your honor!" cried Planchet, "I've a man behind me."


D'Artagnan turned around and plainly saw two human forms on Planchet's horse.


"'Tis then the devil that pursues!" he cried; drawing his sword and preparing to attack the new foe.


"No, no, dear D'Artagnan," said the figure, "'tis not the devil, 'tis Aramis; gallop fast, Planchet, and when you come to the end of the village turn swiftly to the left."


And Planchet, with Aramis behind him, set off at full gallop, followed by D'Artagnan, who began to think he was in the merry maze of some fantastic dream.


Chapter IX. The Abbé D'Herblay.


At the extremity of the village Planchet turned to the left in obedience to the orders of Aramis, and stopped underneath the window which had light in it. Aramis alighted and clapped his hands three times. Immediately the window was opened and a ladder of rope was let down from it.


"My friend," said Aramis, "if you like to ascend I shall be delighted to receive you."


"Ah," said D'Artagnan, "is that the way you return to your apartment?"


"After nine at night, pardieu!" said Aramis, "the rule of the convent is very severe."


"Do you think so?" said Aramis, smiling; "it is possible. You have no idea, my dear fellow, how one acquires bad habits in these cursed convents, or what evil ways all these men of the church have, with whom I am obliged to live. But will you not go up?"


"Pass on before me, I beg of you."


"As the late cardinal used to say to the late king, 'only to show you the way, sire.'" And Aramis ascended the ladder quickly and reached the window in an instant.


D'Artagnan followed, but less nimbly, showing plainly that this mode of ascent was not one to which he was accustomed.


"I beg your pardon," said Aramis, noticing his awkwardness; "if I had known that I was to have the honor of your visit I should have procured the gardener's ladder; but for me alone this is good enough."


"Sir," said Planchet when he saw D'Artagnan on the summit of the ladder, "this way is easy for Monsieur Aramis and even for you; in case of necessity I might also climb up, but my two horses cannot mount the ladder."


"Take them to yonder shed, my friend," said Aramis, pointing to a low building on the plain; "there you will find hay and straw for them; then come back here and clap your hands three times, and we will give you wine and food. Marry, forsooth, people don't die of hunger here."


And Aramis, drawing in the ladder, closed the window. D'Artagnan then looked around attentively.


Never was there an apartment at the same time more warlike and more elegant. At each corner were arranged trophies, presenting to view swords of all sorts, and on the walls hung four great pictures representing in their ordinary military costume the Cardinal de Lorraine, the Cardinal de Richelieu, the Cardinal de la Valette, and the Archbishop of Bordeaux. Exteriorly, nothing in the room showed that it was the habitation of an abbé. The hangings were of damask, the carpets from Alençon, and the bed, especially, had more the look of a fine lady's couch, with its trimmings of fine lace and its embroidered counterpane, than that of a man who had made a vow that he would endeavor to gain Heaven by fasting and mortification.


"You are examining my den," said Aramis. "Ah, my dear fellow, excuse me; I am lodged like a Chartreux. But what are you looking for?"


"I am looking for the person who let down the ladder. I see no one and yet the ladder didn't come down of itself."


"No, it is Bazin."


"But," continued Aramis, "Bazin is a well trained servant, and seeing that I was not alone he discreetly retired. Sit down, my dear friend, and let us talk." And Aramis pushed forward a large easy-chair, in which D'Artagnan stretched himself out.


"In the first place, you will sup with me, will you not?" asked Aramis.


"Yes, if you really wish it," said D'Artagnan, "and even with great pleasure, I confess; the journey has given me a devil of an appetite."


"Ah, my poor friend!" said Aramis, "you will find meagre fare; you were not expected."


"Am I then threatened with the omelet of Crèvecœur?"


"Oh, let us hope," said Aramis, "that with the help of God and of Bazin we shall find something better than that in the larder of the worthy Jesuit fathers. Bazin, my friend, come here."


The door opened and Bazin entered; on perceiving the musketeer he uttered an exclamation that was almost a cry of despair.


"My dear Bazin," said D'Artagnan, "I am delighted to see with what wonderful composure you can tell a lie even in church!"


"Sir," replied Bazin, "I have been taught by the good Jesuit fathers that it is permitted to tell a falsehood when it is told in a good cause."


"So far well," said Aramis; "we are dying of hunger. Serve us up the best supper you can, and especially give us some good wine."


Bazin bowed low, sighed, and left the room.


"Now we are alone, dear Aramis," said D'Artagnan, "tell me how the devil you managed to alight upon the back of Planchet's horse."


"I'faith!" answered Aramis, "as you see, from Heaven."


"From Heaven," replied D'Artagnan, shaking his head; "you have no more the appearance of coming from thence than you have of going there."


"My friend," said Aramis, with a look of imbecility on his face which D'Artagnan had never observed whilst he was in the musketeers, "if I did not come from Heaven, at least I was leaving Paradise, which is almost the same."


"Here, then, is a puzzle for the learned," observed D'Artagnan, "until now they have never been able to agree as to the situation of Paradise; some place it on Mount Ararat, others between the rivers Tigris and Euphrates; it seems that they have been looking very far away for it, while it was actually very near. Paradise is at Noisy le Sec, upon the site of the archbishop's château. People do not go out from it by the door, but by the window; one doesn't descend here by the marble steps of a peristyle, but by the branches of a lime-tree; and the angel with a flaming sword who guards this elysium seems to have changed his celestial name of Gabriel into that of the more terrestrial one of the Prince de Marsillac."


Aramis burst into a fit of laughter.


"You were always a merry companion, my dear D'Artagnan," he said, "and your witty Gascon fancy has not deserted you. Yes, there is something in what you say; nevertheless, do not believe that it is Madame de Longueville with whom I am in love."


"A plague on't! I shall not do so. After having been so long in love with Madame de Chevreuse, you would hardly lay your heart at the feet of her mortal enemy!"


"Yes," replied Aramis, with an absent air; "yes, that poor duchess! I once loved her much, and to do her justice, she was very useful to us. Eventually she was obliged to leave France. He was a relentless enemy, that damned cardinal," continued Aramis, glancing at the portrait of the old minister. "He had even given orders to arrest her and would have cut off her head had she not escaped with her waiting-maid—poor Kitty! I have heard that she met with a strange adventure in I don't know what village, with I don't know what curé, of whom she asked hospitality and who, having but one chamber, and taking her for a cavalier, offered to share it with her. For she had a wonderful way of dressing as a man, that dear Marie; I know only one other woman who can do it as well. So they made this song about her: 'Laboissiere, dis moi.' You know it, don't you?"


"No, sing it, please."


Aramis immediately complied, and sang the song in a very lively manner.


"Bravo!" cried D'Artagnan, "you sing charmingly, dear Aramis. I do not perceive that singing masses has spoiled your voice."


"My dear D'Artagnan," replied Aramis, "you understand, when I was a musketeer I mounted guard as seldom as I could; now when I am an abbé I say as few masses as I can. But to return to our duchess."


"Which—the Duchess de Chevreuse or the Duchess de Longueville?"


"Have I not already told you that there is nothing between me and the Duchess de Longueville? Little flirtations, perhaps, and that's all. No, I spoke of the Duchess de Chevreuse; did you see her after her return from Brussels, after the king's death?"


"Yes, she is still beautiful."


"Yes," said Aramis, "I saw her also at that time. I gave her good advice, by which she did not profit. I ventured to tell her that Mazarin was the lover of Anne of Austria. She wouldn't believe me, saying that she knew Anne of Austria, who was too proud to love such a worthless coxcomb. After that she plunged into the cabal headed by the Duke of Beaufort; and the 'coxcomb' arrested De Beaufort and banished Madame de Chevreuse."


"You know," resumed D'Artagnan, "that she has had leave to return to France?"


"Yes she is come back and is going to commit some fresh folly or another."


"Oh, but this time perhaps she will follow your advice."


"Oh, this time," returned Aramis, "I haven't seen her; she is much changed."


"In that respect unlike you, my dear Aramis, for you are still the same; you have still your beautiful dark hair, still your elegant figure, still your feminine hands, which are admirably suited to a prelate."


"Yes," replied Aramis, "I am extremely careful of my appearance. Do you know that I am growing old? I am nearly thirty-seven."


"Mind, Aramis"—D'Artagnan smiled as he spoke—"since we are together again, let us agree on one point: what age shall we be in future?"


"Formerly I was your junior by two or three years, and if I am not mistaken I am turned forty years old."


"Indeed! Then 'tis I who am mistaken, for you have always been a good chronologist. By your reckoning I must be forty-three at least. The devil I am! Don't let it out at the Hotel Rambouillet; it would ruin me," replied the abbé.


"Don't be afraid," said D'Artagnan. "I never go there."


"Why, what in the world," cried Aramis, "is that animal Bazin doing? Bazin! Hurry up there, you rascal; we are mad with hunger and thirst!"


Bazin entered at that moment carrying a bottle in each hand.


"At last," said Aramis, "we are ready, are we?"


"Yes, monsieur, quite ready," said Bazin; "but it took me some time to bring up all the——"


"Because you always think you have on your shoulders your beadle's robe, and spend all your time reading your breviary. But I give you warning that if in polishing your chapel utensils you forget how to brighten up my sword, I will make a great fire of your blessed images and will see that you are roasted on it."


Bazin, scandalized, made a sign of the cross with the bottle in his hand. D'Artagnan, more surprised than ever at the tone and manners of the Abbé d'Herblay, which contrasted so strongly with those of the Musketeer Aramis, remained staring with wide-open eyes at the face of his friend.


Bazin quickly covered the table with a damask cloth and arranged upon it so many things, gilded, perfumed, appetizing, that D'Artagnan was quite overcome.


"But you expected some one then?" asked the officer.


"Oh," said Aramis, "I always try to be prepared; and then I knew you were seeking me."


"From whom?"


"From Master Bazin, to be sure; he took you for the devil, my dear fellow, and hastened to warn me of the danger that threatened my soul if I should meet again a companion so wicked as an officer of musketeers."


"Oh, monsieur!" said Bazin, clasping his hands supplicatingly.


"Come, no hypocrisy! you know that I don't like it. You will do much better to open the window and let down some bread, a chicken and a bottle of wine to your friend Planchet, who has been this last hour killing himself clapping his hands."


Planchet, in fact, had bedded and fed his horses, and then coming back under the window had repeated two or three times the signal agreed upon.


Bazin obeyed, fastened to the end of a cord the three articles designated and let them down to Planchet, who then went satisfied to his shed.


"Now to supper," said Aramis.


The two friends sat down and Aramis began to cut up fowls, partridges and hams with admirable skill.


"The deuce!" cried D'Artagnan; "do you live in this way always?"


"Yes, pretty well. The coadjutor has given me dispensations from fasting on the jours maigres, on account of my health; then I have engaged as my cook the cook who lived with Lafollone—you know the man I mean?—the friend of the cardinal, and the famous epicure whose grace after dinner used to be, 'Good Lord, do me the favor to cause me to digest what I have eaten.'"


"Nevertheless he died of indigestion, in spite of his grace," said D'Artagnan.


"What can you expect?" replied Aramis, in a tone of resignation. "Every man that's born must fulfil his destiny."


"If it be not an indelicate question," resumed D'Artagnan, "have you grown rich?"


"Oh, Heaven! no. I make about twelve thousand francs a year, without counting a little benefice of a thousand crowns the prince gave me."


"And how do you make your twelve thousand francs? By your poems?"


"No, I have given up poetry, except now and then to write a drinking song, some gay sonnet or some innocent epigram; I compose sermons, my friend."


"What! sermons? Do you preach them?"


"No; I sell them to those of my cloth who wish to become great orators."


"Ah, indeed! and you have not been tempted by the hopes of reputation yourself?"


"I should, my dear D'Artagnan, have been so, but nature said 'No.' When I am in the pulpit, if by chance a pretty woman looks at me, I look at her again: if she smiles, I smile too. Then I speak at random; instead of preaching about the torments of hell I talk of the joys of Paradise. An event took place in the Church of St. Louis au Marais. A gentleman laughed in my face. I stopped short to tell him that he was a fool; the congregation went out to get stones to stone me with, but whilst they were away I found means to conciliate the priests who were present, so that my foe was pelted instead of me. 'Tis true that he came the next morning to my house, thinking that he had to do with an abbé—like all other abbés."


"And what was the end of the affair?"


"We met in the Place Royale—Egad! you know about it."


"Was I not your second?" cried D'Artagnan.


"You were; you know how I settled the matter."


"I don't know. But, at all events, I gave him absolution in articulo mortis. 'Tis enough to kill the body, without killing the soul."


Bazin made a despairing sign which meant that while perhaps he approved the moral he altogether disapproved the tone in which it was uttered.


"Bazin, my friend," said Aramis, "you don't seem to be aware that I can see you in that mirror, and you forget that once for all I have forbidden all signs of approbation or disapprobation. You will do me the favor to bring us some Spanish wine and then to withdraw. Besides, my friend D'Artagnan has something to say to me privately, have you not, D'Artagnan?"


D'Artagnan nodded his head and Bazin retired, after placing on the table the Spanish wine.


The two friends, left alone, remained silent, face to face. Aramis seemed to await a comfortable digestion; D'Artagnan, to be preparing his exordium. Each of them, when the other was not looking, hazarded a sly glance. It was Aramis who broke the silence.


"What are you thinking of, D'Artagnan?" he began.


"I was thinking, my dear old friend, that when you were a musketeer you turned your thoughts incessantly to the church, and now that you are an abbé you are perpetually longing to be once more a musketeer."


"'Tis true; man, as you know," said Aramis, "is a strange animal, made up of contradictions. Since I became an abbé I dream of nothing but battles."


"That is apparent in your surroundings; you have rapiers here of every form and to suit the most exacting taste. Do you still fence well?"


"I—I fence as well as you did in the old time—better still, perhaps; I do nothing else all day."


"And with whom?"


"With an excellent master-at-arms that we have here."


"What! here?"


"Yes, here, in this convent, my dear fellow. There is everything in a Jesuit convent."


"Then you would have killed Monsieur de Marsillac if he had come alone to attack you, instead of at the head of twenty men?"


"Undoubtedly," said Aramis, "and even at the head of his twenty men, if I could have drawn without being recognized."


"God pardon me!" said D'Artagnan to himself, "I believe he has become more Gascon than I am!" Then aloud: "Well, my dear Aramis, do you ask me why I came to seek you?"


"No, I have not asked you that," said Aramis, with his subtle manner; "but I have expected you to tell me."


"Well, I sought you for the single purpose of offering you a chance to kill Monsieur de Marsillac whenever you please, prince though he is."


"Hold on! wait!" said Aramis; "that is an idea!"


"Of which I invite you to take advantage, my friend. Let us see; with your thousand crowns from the abbey and the twelve thousand francs you make by selling sermons, are you rich? Answer frankly."


"I? I am as poor as Job, and were you to search my pockets and my boxes I don't believe you would find a hundred pistoles."


"Peste! a hundred pistoles!" said D'Artagnan to himself; "he calls that being as poor as Job! If I had them I should think myself as rich as Crœsus." Then aloud: "Are you ambitious?"


"Well, my friend, I bring you the means of becoming rich, powerful, and free to do whatever you wish."


The shadow of a cloud passed over Aramis's face as quickly as that which in August passes over the field of grain; but quick as it was, it did not escape D'Artagnan's observation.


"One question first. Do you take any interest in politics?"


A gleam of light shone in Aramis's eyes, as brief as the shadow that had passed over his face, but not so brief but that it was seen by D'Artagnan.


"No," Aramis replied.


"Then proposals from any quarter will be agreeable to you, since for the moment you have no master but God?"


"Have you, my dear Aramis, thought sometimes of those happy, happy, happy days of youth we passed laughing, drinking, and fighting each other for play?"


"Certainly, and more than once regretted them; it was indeed a glorious time."


"Well, those splendidly wild days may chance to come again; I am commissioned to find out my companions and I began by you, who were the very soul of our society."


Aramis bowed, rather with respect than pleasure at the compliment.


"To meddle in politics," he exclaimed, in a languid voice, leaning back in his easy-chair. "Ah! dear D'Artagnan! see how regularly I live and how easy I am here. We have experienced the ingratitude of 'the great,' as you well know."


"'Tis true," replied D'Artagnan. "Yet the great sometimes repent of their ingratitude."


"In that case it would be quite another thing. Come! let's be merciful to every sinner! Besides, you are right in another respect, which is in thinking that if we were to meddle in politics there could not be a better time than the present."


"How can you know that? You who never interest yourself in politics?"


"Ah! without caring about them myself, I live among those who are much occupied in them. Poet as I am, I am intimate with Sarazin, who is devoted to the Prince de Conti, and with Monsieur de Bois-Robert, who, since the death of Cardinal Richelieu, is of all parties or any party; so that political discussions have not altogether been uninteresting to me."


"I have no doubt of it," said D'Artagnan.


"Now, my dear friend, look upon all I tell you as merely the statement of a monk—of a man who resembles an echo—repeating simply what he hears. I understand that Mazarin is at this very moment extremely uneasy as to the state of affairs; that his orders are not respected like those of our former bugbear, the deceased cardinal, whose portrait as you see hangs yonder—for whatever may be thought of him, it must be allowed that Richelieu was great."


"I will not contradict you there," said D'Artagnan.


"My first impressions were favorable to the minister; I said to myself that a minister is never loved, but that with the genius this one was said to have he would eventually triumph over his enemies and would make himself feared, which in my opinion is much more to be desired than to be loved——"


D'Artagnan made a sign with his head which indicated that he entirely approved that doubtful maxim.


"This, then," continued Aramis, "was my first opinion; but as I am very ignorant in matters of this kind and as the humility which I profess obliges me not to rest on my own judgment, but to ask the opinion of others, I have inquired—Eh!—my friend——"


"Well? what?" asked his friend.


"Well, I must mortify myself. I must confess that I was mistaken. Monsieur de Mazarin is not a man of genius, as I thought, he is a man of no origin—once a servant of Cardinal Bentivoglio, and he got on by intrigue. He is an upstart, a man of no name, who will only be the tool of a party in France. He will amass wealth, he will injure the king's revenue and pay to himself the pensions which Richelieu paid to others. He is neither a gentleman in manner nor in feeling, but a sort of buffoon, a punchinello, a pantaloon. Do you know him? I do not."


"Hem!" said D'Artagnan, "there is some truth in what you say."


"Ah! it fills me with pride to find that, thanks to a common sort of penetration with which I am endowed, I am approved by a man like you, fresh from the court."


"But you speak of him, not of his party, his resources."


"It is true—the queen is for him."


"Something in his favor."


"But he will never have the king."


"A mere child."


"A child who will be of age in four years. Then he has neither the parliament nor the people with him—they represent the wealth of the country; nor the nobles nor the princes, who are the military power of France."


D'Artagnan scratched his ear. He was forced to confess to himself that this reasoning was not only comprehensive, but just.


"You see, my poor friend, that I am sometimes bereft of my ordinary thoughtfulness; perhaps I am wrong in speaking thus to you, who have evidently a leaning to Mazarin."


"I!" cried D'Artagnan, "not in the least."


"You spoke of a mission."


"Did I? I was wrong then, no, I said what you say—there is a crisis at hand. Well! let's fly the feather before the wind; let us join with that side to which the wind will carry it and resume our adventurous life. We were once four valiant knights—four hearts fondly united; let us unite again, not our hearts, which have never been severed, but our courage and our fortunes. Here's a good opportunity for getting something better than a diamond."


"You are right, D'Artagnan; I held a similar project, but as I had not nor ever shall have your fruitful, vigorous imagination, the idea was suggested to me. Every one nowadays wants auxiliaries; propositions have been made to me and I confess to you frankly that the coadjutor has made me speak out."


"No; the king's friend," said Aramis; "the king's friend, you understand. Well, it is a question of serving the king, the gentleman's duty."


"But the king is with Mazarin."


"He is, but not willingly; in appearance, not heart; and that is exactly the snare the king's enemies are preparing for the poor child."


"Ah! but this is, indeed, civil war which you propose to me, dear Aramis."


"War for the king."


"Yet the king will be at the head of the army on Mazarin's side."


"But his heart will be in the army commanded by the Duc de Beaufort."


"But Monsieur le Prince is to set out for the army; he is entirely devoted to the cardinal."


"Oh oh!" said Aramis, "there are questions between them at this very moment. And besides, if it is not the prince, then Monsieur de Gondy——"


"But Monsieur de Gondy is to be made a cardinal; they are soliciting the hat for him."


"And are there no cardinals that can fight? Come now, recall the four cardinals that at the head of armies have equalled Monsieur de Guebriant and Monsieur de Gassion."


"But a humpbacked general!


"Under the cuirass the hump will not be seen. Besides, remember that Alexander was lame and Hannibal had but one eye."


"Do you see any great advantage in adhering to this party?" asked D'Artagnan.


"I foresee in it the aid of powerful princes."


"With the enmity of the government."


"Counteracted by parliament and insurrections."


"That may be done if they can separate the king from his mother."


"That may be done," said Aramis.


"Never!" cried D'Artagnan. "You, Aramis, know Anne of Austria better than I do. Do you think she will ever forget that her son is her safeguard, her shield, the pledge for her dignity, for her fortune and her life? Should she forsake Mazarin she must join her son and go over to the princes' side; but you know better than I do that there are certain reasons why she can never abandon Mazarin."


"Perhaps you are right," said Aramis, thoughtfully; "therefore I shall not pledge myself."


"To them or to us, do you mean, Aramis?"


"To no one. I am a priest," resumed Aramis. "What have I to do with politics? I am not obliged to read any breviary. I have a jolly little circle of witty abbés and pretty women; everything goes on smoothly, so certainly, dear friend, I shall not meddle in politics."


"Well, listen, my dear Aramis," said D'Artagnan; "your philosophy convinces me, on my honor. I don't know what devil of an insect stung me and made me ambitious. I have a post by which I live; at the death of Monsieur de Tréville, who is old, I may be a captain, which is a very snug berth for a once penniless Gascon. Instead of running after adventures I shall accept an invitation from Porthos; I shall go and shoot on his estate. You know he has estates—Porthos?"


"I should think so, indeed. Ten leagues of wood, of marsh land and valleys; he is lord of the hill and the plain and is now carrying on a suit for his feudal rights against the Bishop of Noyon!"


"Good," said D'Artagnan to himself. "That's what I wanted to know. Porthos is in Picardy."


Then aloud:


"And he has taken his ancient name of Vallon?"


"To which he adds that of Bracieux, an estate which has been a barony, by my troth."


"So that Porthos will be a baron."


"I don't doubt it. The 'Baroness Porthos' will sound particularly charming."


And the two friends began to laugh.


"So," D'Artagnan resumed, "you will not become a partisan of Mazarin's?"


"Nor you of the Prince de Condé?"


"No, let us belong to no party, but remain friends; let us be neither Cardinalists nor Frondists."


"Adieu, then." And D'Artagnan poured out a glass of wine.


"To old times," he said.


"Yes," returned Aramis. "Unhappily, those times are past."


"Nonsense! They will return," said D'Artagnan. "At all events, if you want me, remember the Rue Tiquetonne, Hotel de la Chevrette."


"And I shall be at the convent of Jesuits; from six in the morning to eight at night come by the door. From eight in the evening until six in the morning come in by the window."


"Oh, I can't let you go so! I will go with you." And he took his sword and cloak.


"He wants to be sure that I go away," said D'Artagnan to himself.


Aramis whistled for Bazin, but Bazin was asleep in the ante-chamber, and Aramis was obliged to shake him by the ear to awake him.


Bazin stretched his arms, rubbed his eyes, and tried to go to sleep again.


"Come, come, sleepy head; quick, the ladder!"


"But," said Bazin, yawning portentously, "the ladder is still at the window."


"The other one, the gardener's. Didn't you see that Monsieur d'Artagnan mounted with difficulty? It will be even more difficult to descend."


D'Artagnan was about to assure Aramis that he could descend easily, when an idea came into his head which silenced him.


Bazin uttered a profound sigh and went out to look for the ladder. Presently a good, solid, wooden ladder was placed against the window.


"Now then," said D'Artagnan, "this is something like; this is a means of communication. A woman could go up a ladder like that."


Aramis's searching look seemed to seek his friend's thought even at the bottom of his heart, but D'Artagnan sustained the inquisition with an air of admirable simplicity. Besides, at that moment he put his foot on the first step of the ladder and began his descent. In a moment he was on the ground. Bazin remained at the window.


"Stay there," said Aramis; "I shall return immediately."


The two friends went toward the shed. At their approach Planchet came out leading the two horses.


"That is good to see," said Aramis. "There is a servant active and vigilant, not like that lazy fellow Bazin, who is no longer good for anything since he became connected with the church. Follow us, Planchet; we shall continue our conversation to the end of the village."


They traversed the width of the village, talking of indifferent things, then as they reached the last houses:


"Go, then, dear friend," said Aramis, "follow your own career. Fortune lavishes her smiles upon you; do not let her flee from your embrace. As for me, I remain in my humility and indolence. Adieu!"


"Thus 'tis quite decided," said D'Artagnan, "that what I have to offer to you does not tempt you?"


"On the contrary, it would tempt me were I any other man," rejoined Aramis; "but I repeat, I am made up of contradictions. What I hate to-day I adore to-morrow, and vice versa. You see that I cannot, like you, for instance, settle on any fixed plan."


"Thou liest, subtile one," said D'Artagnan to himself. "Thou alone, on the contrary, knowest how to choose thy object and to gain it stealthily."


The friends embraced. They descended into the plain by the ladder. Planchet met them hard by the shed. D'Artagnan jumped into the saddle, then the old companions in arms again shook hands. D'Artagnan and Planchet spurred their steeds and took the road to Paris.


But after he had gone about two hundred steps D'Artagnan stopped short, alighted, threw the bridle of his horse over the arm of Planchet and took the pistols from his saddle-bow to fasten them to his girdle.


"What's the matter?" asked Planchet.


"This is the matter: be he ever so cunning he shall never say I was his dupe. Stand here, don't stir, turn your back to the road and wait for me."


Having thus spoken, D'Artagnan cleared the ditch by the roadside and crossed the plain so as to wind around the village. He had observed between the house that Madame de Longueville inhabited and the convent of the Jesuits, an open space surrounded by a hedge.


The moon had now risen and he could see well enough to retrace his road.


He reached the hedge and hid himself behind it; in passing by the house where the scene which we have related took place, he remarked that the window was again lighted up and he was convinced that Aramis had not yet returned to his own apartment and that when he did it would not be alone.


In truth, in a few minutes he heard steps approaching and low whispers.


Close to the hedge the steps stopped.


D'Artagnan knelt down near the thickest part of the hedge.


Two men, to the astonishment of D'Artagnan, appeared shortly; soon, however, his surprise vanished, for he heard the murmurs of a soft, harmonious voice; one of these two men was a woman disguised as a cavalier.


"Calm yourself, dear Rene," said the soft voice, "the same thing will never happen again. I have discovered a sort of subterranean passage which runs beneath the street and we shall only have to raise one of the marble slabs before the door to open you an entrance and an outlet."


"Oh!" answered another voice, which D'Artagnan instantly recognized as that of Aramis. "I swear to you, princess, that if your reputation did not depend on precautions and if my life alone were jeopardized——"


"Yes, yes! I know you are as brave and venturesome as any man in the world, but you do not belong to me alone; you belong to all our party. Be prudent! sensible!"


"I always obey, madame, when I am commanded by so gentle a voice."


He kissed her hand tenderly.


"Ah!" exclaimed the cavalier with a soft voice.


"What's the matter?" asked Aramis.


"Do you not see that the wind has blown off my hat?"


Aramis rushed after the fugitive hat. D'Artagnan took advantage of the circumstance to find a place in the hedge not so thick, where his glance could penetrate to the supposed cavalier. At that instant, the moon, inquisitive, perhaps, like D'Artagnan, came from behind a cloud and by her light D'Artagnan recognized the large blue eyes, the golden hair and the classic head of the Duchess de Longueville.


Aramis returned, laughing, one hat on his head and the other in his hand; and he and his companion resumed their walk toward the convent.


"Good!" said D'Artagnan, rising and brushing his knees; "now I have thee—thou art a Frondeur and the lover of Madame de Longueville."


Thanks to what Aramis had told him, D'Artagnan, who knew already that Porthos called himself Du Vallon, was now aware that he styled himself, from his estate, De Bracieux; and that he was, on account of this estate, engaged in a lawsuit with the Bishop of Noyon. It was, then, in the neighborhood of Noyon that he must seek that estate. His itinerary was promptly determined: he would go to Dammartin, from which place two roads diverge, one toward Soissons, the other toward Compiègne; there he would inquire concerning the Bracieux estate and go to the right or to the left according to the information obtained.


Planchet, who was still a little concerned for his safety after his recent escapade, declared that he would follow D'Artagnan even to the end of the world, either by the road to the right or by that to the left; only he begged his former master to set out in the evening, for greater security to himself. D'Artagnan suggested that he should send word to his wife, so that she might not be anxious about him, but Planchet replied with much sagacity that he was very sure his wife would not die of anxiety through not knowing where he was, while he, Planchet, remembering her incontinence of tongue, would die of anxiety if she did know.


This reasoning seemed to D'Artagnan so satisfactory that he no further insisted; and about eight o'clock in the evening, the time when the vapors of night begin to thicken in the streets, he left the Hotel de la Chevrette, and followed by Planchet set forth from the capital by way of the Saint Denis gate.


At midnight the two travelers were at Dammartin, but it was then too late to make inquiries—the host of the Cygne de la Croix had gone to bed.


The next morning D'Artagnan summoned the host, one of those sly Normans who say neither yes nor no and fear to commit themselves by giving a direct answer. D'Artagnan, however, gathered from his equivocal replies that the road to the right was the one he ought to take, and on that uncertain information he resumed his journey. At nine in the morning he reached Nanteuil and stopped for breakfast. His host here was a good fellow from Picardy, who gave him all the information he needed. The Bracieux estate was a few leagues from Villars-Cotterets.


D'Artagnan was acquainted with Villars-Cotterets, having gone thither with the court on several occasions; for at that time Villars-Cotterets was a royal residence. He therefore shaped his course toward that place and dismounted at the Dauphin d'Or. There he ascertained that the Bracieux estate was four leagues distant, but that Porthos was not at Bracieux. Porthos had, in fact, been involved in a dispute with the Bishop of Noyon in regard to the Pierrefonds property, which adjoined his own, and weary at length of a legal controversy which was beyond his comprehension, he put an end to it by purchasing Pierrefonds and added that name to his others. He now called himself Du Vallon de Bracieux de Pierrefonds, and resided on his new estate.


The travelers were therefore obliged to stay at the hotel until the next day; the horses had done ten leagues that day and needed rest. It is true they might have taken others, but there was a great forest to pass through and Planchet, as we have seen, had no liking for forests after dark.


There was another thing that Planchet had no liking for and that was starting on a journey with a hungry stomach. Accordingly, D'Artagnan, on awaking, found his breakfast waiting for him. It need not be said that Planchet in resuming his former functions resumed also his former humility and was not ashamed to make his breakfast on what was left by D'Artagnan.


It was nearly eight o'clock when they set out again. Their course was clearly defined: they were to follow the road toward Compiègne and on emerging from the forest turn to the right.


The morning was beautiful, and in this early springtime the birds sang on the trees and the sunbeams shone through the misty glades, like curtains of golden gauze.


In other parts of the forest the light could scarcely penetrate through the foliage, and the stems of two old oak trees, the refuge of the squirrel, startled by the travelers, were in deep shadow.


There came up from all nature in the dawn of day a perfume of herbs, flowers and leaves, which delighted the heart. D'Artagnan, sick of the closeness of Paris, thought that when a man had three names of his different estates joined one to another, he ought to be very happy in such a paradise; then he shook his head, saying, "If I were Porthos and D'Artagnan came to make me such a proposition as I am going to make to him, I know what I should say to it."


As to Planchet, he thought of little or nothing, but was happy as a hunting-hound in his old master's company.


At the extremity of the wood D'Artagnan perceived the road that had been described to him, and at the end of the road he saw the towers of an immense feudal castle.


"Oh! oh!" he said, "I fancied this castle belonged to the ancient branch of Orléans. Can Porthos have negotiated for it with the Duc de Longueville?"


"Faith!" exclaimed Planchet, "here's land in good condition; if it belongs to Monsieur Porthos I wish him joy."


"Zounds!" cried D'Artagnan, "don't call him Porthos, nor even Vallon; call him De Bracieux or De Pierrefonds; thou wilt knell out damnation to my mission otherwise."


As he approached the castle which had first attracted his eye, D'Artagnan was convinced that it could not be there that his friend dwelt; the towers, though solid and as if built yesterday, were open and broken. One might have fancied that some giant had cleaved them with blows from a hatchet.


On arriving at the extremity of the castle D'Artagnan found himself overlooking a beautiful valley, in which, at the foot of a charming little lake, stood several scattered houses, which, humble in their aspect, and covered, some with tiles, others with thatch, seemed to acknowledge as their sovereign lord a pretty château, built about the beginning of the reign of Henry IV., and surmounted by four stately, gilded weather-cocks. D'Artagnan no longer doubted that this was Porthos's pleasant dwelling place.


The road led straight up to the château which, compared to its ancestor on the hill, was exactly what a fop of the coterie of the Duc d'Enghein would have been beside a knight in steel armor in the time of Charles VII. D'Artagnan spurred his horse on and pursued his road, followed by Planchet at the same pace.


In ten minutes D'Artagnan reached the end of an alley regularly planted with fine poplars and terminating in an iron gate, the points and crossed bars of which were gilt. In the midst of this avenue was a nobleman, dressed in green and with as much gilding about him as the iron gate, riding on a tall horse. On his right hand and his left were two footmen, with the seams of their dresses laced. A considerable number of clowns were assembled and rendered homage to their lord.


"Ah!" said D'Artagnan to himself, "can this be the Seigneur du Vallon de Bracieux de Pierrefonds? Well-a-day! how he has shrunk since he gave up the name of Porthos!"


"This cannot be Monsieur Porthos," observed Planchet replying, as it were, to his master's thoughts. "Monsieur Porthos was six feet high; this man is scarcely five."


"Nevertheless," said D'Artagnan, "the people are bowing very low to this person."


As he spoke, he rode toward the tall horse—to the man of importance and his valets. As he approached he seemed to recognize the features of this individual.


"Jesu!" cried Planchet, "can it be?"


At this exclamation the man on horseback turned slowly and with a lofty air, and the two travelers could see, displayed in all their brilliancy, the large eyes, the vermilion visage, and the eloquent smile of—Mousqueton.


It was indeed Mousqueton—Mousqueton, as fat as a pig, rolling about with rude health, puffed out with good living, who, recognizing D'Artagnan and acting very differently from the hypocrite Bazin, slipped off his horse and approached the officer with his hat off, so that the homage of the assembled crowd was turned toward this new sun, which eclipsed the former luminary.


"Monsieur d'Artagnan! Monsieur d'Artagnan!" cried Mousqueton, his fat cheeks swelling out and his whole frame perspiring with joy; "Monsieur d'Artagnan! oh! what joy for my lord and master, Du Vallon de Bracieux de Pierrefonds!"


"Thou good Mousqueton! where is thy master?"


"You stand upon his property!"


"But how handsome thou art—how fat! thou hast prospered and grown stout!" and D'Artagnan could not restrain his astonishment at the change good fortune had produced on the once famished one.


"Hey, yes, thank God, I am pretty well," said Mousqueton.


"But hast thou nothing to say to thy friend Planchet?"


"How, my friend Planchet? Planchet—art thou there?" cried Mousqueton, with open arms and eyes full of tears.


"My very self," replied Planchet; "but I wanted first to see if thou wert grown proud."


"Proud toward an old friend? never, Planchet! thou wouldst not have thought so hadst thou known Mousqueton well."


"So far so well," answered Planchet, alighting, and extending his arms to Mousqueton, the two servants embraced with an emotion which touched those who were present and made them suppose that Planchet was a great lord in disguise, so highly did they estimate the position of Mousqueton.


"And now, sir," resumed Mousqueton, when he had rid himself of Planchet, who had in vain tried to clasp his hands behind his friend's fat back, "now, sir, allow me to leave you, for I could not permit my master to hear of your arrival from any but myself; he would never forgive me for not having preceded you."


"This dear friend," said D'Artagnan, carefully avoiding to utter either the former name borne by Porthos or his new one, "then he has not forgotten me?"


"Forgotten—he!" cried Mousqueton; "there's not a day, sir, that we don't expect to hear that you were made marshal either instead of Monsieur de Gassion, or of Monsieur de Bassompierre."


On D'Artagnan's lips there played one of those rare and melancholy smiles which seemed to emanate from the depth of his soul—the last trace of youth and happiness that had survived life's disillusions.


"And you—fellows," resumed Mousqueton, "stay near Monsieur le Comte d'Artagnan and pay him every attention in your power whilst I go to prepare my lord for his visit."


And mounting his horse Mousqueton rode off down the avenue on the grass at a hand gallop.


"Ah, there! there's something promising," said D'Artagnan. "No mysteries, no cloak to hide one's self in, no cunning policy here; people laugh outright, they weep for joy here. I see nothing but faces a yard broad; in short, it seems to me that nature herself wears a holiday garb, and that the trees, instead of leaves and flowers, are covered with red and green ribbons as on gala days."


"As for me," said Planchet, "I seem to smell, from this place, even, a most delectable perfume of fine roast meat, and to see the scullions in a row by the hedge, hailing our approach. Ah! sir, what a cook must Monsieur Pierrefonds have, when he was so fond of eating and drinking, even whilst he was only called Monsieur Porthos!"


"Say no more!" cried D'Artagnan. "If the reality corresponds with appearances I am lost; for a man so well off will never change his happy condition, and I shall fail with him, as I have already done with Aramis."


Chapter XI. Wealth does not necessarily produce Happiness.


D'Artagnan passed through the iron gate and arrived in front of the château. He alighted as he saw a species of giant on the steps. Let us do justice to D'Artagnan. Independently of every selfish wish, his heart palpitated with joy when he saw that tall form and martial demeanor, which recalled to him a good and brave man.


He ran to Porthos and threw himself into his arms; the whole body of servants, arranged in a semi-circle at a respectful distance, looked on with humble curiosity. Mousqueton, at the head of them, wiped his eyes. Porthos linked his arm in that of his friend.


"Ah! how delightful to see you again, dear friend!" he cried, in a voice which was now changed from a baritone into a bass, "you've not then forgotten me?"


"Forget you! oh! dear Du Vallon, does one forget the happiest days of flowery youth, one's dearest friends, the dangers we have dared together? On the contrary, there is not an hour we have passed together that is not present to my memory."


"Yes, yes," said Porthos, trying to give to his mustache a curl which it had lost whilst he had been alone. "Yes, we did some fine things in our time and we gave that poor cardinal a few threads to unravel."


And he heaved a sigh.


"Under any circumstances," he resumed, "you are welcome, my dear friend; you will help me to recover my spirits; to-morrow we will hunt the hare on my plain, which is a superb tract of land, or pursue the deer in my woods, which are magnificent. I have four harriers which are considered the swiftest in the county, and a pack of hounds which are unequalled for twenty leagues around."


And Porthos heaved another sigh.


"But, first," interposed D'Artagnan, "you must present me to Madame du Vallon."


A third sigh from Porthos.


"I lost Madame du Vallon two years ago," he said, "and you find me still in affliction on that account. That was the reason why I left my Château du Vallon near Corbeil, and came to my estate, Bracieux. Poor Madame du Vallon! her temper was uncertain, but she came at last to accustom herself to my little ways and understand my little wishes."


"So you are free now, and rich?"


"Alas!" groaned Porthos, "I am a widower and have forty thousand francs a year. Let us go to breakfast."


"I shall be happy to do so; the morning air has made me hungry."


"Yes," said Porthos; "my air is excellent."


They went into the château; there was nothing but gilding, high and low; the cornices were gilt, the mouldings were gilt, the legs and arms of the chairs were gilt. A table, ready set out, awaited them.


"You see," said Porthos, "this is my usual style."


"Devil take me!" answered D'Artagnan, "I wish you joy of it. The king has nothing like it."


"No," answered Porthos, "I hear it said that he is very badly fed by the cardinal, Monsieur de Mazarin. Taste this cutlet, my dear D'Artagnan; 'tis off one of my sheep."


"You have very tender mutton and I wish you joy of it." said D'Artagnan.


"Yes, the sheep are fed in my meadows, which are excellent pasture."


"Give me another cutlet."


"No, try this hare, which I had killed yesterday in one of my warrens."


"Zounds! what a flavor!" cried D'Artagnan; "ah! they are fed on thyme only, your hares."


"And how do you like my wine?" asked Porthos; "it is pleasant, isn't it?"


"It is nothing, however, but a wine of the country."


"Yes, a small declivity to the south, yonder on my hill, gives me twenty hogsheads."


"Quite a vineyard, hey?"


Porthos sighed for the fifth time—D'Artagnan had counted his sighs. He became curious to solve the problem.


"Well now," he said, "it seems, my dear friend, that something vexes you; you are ill, perhaps? That health, which——"


"Excellent, my dear friend; better than ever. I could kill an ox with a blow of my fist."


"Well, then, family affairs, perhaps?"


"Family! I have, happily, only myself in the world to care for."


"But what makes you sigh?"


"My dear fellow," replied Porthos, "to be candid with you, I am not happy."


"You are not happy, Porthos? You who have château, meadows, mountains, woods—you who have forty thousand francs a year—you—are—not—happy?"


"My dear friend, all those things I have, but I am a hermit in the midst of superfluity."


"Surrounded, I suppose, only by clodhoppers, with whom you could not associate."


Porthos turned rather pale and drank off a large glass of wine.


"No; but just think, there are paltry country squires who have all some title or another and pretend to go back as far as Charlemagne, or at least to Hugh Capet. When I first came here; being the last comer, it was for me to make the first advances. I made them, but you know, my dear friend, Madame du Vallon——"


Porthos, in pronouncing these words, seemed to gulp down something.


"Madame du Vallon was of doubtful gentility. She had, in her first marriage—I don't think, D'Artagnan, I am telling you anything new—married a lawyer; they thought that 'nauseous;' you can understand that's a word bad enough to make one kill thirty thousand men. I have killed two, which has made people hold their tongues, but has not made me their friend. So that I have no society; I live alone; I am sick of it—my mind preys on itself."


D'Artagnan smiled. He now saw where the breastplate was weak, and prepared the blow.


"But now," he said, "that you are a widower, your wife's connection cannot injure you."


"Yes, but understand me; not being of a race of historic fame, like the De Courcys, who were content to be plain sirs, or the Rohans, who didn't wish to be dukes, all these people, who are all either vicomtes or comtes go before me at church in all the ceremonies, and I can say nothing to them. Ah! If I only were a——"


"A baron, don't you mean?" cried D'Artagnan, finishing his friend's sentence.


"Ah!" cried Porthos; "would I were but a baron!"


"Well, my friend, I am come to give you this very title which you wish for so much."


Porthos gave a start that shook the room; two or three bottles fell and were broken. Mousqueton ran thither, hearing the noise.


Porthos waved his hand to Mousqueton to pick up the bottles.


"I am glad to see," said D'Artagnan, "that you have still that honest lad with you."


"He is my steward," replied Porthos; "he will never leave me. Go away now, Mouston."


"So he's called Mouston," thought D'Artagnan; "'tis too long a word to pronounce 'Mousqueton.'"


"Well," he said aloud, "let us resume our conversation later, your people may suspect something; there may be spies about. You can suppose, Porthos, that what I have to say relates to most important matters."


"Devil take them; let us walk in the park," answered Porthos, "for the sake of digestion."


"Egad," said D'Artagnan, "the park is like everything else and there are as many fish in your pond as rabbits in your warren; you are a happy man, my friend since you have not only retained your love of the chase, but acquired that of fishing."


"My friend," replied Porthos, "I leave fishing to Mousqueton,—it is a vulgar pleasure,—but I shoot sometimes; that is to say, when I am dull, and I sit on one of those marble seats, have my gun brought to me, my favorite dog, and I shoot rabbits."


"Really, how very amusing!"


"Yes," replied Porthos, with a sigh, "it is amusing."


D'Artagnan now no longer counted the sighs. They were innumerable.


"However, what had you to say to me?" he resumed; "let us return to that subject."


"With pleasure," replied D'Artagnan; "I must, however, first frankly tell you that you must change your mode of life."


"Go into harness again, gird on your sword, run after adventures, and leave as in old times a little of your fat on the roadside."


"Ah! hang it!" said Porthos.


"I see you are spoiled, dear friend; you are corpulent, your arm has no longer that movement of which the late cardinal's guards have so many proofs."


"Ah! my fist is strong enough I swear," cried Porthos, extending a hand like a shoulder of mutton.


"So much the better."


"Are we then to go to war?"


"By my troth, yes."


"Against whom?"


"Are you a politician, friend?"


"Are you for Mazarin or for the princes?"


"That is to say, you are for us. Well, I tell you that I come to you from the cardinal."


This speech was heard by Porthos in the same sense as if it had still been in the year 1640 and related to the true cardinal.


"Ho! ho! What are the wishes of his eminence?"


"He wishes to have you in his service."


"And who spoke to him of me?"


"Rochefort—you remember him?"


"Yes, pardieu! It was he who gave us so much trouble and kept us on the road so much; you gave him three sword-wounds in three separate engagements."


"But you know he is now our friend?"


"No, I didn't know that. So he cherishes no resentment?"


"You are mistaken, Porthos," said D'Artagnan. "It is I who cherish no resentment."


Porthos didn't understand any too clearly; but then we know that understanding was not his strong point. "You say, then," he continued, "that the Count de Rochefort spoke of me to the cardinal?"


"Yes, and the queen, too."


"The queen, do you say?"


"To inspire us with confidence she has even placed in Mazarin's hands that famous diamond—you remember all about it—that I once sold to Monsieur des Essarts and of which, I don't know how, she has regained possession."


"But it seems to me," said Porthos, "that she would have done much better if she had given it back to you."


"So I think," replied D'Artagnan; "but kings and queens are strange beings and have odd fancies; nevertheless, since they are the ones who have riches and honors, we are devoted to them."


"Yes, we are devoted to them," repeated Porthos; "and you—to whom are you devoted now?"


"To the king, the queen, and to the cardinal; moreover, I have answered for your devotion also."


"And you say that you have made certain conditions on my behalf?"


"Magnificent, my dear fellow, magnificent! In the first place you have plenty of money, haven't you? forty thousand francs income, I think you said."


Porthos began to be suspicious. "Eh! my friend," said he, "one never has too much money. Madame du Vallon left things in much disorder; I am not much of a hand at figures, so that I live almost from hand to mouth."


"He is afraid I have come to borrow money," thought D'Artagnan. "Ah, my friend," said he, "it is all the better if you are in difficulties."


"How is it all the better?"


"Yes, for his eminence will give you all that you want—land, money, and titles."


"Ah! ah! ah!" said Porthos, opening his eyes at that last word.


"Under the other cardinal," continued D'Artagnan, "we didn't know enough to make our profits; this, however, doesn't concern you, with your forty thousand francs income, the happiest man in the world, it seems to me."


Porthos sighed.


"At the same time," continued D'Artagnan, "notwithstanding your forty thousand francs a year, and perhaps even for the very reason that you have forty thousand francs a year, it seems to me that a little coronet would do well on your carriage, hey?"


"Yes indeed," said Porthos.


"Well, my dear friend, win it—it is at the point of your sword. We shall not interfere with each other—your object is a title; mine, money. If I can get enough to rebuild Artagnan, which my ancestors, impoverished by the Crusades, allowed to fall into ruins, and to buy thirty acres of land about it, that is all I wish. I shall retire and die tranquilly—at home."


"For my part," said Porthos, "I desire to be made a baron."


"You shall be one."


"And have you not seen any of our other friends?"


"Yes, I have seen Aramis."


"And what does he wish? To be a bishop?"


"Aramis," answered D'Artagnan, who did not wish to undeceive Porthos, "Aramis, fancy, has become a monk and a Jesuit, and lives like a bear. My offers did not arouse him,—did not even tempt him."


"So much the worse! He was a clever man. And Athos?"


"I have not yet seen him. Do you know where I shall find him?"


"Near Blois. He is called Bragelonne. Only imagine, my dear friend. Athos, who was of as high birth as the emperor and who inherits one estate which gives him the title of comte, what is he to do with all those dignities—the Comte de la Fère, Comte de Bragelonne?"


"And he has no children with all these titles?"


"Ah!" said Porthos, "I have heard that he had adopted a young man who resembles him greatly."


"What, Athos? Our Athos, who was as virtuous as Scipio? Have you seen him?


"Well, I shall see him to-morrow and tell him about you; but I'm afraid, entre nous, that his liking for wine has aged and degraded him."


"Yes, he used to drink a great deal," replied Porthos.


"And then he was older than any of us," added D'Artagnan.


"Some years only. His gravity made him look older than he was."


"Well then, if we can get Athos, all will be well. If we cannot, we will do without him. We two are worth a dozen."


"Yes," said Porthos, smiling at the remembrance of his former exploits; "but we four, altogether, would be equal to thirty-six, more especially as you say the work will not be child's play. Will it last long?"


"By'r Lady! two or three years perhaps."


"So much the better," cried Porthos. "You have no idea, my friend, how my bones ache since I came here. Sometimes on a Sunday, I take a ride in the fields and on the property of my neighbours, in order to pick up a nice little quarrel, which I am really in want of, but nothing happens. Either they respect or they fear me, which is more likely, but they let me trample down the clover with my dogs, insult and obstruct every one, and I come back still more weary and low-spirited, that's all. At any rate, tell me: there's more chance of fighting in Paris, is there not?"


"In that respect, my dear friend, it's delightful. No more edicts, no more of the cardinal's guards, no more De Jussacs, nor other bloodhounds. I'Gad! underneath a lamp in an inn, anywhere, they ask 'Are you one of the Fronde?' They unsheathe, and that's all that is said. The Duke de Guise killed Monsieur de Coligny in the Place Royale and nothing was said of it."


"Ah, things go on gaily, then," said Porthos.


"Besides which, in a short time," resumed D'Artagnan, "We shall have set battles, cannonades, conflagrations and there will be great variety."


"I have your word, then?"


"Yes, 'tis given. I shall fight heart and soul for Mazarin; but——"


"But he must make me a baron."


"Zounds!" said D'Artagnan, "that's settled already; I will be responsible for the barony."


On this promise being given, Porthos, who had never doubted his friend's assurance, turned back with him toward the castle.


Chapter XII. Porthos was Discontented with his Condition.


As they returned toward the castle, D'Artagnan thought of the miseries of poor human nature, always dissatisfied with what it has, ever desirous of what it has not.


In the position of Porthos, D'Artagnan would have been perfectly happy; and to make Porthos contented there was wanting—what? five letters to put before his three names, a tiny coronet to paint upon the panels of his carriage!


"I shall pass all my life," thought D'Artagnan, "in seeking for a man who is really contented with his lot."


Whilst making this reflection, chance seemed, as it were, to give him the lie direct. When Porthos had left him to give some orders he saw Mousqueton approaching. The face of the steward, despite one slight shade of care, light as a summer cloud, seemed a physiognomy of absolute felicity.


"Here is what I am looking for," thought D'Artagnan; "but alas! the poor fellow does not know the purpose for which I am here."


He then made a sign for Mousqueton to come to him.


"Sir," said the servant, "I have a favour to ask you."


"Speak out, my friend."


"I am afraid to do so. Perhaps you will think, sir, that prosperity has spoiled me?"


"Art thou happy, friend?" asked D'Artagnan.


"As happy as possible; and yet, sir, you may make me even happier than I am."


"Oh, sir! it depends on you only."


"I listen—I am waiting to hear."


"Sir, the favor I have to ask of you is, not to call me 'Mousqueton' but 'Mouston.' Since I have had the honor of being my lord's steward I have taken the last name as more dignified and calculated to make my inferiors respect me. You, sir, know how necessary subordination is in any large establishment of servants."


D'Artagnan smiled; Porthos wanted to lengthen out his names, Mousqueton to cut his short.


"Well, my dear Mouston," he said, "rest satisfied. I will call thee Mouston; and if it makes thee happy I will not 'tutoyer' you any longer."


"Oh!" cried Mousqueton, reddening with joy; "if you do me, sir, such honor, I shall be grateful all my life; it is too much to ask."


"Alas!" thought D'Artagnan, "it is very little to offset the unexpected tribulations I am bringing to this poor devil who has so warmly welcomed me."


"Will monsieur remain long with us?" asked Mousqueton, with a serene and glowing countenance.


"I go to-morrow, my friend," replied D'Artagnan.


"Ah, monsieur," said Mousqueton, "then you have come here only to awaken our regrets."


"I fear that is true," said D'Artagnan, in a low tone.


D'Artagnan was secretly touched with remorse, not at inducing Porthos to enter into schemes in which his life and fortune would be in jeopardy, for Porthos, in the title of baron, had his object and reward; but poor Mousqueton, whose only wish was to be called Mouston—was it not cruel to snatch him from the delightful state of peace and plenty in which he was?


He was thinking of these matters when Porthos summoned him to dinner.


"What! to dinner?" said D'Artagnan. "What time is it, then?"


"Eh! why, it is after one o'clock."


"Your home is a paradise, Porthos; one takes no note of time. I follow you, though I am not hungry."


"Come, if one can't always eat, one can always drink—a maxim of poor Athos, the truth of which I have discovered since I began to be lonely."


D'Artagnan, who as a Gascon, was inclined to sobriety, seemed not so sure as his friend of the truth of Athos's maxim, but he did his best to keep up with his host. Meanwhile his misgivings in regard to Mousqueton recurred to his mind and with greater force because Mousqueton, though he did not himself wait on the table, which would have been beneath him in his new position, appeared at the door from time to time and evinced his gratitude to D'Artagnan by the quality of the wine he directed to be served. Therefore, when, at dessert, upon a sign from D'Artagnan, Porthos had sent away his servants and the two friends were alone:


"Porthos," said D'Artagnan, "who will attend you in your campaigns?"


"Why," replied Porthos, "Mouston, of course."


This was a blow to D'Artagnan. He could already see the intendant's beaming smile change to a contortion of grief. "But," he said, "Mouston is not so young as he was, my dear fellow; besides, he has grown fat and perhaps has lost his fitness for active service."


"That may be true," replied Porthos; "but I am used to him, and besides, he wouldn't be willing to let me go without him, he loves me so much."


"Oh, blind self-love!" thought D'Artagnan.


"And you," asked Porthos, "haven't you still in your service your old lackey, that good, that brave, that intelligent—-what, then, is his name?"


"Planchet—yes, I have found him again, but he is lackey no longer."


"What is he, then?"


"With his sixteen hundred francs—you remember, the sixteen hundred francs he earned at the siege of La Rochelle by carrying a letter to Lord de Winter—he has set up a little shop in the Rue des Lombards and is now a confectioner."


"Ah, he is a confectioner in the Rue des Lombards! How does it happen, then, that he is in your service?"


"He has been guilty of certain escapades and fears he may be disturbed." And the musketeer narrated to his friend Planchet's adventure.


"Well," said Porthos, "if any one had told you in the old times that the day would come when Planchet would rescue Rochefort and that you would protect him in it——"


"I should not have believed him; but men are changed by events."


"There is nothing truer than that," said Porthos; "but what does not change, or changes for the better, is wine. Taste of this; it is a Spanish wine which our friend Athos thought much of."


At that moment the steward came in to consult his master upon the proceedings of the next day and also with regard to the shooting party which had been proposed.


"Tell me, Mouston," said Porthos, "are my arms in good condition?"


"Your arms, my lord—what arms?"


"Zounds! my weapons."


"What weapons?"


"My military weapons."


"Yes, my lord; at any rate, I think so."


"Make sure of it, and if they want it, have them burnished up. Which is my best cavalry horse?"


"And the best hack?"


"What horse dost thou choose for thyself?"


"I like Rustaud, my lord; a good animal, whose paces suit me."


"Strong, thinkest thou?"


"Half Norman, half Mecklenburger; will go night and day."


"That will do for us. See to these horses. Polish up or make some one else polish my arms. Then take pistols with thee and a hunting-knife."