Part 5

— No; if they hid from me at my father's house, they will hide from me everywhere. Let us go to... Oh! my God! but I am mad today, my good Grimaud.

— What is it?

— I forgot M. du Vallon.

— M. Porthos?

— Who is still waiting for me! Alas! I was telling you, I am mad.

— Who is waiting for you, where?

— At the Minimes of Vincennes!

— Ah! my God! Fortunately, that is on the way to the Bastille!

— Come, quick!

— Sir, I will go have the horses saddled.

— Yes, my friend, go.

Chapter CCV — Where Porthos Is Convinced Without Having Understood

That worthy Porthos, faithful to all the laws of ancient chivalry, had resolved to wait for M. de Saint-Aignan until sunset. And, as de Saint-Aignan was not to come, as Raoul had forgotten to warn his second, as the watch was beginning to be one of the longest and most painful, Porthos had had the guard of a gate bring him some bottles of good wine and a quarter of meat, so as to have at least the diversion of drawing a cork and taking a bite from time to time. He was at his last extremities, that is to say at his last crumbs, when Raoul arrived escorted by Grimaud, both spurring at full gallop.

When Porthos saw upon the road those two horsemen in such haste, he no longer doubted that they were his men, and, rising at once from the grass on which he had softly seated himself, he began by unbending his knees and wrists, saying:

— What it is to have fine habits! The rogue has finally come. Had I withdrawn, he would have found no one and taken advantage.

Then he planted himself on one hip with a martial attitude, and brought out, by a powerful turn of the loins, the curve of his gigantic waist. But, instead of Saint-Aignan, he saw only Raoul, who, with desperate gestures, accosted him crying:

— Ah! dear friend; ah! pardon; ah! how unhappy I am!

— Raoul! said Porthos, quite surprised.

— You were angry with me? cried Raoul, coming to embrace Porthos.

— I? And for what?

— For having thus forgotten you. But, you see, I have lost my head.

— Ah bah!

— If you knew, my friend?

— Did you kill him?

— Whom?

— De Saint-Aignan.

— Alas! it is hardly a question of Saint-Aignan.

— What is there now?

— It is that the Count de La Fère must be arrested at this very hour.

Porthos made a movement that would have overturned a wall.

— Arrested!... By whom?

— By d'Artagnan!

— That is impossible, said Porthos.

— It is nevertheless the truth, replied Raoul.

Porthos turned toward Grimaud like a man who needs a second affirmation. Grimaud gave a nod of the head.

— And where have they taken him? asked Porthos.

— Probably to the Bastille.

— Who makes you believe so?

— On the way, we questioned people who saw the carriage pass, and others still who saw it enter the Bastille.

— Oh! oh! murmured Porthos, and he took two steps.

— What do you decide? asked Raoul.

— I? Nothing. Only, I do not want Athos to remain at the Bastille.

Raoul approached the worthy Porthos.

— Do you know that it is by order of the king that the arrest was made?

Porthos looked at the young man as if to say to him: "What does that matter to me?" This mute language appeared so eloquent to Raoul that he asked no further. He remounted his horse. Already Porthos, aided by Grimaud, had done the same.

— Let us draw up our plan, said Raoul.

— Yes, replied Porthos, our plan, that is it, let us draw it up.

Raoul gave a great sigh and suddenly stopped.

— What is the matter with you? asked Porthos; a faintness?

— No, impotence! Do we pretend, the three of us, to go take the Bastille?

— Ah! if d'Artagnan were here, replied Porthos, I would not say.

Raoul was seized with admiration at the sight of this heroic confidence in its very naivety. These were indeed those celebrated men who, three or four strong, boarded armies or attacked castles! Those men who had terrified death, and who, surviving an entire century in ruins, were stronger even than the most robust of the young.

— Sir, he said to Porthos, you have just given me an idea: we must absolutely see M. d'Artagnan.

— Undoubtedly.

— He must have returned home, after conducting my father to the Bastille.

— Let us inquire first at the Bastille, said Grimaud, who spoke little, but well.

Indeed, they hastened to arrive before the fortress. One of those chances, as God gives to men of great will, made it so that Grimaud suddenly caught sight of the carriage turning the great gate of the drawbridge. It was at the moment when d'Artagnan, as we have seen, was returning from the king's.

In vain did Raoul spur his horse to overtake the carriage and see what persons were inside. The horses were already stopped on the other side of that great gate, which closed again, while a French guard on post struck with his musket the nose of Raoul's horse.

The latter wheeled about, only too happy to know where he stood regarding the presence of that carriage which had enclosed his father.

— We have him, said Grimaud.

— For the present, we are sure he will come out, will he not, my friend?

— Unless d'Artagnan also is a prisoner, replied Porthos; in which case all is lost.

Raoul answered nothing. Everything was admissible. He gave Grimaud the advice to lead the horses into the little Jean-Beausire street, so as to awaken fewer suspicions, and he himself, with his piercing sight, watched for the exit of d'Artagnan or that of the carriage.

It was the right course. Indeed, twenty minutes had not elapsed when the gate reopened and the carriage reappeared. A dazzlement prevented Raoul from distinguishing what faces occupied that vehicle. Grimaud swore he had seen two persons, and that his master was one of the two. Porthos looked by turns at Raoul and Grimaud, hoping to understand their idea.

— It is evident, said Grimaud, that, if the Count is in that carriage, it is because they are setting him free, or taking him to another prison.

— We shall see well enough by the road he takes, said Porthos.

— If they are setting him free, said Grimaud, they will conduct him to his home.

— That is true, said Porthos.

— The carriage is not taking that road, said Raoul.

And, indeed, the horses had just disappeared into the faubourg Saint-Antoine.

— Let us run, said Porthos; we will attack the carriage on the road, and we will tell Athos to flee.

— Rebellion! murmured Raoul.

Porthos cast at Raoul a second glance, worthy counterpart of the first. Raoul answered it only by pressing the flanks of his horse.

A short while after, the three horsemen had caught up with the carriage and followed it so closely that the breath of the horses moistened the body of the coach.

D'Artagnan, whose senses were ever on the watch, heard the trot of the horses. It was at the moment when Raoul was telling Porthos to pass the carriage, to see who was the person accompanying Athos. Porthos obeyed, but he could see nothing; the blinds were drawn down.

Anger and impatience were gaining on Raoul. He had just remarked this mystery on the part of Athos's companions, and he was resolved on extremities.

On the other hand, d'Artagnan had perfectly recognized Porthos; he had, beneath the leather of the blinds, equally recognized Raoul, and communicated to the count the result of his observation. They wished to see if Raoul and Porthos would push things to the last degree.

It did not fail. Raoul, pistol in hand, swooped upon the first horse of the carriage, commanding the coachman to stop.

Porthos seized the coachman and lifted him from his seat.

Grimaud already held the door of the stopped carriage.

Raoul opened his arms crying:

— Monsieur the count! Monsieur the count!

— Well! is it you, Raoul? said Athos, drunk with joy.

— Not bad! added d'Artagnan with a burst of laughter.

And both embraced the young man and Porthos, who had seized upon them.

— My brave Porthos, excellent friend! cried Athos; always you!

— He still has twenty years! said d'Artagnan. Bravo, Porthos!

— Why! replied Porthos, a little confused, we believed they were arresting you.

— While, resumed Athos, it was only a drive in M. d'Artagnan's carriage.

— We have been following you since the Bastille, replied Raoul with a tone of suspicion and reproach.

— Where we had gone to sup with that good M. de Baisemeaux. Do you remember Baisemeaux, Porthos?

— Pardieu! very well.

— And we saw Aramis there.

— At the Bastille?

— At supper.

— Ah! cried Porthos, breathing again.

— He told us a thousand things for you.

— Thanks!

— Where is Monsieur the count going? asked Grimaud, whom his master had already rewarded with a smile.

— We are going to Blois, to our home.

— Like this?... straight away?

— Straight away.

— Without baggage?

— Oh! my God! Raoul would have been charged with sending mine to me or bringing them to me on returning home, if he returns there.

— If nothing stops him longer in Paris, said d'Artagnan with a glance firm and cutting as painful steel, for he reopened the wounds of the poor young man, he will do well to follow you, Athos.

— Nothing stops me longer in Paris, said Raoul.

— We are leaving, then, replied Athos at once.

— And M. d'Artagnan?

— Oh! I was only accompanying Athos to the barrier, and I return with Porthos.

— Very well, said the latter.

— Come, my son, added the count, passing gently his arm around Raoul's neck to draw him into the carriage, and embracing him again. Grimaud, pursued the count, you are going to return quietly to Paris with your horse and that of M. du Vallon; for, Raoul and I, we mount on horseback here, and leave the carriage to these two gentlemen to re-enter Paris; then, once at the house, you will take my clothes, my letters, and send the whole to our home.

— But, observed Raoul, who sought to make the count speak, when you return to Paris, you will have neither linen nor effects left; that will be very inconvenient.

— I think that, for a long time to come, Raoul, I shall not return to Paris. The last stay we made there did not encourage me to make others.

Raoul lowered his head and said no more.

Athos descended from the carriage, and mounted the horse which had brought Porthos and which seemed very happy at the exchange.

They had embraced, they had pressed hands, they had given a thousand testimonies of eternal friendship. Porthos had promised to spend a month at Athos's at his first leisure. D'Artagnan promised to profit by his first leave; then, having embraced Raoul for the last time:

— My child, said he, I will write to you.

There was everything in those words of d'Artagnan, who never wrote. Raoul was touched to tears. He tore himself from the musketeer's hands and set off.

D'Artagnan rejoined Porthos in the carriage.

— Well! said he, dear friend, there is a day for you!

— But yes, replied Porthos.

— You must be worn out?

— Not too much. However, I shall go to bed early, so as to be ready tomorrow.

— And why is that?

— Pardieu! to finish what I have begun.

— You make me shudder, my friend; I see you all startled. What the devil have you begun that is not finished?

— Listen, Raoul has not fought. I must fight, I!

— With whom?... with the king?

— How, with the king? said Porthos, stupefied.

— But yes, great child, with the king!

— I assure you it is with M. de Saint-Aignan.

— That is what I wished to tell you. In fighting with that gentleman, it is against the king that you draw your sword.

— Ah! said Porthos, widening his eyes, you are sure of that?

— Pardieu!

— Well! how to arrange that, then?

— We are going to try to make a good supper, Porthos. The table of the captain of the musketeers is agreeable. You will see the handsome de Saint-Aignan there, and you will drink to his health.

— I? cried Porthos with horror.

— How! said d'Artagnan, you refuse to drink to the health of the king?

— But, corbœuf! I am not speaking to you of the king; I am speaking to you of M. de Saint-Aignan.

— But since I repeat to you that it is the same thing.

— Ah!... very well, then, said Porthos, vanquished.

— You understand, do you not?

— No, said Porthos; but it is all the same.

— Yes, it is all the same, replied d'Artagnan; let us sup, Porthos.

Chapter CCVI — The Society of M. de Baisemeaux

It has not been forgotten that, on leaving the Bastille, d'Artagnan and the Count de La Fère had left Aramis there tête-à-tête with Baisemeaux.

Baisemeaux did not in the least perceive, once his two guests were gone, that the conversation suffered from their absence. He believed that the dessert wine, and that of the Bastille was excellent, he believed, we say, that the dessert wine was a sufficient stimulant to make an honest man speak. He knew poorly His Grace, who was never more impenetrable than at dessert. But His Grace knew M. de Baisemeaux to marvel, counting, to make the governor speak, on the means that the latter regarded as efficacious.

The conversation, without languishing in appearance, languished therefore in reality; for Baisemeaux, not only spoke almost alone, but still spoke only of that singular event of the incarceration of Athos, followed by that so prompt order to set him free.

Baisemeaux, moreover, had not failed to remark that the two orders, order of arrest and order of release, were both in the hand of the king. Now, the king did not give himself the trouble of writing such orders save in great circumstances. All that was very interesting, and above all very obscure for Baisemeaux; but, as all that was very clear for Aramis, the latter did not attach to this event the same importance that the good governor attached to it.

Besides, Aramis rarely troubled himself for nothing, and he had not yet told M. Baisemeaux for what cause he had troubled himself.

Also, at the moment when Baisemeaux was at the height of his dissertation, Aramis suddenly interrupted him.

— Tell me, dear Monsieur de Baisemeaux, said he, is it that you never have at the Bastille other distractions than those to which I have been witness during the two or three visits I have had the honor to pay you?

The address was so unexpected that the governor, like a weathervane which suddenly receives an impulse opposite to that of the wind, remained quite stunned by it.

— Distractions? said he. But I have them continually, monseigneur.

— Oh! that is well! And these distractions?

— Are of every nature.

— Visits, no doubt?

— Visits? No. Visits are not common at the Bastille.

— How, visits are rare?

— Very rare.

— Even on the part of your society?

— What do you call your society?... My prisoners?

— Oh! no. Your prisoners!... I know that it is you who pay them visits, and not they who pay you any. I mean by your society, my dear de Baisemeaux, the society of which you are a part.

Baisemeaux looked fixedly at Aramis; then, as if what he had supposed for an instant were impossible:

— Oh! said he, I have very little society at present. If I must confess it to you, dear Monsieur d'Herblay, in general, the sojourn of the Bastille appears savage and tedious to people of the world. As for ladies, it is never without a certain fright, which I have all the trouble in the world to calm, that they manage to reach me. Indeed, how would they not tremble a little, poor women, on seeing those sad donjons, and thinking that they are inhabited by poor prisoners who...

And, as the eyes of Baisemeaux fixed upon the face of Aramis, the tongue of the good governor embarrassed itself more and more, so well that it ended by paralyzing itself completely.

— No, you do not understand, my dear Monsieur de Baisemeaux, said Aramis, you do not understand... I do not wish to speak of society in general, but of a particular society, of the society to which you are affiliated, in short.

Baisemeaux almost let fall the glass full of muscat that he was about to raise to his lips.

— Affiliated? said he, affiliated?

— But doubtless, affiliated, repeated Aramis with the greatest coolness. Are you not then a member of a secret society, my dear Monsieur de Baisemeaux?

— Secret?

— Secret or mysterious.

— Oh! Monsieur d'Herblay!...

— Come, do not defend yourself.

— But believe well...

— I believe what I know.

— I swear to you!...

— Listen to me, dear Monsieur de Baisemeaux, I say yes, you say no; one of us is necessarily in the right, and the other inevitably in the wrong.

— Well?

— Well! we are going to recognize each other at once.

— Come, said Baisemeaux, come.

— Drink your glass of muscat, dear Monsieur de Baisemeaux, said Aramis. What the devil! you look quite bewildered.

— But no, not in the least, no.

— Drink, then.

Baisemeaux drank, but he swallowed the wrong way.

— Well! resumed Aramis, if, as I was saying, you are not part of a secret society, mysterious, as you will, the epithet matters nothing; if, I say, you are not part of a society similar to the one I wish to designate, well! you will not understand a word of what I am going to say: that is all.

— Oh! be sure in advance that I shall understand nothing.

— Admirable, then.

— Try, come.

— That is what I am going to do. If, on the contrary, you are one of the members of this society, you are going to answer me yes or no right away.

— Ask the question, pursued Baisemeaux, trembling.

— For, you will agree, dear Monsieur Baisemeaux, continued Aramis with the same impassibility, it is evident that one cannot be part of a society, it is evident that one cannot enjoy the advantages that the society produces for the affiliated, without being oneself bound to some little servitudes?

— Indeed, stammered Baisemeaux, that could be conceived if...

— Well! then, resumed Aramis, there is in the society of which I spoke to you, and of which, it appears, you are not part...

— Permit me, said Baisemeaux, I would not however wish to say absolutely...

— There is an engagement taken by all governors and captains of fortress affiliated to the order.

Baisemeaux grew pale.

— This engagement, continued Aramis in a firm voice, is as follows.

Baisemeaux rose, prey to an unspeakable emotion.

— Come, dear Monsieur d'Herblay, said he, come.

Aramis then said or rather recited the following paragraph, in the same voice as if he had been reading from a book:

"The said captain or governor of fortress shall let enter when need be, and upon the demand of the prisoner, a confessor affiliated to the order."

He stopped. Baisemeaux was pitiful to see, so pale and trembling he was.

— Is that indeed the text of the engagement? asked Aramis tranquilly.

— Monseigneur!... made Baisemeaux.

— Ah! well, you are beginning to understand, I believe?

— Monseigneur, cried Baisemeaux, do not thus play with my poor mind; I find myself very small beside you, if you have the malicious desire to draw from me the little secrets of my administration.

— Oh! not at all, undeceive yourself, dear Monsieur de Baisemeaux; it is not the little secrets of your administration that I am after, it is those of your conscience.

— Well! be it, of my conscience, dear Monsieur d'Herblay. But have a little regard for my situation, which is not ordinary.

— It is not ordinary, my dear sir, pursued the inflexible Aramis, if you are aggregated to this society; but it is quite natural, if, free of all engagement, you have to answer only to the king.

— Well! sir, well! no! I obey only the king. To whom else, good God! would you have a French gentleman obey, if not the king?

Aramis did not move; but, with his voice so suave:

— It is very sweet, said he, for a French gentleman, for a prelate of France, to hear a man of your merit express himself thus loyally, dear Monsieur de Baisemeaux, and, having heard you, to believe you no more.

— Did you doubt, sir?

— I? Oh! no.

— Thus, you doubt no more?

— I doubt no more that a man such as you, sir, said Aramis seriously, does not faithfully serve the masters he has given himself voluntarily.

— The masters? cried Baisemeaux.

— I said the masters.

— Monsieur d'Herblay, you are jesting again, are you not?

— Yes, I conceive, it is a more difficult situation to have several masters than to have but one; but this embarrassment comes from you, dear Monsieur de Baisemeaux, and I am not the cause of it.

— No, certainly, replied the poor governor more embarrassed than ever. But what are you doing? You are rising?

— Assuredly.

— You are leaving?

— I am leaving, yes.

— But how strange you are with me, monseigneur!

— I, strange? Where do you see that?

— Come, have you sworn to put me to torture?

— No, I should be in despair at it.

— Stay, then.

— I cannot.

— And, why?

— Because I have nothing more to do here, and because, on the contrary, I have duties elsewhere.

— Duties, so late?

— Yes. Understand then, dear Monsieur de Baisemeaux; I was told, from where I come: "The said governor or captain shall let penetrate when need be, upon the demand of the prisoner, a confessor affiliated to the order." I came; you do not know what I mean, I am going back to tell the people that they were mistaken and that they have to send me elsewhere.

— How! you are?... cried Baisemeaux looking at Aramis almost with fright.

— The confessor affiliated to the order, said Aramis without changing his voice.

But, sweet as those words were, they produced on the poor governor the effect of a clap of thunder. Baisemeaux became livid, and it seemed to him that the beautiful eyes of Aramis were two blades of fire, plunging to the bottom of his heart.

— The confessor! murmured he; you, monseigneur, the confessor of the order?

— Yes, I; but we have nothing to settle between us, since you are not affiliated.

— Monseigneur...

— And I understand that, not being affiliated, you refuse to follow the commands.

— Monseigneur, I beseech you, resumed Baisemeaux, deign to hear me.

— Why?

— Monseigneur, I do not say that I am not part of the order...

— Ah! ah!

— I do not say that I refuse to obey.

— What has just passed nevertheless resembles resistance, Monsieur de Baisemeaux.

— Oh! no, monseigneur, no; only, I wished to assure myself...

— Assure yourself of what? said Aramis with an air of supreme disdain.

— Of nothing, monseigneur.

Baisemeaux lowered his voice and bowed before the prelate.

— I am at all times, in all places, at the disposition of my masters, said he; but...

— Very well! I like you better thus, sir.

Aramis took up his chair again and held out his glass to Baisemeaux, who could never fill it, so much did his hand tremble.

— You were saying: _but_, resumed Aramis.

— But, resumed the poor man, not being forewarned, I was far from expecting...

— Does not the Gospel say: "Watch, for the moment is known only to God." Do not the prescriptions of the order say: "Watch, for what I will, you must always will." And under what pretext were you not expecting the confessor, Monsieur de Baisemeaux?

“Stories of the world, in your language.”