Part 14

— It is that it is night, and that they will have to kill us by groping.

— Be it so, it will still be the same result.

— However, we must beware of another circumstance, which is that honest men do not go to fight without companions.

— Oh! cried de Guiche, you are as desirous as I am to do things properly.

— Yes; but I do not wish it to be said that you assassinated me, any more than, in the case where I were to kill you, I would wish to be accused of a crime.

— Was such a thing said of your duel with Mr. de Buckingham? said de Guiche. Yet it took place under the same conditions as ours is about to take place.

— Come now! It was still daylight and we were up to our thighs in water; besides, a good number of spectators were lined up on the bank and watching us.

De Guiche reflected for a moment; but the thought that had already presented itself to his mind took firmer hold there, that de Wardes wanted to have witnesses in order to bring the conversation back to Madame and give the combat a new turn.

He therefore made no reply, and, as de Wardes questioned him one last time with a look, he answered with a nod of the head which meant that the best was to remain where they were.

The two adversaries accordingly set out and left the castle by that gate which we know from having seen Montalais and Malicorne very near it.

The night, as if to combat the heat of the day, had gathered all the clouds which it silently and heavily drove from west to east. This dome, without breaks and without apparent thunder, weighed with all its weight upon the earth and began to be pierced by the efforts of the wind, like an immense cloth detached from a wainscot.

The drops of water fell warm and broad upon the earth, where they agglomerated the dust into rolling globules.

At the same time, from the hedges that drank in the storm, from the thirsting flowers, from the disheveled trees, there exhaled a thousand aromatic odors which brought back to the brain sweet memories, ideas of youth, of eternal life, of happiness and of love.

— The earth smells very sweet, said de Wardes; it is a coquetry on her part to draw us to her.

— By the way, replied de Guiche, several ideas have come to me and I wish to submit them to you.

— Relating?

— Relating to our combat.

— Indeed, it seems to me it is time that we occupy ourselves with it.

— Will it be an ordinary combat, regulated according to custom?

— Let us see our custom?

— We will dismount in a good plain, we will tie our horses to the first object that offers, we will join without arms, then we will move away a hundred and fifty paces each in order to come back upon one another.

— Good! That is how I killed poor Follivent, three weeks ago, on Saint-Denis day.

— Pardon, you are forgetting a detail.

— Which?

— In your duel with Follivent, you walked on foot one toward the other, the sword between your teeth and the pistol in your hand.

— That is true.

— This time, on the contrary, as I cannot walk, you admit it yourself, we remount on horseback and we charge each other, whoever wishes to fire first fires.

— That is doubtless best, but it is night; one must count on more missed shots than there would be by day.

— So be it! Each may fire three shots, the two that are fully loaded, and a third from the reload.

— Admirable! Where shall our combat take place?

— Have you any preference?

— No.

— Do you see that little wood which extends before us?

— The Rochin wood? Perfectly.

— You know it?

— Admirable.

— You know then that it has a clearing at its center?

— Yes.

— Let us gain that clearing.

— So be it!

— It is a kind of natural enclosed field, with all sorts of paths, doublings, trails, ditches, turnings, alleys; we shall be admirably placed there.

— I am willing, if you are. We have arrived, I believe?

— Yes. See the fine space in the round-point. The little light that falls from the stars, as Corneille says, concentrates in this place; the natural boundaries are the wood which circles around with its barriers.

— So be it! Do as you say.

— Let us then settle the conditions.

— Here are mine; if you have anything against them, you will say so.

— I am listening.

— A killed horse obliges its master to fight on foot.

— That is incontestable, since we have no spare horses.

— But does not oblige the adversary to dismount from his horse.

— The adversary will be free to act as he sees fit.

— The adversaries, having once joined, may not separate, and, consequently, fire upon each other at point-blank range.

— Accepted.

— Three loads and no more, is it not?

— That is sufficient, I believe. Here is powder and balls for your pistols; measure three charges, take three balls; I shall do the same, then we shall spill the rest of the powder and throw away the rest of the balls.

— And we swear upon Christ, do we not, added de Wardes, that we have no more powder or balls upon us?

— It is agreed; I swear it.

De Guiche extended his hand toward the sky.

De Wardes imitated him.

— And now, my dear count, said he, allow me to tell you that I am duped by nothing. You are, or you will be, the lover of Madame. I have penetrated the secret; you fear that I might divulge it; you wish to kill me to secure silence, it is quite simple, and, in your place, I would do the same.

De Guiche lowered his head.

— Only, continued de Wardes triumphantly, was it worth the trouble, tell me, to throw that bad Bragelonne affair at me again? Take care, my dear friend, in cornering the boar, one maddens it; in forcing the fox, one gives it the ferocity of the jaguar. It results that, driven to bay by you, I defend myself unto death.

— It is your right.

— Yes, but take care, I shall do much harm; thus, to begin, you well guess, do you not, that I have not been foolish enough to lock my secret, or rather your secret, in my heart? There is a friend, a witty friend, you know him, who has entered into participation of my secret; thus, understand well that, if you kill me, my death will not have served much; whereas, on the contrary, if I kill you, well! all is possible, you understand.

De Guiche shuddered.

— If I kill you, continued de Wardes, you will have attached to Madame two enemies who will work, each trying to outdo the other, to ruin her.

— Oh! sir, cried de Guiche furiously, do not count thus upon my death; of those two enemies, I hope well to kill one at once, and the other at the first opportunity.

De Wardes answered only with a burst of laughter so diabolical that a superstitious man would have been frightened by it.

But de Guiche was not impressionable to that degree.

— I believe, said he, that all is settled, Mr. de Wardes; thus, take your distance, I beg you, unless you prefer that it be me.

— Not at all, said de Wardes, delighted to spare you a trouble.

And, putting his horse to a gallop, he crossed the clearing in its full extent, and went to take his post at the point of the circumference of the crossroads which faced that where de Guiche had stopped.

De Guiche remained motionless.

At the distance of about a hundred paces, the two adversaries were absolutely invisible to one another, lost as they were in the thick shadow of the elms and chestnut trees.

A minute elapsed in the midst of the deepest silence.

At the end of this minute, each, in the bosom of the shadow where he was hidden, heard the double click of the cock resounding in the lock.

De Guiche, following the ordinary tactic, put his horse to a gallop, persuaded that he would find a double guarantee of safety in the undulation of the movement and in the speed of the course.

This course directed itself in a straight line upon the point which, in his opinion, his adversary ought to occupy.

At the halfway point, he expected to meet de Wardes: he was mistaken.

He continued his course, presuming that de Wardes awaited him immobile.

But at two-thirds of the clearing, he saw the crossroads suddenly illuminate, and a ball whistling cut the plume which rounded upon his hat.

Almost at the same time, and as if the fire of the first shot had served to light the other, a second shot rang out, and a second ball came to pierce the head of de Guiche's horse, a little below the ear.

The animal fell.

These two shots, coming from a direction wholly opposite to that in which he expected to find de Wardes, struck de Guiche with surprise; but, as he was a man of great coolness, he calculated his fall, but not so well, however, that the tip of his boot did not find itself caught under his horse.

Happily, in its agony, the animal made a movement, and de Guiche was able to free his leg less pressed.

De Guiche rose, felt himself; he was not wounded.

From the moment he had felt the horse weaken, he had placed his two pistols in the holsters, for fear that the fall might discharge one of the two shots and even both, which would have disarmed him uselessly.

Once on his feet, he took his pistols again from the holsters, and advanced toward the spot where, by the light of the flame, he had seen de Wardes appear. De Guiche, after the first shot, had accounted for his adversary's maneuver, which was as simple as could be.

Instead of running upon de Guiche or remaining in his place awaiting him, de Wardes had, for about a dozen paces, followed the circle of shadow which hid him from his adversary's view, and, at the moment when the latter presented him his flank in his course, he had fired from his place, aiming at ease, and served rather than hindered by the gallop of the horse.

It has been seen that, despite the obscurity, the first ball had passed scarcely an inch from de Guiche's head.

De Wardes was so sure of his shot that he had believed he saw de Guiche fall. His astonishment was great when, on the contrary, the rider remained in the saddle.

He hurried to fire the second shot, made a slip of the hand and killed the horse.

It was a fortunate clumsiness, if de Guiche remained caught under the animal. Before he could free himself, de Wardes would reload his third shot and hold de Guiche at his mercy.

But, quite on the contrary, de Guiche was on his feet and had three shots to fire.

De Guiche understood the position... It was a matter of outpacing de Wardes. He took his run, in order to reach him before he had finished reloading his pistol.

De Wardes saw him arrive like a tempest. The ball was true and resisted the ramrod. To load badly was to expose himself to losing a last shot. To load well was to lose his time, or rather it was to lose his life.

He made his horse swerve.

De Guiche pivoted upon himself, and, at the moment when the horse fell back, the shot went off, carrying away de Wardes's hat.

De Wardes understood that he had an instant to himself; he profited by it to finish loading his pistol.

De Guiche, not seeing his adversary fall, threw away the first pistol become useless, and marched upon de Wardes raising the second.

But, at the third step that he took, de Wardes took him full marching and the shot went off.

A roar of anger answered it; the count's arm contracted and fell. The pistol dropped.

De Wardes saw the count stoop, pick up the pistol with his left hand, and make a new step forward.

The moment was supreme.

— I am lost, murmured de Wardes, he is not wounded to death.

But at the moment when de Guiche raised his pistol upon de Wardes, the head, the shoulders and the hams of the count gave way at once. He uttered a painful sigh and came rolling at the feet of de Wardes's horse.

— Come now! murmured the latter.

And, gathering the reins, he dug in both spurs.

The horse cleared the inert body and rapidly carried de Wardes to the castle.

Arrived there, de Wardes remained a quarter of an hour taking counsel with himself.

In his impatience to quit the field of battle, he had neglected to assure himself that de Guiche was dead.

A double hypothesis presented itself to the agitated mind of de Wardes.

Either de Guiche was killed, or de Guiche was only wounded.

— If de Guiche was killed, ought he to leave his body thus to the wolves? It was a useless cruelty, since, if de Guiche was killed, he certainly would not speak.

If he was not killed, why, in not bringing him aid, pass for a savage incapable of generosity?

This last consideration prevailed.

De Wardes inquired for Manicamp.

He learned that Manicamp had inquired for de Guiche and, not knowing where to find him, had gone to bed.

De Wardes went to wake the sleeper and told him the affair, which Manicamp listened to without saying a word, but with an expression of growing energy of which one would have thought his physiognomy incapable.

Only, when de Wardes had finished, Manicamp pronounced a single word:

— Let us go!

While walking, Manicamp worked up his imagination, and, as de Wardes related the event to him, he grew darker and darker.

— Thus, said he when de Wardes had finished, you believe him dead?

— Alas! yes.

— And you fought thus without witnesses?

— He wished it.

— That is singular!

— How, that is singular?

— Yes, the character of Mr. de Guiche resembles this very little.

— You do not doubt my word, I suppose?

— Eh! eh!

— You doubt it?

— A little... But I shall doubt it even more, I warn you, if I see the poor lad dead.

— Mr. Manicamp!

— Mr. de Wardes!

— It seems to me that you insult me!

— It shall be as you wish. What would you have? I have never liked people who come to tell you: 'I killed Mr. So-and-so in a corner; it is a great misfortune, but I killed him loyally.' It is very dark night for that adverb, Mr. de Wardes!

— Silence, we have arrived.

Indeed, one began to perceive the little clearing, and, in the empty space, the immobile mass of the dead horse.

To the right of the horse, upon the black grass, lay, face to the ground, the poor count bathed in his blood.

He had remained in the same place and did not even appear to have made a movement.

Manicamp threw himself on his knees, lifted the count, and found him cold and soaked with blood.

He let him fall back.

Then, stretching out near him, he searched until he had found de Guiche's pistol.

— Zounds! said he then, rising, pale as a specter and pistol in hand; zounds! you were not mistaken, he is indeed dead!

— Dead? repeated de Wardes.

— Yes, and his pistol is loaded, added Manicamp interrogating the pan with his finger.

— But did I not tell you that I had taken him in the charge and that I had fired upon him at the moment when he aimed at me?

— Are you quite sure of having fought against him, Mr. de Wardes? I, I confess, I am much afraid that you assassinated him. Oh! do not cry out! You fired your three shots, and his pistol is loaded! You killed his horse, and he, he, de Guiche, one of the best marksmen in France, touched neither you nor your horse! See here, Mr. de Wardes, you have the misfortune of having brought me here; all this blood has gone to my head; I am a little drunk, and I believe, upon my honor! since the occasion presents itself, that I am going to blow your brains out. Mr. de Wardes, commend your soul to God!

— Mr. de Manicamp, you are not thinking of it?

— Yes indeed, on the contrary, I think of it too much.

— You would assassinate me?

— Without remorse, for the moment, at least.

— Are you a gentleman?

— One has been a page; therefore one has proven oneself.

— Allow me then to defend my life.

— Good! So that you might do to me what you did to poor de Guiche.

And Manicamp, raising his pistol, held it, arm extended and brow furrowed, at the height of de Wardes's chest.

De Wardes did not even try to flee, he was terrified.

Then, in that frightful silence of an instant, which seemed a century to de Wardes, a sigh was heard.

— Oh! cried de Wardes! he lives! he lives! Help, Mr. de Guiche, they wish to assassinate me!

Manicamp drew back, and, between the two young men, one saw the count painfully raise himself upon one hand.

Manicamp threw the pistol ten paces off, and ran to his friend uttering a cry of joy.

De Wardes wiped his forehead inundated with icy sweat.

— It was time! murmured he.

— What ails you? asked Manicamp of de Guiche, and in what manner are you wounded?

De Guiche showed his mutilated hand and his bloody chest.

— Count! cried de Wardes, I am accused of having assassinated you; speak, I beseech you, say that I fought loyally!

— It is true, said the wounded man, Mr. de Wardes fought loyally, and whoever should say the contrary would make of me an enemy.

— Eh! sir, said Manicamp, first help me to carry this poor lad, and, after, I shall give you all the satisfaction you please, or, if you are too pressed, let us do better: let us dress the count with your handkerchief and mine, and, since there remain two balls to fire, let us fire them.

— Thank you, said de Wardes. Twice in an hour have I seen death too close: death is too ugly, and I prefer your excuses.

Manicamp began to laugh, and de Guiche also, despite his sufferings.

The two young men wished to carry him, but he declared that he felt strong enough to walk alone. The ball had broken his ring finger and little finger, but had glanced upon a rib without penetrating the chest. It was therefore rather the pain than the gravity of the wound which had struck down de Guiche.

Manicamp passed an arm under one shoulder, de Wardes an arm under the other, and they thus brought him to Fontainebleau, to the physician who had attended at the deathbed of the Franciscan predecessor of Aramis.

Chapter CLIII — The King's Supper

The king had seated himself at table during this time, and the not numerous suite of the day's guests had taken their places at his sides after the habitual gesture which prescribed sitting.

From that epoch, although etiquette was not yet regulated as it later was, the Court of France had entirely broken with the traditions of good-naturedness and patriarchal affability which were still found with Henri IV, and which the suspicious spirit of Louis XIII had little by little effaced, to replace them with sumptuous habits of grandeur, which it was despairing not to be able to attain.

The king therefore dined at a small separate table which dominated, like a president's desk, the neighboring tables; small table, we have said: let us hasten however to add that this small table was still the largest of all.

Besides, it was that upon which piled up a more prodigious number of varied dishes, fish, game, domestic meats, fruits, vegetables and preserves.

The king, young and vigorous, a great hunter, given to all violent exercises, had, besides, that natural heat of blood, common to all the Bourbons, which rapidly cooks digestions and renews appetites.

Louis XIV was a formidable guest; he liked to criticize his cooks; but, when he did them honor, that honor was gigantic.

The king began by eating several soups, either together, in a kind of macédoine, or separately; he intermingled or rather he separated each of these soups with a glass of old wine.

He ate quickly and rather greedily.

Porthos, who from the first out of respect had awaited a nudge from d'Artagnan, seeing the king thus wield his arms, turned toward the musketeer, and said in a half-voice:

— It seems to me that one may go, said he, His Majesty encourages. Just look.

— The king eats, said d'Artagnan, but he talks at the same time; arrange so that if, by chance, he addressed you, he does not find your mouth full, which would be ungraceful.

— The good means then, said Porthos, is not to sup. Yet I am hungry, I confess, and all that smells of appetizing odors, which solicit at once my smell and my appetite.

— Do not think of not eating, said d'Artagnan, you would anger His Majesty. The king has the habit of saying that he works well who eats well, and he does not like one to make small mouth at his table.

— Then, how to avoid having the mouth full if one eats? said Porthos.

— It is simply a matter, answered the captain of the musketeers, of swallowing when the king does you the honor of addressing you.

— Very well.

And, from that moment, Porthos set about eating with a polite enthusiasm.

The king, from time to time, raised his eyes upon the group, and, as a connoisseur, appreciated the dispositions of his guest.

— Mr. du Vallon! said he.

Porthos was at a salmis of hare, and was engulfing half a saddle of it.

His name, thus pronounced, made him start, and, with a vigorous thrust of the gullet, he absorbed the entire mouthful.

— Sire, said Porthos in a stifled voice, but sufficiently intelligible nevertheless.

— Let them pass to Mr. du Vallon those fillets of lamb, said the king. Do you like yellow meats, Mr. du Vallon?

— Sire, I like everything, replied Porthos.

And d'Artagnan whispered to him:

— Everything that Your Majesty sends me.

Porthos repeated:

— Everything that Your Majesty sends me.

The king made, with his head, a sign of satisfaction.

— One eats well when one works well, replied the king, enchanted to have face to face an eater of Porthos's strength.

Porthos received the dish of lamb and slid a part of it onto his plate.

— Well? said the king.

— Exquisite! said Porthos tranquilly.

— Are there as fine sheep in your province, Mr. du Vallon? continued the king.

— Sire, said Porthos, I believe that in my province, as everywhere, what is best is first for the king; but, afterwards, I do not eat the sheep in the same way as Your Majesty eats it.

— Ah! ah! And how do you eat it?

— Usually, I have an entire lamb prepared for me.

— Entire?

— Yes, Sire.

— And in what fashion?

— Here: my cook, the knave is German, Sire; my cook stuffs the lamb in question with little sausages which he has come from Strasbourg; with andouillettes, which he has come from Troyes; with mauviettes, which he has come from Pithiviers; by I know not what means, he bones the sheep, as he would a fowl, all while leaving it the skin, which makes around the animal a browned crust; when one cuts it in beautiful slices, as one would a huge sausage, there comes out a wholly pink juice which is at once agreeable to the eye and exquisite to the palate.

And Porthos smacked his tongue.

The king opened wide charmed eyes, and, while attacking a braised pheasant that was presented to him:

“Stories of the world, in your language.”