Part 23

Moreover, it occurred to the young man that by remaining in the vicinity of the place where the event had taken place, he might perhaps obtain some clarification about this mysterious affair. At the sixth tavern, as we have said, d'Artagnan therefore stopped, asked for a bottle of the finest wine, settled himself in the darkest corner, and resolved to wait for daybreak; but this time again his hope was deceived, and although he listened with all his ears, amid the oaths, jests, and insults exchanged among the laborers, lackeys, and carters who made up the honorable company of which he was part, he heard nothing that could put him on the trail of the poor abducted woman. He was therefore forced, after having swallowed his bottle out of idleness and to avoid arousing suspicion, to seek the most comfortable posture possible in his corner and to sleep as best he could. D'Artagnan was twenty years old, it will be recalled, and at that age sleep has imprescriptible rights which it imperiously claims, even over the most despairing hearts.

Toward six o'clock in the morning, d'Artagnan awoke with that malaise which ordinarily accompanies daybreak after a bad night. His toilet was not long to make; he felt himself to see if anyone had taken advantage of his sleep to rob him, and having found his diamond on his finger, his purse in his pocket, and his pistols at his belt, he got up, paid for his bottle, and went out to see if he might have more success in the search for his lackey in the morning than at night. Indeed, the first thing he perceived through the damp, grayish mist was the honest Planchet, who, holding two horses by the reins, was waiting for him at the door of a small, obscure tavern past which d'Artagnan had walked without even suspecting its existence.

CHAPTER XXV. PORTHOS

Instead of returning directly home, d'Artagnan dismounted at Monsieur de Tréville's door and quickly climbed the stairs. This time, he was determined to tell him everything that had just happened. Doubtless he would give him good advice in this whole affair; then, since Monsieur de Tréville saw the queen almost daily, he might perhaps obtain from Her Majesty some information about the poor woman who was no doubt being made to pay for her devotion to her mistress.

Monsieur de Tréville listened to the young man's account with a gravity that proved he saw something else in this adventure besides a love intrigue; then, when d'Artagnan had finished:

"Hmm!" he said, "all this smacks of His Eminence from a league off."

"But what is to be done?" said d'Artagnan.

"Nothing, absolutely nothing, right now, except to leave Paris, as I told you, as soon as possible. I will see the queen, I will tell her the details of this poor woman's disappearance, which she no doubt does not know; these details will guide her on her side, and when you return, perhaps I will have some good news to tell you. Rely on me."

D'Artagnan knew that, though a Gascon, Monsieur de Tréville was not accustomed to making promises, and that when by chance he did promise, he delivered more than he had promised. So he bowed to him, full of gratitude for the past and the future, and the worthy captain, who for his part felt a keen interest in this young man so brave and so resolute, warmly shook his hand, wishing him a good journey.

Decided to put Monsieur de Tréville's advice into practice immediately, d'Artagnan set off toward the Rue des Fossoyeurs to see to the preparation of his portmanteau. As he approached his house, he recognized Monsieur Bonacieux in morning attire, standing on the threshold of his door. Everything that the prudent Planchet had told him the day before about the sinister character of his host then came back to d'Artagnan's mind, and he looked at him more attentively than he had yet done. Indeed, besides that yellowish, sickly pallor which indicates the infiltration of bile into the blood and which might otherwise be merely accidental, d'Artagnan noticed something slyly perfidious in the habitual wrinkles of his face. A scoundrel does not laugh in the same way as an honest man, a hypocrite does not weep the same tears as a man of good faith. All falsity is a mask, and no matter how well made the mask may be, one can always, with a little attention, distinguish it from the face.

It therefore seemed to d'Artagnan that Monsieur Bonacieux wore a mask, and even that this mask was one of the most disagreeable to look upon.

Consequently, overcome by his repugnance for this man, he was about to pass by without speaking to him, when, just as the day before, Monsieur Bonacieux accosted him.

"Well, young man," he said, "it seems we are having late nights? Seven o'clock in the morning, plague! It seems to me you are somewhat reversing the usual habits, and returning at the hour when others are going out."

"You will not be reproached for the same thing, Master Bonacieux," said the young man, "and you are the model of orderly people. It is true that when one possesses a young and pretty wife, one need not run after happiness: happiness comes to find you; is that not so, Monsieur Bonacieux?"

Bonacieux turned pale as death and grimaced a smile.

"Ah! ah!" said Bonacieux, "you are a merry companion. But where the devil have you been roaming this night, my young master? It seems the side roads were not safe."

D'Artagnan lowered his eyes to his boots, all covered with mud; but in this movement his gaze fell at the same time on the mercer's shoes and stockings; one would have said they had been dipped in the same mire; both were stained with absolutely similar spots.

Then a sudden idea crossed d'Artagnan's mind. This little man, fat, short, graying, that sort of lackey dressed in a dark coat, treated without consideration by the men of the sword who made up the escort, was Bonacieux himself. The husband had presided over the abduction of his wife.

A terrible desire seized d'Artagnan to jump at the mercer's throat and strangle him; but, as we have said, he was a very prudent lad, and he restrained himself. However, the revolution that had taken place on his face was so visible that Bonacieux became frightened and tried to step back; but he happened to be in front of the door panel, which was closed, and the obstacle he encountered forced him to stay in the same place.

"Ah, well! You who joke, my good man," said d'Artagnan, "it seems to me that if my boots need a wipe, your stockings and shoes also demand a brush. Have you, on your side, been out on the town, Master Bonacieux? Ah! devil, that would not be pardonable for a man of your age, who, moreover, has a young and pretty wife like yours."

"Oh! Good heavens, no," said Bonacieux; "but yesterday I went to Saint-Mandé to get information about a servant I absolutely cannot do without, and since the roads were bad, I brought back all this mud, which I have not yet had time to remove."

The place Bonacieux designated as the goal of his trip was fresh proof supporting the suspicions d'Artagnan had conceived. Bonacieux had said Saint-Mandé, because Saint-Mandé is the point absolutely opposite to Saint-Cloud.

This probability was a first consolation for him. If Bonacieux knew where his wife was, one could always, by employing extreme means, force the mercer to loosen his teeth and let his secret escape. It was only a matter of changing this probability into certainty.

"Pardon, my dear Monsieur Bonacieux, if I take liberties with you," said d'Artagnan; "but nothing alters one like lack of sleep; I have a raging thirst; allow me to take a glass of water at your place; you know, one does not refuse that between neighbors."

And without waiting for his host's permission, d'Artagnan quickly entered the house and cast a rapid glance at the bed. The bed was not unmade. Bonacieux had not gone to bed. He had therefore only returned an hour or two ago; he had accompanied his wife to the place where she had been taken, or at least to the first relay station.

"Thank you, Master Bonacieux," said d'Artagnan, emptying his glass, "that is all I wanted from you. Now I am going home, I will have my boots brushed by Planchet, and when he has finished, I will send him to you if you wish to brush your shoes."

And he left the mercer, quite astonished by this strange farewell and wondering if he had not incriminated himself.

At the top of the stairs he found Planchet, quite flustered.

"Ah! Monsieur," cried Planchet as soon as he caught sight of his master, "here's a fine new thing, and I was eager for you to return."

"What is it, then?" asked d'Artagnan.

"Oh! I'll bet you a hundred, I'll bet you a thousand you can't guess the visit I received for you in your absence."

"When was that?"

"Half an hour ago, while you were at Monsieur de Tréville's."

"And who came? Come on, speak."

"Monsieur de Cavois."

"Monsieur de Cavois?"

"In person."

"The captain of His Eminence's guards?"

"Himself."

"He came to arrest me?"

"I suspected as much, Monsieur, despite his smooth manner."

"He had a smooth manner, you say?"

"That is to say, he was all honey, Monsieur."

"Really?"

"He came, he said, on behalf of His Eminence, who wishes you well, to ask you to follow him to the Palais-Royal."

"And you replied?"

"That it was impossible, since you were out of the house, as he could see."

"Then what did he say?"

"That you should not fail to call on him during the day; then he added softly: 'Tell your master that His Eminence is perfectly disposed toward him, and that his fortune may depend on this interview.'"

"The trap is rather clumsy for the Cardinal," replied the young man with a smile.

"So I saw the trap, and I replied that you would be distressed upon your return."

"'Where has he gone?' asked Monsieur de Cavois. 'To Troyes in Champagne,' I answered. 'And when did he leave?' 'Last evening.'"

"Planchet, my friend," interrupted d'Artagnan, "you are truly a precious man."

"You understand, Monsieur, I thought it would always be time, if you wish to see Monsieur de Cavois, to contradict me by saying you had not left; in that case, I would be the one who lied, and since I am not a gentleman, I can lie."

"Rest assured, Planchet, you will keep your reputation as a truthful man: in a quarter of an hour we leave."

"That is the advice I was about to give Monsieur; and where are we going, without being too curious?"

"Pardieu! In the direction opposite to the one you said I had gone. Besides, are you not as eager to have news of Grimaud, Mousqueton, and Bazin as I am to know what has become of Athos, Porthos, and Aramis?"

"Yes indeed, Monsieur," said Planchet, "and I will leave whenever you wish; the country air is better for us, I believe, at this moment, than the air of Paris. So then..."

"So then, pack our luggage, Planchet, and let us go; I will go ahead, hands in my pockets, so that no one suspects anything. You will join me at the Guards' Hotel. By the way, Planchet, I think you are right about our host, and that he is decidedly a frightful scoundrel."

"Ah! Believe me, Monsieur, when I tell you something; I am a physiognomist, I am!"

D'Artagnan went down first, as had been agreed; then, to have nothing to reproach himself for, he made one last trip to the dwellings of his three friends: no news had been received from them, only a letter, all perfumed and in an elegant, fine handwriting, had arrived for Aramis. D'Artagnan took charge of it. Ten minutes later, Planchet joined him at the stables of the Guards' Hotel. D'Artagnan, to lose no time, had already saddled his own horse.

"Good," he said to Planchet, when the latter had attached the portmanteau to the equipment; "now saddle the other three, and let's go."

"Do you think we will go faster with two horses each?" asked Planchet with his mocking air.

"No, Master Joker," replied d'Artagnan, "but with our four horses we can bring back our three friends, if we find them alive."

"That would be a great stroke of luck," replied Planchet, "but after all, we must not despair of God's mercy."

"Amen," said d'Artagnan, mounting his horse.

And they both left the Guards' Hotel, moving away at opposite ends of the street, one to leave Paris by the Villette gate and the other by the Montmartre gate, to rejoin beyond Saint-Denis—a strategic maneuver which, having been executed with equal punctuality, was crowned with the most fortunate results. D'Artagnan and Planchet entered Pierrefitte together.

Planchet was braver, it must be said, by day than by night.

However, his natural prudence did not abandon him for a single instant; he had forgotten none of the incidents of the first journey, and he regarded everyone he met on the road as an enemy. The result was that he had his hat off constantly, which earned him severe reprimands from d'Artagnan, who feared that, thanks to this excess of politeness, he might be taken for the valet of a man of little consequence.

However, whether the passersby were indeed touched by Planchet's urbanity, or whether this time no one had been posted on the young man's road, our two travelers arrived at Chantilly without any accident and dismounted at the Hôtel du Grand Saint Martin, the same one in which they had stopped during their first journey.

The host, seeing a young man followed by a lackey and two spare horses, advanced respectfully to the threshold of the door. Now, since he had already covered eleven leagues, d'Artagnan thought it appropriate to stop, whether Porthos was in the hotel or not. Besides, it might not be prudent to inquire at once about what had become of the musketeer. As a result of these reflections, d'Artagnan, without asking for any news of anyone, dismounted, recommended the horses to his lackey, entered a small room intended to receive those who wished to be alone, and asked his host for a bottle of his best wine and as good a breakfast as possible—a request that further corroborated the good opinion the innkeeper had formed of his traveler at first sight.

So d'Artagnan was served with miraculous speed.

The Guards regiment was recruited from among the first gentlemen of the kingdom, and d'Artagnan, followed by a lackey and traveling with four magnificent horses, could not, despite the simplicity of his uniform, fail to make an impression. The host wished to serve him himself; seeing this, d'Artagnan had two glasses brought and began the following conversation:

"By my faith, my dear host," said d'Artagnan, filling both glasses, "I asked you for your best wine, and if you have deceived me, you will be punished by the very means you have sinned with, since, as I hate drinking alone, you will drink with me. Take this glass, then, and let's drink. To what shall we drink? Let's see, so as not to offend any susceptibility. Let's drink to the prosperity of your establishment!"

"Your Lordship does me honor," said the host, "and I thank you most sincerely for your good wish."

"But do not be mistaken," said d'Artagnan, "there is perhaps more selfishness in my toast than you think: it is only in prosperous establishments that one is well received; in hotels that are failing, everything goes to pieces, and the traveler is the victim of his host's difficulties; now, I who travel a great deal and especially on this road, would like to see all innkeepers grow rich."

"Indeed," said the host, "it seems to me this is not the first time I have had the honor of seeing Monsieur."

"Bah? I have passed through Chantilly ten times perhaps, and out of ten times I have stopped at least three or four times at your place. Look, I was here again about ten or twelve days ago; I was escorting friends, musketeers, to the point that one of them got into a quarrel with a stranger, an unknown man, a man who picked some sort of quarrel with him."

"Ah! Yes, indeed!" said the host, "and I remember it perfectly. Is it not Monsieur Porthos of whom Your Lordship wishes to speak?"

"That is precisely the name of my traveling companion."

"Oh! Mon Dieu! My dear host, tell me, has any misfortune befallen him?"

"But Your Lordship must have noticed that he was unable to continue his journey."

"Indeed, he promised to rejoin us, and we have not seen him again."

"He has done us the honor of staying here."

"What! He has done you the honor of staying here?"

"Yes, Monsieur, in this hotel; we are even quite worried."

"And about what?"

"About certain expenses he has incurred."

"Well, but the expenses he has incurred, he will pay them."

"Ah! Monsieur, you truly put balm into my blood! We have made very large advances, and this very morning the surgeon declared to us that if Monsieur Porthos did not pay him, he would hold me responsible, since it was I who had sent for him."

"But Porthos is wounded, then?"

"I cannot tell you, Monsieur."

"How, you cannot tell me? You should, however, be better informed than anyone."

"Yes, but in our profession we do not say everything we know, Monsieur, especially when we have been warned that our ears would answer for our tongues."

"Well, may I see Porthos?"

"Certainly, Monsieur. Take the stairs, go up to the first floor, and knock at room no. 1. Only, let him know it is you."

"What? That I should let him know it is I?"

"Yes, for misfortune might befall you."

"And what misfortune do you think might befall me?"

"Monsieur Porthos might take you for someone from the house and, in a fit of anger, run his sword through your body or blow your brains out."

"What have you done to him, then?"

"We asked him for money."

"Ah! devil, I understand that; it is a request Porthos receives very badly when he is not in funds; but I know he was supposed to be."

"That is what we thought too, Monsieur; as the house is very regular and we make our accounts every week, after eight days we presented him with our bill; but it appears we hit upon a bad moment, for at the first word we said about the matter, he sent us to all the devils; it is true that he had been gambling the night before."

"What, he had been gambling the night before! And with whom?"

"Oh! Mon Dieu, who knows? With a lord who was passing through and to whom he had proposed a game of lansquenet."

"That's it, the wretch must have lost everything."

"Down to his horse, Monsieur, for when the stranger was about to leave, we noticed that his lackey was saddling Monsieur Porthos's horse. So we pointed this out to him, but he replied that we were meddling with what did not concern us and that the horse belonged to him. We immediately sent word to Monsieur Porthos about what was happening, but he sent back word that we were scoundrels to doubt a gentleman's word, and that since the man had said the horse was his, it must be so."

"I recognize him well there," murmured d'Artagnan.

"Then," continued the host, "I sent him word that since we seemed destined not to agree on the matter of payment, I hoped he would at least have the goodness to grant the favor of his custom to my colleague, the master of the Golden Eagle; but Monsieur Porthos answered me that my hotel being the best, he wished to remain there."

"This reply was too flattering for me to insist on his departure. I therefore limited myself to asking him to give me back his room, which is the finest in the hotel, and to be content with a pretty little closet on the third floor. But to this Monsieur Porthos replied that, as he was expecting at any moment his mistress, who was one of the greatest ladies at court, I ought to understand that the room he did me the honor to inhabit in my house was still very modest for such a person."

"Nevertheless, while recognizing the truth of what he said, I thought I ought to insist; but without even bothering to enter into discussion with me, he took his pistol, placed it on his night table, and declared that at the first word said to him about any removal whatsoever, either outside or inside, he would blow out the brains of anyone imprudent enough to meddle in a matter that concerned only him. So, since that time, Monsieur, no one enters his room except his servant."

"Mousqueton is here, then?"

"Yes, Monsieur; five days after his departure, he returned, very bad-tempered himself; it appears he too had some unpleasantness on his journey. Unfortunately, he is more nimble than his master, which means that for his master he turns everything upside down, since, thinking that what he asks for might be refused, he takes whatever he needs without asking."

"The fact is," replied d'Artagnan, "I have always noticed in Mousqueton a devotion and intelligence far above the ordinary."

"That may be, Monsieur; but suppose I happen to come into contact with such intelligence and devotion only four times a year, and I am a ruined man."

"No, for Porthos will pay you."

"Hmm!" said the innkeeper in a tone of doubt.

"He is the favorite of a very great lady who will not leave him in difficulty over such a trifle as what he owes you."

"If I may venture to say what I think on that..."

"What you think?"

"I will say more: what I know."

"What you know?"

"And even what I am sure of."

"And what are you sure of? Come on."

"I will say that I know that great lady."

"You?"

"Yes, I."

"And how do you know her?"

"Oh! Monsieur, if I thought I could trust in your discretion..."

"Speak, and on the word of a gentleman, you will not regret your confidence."

"Well, Monsieur, you understand, anxiety makes one do many things."

"What have you done?"

"Oh! Besides, nothing that is not within a creditor's rights."

"Go on?"

"Monsieur Porthos gave us a note for this duchess, telling us to mail it. His servant had not yet arrived. Since he could not leave his room, he had to entrust us with his errands."

"Then?"

“Stories of the world, in your language.”