Part 30

"A person who takes more interest in you than they can say would like to know what day you will be well enough to take a walk in the forest. Tomorrow, at the Hôtel du Champ du Drap d'Or, a lackey dressed in black and red will await your reply."

"Oh, oh!" said d'Artagnan to himself, "this is rather forward. It seems Milady and I are both anxious about the health of the same person. Well, Planchet, how is that good Monsieur de Wardes? He's not dead, then?"

"No, monsieur, he is as well as a man can be with four sword thrusts in his body—for you gave him four, without reproach, that dear gentleman—and he is still very weak, having lost almost all his blood. As I told monsieur, Lubin did not recognize me, and related our whole adventure from beginning to end."

"Very well, Planchet, you are the king of lackeys. Now, mount your horse again and let's catch up with the carriage."

That did not take long; within five minutes they saw the carriage stopped at the side of the road, with a richly dressed horseman at the door.

The conversation between Milady and the horseman was so animated that d'Artagnan stopped on the other side of the carriage without anyone except the pretty maid noticing his presence.

The conversation was in English, a language d'Artagnan did not understand; but from the tone, the young man thought he could guess that the beautiful Englishwoman was very angry; she ended with a gesture that left no doubt as to the nature of the conversation: it was a blow from her fan, applied with such force that the little feminine implement flew into a thousand pieces.

The horseman burst out laughing, which seemed to exasperate Milady even more.

D'Artagnan thought it was time to intervene; he approached the other door, and respectfully removing his hat, said: "Madame, will you permit me to offer you my services? It seems to me this gentleman has angered you. Say but one word, madame, and I will undertake to punish him for his lack of courtesy."

At the first words, Milady turned around, looking at the young man with astonishment, and when he had finished: "Monsieur," she said in very good French, "I would gladly place myself under your protection if the person who is quarreling with me were not my brother."

"Ah! Forgive me, then," said d'Artagnan. "You understand, I did not know that, madame."

"What business is it of this jackanapes?" cried the horseman, whom Milady had named as her relative, lowering himself to the carriage window. "Why doesn't he go on his way?"

"Jackanapes yourself!" said d'Artagnan, in turn leaning over his horse's neck and answering from his side at the window. "I don't go on my way because it pleases me to stop here."

The horseman addressed a few words in English to his sister. "I speak French to you," said d'Artagnan. "Do me the favor, I pray, of answering me in the same language. You are madame's brother, so be it, but you are not mine, fortunately."

One might have thought that Milady, timid as a woman usually is, would intervene in this beginning of provocation to prevent the quarrel from going further; but quite the contrary, she threw herself back into the depths of her carriage and coldly cried to the coachman: "Drive to the hotel!"

The pretty maid cast an anxious glance at d'Artagnan, whose good looks seemed to have made an impression on her.

The carriage departed, leaving the two men face to face, with no material obstacle separating them.

The horseman made a move to follow the carriage, but d'Artagnan—whose already boiling anger had increased upon recognizing in him the Englishman who at Amiens had won his horse and nearly won Athos's diamond—leaped at the bridle and stopped him.

"Hey! Monsieur," said he, "you seem even more of a jackanapes than I, for you appear to forget that there is a little quarrel between us."

"Ah! ah!" said the Englishman, "it's you, my master. So you must always be playing some game or another?"

"Yes, and that reminds me I have a revenge to take. We shall see, my dear sir, whether you handle the rapier as skillfully as the dice."

"You see I have no sword," said the Englishman. "Would you play the brave against an unarmed man?"

"I hope you have one at home," replied d'Artagnan. "In any case, I have two, and if you wish, I will gamble one of them with you."

"Useless," said the Englishman. "I am sufficiently provided with that sort of utensil."

"Well, then, my worthy gentleman," resumed d'Artagnan, "choose the longest and come show it to me this evening."

"Where, if you please?"

"Behind the Luxembourg—it's a charming neighborhood for walks of the kind I propose to you."

"Very well, I'll be there."

"Your hour?"

"Six o'clock."

"By the way, you probably have one or two friends?"

"I have three who will be highly honored to play the same part as I."

"Three? Splendid! How opportune!" said d'Artagnan. "That's just my number."

"Now, who are you?" asked the Englishman.

"I am Monsieur d'Artagnan, a Gascon gentleman, serving in the Guards, in Monsieur des Essarts' company. And you?"

"I am Lord de Winter, Baron of Sheffield."

"Well, I am your servant, Monsieur le Baron," said d'Artagnan, "though you have names that are very hard to remember."

And spurring his horse, he set it to a gallop and took the road back to Paris.

As was his habit on such occasions, d'Artagnan went straight to Athos's lodgings.

He found Athos lying on a large sofa, where he was waiting, as he had said, for his equipment to come to him.

He told Athos everything that had just happened—except for Monsieur de Wardes' letter.

Athos was delighted when he learned that he was going to fight an Englishman. We have said that this was his dream.

Porthos and Aramis were sent for at once by the lackeys, and they were informed of the situation.

Porthos drew his sword from its scabbard and began fencing against the wall, retreating from time to time and doing bends like a dancer. Aramis, who was still working on his poem, shut himself up in Athos's study and begged not to be disturbed until the moment of drawing swords.

Athos asked Grimaud for a bottle by a sign.

As for d'Artagnan, he arranged in his mind a little plan, the execution of which we shall see later, and which promised him some charming adventure, as could be seen from the smiles that from time to time passed over his face, lighting up his reverie.

Chapter 31 Englishmen and Frenchmen

When the hour came, they went with the four lackeys behind the Luxembourg, to an enclosure abandoned to goats. Athos gave a coin to the goatherd to make him go away. The lackeys were charged with keeping watch.

Soon a silent troop approached the same enclosure, entered it, and joined the musketeers; then, according to overseas customs, introductions were made.

The Englishmen were all persons of the highest quality; the bizarre names of their adversaries were therefore for them a subject not only of surprise but also of uneasiness.

"But with all that," said Lord de Winter when the three friends had been named, "we do not know who you are, and we will not fight with such names; those are shepherds' names."

"Indeed, as you suppose, my lord, they are false names," said Athos.

"Which gives us only a greater desire to know the true ones," replied the Englishman.

"You played against us without knowing them," said Athos, "as witness the fact that you won our two horses."

"That is true, but then we risked only our pistoles; this time we risk our blood: one plays with anyone, but one fights only with one's equals."

"That is just," said Athos. And he took aside the one of the four Englishmen with whom he was to fight, and whispered his name to him.

Porthos and Aramis did the same on their side.

"Is that enough for you?" said Athos to his adversary. "Do you find me sufficiently a nobleman to do me the honor of crossing swords with me?"

"Yes, monsieur," said the Englishman, bowing.

"Well, now, shall I tell you something?" resumed Athos coolly.

"What?" asked the Englishman.

"It is that you would have done just as well not to have insisted that I make myself known."

"Why so?"

"Because I am believed dead, and I have reasons for wishing it not to be known that I live; and I shall be obliged to kill you, so that my secret may not be spread abroad."

The Englishman looked at Athos, thinking he was joking; but Athos was not joking in the least.

"Gentlemen," he said, addressing at once his companions and their adversaries, "are we ready?"

"Yes," answered both Englishmen and Frenchmen with one voice.

"Then, on guard," said Athos.

And immediately eight swords glittered in the rays of the setting sun, and the combat began with an animosity quite natural between men who were twice enemies.

Athos fenced with as much calm and method as if he had been in a fencing hall.

Porthos, no doubt corrected of his overconfidence by his adventure at Chantilly, played a game full of finesse and prudence.

Aramis, who had the third canto of his poem to finish, hurried like a man in a great rush.

Athos, first, killed his adversary: he had given him but one thrust, but, as he had warned him, the blow was mortal. The sword pierced his heart.

Porthos, second, stretched his man on the grass: he had pierced him through the thigh. Then, as the Englishman, without offering further resistance, had surrendered his sword to him, Porthos took him in his arms and carried him to his carriage.

Aramis drove his so vigorously that, after retreating some fifty paces, he ended by taking to his heels and disappearing amid the jeers of the lackeys.

As for d'Artagnan, he had played purely and simply a defensive game; then, when he saw his adversary well tired, he, with a vigorous thrust in the flank, sent his sword flying. The baron, finding himself disarmed, stepped back two or three paces; but in that movement, his foot slipped and he fell backward.

D'Artagnan was upon him in a single bound, and holding his sword to his throat: "I could kill you, monsieur," he said to the Englishman, "and you are quite in my hands, but I grant you your life for love of your sister."

D'Artagnan was in the highest joy; he had just realized the plan he had arranged beforehand, the development of which had brought forth upon his face the smiles of which we have spoken.

The Englishman, delighted to be dealing with a gentleman of such good nature, pressed d'Artagnan in his arms, showered a thousand caresses on the three musketeers, and, as Porthos's adversary was already installed in the carriage and Aramis's had taken to his heels, they thought only of the deceased.

As Porthos and Aramis were undressing him in the hope that his wound was not mortal, a large purse fell from his belt. D'Artagnan picked it up and held it out to Lord de Winter.

"And what the devil do you want me to do with that?" said the Englishman.

"Give it back to his family," said d'Artagnan.

"His family cares little for such trifles; he inherits fifteen thousand louis a year. Keep that purse for your lackeys."

D'Artagnan put the purse into his pocket.

"And now, my young friend—for you will allow me, I hope, to give you that name," said Lord de Winter, "this very evening, if you wish, I will present you to my sister, Lady Clarick; for I want her in turn to take you into her good graces, and, as she is not altogether out of favor at court, perhaps in the future a word from her might not be useless to you."

D'Artagnan blushed with pleasure and bowed in sign of assent.

Meanwhile, Athos had approached d'Artagnan. "What do you intend to do with that purse?" he whispered in his ear.

"Well, I was counting on giving it to you, my dear Athos."

"To me? And why?"

"Faith, you killed him: these are the spoils of victory."

"I, the heir of an enemy?" said Athos. "What do you take me for?"

"It is the custom in war," said d'Artagnan. "Why should it not be the custom in a duel?"

"Even on the battlefield," said Athos, "I have never done that."

Porthos shrugged his shoulders. Aramis, with a movement of his lips, approved Athos.

"Then," said d'Artagnan, "let us give the money to the lackeys, as Lord de Winter told us to do."

"Yes," said Athos, "let us give this purse, not to our lackeys, but to the English lackeys."

Athos took the purse and threw it into the coachman's hand: "For you and your comrades."

This grandeur of manner in a man entirely destitute struck even Porthos himself, and this French generosity, repeated by Lord de Winter and his friend, met with great success everywhere—except with Messieurs Grimaud, Mousqueton, Planchet, and Bazin.

Lord de Winter, on leaving d'Artagnan, gave him his sister's address; she lived at the Place Royale, which was then the fashionable quarter, at number 6. Moreover, he undertook to come and fetch him to present him. D'Artagnan gave him an appointment at eight o'clock at Athos's.

This presentation to Milady greatly occupied our Gascon's mind. He recalled in what a strange way this woman had so far been mixed up with his destiny. According to his conviction, she was some creature of the cardinal's, and yet he felt himself invincibly drawn toward her by one of those feelings one cannot account for. His only fear was that Milady might recognize in him the man of Meung and of Dover. Then she would know that he was a friend of Monsieur de Tréville's, and consequently that he belonged body and soul to the king, which would from that time make him lose some of his advantages, since, known to Milady as he knew her, he would play with her on equal terms. As for this beginning of an intrigue between her and the Comte de Wardes, our presumptuous young man troubled himself only moderately about it, although the marquis was young, handsome, rich, and highly in the cardinal's favor. It is not for nothing that one is twenty, and especially that one is born at Tarbes.

D'Artagnan began by going home to make a dazzling toilet; then he returned to Athos's, and, according to his habit, told him everything. Athos listened to his plans, then shook his head, and recommended prudence with a sort of bitterness.

"What!" said he, "you have just lost a woman whom you said was good, charming, perfect, and now you are already running after another!"

D'Artagnan felt the truth of this reproach.

"I loved Madame Bonacieux with my heart," said he, "while I love Milady with my head. In having myself taken to her house, I seek above all to throw light on the part she plays at court."

"The part she plays! Pardieu! it is not difficult to guess from all you have told me. She is some emissary of the cardinal's: a woman who will draw you into a trap where you will simply leave your head."

"The devil! My dear Athos, you see things in a very black light, it seems to me."

"My dear, I distrust women. What would you have! I am paid for it, and especially fair-haired women. Milady is fair, you tell me?"

"She has the most beautiful fair hair that can be seen."

"Ah! my poor d'Artagnan," said Athos.

"Listen, I want to enlighten myself; and when I know what I desire to know, I will withdraw."

"Enlighten yourself," said Athos phlegmatically.

Lord de Winter arrived at the appointed hour, but Athos, warned in time, went into the next room. He therefore found d'Artagnan alone, and, as it was near eight o'clock, he led the young man away.

An elegant carriage was waiting below, and as it was drawn by two excellent horses, in an instant they were at the Place Royale.

Milady Clarick received d'Artagnan graciously. Her hotel was remarkably sumptuous; and although most of the English, driven out by the war, were leaving France, or were on the point of leaving it, Milady had just made new expenditures in her house: which proved that the general measure sending the English away did not concern her.

"You see," said Lord de Winter, presenting d'Artagnan to his sister, "a young gentleman who held my life in his hands, and who would not abuse his advantage, although we were enemies twice over, since it was I who insulted him, and I am an Englishman. Thank him, then, madame, if you have any friendship for me."

Milady slightly frowned; a barely visible cloud passed over her brow, and so strange a smile appeared on her lips that the young man, who saw this triple nuance, felt something like a shiver.

The brother saw nothing; he had turned to play with Milady's favorite monkey, which had pulled him by his doublet.

"Be welcome, monsieur," said Milady, in a voice whose singular sweetness contrasted with the symptoms of ill humor that d'Artagnan had just noticed. "You have today acquired eternal rights to my gratitude."

The Englishman then turned and related the combat without omitting a detail. Milady listened with the greatest attention; however, one could easily see, whatever effort she made to hide her impressions, that this recital was not agreeable to her. The blood rose to her head, and her little foot moved impatiently under her dress.

Lord de Winter noticed nothing. Then, when he had finished, he approached a table where a bottle of Spanish wine and some glasses were set out on a tray. He filled two glasses and by a sign invited d'Artagnan to drink.

D'Artagnan knew that refusing to toast with an Englishman was highly displeasing to him. He therefore approached the table and took the second glass. However, he had not lost sight of Milady, and in the mirror he perceived the change that had just taken place on her face. Now that she believed herself no longer observed, a feeling resembling ferocity animated her features. She bit her handkerchief with all her teeth.

Then the pretty little maid, whom d'Artagnan had already noticed, entered; she said a few words in English to Lord de Winter, who immediately asked d'Artagnan's permission to withdraw, excusing himself on the urgency of the business that called him away, and charging his sister to obtain his pardon.

D'Artagnan exchanged a handshake with Lord de Winter and returned to Milady. This woman's face, with surprising mobility, had resumed its gracious expression; only a few small red spots scattered on her handkerchief indicated that she had bitten her lips until they bled.

Her lips were magnificent; they might have been coral.

The conversation took a cheerful turn. Milady appeared to have entirely recovered. She related that Lord de Winter was only her brother-in-law and not her brother: she had married a younger son of the family, who had left her a widow with a child. This child was Lord de Winter's sole heir, if Lord de Winter did not marry. All this showed d'Artagnan a veil that enveloped something, but he could not yet see through that veil.

Moreover, after half an hour of conversation, d'Artagnan was convinced that Milady was his compatriot: she spoke French with a purity and an elegance that left no doubt on that score.

D'Artagnan poured forth gallant remarks and protestations of devotion. At all the nonsense that escaped our Gascon, Milady smiled benignantly. The hour for leaving arrived. D'Artagnan took leave of Milady and left the room the happiest of men.

On the stairs he met the pretty maid, who gently brushed against him as she passed, and, blushing to the eyes, asked his pardon for having touched him, in a voice so soft that pardon was instantly granted.

D'Artagnan returned the next day and was received even better than the day before. Lord de Winter was not there, and this time it was Milady who did him all the honors of the evening. She appeared to take great interest in him, asked him where he was from, who his friends were, and whether he had not sometimes thought of attaching himself to the service of the cardinal.

D'Artagnan, who, as is well known, was very prudent for a lad of twenty, then remembered his suspicions about Milady; he praised His Eminence highly, told her that he would certainly have entered the cardinal's guards instead of the king's guards if he had known, for instance, Monsieur de Cavois instead of knowing Monsieur de Tréville.

Milady changed the conversation without any affectation, and asked d'Artagnan, in the most careless manner in the world, whether he had ever been to England.

D'Artagnan replied that he had been sent there by Monsieur de Tréville to treat for a purchase of horses, and that he had even brought back four as samples.

Milady, in the course of the conversation, bit her lips two or three times; she was dealing with a Gascon who played a close game.

At the same hour as the day before, d'Artagnan withdrew. In the corridor he again met the pretty Kitty—that was the maid's name. She looked at him with an expression of mysterious benevolence that was not to be mistaken. But d'Artagnan was so preoccupied with the mistress that he noticed absolutely only what came from her.

D'Artagnan returned to Milady's the next day and the day after that, and each time Milady gave him a more gracious welcome.

Each time also, whether in the antechamber, the corridor, or on the stairs, he met the pretty maid.

But, as we have said, d'Artagnan paid no attention to this persistence on the part of poor Kitty.

Chapter 32 A Solicitor's Dinner

Nevertheless, the duel in which Porthos had played so brilliant a part did not make him forget the dinner to which the solicitor's wife had invited him. The next day, about one o'clock, he had Mousqueton give him a final brushing and set off toward the Rue aux Ours with the step of a man who is in double good fortune.

His heart beat, but it was not, like d'Artagnan's, with a young and impatient love. No, a more material interest stirred his blood; he was at last going to cross that mysterious threshold, climb that unknown staircase, up which, one by one, the old écus of Maître Coquenard had ascended.

He was going to see in reality a certain chest of which he had twenty times seen the image in his dreams; a chest long and deep in shape, padlocked, bolted, fixed to the floor; a chest he had so often heard spoken of, and which the hands—a little dry, it is true, but not without elegance—of the solicitor's wife were going to open to his admiring gaze.

“Stories of the world, in your language.”