Part 32

Only then did d'Artagnan remember Ketty's languishing glances, her meetings with him in the antechamber, on the staircase, in the corridor, her hand brushing against his every time she encountered him, and her stifled sighs; but, absorbed by the desire to please the great lady, he had disdained the soubrette: he who hunts the eagle does not worry about the sparrow.

But this time our Gascon saw at a single glance all the advantage that could be drawn from this love that Ketty had just confessed in such a naive or such an impudent manner: interception of the letters addressed to the Comte de Wardes, intelligence within the fortress, entry at any hour into Ketty's room, which was adjacent to that of her mistress. The perfidious man, as one can see, was already sacrificing the poor girl in his mind to obtain Milady by fair means or foul.

"Well," he said to the young girl, "do you want, my dear Ketty, for me to give you a proof of this love of which you doubt?"

"Of what love?" asked the young girl.

"Of that which I am quite ready to feel for you."

"And what is this proof?"

"Do you want me to spend with you this evening the time I ordinarily spend with your mistress?"

"Oh! yes," said Ketty, clapping her hands, "very willingly."

"Well, my dear child," said d'Artagnan, settling himself into an armchair, "come here so that I may tell you that you are the prettiest soubrette I have ever seen!"

And he told her so much and so well that the poor child, who asked nothing better than to believe him, believed him... However, to d'Artagnan's great astonishment, the pretty Ketty defended herself with a certain resolution.

Time passes quickly when it is spent in attacks and defenses.

Midnight struck, and almost at the same time they heard the bell ring in Milady's room.

"Great God!" cried Ketty, "here is my mistress calling me! Go, go quickly!"

D'Artagnan rose, took his hat as if he intended to obey; then, quickly opening the door of a large wardrobe instead of opening the door to the staircase, he crouched inside among Milady's dresses and robes.

"What are you doing?" cried Ketty.

D'Artagnan, who had taken the key in advance, locked himself in his wardrobe without answering.

"Well," cried Milady in a shrill voice, "are you asleep that you do not come when I ring?"

And d'Artagnan heard the communicating door violently opened.

"Here I am, Milady, here I am," cried Ketty, rushing to meet her mistress.

Both went back into the bedroom, and as the communicating door remained open, d'Artagnan could still hear for some time Milady scolding her maid, then finally she calmed down, and the conversation fell upon him while Ketty was attending to her mistress.

"Well," said Milady, "I did not see our Gascon this evening?"

"What, madame," said Ketty, "he did not come! Could he be fickle before being happy?"

"Oh no! he must have been prevented by Monsieur de Tréville or by Monsieur des Essarts. I know what I am talking about, Ketty, and I have him, that one."

"What will madame do with him?"

"What will I do with him!... Be at ease, Ketty, there is between this man and me something that he is unaware of... he almost made me lose my credit with His Eminence... Oh! I will avenge myself!"

"I thought madame loved him?"

"I, love him! I detest him! A fool, who holds Lord de Winter's life in his hands and does not kill him, and who makes me lose three hundred thousand livres in income!"

"That is true," said Ketty, "your son was the only heir of his uncle, and until his majority you would have had the enjoyment of his fortune."

D'Artagnan shuddered to the marrow of his bones upon hearing this sweet creature reproach him, with that strident voice she had so much trouble hiding in conversation, for not having killed a man whom he had seen her overwhelm with friendship.

"So," continued Milady, "I would have already taken revenge on him himself, if, for some reason I do not know, the cardinal had not recommended me to handle him carefully."

"Oh! yes, but madame did not handle that little woman he loved carefully."

"Oh! the haberdasher's wife from the Rue des Fossoyeurs: hasn't he already forgotten that she existed? A fine revenge, indeed!"

A cold sweat ran down d'Artagnan's forehead: this woman was a monster.

He began to listen again, but unfortunately the toilette was finished.

"That is well," said Milady, "go back to your room and tomorrow try at last to get an answer to that letter I gave you."

"For Monsieur de Wardes?" said Ketty.

"Without doubt, for Monsieur de Wardes."

"There is one," said Ketty, "who seems to me to be quite the opposite of that poor Monsieur d'Artagnan."

"Leave, mademoiselle," said Milady, "I do not like commentaries."

D'Artagnan heard the door close, then the noise of two bolts that Milady shot to lock herself in her room; on her side, but as softly as she could, Ketty turned the key in the lock; then d'Artagnan pushed open the wardrobe door.

"Oh my God!" said Ketty under her breath, "what is the matter with you? and how pale you are!"

"The abominable creature!" murmured d'Artagnan.

"Silence! silence! leave," said Ketty; "there is only a partition between my room and Milady's; everything said in one can be heard in the other!"

"That is precisely why I will not leave," said d'Artagnan.

"What?" said Ketty, blushing.

"Or at least I will leave... later."

And he drew Ketty to him; there was no longer any means of resisting, resistance makes so much noise! So Ketty yielded.

It was a movement of vengeance against Milady. D'Artagnan found that one was right to say that vengeance is the pleasure of the gods. So, with a little heart, he would have been content with this new conquest; but d'Artagnan had only ambition and pride.

However, it must be said to his credit that the first use he made of his influence over Ketty was to try to learn from her what had become of Mme Bonacieux, but the poor girl swore on the crucifix to d'Artagnan that she was completely ignorant of it, her mistress never allowing more than half of her secrets to be penetrated; only, she believed she could answer that she was not dead.

As for the cause that had almost made Milady lose her credit with the cardinal, Ketty knew no more about it; but this time, d'Artagnan was more advanced than she: having glimpsed Milady on a detained ship at the moment he himself was leaving England, he suspected that this time it was a question of the diamond studs.

But what was clearest in all this was that the true hatred, the profound hatred, the inveterate hatred of Milady came from the fact that he had not killed her brother-in-law.

D'Artagnan returned the next day to Milady's. She was in a very bad mood; d'Artagnan suspected that it was the lack of a reply from Monsieur de Wardes that was irritating her so. Ketty entered; but Milady received her very harshly. A glance she cast at d'Artagnan seemed to say: You see what I suffer for you.

However, toward the end of the evening, the beautiful lioness softened, she listened smiling to d'Artagnan's sweet talk, she even gave him her hand to kiss.

D'Artagnan left not knowing what to think anymore: but as he was a fellow who was not easily made to lose his head, while paying court to Milady he had built in his mind a little plan.

He found Ketty at the door, and as the previous day he went up to her room for news. Ketty had been severely scolded, she had been accused of negligence. Milady could not understand the Comte de Wardes's silence, and she had ordered her to come to her room at nine o'clock in the morning to pick up a third letter.

D'Artagnan made Ketty promise to bring him this letter the next morning; the poor girl promised everything her lover wanted: she was infatuated.

Things happened as on the previous day: d'Artagnan locked himself in his wardrobe, Milady called, performed her toilette, sent Ketty away, and closed her door. As on the previous day, d'Artagnan did not return home until five o'clock in the morning.

At eleven o'clock, he saw Ketty arrive; she held in her hand a new note from Milady. This time, the poor child did not even try to argue with d'Artagnan; she let him do as he pleased; she belonged body and soul to her handsome soldier.

D'Artagnan opened the note and read the following:

"This is the third time I write to you to tell you that I love you. Beware lest I write you a fourth to tell you that I detest you.

"If you repent of the manner in which you have acted with me, the young girl who will give you this note will tell you in what way a gentleman can obtain his pardon."

D'Artagnan blushed and paled several times while reading this note.

"Oh! you still love her!" said Ketty, who had not for an instant taken her eyes off the young man's face.

"No, Ketty, you are mistaken, I no longer love her; but I want to avenge myself for her scorn."

"Yes, I know your vengeance; you have told me about it."

"What does it matter to you, Ketty! You know well that it is you alone whom I love."

"How can one know that?"

"By the scorn I will show for her."

Ketty sighed.

D'Artagnan took a pen and wrote:

"Madame,

"Hitherto I had doubted that it was indeed to me that your first two notes were addressed, so unworthy did I believe myself of such an honor; besides, I was so unwell that I would in any case have hesitated to reply.

"But today I must indeed believe in the excess of your kindnesses, since not only your letter, but also your maid, assures me that I have the happiness of being loved by you.

"She has no need to tell me in what way a gentleman can obtain his pardon. I will therefore come to ask yours this evening at eleven o'clock. To delay a single day would now be, in my eyes, to commit a new offense against you.

"He whom you have made the happiest of men,

"Comte de Wardes"

This note was firstly a forgery, secondly an indelicacy; it was even, from the standpoint of our current mores, something like an infamy; but people were less guarded in that era than they are today. Besides, d'Artagnan, by her own admissions, knew Milady guilty of treachery in more important matters, and he held her in very low esteem. And yet, despite this low esteem, he felt that an insane passion burned within him for this woman. A passion drunk with contempt, but a passion or a thirst, as you will.

D'Artagnan's intention was very simple: through Ketty's room he would reach that of her mistress; he would profit from the first moment of surprise, shame, terror to triumph over her; perhaps he might also fail, but one had to leave something to chance. In a week the campaign would begin, and he would have to leave; d'Artagnan did not have time to spin out a perfect love.

"There," said the young man, handing Ketty the completely sealed note, "give this letter to Milady; it is the reply from Monsieur de Wardes."

Poor Ketty turned deathly pale; she suspected what the note contained.

"Listen, my dear child," d'Artagnan said to her, "you understand that this must end one way or another; Milady may discover that you delivered the first note to my valet, instead of delivering it to the count's valet; that it was I who unsealed the others which were to be unsealed by Monsieur de Wardes; then Milady will dismiss you, and, you know her, she is not a woman to limit her vengeance to that."

"Alas!" said Ketty, "for whom have I exposed myself to all this?"

"For me, I know it well, my beautiful one," said the young man, "and so I am very grateful to you, I swear."

"But after all, what does your note contain?"

"Milady will tell you."

"Ah! you do not love me!" cried Ketty, "and I am very miserable!"

To this reproach there is a reply by which women are always deceived; d'Artagnan replied in such a way that Ketty remained in the greatest error.

Nevertheless, she wept a great deal before deciding to deliver this letter to Milady, but at last she decided, and that was all d'Artagnan wanted.

Besides, he promised her that in the evening he would leave his mistress's room early, and that upon leaving his mistress's room he would come up to hers.

This promise finally consoled poor Ketty.

CHAPTER XXXIV. IN WHICH THE EQUIPMENT OF ARAMIS AND PORTHOS IS TREATED

Since the four friends were each hunting for his equipment, there was no longer any fixed meeting among them. They dined without one another, wherever one happened to be, or rather wherever one could. The service, on its side, also took its share of this precious time, which was slipping away so quickly. Only it was agreed to meet once a week, around one o'clock, at Athos's lodgings, given that the latter, according to the oath he had taken, no longer crossed his own threshold.

It was the very day that Ketty had come to find d'Artagnan at his home, the day of the meeting.

Scarcely had Ketty left than d'Artagnan headed for the Rue Férou.

He found Athos and Aramis philosophizing. Aramis had some inclinations to return to the cassock. Athos, according to his habits, neither dissuaded nor encouraged him. Athos was for leaving everyone to their own free will. He never gave advice unless it was asked of him. And even then one had to ask him twice.

"In general," he said, "advice is only asked for in order not to follow it; or, if it is followed, in order to have someone to blame for having given it."

Porthos arrived a moment after d'Artagnan. The four friends were thus reunited.

The four faces expressed four different sentiments: Porthos's tranquillity, d'Artagnan's hope, Aramis's anxiety, Athos's indifference.

After a moment of conversation in which Porthos let it be seen that a highly placed person had kindly consented to get him out of trouble, Mousqueton entered.

He had come to beg Porthos to go to his lodgings, where, he said in a very pitiful tone, his presence was urgent.

"Is it my equipages?" asked Porthos.

"Yes and no," replied Mousqueton.

"But what do you mean, then?... Come, monsieur."

Porthos rose, greeted his friends, and followed Mousqueton.

A moment later, Bazin appeared at the door.

"What do you want of me, my friend?" said Aramis with that gentleness of speech that was noticeable in him whenever his ideas led him back to the church...

"A man is waiting for monsieur at the house," replied Bazin.

"A man! what man?"

"A beggar."

"Give him alms, Bazin, and tell him to pray for a poor sinner."

"This beggar insists on speaking to you, and claims that you will be very glad to see him."

"Did he say anything particular to you about me?"

"Yes. 'If Monsieur Aramis hesitates to come to me,' he said, 'tell him that I come from Tours.'"

"From Tours?" cried Aramis; "gentlemen, a thousand pardons, but no doubt this man brings me news I was expecting."

And rising immediately, he hurried away.

Only Athos and d'Artagnan remained.

"I think these fellows have found their business. What do you think, d'Artagnan?" said Athos.

"I know that Porthos was in a good way," said d'Artagnan; "and as for Aramis, to tell the truth, I was never seriously worried about him; but you, my dear Athos, you who so generously distributed the Englishman's pistoles which were your rightful property, what are you going to do?"

"I am very glad to have killed that rogue, my child, seeing that it is blessed bread to kill an Englishman: but if I had pocketed his pistoles, they would have weighed on me like a remorse."

"Come now, my dear Athos! you really have inconceivable ideas."

"Let's move on, let's move on! What was it Monsieur de Tréville was telling me, who did me the honor of coming to see me yesterday, that you frequent those suspicious Englishmen protected by the cardinal?"

"That is to say, I am visiting an Englishwoman, the one I told you about."

"Ah! yes, the blonde woman about whom I gave you advice which naturally you were careful not to follow."

"I gave you my reasons."

"Yes; you see your equipment in that, I believe, from what you told me."

"Not at all! I have acquired the certainty that this woman had something to do with the abduction of Mme Bonacieux."

"Yes, and I understand; to find one woman, you court another: it is the longest road, but the most amusing."

D'Artagnan was on the point of telling everything to Athos; but one thing stopped him: Athos was a gentleman severe on the point of honor, and there were, in all this little plan that our lover had devised concerning Milady, certain things that, beforehand, he was sure, would not obtain the puritan's assent; he therefore preferred to keep silent, and as Athos was the least curious man in the world, d'Artagnan's confidences stopped there.

We will therefore leave the two friends, who had nothing very important to say to each other, to follow Aramis.

At this news that the man who wished to speak to him came from Tours, we have seen with what rapidity the young man had followed, or rather preceded, Bazin; he therefore made but a single bound from the Rue Férou to the Rue de Vaugirard.

Upon entering his home, he indeed found a man of small stature, with intelligent eyes, but covered in rags.

"Is it you who ask for me?" said the musketeer.

"That is to say, I ask for Monsieur Aramis: are you the one who is called that?"

"I myself: do you have something to deliver to me?"

"Yes, if you show me a certain embroidered handkerchief."

"Here it is," said Aramis, drawing a key from his chest and opening a small ebony box inlaid with mother-of-pearl, "here it is, take it."

"That is well," said the beggar, "send away your lackey."

Indeed, Bazin, curious to know what the beggar wanted with his master, had regulated his pace on his, and had arrived almost at the same time as he; but this speed did him little good; at the beggar's invitation, his master motioned him to withdraw, and he was forced to obey.

Bazin gone, the beggar cast a quick glance around him, to make sure that no one could see or hear him, and opening his ragged vest, loosely fastened by a leather belt, he began to unpick the top of his doublet, from which he drew a letter.

Aramis gave a cry of joy at the sight of the seal, kissed the handwriting, and with almost religious respect, opened the epistle, which contained the following:

"Friend, fate wills that we be separated for some time yet; but the beautiful days of youth are not lost without return. Do your duty in the camp; I do mine elsewhere. Take what the bearer will deliver to you; go on the campaign as a fine and good gentleman, and think of me, who tenderly kisses your black eyes.

"Adieu, or rather au revoir!"

The beggar was still unpicking; he drew, one by one, from his dirty clothes one hundred and fifty double Spanish pistoles, which he lined up on the table; then he opened the door, bowed, and departed before the young man, stupefied, had dared to address a word to him.

Aramis then reread the letter, and noticed that this letter had a postscript.

"P.S. — You may welcome the bearer, who is a count and a grandee of Spain."

"Golden dreams!" cried Aramis. "Oh! beautiful life! Yes, we are young! Yes, we will still have happy days! Oh! to you, my love, my blood, my life! all, all, all, my beautiful mistress!"

And he kissed the letter passionately, without even looking at the gold that sparkled on the table.

Bazin scratched at the door; Aramis had no more reason to keep him at a distance; he allowed him to enter.

Bazin remained stupefied at the sight of this gold, and forgot that he came to announce d'Artagnan, who, curious to know what the beggar was about, was coming to Aramis's after leaving Athos's.

Now, as d'Artagnan was not shy with Aramis, seeing that Bazin forgot to announce him, he announced himself.

"Ah! the devil, my dear Aramis," said d'Artagnan, "if these are the prunes that are sent to us from Tours, you will give my compliments to the gardener who harvests them."

"You are mistaken, my dear," said Aramis, always discreet; "it is my bookseller who has just sent me the price of that one-syllable poem in verse that I began down there."

"Ah! really!" said d'Artagnan; "well, your bookseller is generous, my dear Aramis, that is all I can say."

"What, monsieur!" cried Bazin, "a poem sells so dear! It's incredible! Oh! monsieur! you can do anything you want, you can become the equal of Monsieur de Voiture and Monsieur de Benserade. I like that, I do. A poet is almost an abbé. Oh! Monsieur Aramis, become a poet, I beg you."

"Bazin, my friend," said Aramis, "I think you are meddling in the conversation."

Bazin understood that he was in the wrong; he bowed his head and left.

"Ah!" said d'Artagnan with a smile, "you sell your productions by the weight of gold: you are very fortunate, my friend; but take care, you are about to lose that letter which is sticking out of your doublet, and which is no doubt also from your bookseller."

Aramis blushed to the whites of his eyes, stuffed his letter back in, and buttoned up his doublet.

"My dear d'Artagnan," he said, "we shall, if you wish, go find our friends; and since I am rich, we will begin today to dine together, while waiting for you to be rich in your turn."

"My faith!" said d'Artagnan, "with great pleasure. It has been a long time since we had a decent dinner; and since I have for my part a somewhat risky expedition to carry out this evening, I would not be sorry, I confess, to get my head a little heated with a few bottles of old Burgundy."

"Let's go for the old Burgundy; I don't dislike it either," said Aramis, from whom the sight of gold had removed, as if by hand, his ideas of retreat.

And having put three or four double pistoles in his pocket to meet the needs of the moment, he locked the others in the ebony box inlaid with mother-of-pearl, where the famous handkerchief that had served him as a talisman was already kept.

The two friends first went to Athos's, who, faithful to the oath he had made not to go out, took charge of having dinner brought to his home: as he understood gastronomic details perfectly, d'Artagnan and Aramis made no difficulty in abandoning this important task to him.

They were going to Porthos's, when, at the corner of the Rue du Bac, they met Mousqueton, who, with a pitiful air, was driving before him a mule and a horse.

D'Artagnan gave a cry of surprise, which was not free from a mixture of joy.

"Ah! my yellow horse!" he cried. "Aramis, look at this horse!"

"Oh! the frightful nag!" said Aramis.

"Well, my dear," resumed d'Artagnan, "it is the horse on which I came to Paris."

"What, monsieur knows this horse?" said Mousqueton.

“Stories of the world, in your language.”