Part 33

"It is of a singular color," said Aramis; "it is the only one I have ever seen of that coat."

"I believe it," replied d'Artagnan, "and that is why I sold it for three crowns; it must be for the coat, for the carcass is certainly not worth eighteen livres. But how does this horse happen to be in your hands, Mousqueton?"

"Ah!" said the valet, "do not speak to me of it, sir, it is a dreadful trick of our duchess's husband!"

"How is that, Mousqueton?"

"Yes, we were looked upon with a very favorable eye by a lady of quality, the Duchess of...; but pardon! my master recommended discretion: she had forced us to accept a little souvenir, a magnificent Spanish jenny and an Andalusian mule, that were a marvel to behold; the husband learned of the matter, he confiscated the two magnificent beasts that were being sent to us on the way, and he substituted these horrible animals!"

"Which you are taking back to him?" said d'Artagnan.

"Exactly!" replied Mousqueton; "you understand that we cannot possibly accept such mounts in exchange for those that were promised to us."

"No, by heaven, though I should have liked to see Porthos on my Bouton-d'Or; that would have given me an idea of what I myself was like when I arrived in Paris. But let us not detain you, Mousqueton; go do your master's errand, go. Is he at home?"

"Yes, sir," said Mousqueton, "but very out of sorts, I assure you!"

And he continued on his way toward the quay of the Grands-Augustins, while the two friends went to ring the bell of the unfortunate Porthos. He had seen them crossing the courtyard, and was careful not to open. They therefore rang in vain.

Meanwhile, Mousqueton continued on his way, and, crossing the Pont-Neuf, still driving his two jades before him, he reached the Rue aux Ours. Arrived there, he tied, according to his master's orders, the horse and mule to the door knocker of the attorney's door; then, without worrying about their future fate, he returned to find Porthos and announced to him that his errand was done.

After some time, the two wretched beasts, who had not eaten since morning, made such a noise by lifting and letting fall the door knocker, that the attorney ordered his errand boy to go and inquire in the neighborhood to whom that horse and mule belonged.

Madame Coquenard recognized her present, and at first understood nothing of this restitution; but soon Porthos's visit enlightened her. The wrath that shone in the musketeer's eyes, despite the restraint he imposed upon himself, terrified the sensitive lover. Indeed, Mousqueton had not hidden from his master that he had met d'Artagnan and Aramis, and that d'Artagnan, in the yellow horse, had recognized the Béarnais nag on which he had come to Paris, and which he had sold for three crowns.

Porthos went out after having given the attorney's wife a rendezvous in the cloister of Saint-Magloire. The attorney, seeing Porthos leave, invited him to dinner, an invitation which the musketeer refused with an air full of majesty.

Madame Coquenard went all trembling to the cloister of Saint-Magloire, for she guessed the reproaches that awaited her there; but she was fascinated by Porthos's grand ways.

All that a man wounded in his self-love can let fall of imprecations and reproaches upon the head of a woman, Porthos let fall upon the bowed head of the attorney's wife.

"Alas!" she said, "I did for the best. One of our clients is a horse dealer, he owed money to the office, and proved recalcitrant. I took this mule and this horse for what he owed us; he had promised me royal mounts."

"Well, madame," said Porthos, "if he owed you more than five crowns, your horse trader is a thief."

"It is not forbidden to look for a bargain, Monsieur Porthos," said the attorney's wife, seeking to express herself.

"No, madame, but those who look for a bargain must allow others to look for more generous friends."

And Porthos, turning on his heels, took a step to withdraw.

"Monsieur Porthos! Monsieur Porthos!" cried the attorney's wife, "I am wrong, I acknowledge it, I should not have haggled when it came to equipping a cavalier like you!"

Porthos, without answering, took a second retreating step.

The attorney's wife thought she saw him in a glittering cloud, all surrounded by duchesses and marchionesses who were throwing bags of gold at his feet.

"Stop, in Heaven's name! Monsieur Porthos," she cried, "stop and let us talk."

"Talking with you brings me bad luck," said Porthos.

"But, tell me, what do you ask for?"

"Nothing, for it amounts to the same as if I asked you for something."

The attorney's wife hung on Porthos's arm, and, in the impulse of her grief, she cried:

"Monsieur Porthos, I am ignorant of all that, I; do I know what a horse is? Do I know what harnesses are?"

"You should have relied on me, who understand them, madame; but you wanted to save, and consequently, to lend at usury."

"That is wrong, Monsieur Porthos, and I will repair it on my word of honor."

"And how so?" asked the musketeer.

"Listen. This evening Monsieur Coquenard is going to the house of the Duc de Chaulnes, who has sent for him. It is for a consultation that will last at least two hours; come, we shall be alone, and we will settle our accounts."

"Well and good! That is talking, my dear!"

"You forgive me?"

"We shall see," said Porthos majestically.

And they separated, saying to each other: "This evening."

"The devil!" thought Porthos as he went away, "it seems to me that I am at last drawing nearer to Master Coquenard's chest."

CHAPTER XXXV. AT NIGHT ALL CATS ARE GRAY

That evening, so impatiently awaited by Porthos and d'Artagnan, arrived at last.

D'Artagnan, as usual, presented himself about nine o'clock at Milady's. He found her in charming humor; never had she received him so well. Our Gascon saw at first glance that his note had been delivered, and that note was producing its effect.

Ketty entered to bring sherbets. Her mistress gave her a charming look, smiled at her with her most gracious smile; but, alas! the poor girl was so sad that she did not even notice Milady's benevolence.

D'Artagnan looked at these two women one after the other, and was forced to admit that nature had erred in forming them; to the great lady she had given a venal and vile soul, to the maid she had given the heart of a duchess.

At ten o'clock Milady began to appear anxious, d'Artagnan understood what that meant; she looked at the clock, stood up, sat down again, smiled at d'Artagnan with an air that meant: You are very amiable no doubt, but you would be charming if you left!

D'Artagnan rose and took his hat; Milady gave him her hand to kiss; the young man felt her press it and understood that it was from a feeling not of coquetry, but of gratitude for his departure.

"She loves him devilishly," he murmured. Then he went out.

This time Ketty was not waiting for him anywhere, neither in the antechamber, nor in the corridor, nor under the great door. D'Artagnan had to find the staircase and the little room all alone.

Ketty was sitting with her head hidden in her hands, and weeping.

She heard d'Artagnan enter, but she did not look up; the young man went to her and took her hands, then she burst into sobs.

As d'Artagnan had presumed, Milady, on receiving the letter, had, in the delirium of her joy, told everything to her maid; then, as a reward for the way she had done the errand this time, she had given her a purse. Ketty, on returning to her room, had thrown the purse into a corner, where it remained open, disgorging three or four gold pieces onto the carpet.

The poor girl, at d'Artagnan's voice, looked up. D'Artagnan himself was frightened at the disorder of her face; she clasped her hands with a suppliant air, but without daring to say a word.

However little sensitive d'Artagnan's heart might be, he felt moved by this silent grief; but he held too much to his plans, and especially to this one, to change anything in the program he had made in advance. He therefore left Ketty no hope of moving him; he simply presented his action as a simple vengeance.

This vengeance, moreover, became all the easier, as Milady, no doubt to hide her blushes from her lover, had recommended Ketty to extinguish all the lights in the apartment, and even in her own bedroom. Before daylight, M. de Wardes was to go out, always in the darkness.

After a moment, they heard Milady returning to her bedroom. D'Artagnan immediately darted into his wardrobe. Hardly was he hidden there when the bell was heard.

Ketty went into her mistress's room, and did not leave the door open; but the partition was so thin that almost everything said between the two women could be heard.

Milady seemed drunk with joy, she made Ketty repeat the smallest details of the pretended interview of the maid with de Wardes, how he had received her letter, how he had replied, what was the expression of his face, whether he seemed very much in love; and to all these questions poor Ketty, forced to put on a good countenance, replied in a stifled voice whose painful accent her mistress did not even notice, so selfish is happiness.

At last, as the hour for her interview with the count approached, Milady indeed had everything put out in her room, and ordered Ketty to return to her own room, and to introduce de Wardes as soon as he should present himself.

Ketty's wait was not long. Hardly had d'Artagnan seen through the keyhole of his wardrobe that the whole apartment was in darkness, than he darted from his hiding place at the very moment when Ketty was closing the communicating door.

"What is that noise?" asked Milady.

"It is I," said d'Artagnan in a half-voice; "I, the Comte de Wardes."

"Oh! my God, my God!" murmured Ketty, "he could not even wait for the hour he had fixed himself!"

"Well," said Milady in a trembling voice, "why does he not come in? Count, Count," she added, "you know well that I am waiting for you!"

At this call, d'Artagnan gently pushed Ketty aside and darted into Milady's room.

If rage and grief must torture a soul, it is that of the lover who receives under a name not his own protestations of love addressed to his happy rival.

D'Artagnan was in a painful situation which he had not foreseen, jealousy bit him at the heart, and he suffered almost as much as poor Ketty, who was weeping at the same moment in the next room.

"Yes, Count," said Milady in her sweetest voice, tenderly pressing his hands in hers; "yes, I am happy for the love which your looks and your words have expressed to me each time we have met. I too love you. Oh! tomorrow, tomorrow, I want some token from you which proves to me that you think of me, and as you might forget me, here."

And she slipped a ring from her finger onto d'Artagnan's.

D'Artagnan remembered having seen this ring on Milady's hand; it was a magnificent sapphire surrounded by brilliants.

D'Artagnan's first movement was to return it to her, but Milady added:

"No, no; keep this ring for love of me. Moreover, in accepting it, you render me," she added in an agitated voice, "a much greater service than you can imagine."

"This woman is full of mysteries," murmured d'Artagnan to himself.

At that moment he felt ready to reveal everything. He opened his mouth to tell Milady who he was, and with what vengeful purpose he had come, but she added:

"Poor angel, whom that monster of a Gascon nearly killed!"

The monster was himself.

"Oh!" continued Milady, "do your wounds still cause you pain?"

"Yes, a great deal," said d'Artagnan, who did not know very well what to answer.

"Be tranquil," murmured Milady, "I will avenge you, and cruelly!"

"The plague!" said d'Artagnan to himself, "the moment for confidences is not yet come."

It took some time for d'Artagnan to recover from this little dialogue; but all the ideas of vengeance he had brought were completely dissipated. This woman exercised an incredible power over him, he hated and adored her at the same time, he had never believed that two such contrary sentiments could inhabit the same heart, and by uniting, form a strange and in some sort diabolical love.

However, one o'clock struck; they had to separate. D'Artagnan, at the moment of leaving Milady, felt only a keen regret at going away, and in the passionate farewell they addressed to each other reciprocally, a new interview was agreed upon for the following week. Poor Ketty hoped to be able to address a few words to d'Artagnan when he passed through her room; but Milady conducted him herself in the darkness and did not leave him until on the staircase.

The next morning, d'Artagnan ran to Athos's. He was engaged in such a singular adventure that he wanted to ask his advice. He told him everything: Athos frowned several times.

"Your Milady," he said to him, "seems to me an infamous creature, but you have nevertheless done wrong to deceive her: behold you, one way or another, with a terrible enemy on your hands."

And while speaking to him, Athos looked attentively at the sapphire surrounded by diamonds which had taken on d'Artagnan's finger the place of the queen's ring, carefully replaced in its case.

"You are looking at this ring?" said the Gascon, quite proud to display so rich a present to the eyes of his friends.

"Yes," said Athos, "it reminds me of a family jewel."

"It is beautiful, is it not?" said d'Artagnan.

"Magnificent!" replied Athos; "I did not believe that two sapphires of such fine water existed. Have you therefore exchanged it for your diamond?"

"No," said d'Artagnan; "it is a gift from my beautiful Englishwoman, or rather from my beautiful Frenchwoman: for, though I did not ask her, I am convinced she was born in France."

"This ring comes from Milady?" cried Athos with a voice in which it was easy to distinguish great emotion.

"From herself; she gave it to me last night."

"Show me this ring then," said Athos.

"Here it is," replied d'Artagnan, drawing it from his finger.

Athos examined it and became very pale, then he tried it on the ring finger of his left hand; it fitted that finger as if it had been made for him. A cloud of anger and vengeance passed over the ordinarily calm brow of the gentleman.

"It is impossible that it should be the same," he said; "how could this ring be in the hands of Milady Clarick? And yet it is very difficult that there should be between two jewels such a resemblance."

"Do you know this ring?" asked d'Artagnan.

"I thought I recognized it," said Athos, "but no doubt I was mistaken."

And he returned it to d'Artagnan, without ceasing however to look at it.

"Look here," he said after a moment, "d'Artagnan, take this ring off your finger or turn the setting inward; it recalls such cruel memories to me that I should not have my wits to talk with you. Did you not come to ask my advice, did you not tell me that you were embarrassed as to what you should do?... But wait... give me back that sapphire: the one I meant to speak of should have one of its faces scratched as the result of an accident."

D'Artagnan again drew the ring from his finger and returned it to Athos.

Athos started:

"Look," he said, "see, is it not strange?"

And he showed d'Artagnan this scratch which he remembered should exist.

"But from whom did this sapphire come to you, Athos?"

"From my mother, who had it from her mother. As I told you, it is an old jewel... which was never to leave the family."

"And you have... sold it?" asked d'Artagnan hesitatingly.

"No," replied Athos with a singular smile; "I gave it on a night of love, as it has been given to you."

D'Artagnan in turn remained pensive; he seemed to see in the soul of Milady abysses whose depths were dark and unknown.

He put the ring back not on his finger, but in his pocket.

"Listen," said Athos, taking his hand, "you know if I love you, d'Artagnan; I would not love a son more than you. Well, believe me, renounce this woman. I do not know her, but a kind of intuition tells me that she is a lost creature, and that there is something fatal about her."

"And you are right," said d'Artagnan. "So I will separate from her; I confess that this woman frightens me myself."

"Will you have that courage?" said Athos.

"I will have it," replied d'Artagnan, "and instantly."

"Well, truly, my child, you are right," said the gentleman, pressing the Gascon's hand with an almost paternal affection; "may God grant that this woman, who is barely entered into your life, may not leave a fatal trace there!"

And Athos bowed to d'Artagnan, like a man who wishes it to be understood that he is not sorry to remain alone with his thoughts.

On returning home, d'Artagnan found Ketty, who was waiting for him. A month of fever would not have changed the poor child more than she was changed by that night of insomnia and grief.

She was sent by her mistress to the false de Wardes. Her mistress was mad with love, drunk with joy: she wanted to know when the count would give her a second interview.

And poor Ketty, pale and trembling, awaited d'Artagnan's answer.

Athos had a great influence over the young man; his friend's counsels, joined to the cries of his own heart, had determined him, now that his pride was saved and his vengeance satisfied, to see Milady no more. For all answer therefore he took a pen and wrote the following letter:

"Do not count on me, madame, for the next rendezvous; since my convalescence I have so many occupations of this kind that I have had to put a certain order into them. When your turn comes, I shall have the honor to inform you thereof.

"I kiss your hands. "Comte de Wardes."

Not a word of the sapphire: did the Gascon wish to keep a weapon against Milady? or, to be frank, was he not keeping this sapphire as a last resource for his equipment?

One would be wrong, moreover, to judge the actions of one epoch from the point of view of another epoch. What today would be regarded as a shame for a gallant man was in those days a simple and natural thing, and the younger sons of the best families generally allowed themselves to be kept by their mistresses.

D'Artagnan passed his letter quite open to Ketty, who read it first without understanding it, and who almost went mad with joy on reading it a second time.

Ketty could not believe in such happiness; d'Artagnan was forced to renew to her by word of mouth the assurances which the letter gave her in writing; and whatever, with Milady's violent character, the danger might be that the poor child ran in delivering this note to her mistress, she none the less returned to the Place Royale with all the speed of her legs.

The heart of the best woman is pitiless for the griefs of a rival.

Milady opened the letter with an eagerness equal to that with which Ketty had brought it, but at the first word she read, she turned livid; then she crumpled the paper; then she turned round with a flash in her eyes toward Ketty.

"What is this letter?" she said.

"Why, it is the answer to madame's," replied Ketty all trembling.

"Impossible!" cried Milady; "impossible that a gentleman should have written such a letter to a woman!"

Then suddenly starting:

"My God!" she said, "would he know..." And she stopped.

Her teeth were grinding, she was the color of ashes; she tried to take a step toward the window to go and get some air; but she could only extend her arms, her legs gave way, and she fell into an armchair.

Ketty thought she was ill and rushed to open her bodice. But Milady rose quickly:

"What do you want with me?" she said, "and why do you lay your hands on me?"

"I thought madame was ill and I wished to assist her," replied the maid, quite terrified at the terrible expression that had taken possession of her mistress's face.

"Ill, I? I? do you take me for a weakling? When I am insulted, I do not fall ill, I avenge myself, do you understand!"

And with her hand she motioned Ketty to go out.

CHAPTER XXXVI. DREAM OF VENGEANCE

In the evening Milady gave orders to admit Monsieur d'Artagnan as soon as he came, according to his custom. But he did not come.

The next day Ketty came again to see the young man and told him all that had passed the previous evening: d'Artagnan smiled; this jealous anger of Milady was his vengeance.

In the evening Milady was more impatient than the day before, she renewed the order relative to the Gascon; but as the day before she waited for him in vain.

The next day Ketty presented herself at d'Artagnan's, no longer joyful and alert as the two preceding days, but on the contrary sad to die.

D'Artagnan asked the poor girl what was the matter; but she, for all answer, drew a letter from her pocket and handed it to him.

This letter was in Milady's handwriting: only this time it was quite addressed to d'Artagnan and not to M. de Wardes.

He opened it and read what follows:

"Dear Monsieur d'Artagnan, it is wrong thus to neglect one's friends, especially at the moment when one is about to leave them for so long. My brother-in-law and I waited for you in vain yesterday and the day before. Will it be the same this evening?

"Your very grateful, "Lady Clarick."

"That is quite simple," said d'Artagnan, "and I expected this letter. My credit rises as the Comte de Wardes's falls."

"Are you going then?" asked Ketty.

"Listen, my dear child," said the Gascon, who was seeking to excuse himself in his own eyes for breaking the promise he had made to Athos, "you understand that it would be impolitic not to respond to such a positive invitation. Milady, not seeing me return, would understand nothing of the interruption of my visits, she might suspect something, and who can tell how far the vengeance of a woman of that sort might go?"

"Oh! my God!" said Ketty, "you know how to present things in such a way that you are always right. But you are going to court her again; and if this time you should please her under your real name and your real face, it would be much worse than the first time!"

Instinct made the poor girl divine a part of what was about to happen.

D'Artagnan reassured her as best he could and promised to remain insensible to the seductions of Milady.

He had her answer that he was most grateful for her kindnesses and that he would obey her orders; but he dared not write for fear of not being able, to eyes as practiced as Milady's, to disguise his handwriting sufficiently.

At nine o'clock precisely, d'Artagnan was at the Place Royale. It was evident that the servants who were waiting in the antechamber had been warned, for as soon as d'Artagnan appeared, before even he had asked if Milady was visible, one of them ran to announce him.

"Let him come in," said Milady in a brief voice, but so piercing that d'Artagnan heard her from the antechamber.

He was introduced.

"I am at home to no one," said Milady; "do you hear, to no one."

The lackey went out.

“Stories of the world, in your language.”