Part 38

"You see, then, that I must have that letter," said d'Artagnan; "so no more delay, no more hesitation, or whatever my reluctance to dip my sword a second time in the blood of a wretch like you, I swear by my faith as an honest man..."

And at these words d'Artagnan made a gesture so threatening that the wounded man sat up.

"Stop! stop!" he cried, regaining courage through sheer terror, "I will go... I will go!..."

D'Artagnan took the soldier's arquebus, made him pass before him, and pushed him toward his companion, pricking his back with the point of his sword.

It was a frightful thing to see this unhappy man, leaving a long trail of blood on the path he traversed, pale with his approaching death, trying to drag himself unseen to the body of his accomplice, who lay twenty paces away!

Terror was so painted on his face, covered with a cold sweat, that d'Artagnan took pity on him; and, looking at him with contempt:

"Well," he said to him, "I will show you the difference there is between a man of heart and a coward like you; stay, I will go."

And with a light step, eyes on the watch, observing the movements of the enemy, taking advantage of all the accidents of the ground, d'Artagnan reached the second soldier.

There were two ways to attain his goal: to search him on the spot, or to carry him off, making a shield of his body, and search him in the trench.

D'Artagnan preferred the second means and loaded the assassin on his shoulders at the very moment the enemy fired.

A slight shock, the dull sound of three bullets piercing the flesh, a final cry, a trembling of agony proved to d'Artagnan that he who had intended to assassinate him had just saved his life.

D'Artagnan regained the trench and threw the corpse beside the wounded man, who was as pale as a dead man.

Immediately he began the inventory: a leather pocketbook, a purse where evidently part of the sum the bandit had received was found, a dice box and dice formed the inheritance of the dead man.

He left the dice box and dice where they had fallen, threw the purse to the wounded man, and eagerly opened the pocketbook.

In the midst of some papers of no importance, he found the following letter; it was the one he had come to seek at the risk of his life:

"Since you have lost trace of that woman and she is now safe in that convent where you should never have let her arrive, try at least not to miss the man; otherwise, you know that I have a long reach and that you would pay dearly for the hundred louis you owe me."

No signature. Nevertheless, it was evident that the letter came from Milady. Consequently, he kept it as evidence, and, safe behind the angle of the trench, he began to question the wounded man. He confessed that he and his comrade (the one who had just been killed) had been charged with carrying off a young woman who was to leave Paris by the La Villette gate, but that, having stopped to drink at a tavern, they had missed the carriage by ten minutes.

"But what would you have done with this woman?" asked d'Artagnan anxiously.

"We were to deliver her to a hotel on the Place Royale," said the wounded man.

"Yes! yes!" murmured d'Artagnan, "that is it, at Milady's own house."

Then the young man understood with a shudder what terrible thirst for vengeance drove this woman to destroy him, as well as those who loved him, and how much she knew about the affairs of the court, since she had discovered everything. No doubt she owed this information to the cardinal.

But, in the midst of all this, he understood, with a feeling of real joy, that the queen had finally discovered the prison where poor Mme Bonacieux was expiating her devotion, and that she had drawn her from that prison. Then the letter he had received from the young woman and her passage on the Chaillot road, a passage like an apparition, were explained to him.

Henceforth, as Athos had predicted, it was possible to find Mme Bonacieux, and a convent was not impregnable.

This idea completed the restoration of clemency in his heart. He turned back to the wounded man, who was following with anxiety all the various expressions on his face, and, offering him his arm:

"Come," he said to him, "I will not abandon you like this. Lean on me and return to camp."

"Yes," said the wounded man, who could hardly believe in such magnanimity, "but is it not to have me hanged?"

"You have my word," he said, "and for the second time I give you your life."

The wounded man let himself slide to his knees and again kissed the feet of his savior; but d'Artagnan, who had no further reason to stay so close to the enemy, himself cut short the evidences of his gratitude.

The guard who had returned at the first discharge from the Rochellais had announced the death of his four companions. Therefore, there was both great surprise and great joy in the regiment when they saw the young man reappear safe and sound.

D'Artagnan explained his companion's sword wound by a sortie he improvised. He related the death of the other soldier and the dangers they had run. This narrative was for him an occasion of a real triumph. The whole army talked of this expedition for a day, and Monsieur sent him his compliments.

Besides, as every fine action carries its reward with it, d'Artagnan's fine action resulted in restoring the tranquility he had lost. Indeed, d'Artagnan believed he could be tranquil, since, of his two enemies, one was killed and the other devoted to his interests.

This tranquility proved one thing: that d'Artagnan did not yet know Milady.

CHAPTER XLII. THE ANJOU WINE

After almost hopeless news of the king, the rumor of his convalescence began to spread through the camp; and as he was very eager to come in person to the siege, it was said that as soon as he could mount a horse, he would set out again.

Meanwhile, Monsieur, who knew that from day to day he was going to be replaced in his command, either by the Duc d'Angoulême, or by Bassompierre or Schomberg, who were disputing the command, did little, wasted his days in fumbling, and dared not risk any great enterprise to drive the English from the Île de Ré, where they were still besieging the citadel of Saint-Martin and the fort of La Prée, while the French, on their side, were besieging La Rochelle.

D'Artagnan, as we have said, had become more tranquil again, as always happens after a danger is past, and when the danger seems vanished; he had only one anxiety left: that of hearing no news of his friends.

But, one morning at the beginning of November, everything was explained to him by this letter, dated from Villeroi:

"To Monsieur d'Artagnan, "Messieurs Athos, Porthos, and Aramis, after having had a good party at my house, and having enjoyed themselves very much, made so much noise that the provost of the château, a very strict man, confined them for a few days; but I am carrying out the orders they have given me, to send you twelve bottles of my Anjou wine, of which they thought highly: they want you to drink to their health with their favorite wine. "I have done so, and am, monsieur, with great respect, "Your very humble and very obedient servant,

"Godeau, "Innkeeper to the Messieurs the Musketeers."

"Good!" cried d'Artagnan, "they think of me in their pleasures as I thought of them in my boredom; certainly I will drink to their health, and with all my heart; but I won't drink alone."

And d'Artagnan ran to two guards, with whom he had become more friendly than with the others, to invite them to drink with him the delicious little Anjou wine that had just arrived from Villeroi. One of the two guards was invited for that same evening, and the other invited for the next day; the meeting was therefore fixed for the day after.

D'Artagnan, on returning, sent the twelve bottles of wine to the guard's canteen, recommending that they be kept carefully for him; then, on the day of the feast, as the dinner was fixed for noon, d'Artagnan sent Planchet at nine o'clock to prepare everything.

Planchet, very proud to be elevated to the dignity of butler, thought to arrange everything like an intelligent man; for this purpose he took as assistant the valet of one of his master's guests, named Fourreau, and that false soldier who had wanted to kill d'Artagnan, and who, belonging to no corps, had entered his service—or rather that of Planchet—since d'Artagnan had saved his life.

When the hour of the feast came, the two guests arrived, took their places, and the dishes were lined up on the table. Planchet served with a napkin on his arm, Fourreau uncorked the bottles, and Brisemont—that was the name of the convalescent—decanted into glass carafes the wine which seemed to have deposited a sediment due to the jolts of the journey. Of this wine, the first bottle was a little cloudy towards the end; Brisemont poured this dregs into a glass, and d'Artagnan allowed him to drink it; for the poor devil had not yet much strength.

The guests, after having eaten the soup, were about to raise the first glass to their lips, when suddenly the cannon thundered from Fort Louis and Fort Neuf; immediately the guards, believing it was some unforeseen attack, either from the besieged or the English, sprang to their swords; d'Artagnan, no less quick, did the same, and all three ran out to go to their posts.

But scarcely were they out of the canteen than they were informed of the cause of this great noise; the cries of "Long live the king! Long live the cardinal!" resounded on all sides, and drums were beating in every direction.

Indeed, the king, impatient as had been said, had just doubled two stages, and arrived at that very moment with all his household and a reinforcement of ten thousand troops; his musketeers preceded and followed him. D'Artagnan, placed in line with his company, saluted with an expressive gesture his friends, who answered him with their eyes, and M. de Tréville, who recognized him at once.

The reception ceremony over, the four friends were soon in each other's arms.

"By Jove!" cried d'Artagnan, "it is impossible to arrive at a better time, and the meats will not yet have had time to cool! Will they, gentlemen?" added the young man, turning to the two guards, whom he presented to his friends.

"Ah! ah! it seems we were banqueting," said Porthos.

"I hope," said Aramis, "that there are no women at your dinner!"

"Is there any drinkable wine in your hovel?" asked Athos.

"But by Jove! there is yours, dear friend," replied d'Artagnan.

"Our wine?" said Athos, astonished.

"Yes, that which you sent me."

"We sent you wine?"

"But you know, that little wine from the Anjou hillsides?"

"Yes, I well know what wine you mean."

"The wine you prefer."

"Doubtless, when I have neither champagne nor chambertin."

"Well, for lack of champagne and chambertin, you will content yourself with that."

"Then we have sent for some Anjou wine, we gourmets that we are?" said Porthos.

"No, it is the wine that was sent to me on your behalf."

"On our behalf?" said the three musketeers.

"Is it you, Aramis," said Athos, "who sent some wine?"

"No; and you, Porthos?"

"No; and you, Athos?"

"No."

"If it is not you," said d'Artagnan, "it is your innkeeper."

"Our innkeeper?"

"Yes, your innkeeper, Godeau, innkeeper to the musketeers."

"Faith, let it come from where it will, no matter," said Porthos, "let's taste it, and if it's good, let's drink it."

"No," said Athos, "let's not drink wine of unknown origin."

"You are right, Athos," said d'Artagnan. "Did none of you instruct the innkeeper Godeau to send me wine?"

"No! and yet he sent you some on our behalf?"

"Here is the letter!" said d'Artagnan.

And he presented the note to his comrades.

"That is not his handwriting!" cried Athos; "I know it; it was I who, before leaving, settled the community accounts."

"Forged letter," said Porthos; "we were not confined."

"D'Artagnan," asked Aramis in a tone of reproach, "how could you believe that we had made a noise?..."

D'Artagnan paled, and a convulsive trembling shook all his limbs.

"You frighten me," said Athos, who only used the familiar "thou" with him on great occasions; "what has happened?"

"Let us run, let us run, my friends!" cried d'Artagnan; "a horrible suspicion crosses my mind! Can it be another vengeance of that woman?"

It was Athos who paled in his turn.

D'Artagnan rushed towards the canteen; the three musketeers and the two guards followed him.

The first object that struck d'Artagnan's sight on entering the dining room was Brisemont stretched on the ground and rolling in atrocious convulsions.

Planchet and Fourreau, pale as death, were trying to help him; but it was evident that all help was useless: all the features of the dying man were convulsed by the agony.

"Ah!" he cried, perceiving d'Artagnan, "ah! it is frightful; you seem to pardon me and you poison me!"

"I!" cried d'Artagnan; "I, unhappy man! I! What are you saying, then?"

"I say that it is you who gave me this wine; I say that it is you who told me to drink it; I say that you wanted to avenge yourself on me; I say that it is frightful!"

"Do not believe it, Brisemont," said d'Artagnan; "do not believe it; I swear, I protest..."

"Oh! but God is there! God will punish you! My God! may he one day suffer what I suffer!"

"By the gospel," cried d'Artagnan, throwing himself towards the dying man, "I swear to you that I did not know this wine was poisoned, and that I was going to drink it as you did."

"I do not believe you," said the soldier.

And he expired in a renewed paroxysm of torture.

"Frightful! frightful!" murmured Athos, while Porthos broke the bottles and Aramis gave orders, rather late, to send for a confessor.

"Oh, my friends!" said d'Artagnan, "you have once more saved my life, not only mine but that of these gentlemen. Gentlemen," he continued, addressing the two guards, "I will ask you to keep silence about all this adventure; great personages may have had a hand in what you have seen, and the evil of all this would fall back on us."

"Ah, monsieur!" stammered Planchet, more dead than alive; "ah, monsieur! I had a narrow escape!"

"How, rascal," cried d'Artagnan, "you were going to drink my wine?"

"To the king's health, monsieur; I was going to drink a poor glass of it, if Fourreau had not told me I was being called."

"Alas!" said Fourreau, whose teeth were chattering with terror, "I wanted to get him away to drink alone!"

"Gentlemen," said d'Artagnan, addressing the guards, "you understand that such a feast could only be very sad after what has just happened; so accept all my excuses and put off the party to another day, I pray you."

The two guards courteously accepted d'Artagnan's excuses, and, understanding that the four friends wished to remain alone, they withdrew.

When the young guard and the three musketeers were without witnesses, they looked at each other with an air that meant each understood the gravity of the situation.

"First," said Athos, "let us leave this room; a dead man, dead by violent death, is bad company."

"Planchet," said d'Artagnan, "I entrust the corpse of this poor devil to you. Let him be buried in consecrated ground. He had committed a crime, it is true, but he repented of it."

And the four friends left the room, leaving to Planchet and Fourreau the care of rendering funeral honors to Brisemont.

The host gave them another room, where he served them soft-boiled eggs and water, which Athos went to draw himself from the fountain. In a few words, Porthos and Aramis were put in possession of the situation.

"Well," said d'Artagnan to Athos, "you see, dear friend, it is a war to the death."

Athos shook his head.

"Yes, yes," he said, "I see it well; but do you believe it is she?"

"I am sure of it."

"Nevertheless, I confess I still doubt."

"But that fleur-de-lis on the shoulder?"

"That is an Englishwoman who may have committed some crime in France, and was branded in consequence of her crime."

"Athos, it is your wife, I tell you," repeated d'Artagnan; "do you not remember how the two descriptions resemble each other?"

"I should have thought, however, that the other was dead; I hanged her so well."

It was d'Artagnan who shook his head in his turn.

"But after all, what is to be done?" said the young man.

"The fact is, one cannot remain thus with an eternal sword hanging over one's head," said Athos, "and we must get out of this situation."

"But how?"

"Listen, try to meet her and have an explanation with her; tell her: 'Peace or war! My word of honor as a gentleman never to say anything of you, never to do anything against you; on your side, a solemn oath to remain neutral towards me; otherwise, I will go to the chancellor, I will go to the king, I will go to the executioner; I will rouse the court against you; I will denounce you as branded; I will have you brought to trial; and if you are acquitted, well, I will kill you, on the word of a gentleman! at the corner of some stone, as I would kill a mad dog.'"

"I like that means well enough," said d'Artagnan; "but how to meet her?"

"Time, dear friend, time brings the opportunity; the opportunity is the martingale of man: the more one has staked, the more one gains when one knows how to wait."

"Yes, but to wait surrounded by assassins and poisoners..."

"Bah!" said Athos; "God has preserved us until now; God will preserve us still."

"Yes, us; besides, we are men, and, after all, it is our trade to risk our lives; but she!" he added in a half-voice.

"Who she?" asked Athos.

"Constance."

"Madame Bonacieux! ah! true," said Athos; "poor friend! I forgot you were in love."

"Well, but," said Aramis, "did you not see by the very letter you found on the dead wretch that she is in a convent? One is very comfortable in a convent, and as soon as the siege of La Rochelle is over, I promise you that for my part..."

"Good!" said Athos; "good! yes, my dear Aramis! we know that your inclinations tend towards religion."

"I am only a musketeer temporarily," said Aramis humbly.

"It seems he has not heard from his mistress for a long time," said Athos softly; "but pay no attention; we know that."

"Well," said Porthos, "it seems to me there would be a very simple means."

"Which?" asked d'Artagnan.

"She is in a convent, you say?" resumed Porthos.

"Yes."

"Well, as soon as the siege is over, we will carry her off from that convent."

"But we must first know what convent she is in."

"That is just," said Porthos.

"But, I think," said Athos, "do you not claim, dear d'Artagnan, that it was the queen who chose that convent for her?"

"Yes, I believe so at least."

"Well, then, Porthos will help us in that."

"And how, if you please?"

"By your marchioness, your duchess, your princess; she must have a long reach."

"Hush!" said Porthos, putting a finger on his lips; "I believe she is a cardinalist, and she must know nothing."

"Then," said Aramis, "I will undertake to get news of her."

"You, Aramis?" cried the three friends; "you, and how?"

"By the queen's almoner, with whom I am very intimate...", said Aramis, blushing.

And on this assurance, the four friends, who had finished their modest repast, separated with a promise to meet again that same evening; d'Artagnan returned to the Minimes, and the three musketeers rejoined the king's quarters, where they had to prepare their lodging.

CHAPTER XLIII. THE INN OF THE RED DOVECOTE

Scarcely arrived at the camp, the king, who was in such haste to find himself face to face with the enemy, and who, with better right than the cardinal, shared his hatred against Buckingham, wished to make all the dispositions, first to drive the English from the Île de Ré, and then to press the siege of La Rochelle; but, in spite of himself, he was retarded by the dissensions which broke out between MM. de Bassompierre and Schomberg, against the Duc d'Angoulême.

MM. de Bassompierre and Schomberg were marshals of France, and claimed their right to command the army under the king's orders; but the cardinal, who feared that Bassompierre, a Huguenot at heart, would press feebly the English and the Rochellais, his brothers in religion, urged on the contrary the Duc d'Angoulême, whom the king, at his instigation, had named lieutenant general. The result was that, under penalty of seeing MM. de Bassompierre and Schomberg desert the army, it was necessary to give each a particular command: Bassompierre took his quarters to the north of the city, from La Leu to Dompierre; the Duc d'Angoulême to the east, from Dompierre to Périgny; and M. de Schomberg to the south, from Périgny to Angoutin.

Monsieur's lodging was at Dompierre.

The king's lodging was sometimes at Étré, sometimes at La Jarrie.

Finally, the cardinal's lodging was on the dunes, at Pont de La Pierre, in a simple house without any fortification.

In this way, Monsieur oversaw Bassompierre; the king, the Duc d'Angoulême; and the cardinal, M. de Schomberg.

As soon as this organization was established, they set about driving the English from the island.

The conjuncture was favorable: the English, who before all things need good food to be good soldiers, eating only salted meats and bad biscuits, had many sick in their camp; moreover, the sea, very bad at that time of year on all the ocean coasts, every day damaged some small vessel; and the beach, from Pointe de l'Aiguillon to the trench, was literally covered at each tide with the wreckage of pinnaces, rowboats, and feluccas; consequently, even if the king's men kept themselves in their camp, it was evident that sooner or later Buckingham, who remained in the Île de Ré only out of obstinacy, would be forced to raise the siege.

But as M. de Toiras informed them that everything was being prepared in the enemy camp for a new assault, the king judged that they must finish it and gave the necessary orders for a decisive action.

Our intention not being to make a journal of the siege, but on the contrary to report only those events that relate to the story we are telling, we will content ourselves with saying in two words that the enterprise succeeded to the great astonishment of the king and the great glory of M. le cardinal. The English, repulsed step by step, beaten in all encounters, crushed at the passage of the Île de Loix, were obliged to re-embark, leaving on the battlefield two thousand men, among whom were five colonels, three lieutenant-colonels, two hundred and fifty captains, and twenty gentlemen of rank, four pieces of cannon, and sixty flags which were brought to Paris by Claude de Saint-Simon, and hung with great pomp under the vaults of Notre-Dame.

Te Deums were sung in the camp, and from there spread throughout all France.

“Stories of the world, in your language.”