Part 40

"Your Eminence is right," said Milady, "and it is I who was wrong to see in the mission with which she honors me anything other than what it really is—that is, to announce to His Grace, on behalf of His Eminence, that you know the various disguises by which he managed to approach the queen during the fête given by Madame the Constable; that you have the proofs of the interview granted at the Louvre by the queen to a certain Italian astrologer who is none other than the Duke of Buckingham; that you have commissioned a little novel, most clever, on the adventure at Amiens, with a plan of the garden where that adventure took place and portraits of the actors who figured in it; that Montaigu is in the Bastille, and that torture can make him tell things he remembers and even things he might have forgotten; finally, that you possess a certain letter from Madame de Chevreuse, found in His Grace's lodging, which compromises singularly not only the one who wrote it, but also the one in whose name it was written. Then, if he persists despite all that, as my mission is limited to what I have just said, I shall have only to pray God to work a miracle to save France. That is it, is it not, Monseigneur, and I have nothing else to do?"

"That is it," replied the cardinal dryly.

"And now," said Milady, without appearing to notice the change in tone of the duke toward her, "now that I have received Your Eminence's instructions concerning his enemies, will Monseigneur permit me to say a word about my own?"

"So you have enemies?" asked Richelieu.

"Yes, Monseigneur; enemies against whom you owe me all your support, for I made them while serving Your Eminence."

"And which ones?" replied the duke.

"First, a little intriguer named Bonacieux."

"She is in the prison at Mantes."

"That is to say, she was there," replied Milady, "but the queen obtained a royal order, by means of which she had her transferred to a convent."

"To a convent?" said the duke.

"Yes, to a convent."

"And which one?"

"I do not know; the secret has been well kept…"

"I shall find out!"

"And Your Eminence will tell me which convent that woman is in?"

"I see no objection," said the cardinal.

"Good; now I have another enemy, far more to be feared by me than that little Madame Bonacieux."

"Which one?"

"Her lover."

"What is his name?"

"Oh! Your Eminence knows him well," cried Milady, carried away by anger, "it is our evil genius both of us; he who, in a skirmish with Your Eminence's guards, decided the victory in favor of the king's musketeers; he who gave three sword thrusts to de Wardes, your emissary, and caused the affair of the diamond tags to fail; he, finally, who, knowing that it was I who had taken Madame Bonacieux from him, swore my death."

"Ah! ah!" said the cardinal, "I know whom you mean."

"I mean that wretch d'Artagnan."

"He is a bold fellow," said the cardinal.

"And it is precisely because he is a bold fellow that he is the more to be feared."

"We should need," said the duke, "to have proof of his dealings with Buckingham."

"Proof," cried Milady, "I will have ten."

"Well, then! it is the simplest thing in the world; get me that proof and I will send him to the Bastille."

"Good, Monseigneur! and then?"

"When one is in the Bastille, there is no 'and then,'" said the cardinal in a hollow voice. "Ah! by Heaven," he continued, "if it were as easy for me to get rid of my enemy as it is easy to get rid of yours, and if it were against such people that you asked me for impunity!…"

"Monseigneur," replied Milady, "exchange for exchange, life for life, man for man; give me that one, I will give you the other."

"I do not know what you mean," replied the cardinal, "and I do not even wish to know; but I desire to be agreeable to you and see no inconvenience in giving you what you ask concerning such a puny creature; the more so, as you tell me, that this little d'Artagnan is a libertine, a duelist, a traitor."

"A wretch, Monseigneur, a wretch!"

"Give me paper, a pen, and ink, then," said the cardinal.

"Here they are, Monseigneur."

There was a moment of silence, proving that the cardinal was occupied in seeking the terms in which the note should be written, or even in writing it. Athos, who had not lost a word of the conversation, took each of his two companions by the hand and led them to the other end of the room.

"Well," said Porthos, "what do you want, and why do you not let us listen to the end of the conversation?"

"Hush!" said Athos, speaking in a low voice, "we have heard all that it is necessary for us to hear; besides, I do not prevent you from listening to the rest, but I must go out."

"You must go out!" said Porthos; "but if the cardinal asks for you, what shall we answer?"

"You will not wait for him to ask; you will tell him first that I have gone ahead as a scout, because certain words of our host gave me to think that the road was not safe; I will first say a couple of words about it to the cardinal's equerry; the rest concerns me, do not worry about it."

"Be prudent, Athos!" said Aramis.

"Be easy," replied Athos; "you know I have cool blood."

Porthos and Aramis went back to their place near the stovepipe.

As for Athos, he went out without any mystery, went to take his horse, which was tied with those of his two friends to the window bolts, convinced the equerry in four words of the necessity of an advance guard for the return, examined with affectation the priming of his pistols, put his sword between his teeth, and followed, like a lost child, the road that led to the camp.

CHAPTER XLV. CONJUGAL SCENE

As Athos had foreseen, the cardinal did not delay in coming down; he opened the door of the room where the musketeers had entered and found Porthos playing a furious game of dice with Aramis. With a rapid glance he searched all the corners of the room and saw that one of his men was missing.

"What has become of Monsieur Athos?" he asked.

"Monseigneur," replied Porthos, "he has gone ahead as a scout, on account of some words of our host, which made him believe the road was not safe."

"And you, what have you done, Monsieur Porthos?"

"I have won five pistoles from Aramis."

"And now, you can return with me?"

"We are at Your Eminence's orders."

"To horse, then, gentlemen, for it is getting late."

The equerry was at the door, holding the cardinal's horse by the bridle. A little farther on, a group of two men and three horses appeared in the shadow; these two men were those who were to conduct Milady to the fort of La Pointe and watch over her embarkation.

The equerry confirmed to the cardinal what the two musketeers had already told him about Athos. The cardinal made an approving gesture and resumed his road, surrounding himself on the return with the same precautions he had taken on the departure.

Let us leave him to follow the road to the camp, protected by his equerry and the two musketeers, and return to Athos.

For about a hundred paces he had gone at the same pace; but once out of sight, he had sent his horse to the right, made a detour, and come back to about twenty paces in the thicket, to watch for the passage of the little troop; having recognized the laced hats of his companions and the gold fringe of the cardinal's cloak, he waited until the horsemen had turned the corner of the road, and, having lost sight of them, he returned at a gallop to the inn, which was opened to him without difficulty.

The host recognized him.

"My officer," said Athos, "forgot to give an important recommendation to the lady upstairs; he sends me to repair his forgetfulness."

"Go up," said the host; "she is still in her room."

Athos took advantage of the permission, went up the stairs with his lightest step, reached the landing, and through the half-open door he saw Milady fastening her hat.

He entered the room and closed the door behind him.

At the noise he made in pushing the bolt, Milady turned around.

Athos was standing before the door, wrapped in his cloak, his hat pulled down over his eyes.

On seeing that silent, motionless figure like a statue, Milady was afraid.

"Who are you? and what do you want?" she cried. "Come, it is she!" murmured Athos.

And, letting his cloak fall, and raising his felt hat, he advanced toward Milady.

"Do you recognize me, madame?" he said.

Milady took a step forward, then recoiled as at the sight of a serpent.

"Come," said Athos, "it is well, I see you recognize me."

"The Comte de La Fère!" murmured Milady, turning pale and retreating until the wall stopped her from going further.

"Yes, Milady," replied Athos, "the Comte de La Fère in person, who returns expressly from the other world to have the pleasure of seeing you. Let us sit down, then, and talk, as Monseigneur the cardinal says."

Milady, dominated by an inexpressible terror, sat down without uttering a single word.

"So you are a demon sent upon the earth?" said Athos. "Your power is great, I know; but you know also that with the help of God men have often vanquished the most terrible demons. You have already crossed my path; I thought I had crushed you, madame; but either I was mistaken, or hell has resurrected you."

Milady, at these words which recalled frightful memories, lowered her head with a dull groan.

"Yes, hell has resurrected you," continued Athos, "hell has made you rich, hell has given you another name, hell has almost made you even another face; but it has effaced neither the stains of your soul nor the brand upon your body."

Milady started up as if moved by a spring, and her eyes flashed lightning. Athos remained seated.

"You thought I was dead, did you not, as I thought you were dead? and the name Athos had hidden the Comte de La Fère, as the name Milady Clarick had hidden Anne de Breuil! Was it not thus you were called when your honored brother married us? Our position is truly strange," continued Athos, laughing; "we have only lived until now, both of us, because we believed each other dead, and because a memory is less troublesome than a creature, though sometimes a memory is a devouring thing!"

"But, after all," said Milady in a hollow voice, "what brings you back to me? and what do you want of me?"

"I want to tell you that, while remaining invisible to your eyes, I have not lost sight of you!"

"You know what I have done?"

"I can relate your actions day by day, from your entrance into the cardinal's service until this evening."

A smile of incredulity passed over Milady's pale lips.

"Listen: it was you who cut the two diamond tags from the Duke of Buckingham's shoulder; it was you who had Madame Bonacieux carried off; it was you who, in love with de Wardes, and thinking to pass the night with him, opened your door to Monsieur d'Artagnan; it was you who, believing that de Wardes had deceived you, wanted to have him killed by his rival; it was you who, when that rival discovered your infamous secret, wanted in turn to have him killed by two assassins you sent in pursuit of him; it was you who, seeing the bullets had missed their mark, sent poisoned wine with a false letter, to make your victim believe that wine came from his friends; it was you, finally, who came here, in this room, sitting on that chair where I am, to make an engagement with Cardinal Richelieu to have the Duke of Buckingham assassinated, in exchange for the promise he made you to let you have d'Artagnan assassinated."

Milady was livid.

"But you are Satan, then?" she said.

"Perhaps," said Athos; "but, in any case, listen well to this: Assassinate or have the Duke of Buckingham assassinated, it matters little to me! I do not know him; besides, he is an Englishman; but do not touch a single hair of d'Artagnan's head with the tip of your finger, who is a faithful friend I love and defend, or, I swear by my father's head, the crime you shall have committed will be the last."

"Monsieur d'Artagnan has cruelly offended me," said Milady in a hollow voice; "Monsieur d'Artagnan shall die."

"In truth, is it possible that anyone can offend you, madame?" said Athos, laughing; "he has offended you, and he shall die?"

"He shall die," repeated Milady; "she first, and he afterward."

Athos was seized as with a dizziness: the sight of this creature, who had nothing of a woman in her, recalled terrible memories; he thought that one day, in a less dangerous situation than that in which he found himself, he had already wanted to sacrifice her to his honor; his desire for murder returned, burning and invading him like a raging fever: he rose in turn, put his hand to his belt, drew out a pistol, and cocked it.

Milady, pale as a corpse, tried to cry out, but her frozen tongue could utter only a hoarse sound that had nothing of human speech and seemed like the death rattle of a wild beast; pressed against the dark tapestry, she appeared, with her hair disheveled, like the frightful image of terror.

Athos slowly raised his pistol, extended his arm so that the weapon almost touched Milady's forehead, and then, in a voice all the more terrible for its supreme calm of inflexible resolution:

"Madame," said he, "you will instantly hand me over the paper that the cardinal signed for you, or, upon my soul, I will blow your brains out."

With any other man Milady might have preserved some doubt, but she knew Athos; yet she remained motionless.

"You have one second to decide," said he.

Milady saw from the contraction of his face that the shot was about to be fired; she quickly carried her hand to her bosom, drew out a paper, and handed it to Athos.

"Take it," said she, "and be cursed!"

Athos took the paper, replaced the pistol in his belt, approached the lamp to make sure it was the right one, unfolded it, and read:

"It is by my order and for the good of the state that the bearer of this has done what he has done.

December 3, 1627. "Richelieu"

"And now," said Athos, putting on his cloak again and replacing his felt hat on his head, "now that I have pulled your teeth, viper, bite if you can."

And he left the room without even looking behind him.

At the door he found the two men and the horse they held in hand.

"Gentlemen," said he, "Monseigneur's order, you know, is to conduct this woman, without losing time, to the fort of La Pointe and not to leave her until she is on board."

As these words agreed indeed with the order they had received, they inclined their heads in sign of assent.

As for Athos, he lightly mounted his horse and set off at a gallop; only, instead of following the road, he cut across the fields, spurring his horse vigorously and from time to time stopping to listen.

During one of these halts, he heard on the road the step of several horses. He did not doubt that it was the cardinal and his escort. Immediately he made a fresh dash forward, rubbed down his horse with heather and tree leaves, and came to station himself across the road about two hundred paces from the camp.

"Who goes there?" he cried from afar when he perceived the riders.

"It is our brave musketeer, I believe," said the cardinal.

"Yes, Monseigneur," replied Athos. "It is he himself."

"Monsieur Athos," said Richelieu, "receive my thanks for the good guard you have kept for us; gentlemen, here we are arrived; take the gate on the left; the watchword is King and Ré."

Saying these words, the cardinal nodded to the three friends and turned to the right, followed by his equerry; for that night he himself slept in the camp.

"Well!" said Porthos and Aramis together when the cardinal was out of earshot, "well, he signed the paper she asked for."

"I know it," said Athos quietly, "since here it is."

And the three friends exchanged not another word until they reached their quarters, except to give the watchword to the sentinels.

Only, Mousqueton was sent to tell Planchet that his master was requested, upon leaving the trenches, to come immediately to the musketeers' lodging.

On the other hand, as Athos had foreseen, Milady, on finding at the door the men who awaited her, made no difficulty about following them; she had indeed had for an instant the desire to be taken back before the cardinal and to tell him everything, but a revelation on her part would bring about a revelation on Athos's part: she might well say that Athos had hanged her, but Athos would say she was branded; she thought it was still better to keep silence, depart discreetly, accomplish with her usual skill the difficult mission she had undertaken, and then, when everything was done to the cardinal's satisfaction, come to claim her vengeance.

Consequently, after traveling all night, at seven o'clock in the morning she was at the fort of La Pointe, at eight she was embarked, and at nine the vessel, which, with letters of marque from the cardinal, was supposed to be bound for Bayonne, weighed anchor and set sail for England.

CHAPTER XLVI. THE BASTION SAINT-GERVAIS

On arriving at his three friends' quarters, d'Artagnan found them assembled in the same room: Athos was thinking, Porthos was curling his mustache, Aramis was saying his prayers in a charming little book of hours bound in blue velvet.

"By Heaven, gentlemen!" said he, "I hope that what you have to tell me is worth the trouble; otherwise I warn you I will not forgive you for having me come, instead of letting me rest after a night spent in taking and dismantling a bastion. Ah! why were you not there, gentlemen? it was hot work!"

"We were elsewhere, where it was not cold either!" replied Porthos, while giving his mustache a curl that was peculiar to him.

"Hush!" said Athos.

"Oh! oh!" said d'Artagnan, understanding the slight frown of the musketeer, "it appears there is something new here."

"Aramis," said Athos, "you breakfasted the day before yesterday at the Parpaillot inn, I believe?"

"Yes."

"How are they there?"

"Well, I fared very badly for my part; the day before yesterday was a fast day, and they had only meat."

"What!" said Athos, "in a seaport they have no fish?"

"They say," replied Aramis, resuming his pious reading, "that the dike which the cardinal is building drives the fish out to sea."

"But that is not what I asked you, Aramis," resumed Athos; "I asked you if you were quite free, and if no one disturbed you?"

"Well, it seems to me we had not too many intruders; yes, in fact, for what you want to say, Athos, we shall be quite comfortable at the Parpaillot."

"Let us go to the Parpaillot, then," said Athos, "for here the walls are like sheets of paper."

D'Artagnan, who was accustomed to his friend's ways, and at once recognized from a word, a gesture, a sign from him, that circumstances were serious, took Athos's arm and went out with him without speaking; Porthos followed, chatting with Aramis.

On the way, they met Grimaud; Athos made him a sign to follow; Grimaud, according to his custom, obeyed in silence; the poor fellow had almost ended by unlearning to speak.

They arrived at the Parpaillot tavern; it was seven o'clock in the morning, daylight was beginning to appear; the three friends ordered breakfast and went into a room where, according to the host, they should not be disturbed.

Unfortunately, the hour was ill chosen for a conference; reveille had just been beaten, each man was shaking off the sleep of the night, and, to drive away the damp morning air, came to drink a dram at the tavern: dragoons, Swiss, guards, musketeers, light horse, followed one another with a rapidity that must have done very well for the host's business, but which filled the four friends' views very ill. So they responded in a very surly manner to the salutes, the toasts, and the jests of their comrades.

"Come!" said Athos, "we shall get some good quarrel, and we have no need of that just now. D'Artagnan, tell us of your night; we will tell you of ours afterward."

"Indeed," said a light horseman who was swaggering about, holding in his hand a glass of brandy which he was sipping slowly, "indeed, you were in the trenches last night, gentlemen of the guards, and it seems to me you had a brush with the Rochelais?"

D'Artagnan looked at Athos to know if he should answer this intruder who was meddling in the conversation.

"Well," said Athos, "do you not hear Monsieur de Busigny, who does you the honor of addressing you? Tell what happened last night, since these gentlemen desire to know it."

"Have you not taken a bastion?" asked a Swiss who was drinking rum from a beer glass.

"Yes, monsieur," replied d'Artagnan, bowing, "we have had that honor; we even, as you may have heard, introduced under one of the angles a barrel of powder which, in exploding, made a very pretty breach; not to mention that, as the bastion was not of yesterday, all the rest of the building was greatly shaken by it."

"And what bastion is that?" asked a dragoon who had an impaled goose on his saber, which he was bringing to be cooked.

"The bastion Saint-Gervais," replied d'Artagnan, "behind which the Rochelais were harassing our workmen."

"And was the affair hot?"

"Well, yes; we lost five men, and the Rochelais eight or ten."

"Balzampleu!" said the Swiss, who, despite the admirable collection of oaths possessed by the German tongue, had got the habit of swearing in French.

"But it is probable," said the light horseman, "that they will send pioneers this morning to repair the bastion."

"Yes, it is probable," said d'Artagnan.

"Gentlemen," said Athos, "a wager!"

"Ah! yes, a wager!" said the Swiss.

"Which?" asked the light horseman.

"Wait," said the dragoon, placing his saber like a spit on the two great iron andirons that supported the fire in the chimney, "I am in. Landlord, a dripping pan at once, that I may not lose a drop of the fat of this estimable fowl."

"He is right," said the Swiss, "the fat of goose is very good with preserves."

"There!" said the dragoon. "Now, let us hear the wager! We are listening, Monsieur Athos!"

"Yes, the wager!" said the light horseman.

"Well, Monsieur de Busigny," said Athos, "I wager with you that my three companions, Messieurs Porthos, Aramis, d'Artagnan, and I, will go and breakfast in the bastion Saint-Gervais and that we will hold it for an hour, watch in hand, whatever the enemy may do to dislodge us."

“Stories of the world, in your language.”