Part 43

"But," continued Aramis, "the detail escapes me."

"And me also," said Porthos.

D'Artagnan and Athos looked at each other for some time in silence. At last Athos, after reflecting, and becoming even paler than usual, made a sign of assent; d'Artagnan understood that he might speak.

"Well, this is what there is to say," resumed d'Artagnan. "Milord, your sister-in-law is a villainess, who wanted to have you killed in order to inherit from you. But she could not marry your brother, being already married in France, and having been—"

D'Artagnan stopped as if seeking the word, looking at Athos.

"Driven away by her husband," said Athos.

"Because she had been branded," continued d'Artagnan.

"Bah!" cried Porthos, "impossible! She wanted to have her brother-in-law killed?"

"Yes."

"She was married?" asked Aramis.

"Yes."

"And her husband found out that she had a fleur-de-lis on her shoulder?" cried Porthos.

"Yes."

These three yeses had been said by Athos, each with a darker intonation.

"And who saw that fleur-de-lis?" asked Aramis.

"D'Artagnan and I—or rather, to observe chronological order, I and d'Artagnan," replied Athos.

"And the husband of that frightful creature still lives?" said Aramis.

"He still lives."

"Are you sure of it?"

"I am sure of it."

There was a moment of cold silence, during which each felt impressed according to his nature.

"This time," resumed Athos, interrupting the silence first, "d'Artagnan has given us an excellent program, and that is what must be written first."

"The devil! You are right, Athos," resumed Aramis, "and the wording is thorny. Monsieur the Chancellor himself would be embarrassed to compose an epistle of this strength, and yet Monsieur the Chancellor draws up a report very agreeably. No matter! Be silent, I am writing."

Aramis indeed took the pen, reflected for a few moments, began to write eight or ten lines in a charming little feminine hand, then, in a soft, slow voice, as if every word had been scrupulously weighed, he read what follows:

"Milord, "The person who writes you these few lines has had the honor of crossing swords with you in a small enclosure in the Rue d'Enfer. As you have since been pleased to call yourself several times the friend of this person, she owes it to you to acknowledge that friendship by good advice. Twice you have nearly been the victim of a close relative whom you believe to be your heiress, because you are ignorant that before contracting a marriage in England, she was already married in France. But the third time, which is this one, you may succumb. Your relative left La Rochelle for England during the night. Watch for her arrival, for she has great and terrible projects. If you are absolutely determined to know what she is capable of, read her past on her left shoulder."

"Well, that is excellent," said Athos, "and you have the pen of a secretary of state, my dear Aramis. Lord de Winter will now be on his guard, if the advice reaches him; and should it fall into the hands of His Eminence himself, we cannot be compromised. But as the valet who departs might make us believe he has been to London and stop at Châtellerault, let us give him only half the sum with the letter, promising him the other half in exchange for the reply. Have you the diamond?" continued Athos.

"I have better than that; I have the money."

And d'Artagnan threw the bag on the table. At the sound of gold, Aramis raised his eyes. Porthus started. As for Athos, he remained impassive.

"How much in that little bag?" said he.

"Seven thousand livres in louis of twelve francs."

"Seven thousand livres!" cried Porthos, "that miserable little diamond was worth seven thousand livres?"

"It appears so," said Athos, "since here they are; I do not presume that our friend d'Artagnan has added any of his own."

"But, gentlemen, in all this," said d'Artagnan, "we are not thinking of the queen. Let us look a little after the health of her dear Buckingham. That is the least we owe her."

"That is true," said Athos; "but that concerns Aramis."

"Well," replied the latter, blushing, "what must I do?"

"Why," replied Athos, "it is very simple: write a second letter for that clever person who lives at Tours."

Aramis resumed his pen, began to reflect again, and wrote the following lines, which he immediately submitted to the approbation of his friends:

"My dear Cousin—"

"Ah!" said Athos, "that clever person is your relative?"

"Cousin-german," said Aramis.

"Go on for cousin!"

Aramis continued:

"My dear Cousin, His Eminence the Cardinal, whom God preserve for the happiness of France and the confusion of the enemies of the realm, is on the point of finishing with the rebellious heretics of La Rochelle: it is probable that the assistance of the English fleet will not even arrive in sight of the place; I will even dare to say that I am certain that M. de Buckingham will be prevented from setting out by some great event. His Eminence is the most illustrious politician of past times, of the present time, and probably of times to come. He would extinguish the sun if the sun incommoded him. Give these joyful news to your sister, my dear cousin. I have dreamed that this accursed Englishman was dead. I cannot remember whether it was by the sword or by poison; only of this I am sure, that I dreamed he was dead, and, you know, my dreams never deceive me. Be assured, then, of seeing me return soon."

"Capital!" cried Athos; "you are the king of poets, my dear Aramis; you speak like the Apocalypse and you are true as the Gospel. There now only remains the address to put on this letter."

"That is very easy," said Aramis.

He folded the letter coquettishly, took it again, and wrote:

"To Mademoiselle Marie Michon, linen-draper, Tours."

The three friends looked at each other, laughing: they were caught.

"Now," said Aramis, "you understand, gentlemen, that Bazin alone can carry this letter to Tours; my cousin knows nobody but Bazin, and trusts nobody but him; any other would spoil the affair. Besides, Bazin is ambitious and learned; Bazin has read history, gentlemen; he knows that Sixtus Quintus became Pope after having kept swine. Well, as he intends to enter the church at the same time as myself, he does not despair of becoming Pope, or at least cardinal, in his turn. You understand that a man who has such views will not allow himself to be taken, or, if taken, will suffer martyrdom rather than speak."

"Good, good," said d'Artagnan; "I pass Bazin with all my heart; but pass me Planchet. Milady had him turned out of doors one day, with a great many blows of a stick. Now Planchet has a good memory, and I will answer for it, if he can conceive a possible revenge, he will rather be flayed alive than give it up. If your Tours affairs are your affairs, Aramis, those of London are mine. I beg, therefore, that Planchet may be chosen, who, moreover, has already been to London with me, and knows how to say very correctly: 'London, sir, if you please,' and 'my master, Lord d'Artagnan.' With that, be easy; he will make his way going and returning."

"In that case," said Athos, "Planchet must receive seven hundred livres for going and seven hundred for returning; and Bazin, three hundred livres for going and three hundred for returning. That will reduce the sum to five thousand livres; we will take a thousand livres each to use as we think proper, and we will leave a fund of a thousand livres, which the abbé will keep for extraordinary cases or common wants. Does that suit you?"

"My dear Athos," said Aramis, "you speak like Nestor, who was, as every one knows, the wisest of the Greeks."

"Well, then, it is settled," resumed Athos; "Planchet and Bazin shall depart; upon the whole, I am not sorry to keep Grimaud; he is accustomed to my ways, and I like him; yesterday must have shaken him; this journey would ruin him."

Planchet was sent for, and instructions were given to him. He had already been warned by d'Artagnan, who in the first place announced to him glory, then money, then danger.

"I will carry the letter in the lining of my coat," said Planchet, "and swallow it if I am taken."

"But then you could not perform the commission," said d'Artagnan.

"You shall give me a copy this evening, which I shall know by heart to-morrow."

D'Artagnan looked at his friends as if to say: "Well, what did I promise you?"

"Now," continued he, addressing Planchet, "you have eight days to reach Lord de Winter, you have eight other days to return here, — in all sixteen days. If on the sixteenth day from your departure, at eight o'clock in the evening, you are not arrived, no money — even if it be eight o'clock five minutes."

"Then, Monsieur," said Planchet, "buy me a watch."

"Take this," said Athos, giving him his own with the careless generosity of a man of quality, "and be a brave lad. Remember, if you talk, if you babble, if you loiter, you cut your master's throat, who has such great confidence in your fidelity that he has answered for you. But also remember, that if by your fault any misfortune happens to d'Artagnan, I will find you everywhere, and it will be to rip you open."

"Oh, Monsieur!" said Planchet, humiliated by the suspicion, and especially terrified by the calm air of the musketeer.

"And I," said Porthos, rolling his large eyes, "remember that I will flay you alive."

"Ah, Monsieur!"

"And I," continued Aramis, in his soft, melodious voice, "remember that I will roast you like a savage at a slow fire."

"Ah, Monsieur!"

And Planchet began to weep; we dare not say whether it was from terror at the threats made to him, or from tenderness at seeing four friends so closely united.

D'Artagnan took his hand, and embraced him.

"See, Planchet," said he, "these gentlemen say all that to you out of affection for me, but at heart they love you."

"Ah, Monsieur!" said Planchet, "either I shall succeed, or I shall be cut into four quarters; were I cut into four quarters, be assured that not a piece will speak."

It was decided that Planchet should set out the next morning at eight o'clock, so that, as he had said, he might learn the letter by heart during the night. He gained exactly twelve hours by this arrangement; he was to return on the sixteenth day, at eight o'clock in the evening.

In the morning, as he was about to mount his horse, d'Artagnan, who felt at bottom some partiality for the duke, took Planchet aside.

"Listen," said he; "when you have given the letter to Lord de Winter and he has read it, you shall say to him further: 'Watch over His Grace Lord Buckingham, for they wish to assassinate him.' But this, Planchet, you see, is so serious and important that I have not even wished to confess to my friends that I should intrust this secret to you, and for a captain's commission I would not write it."

"Be easy, Monsieur," said Planchet; "you shall see if I can be depended upon."

And mounted on an excellent horse, which he was to leave twenty leagues from there to take the post, Planchet set off at a gallop, his heart a little tightened by the triple promise made to him by the musketeers, but the rest in the best disposition in the world.

Bazin set off the following morning for Tours, and had eight days to perform his commission.

During the whole time of these two absences, the four friends, as may well be understood, kept their eyes more than ever open, their nose to the wind, and their ears on the alert. Their days were passed in trying to surprise what was said, in watching the Cardinal's movements, and in sniffing the couriers who arrived. More than once an irresistible trembling seized them when they were called for some unexpected service. They had, moreover, to guard their own safety; Milady was a phantom who, when she had once appeared to people, did not let them sleep quietly.

On the morning of the eighth day, Bazin, fresh as ever and smiling according to his custom, entered the Cabaret of the Parpaillot, as the four friends were at breakfast, saying, according to the agreed convention:

"Monsieur Aramis, here is the reply from your cousin."

The four friends exchanged a joyful glance; half the work was done; it is true that it was the shortest and easiest.

Aramis took the letter, blushing in spite of himself, which was written in a coarse hand and without orthography.

"Good God!" cried he, laughing, "decidedly I despair of her; never will that poor Michon write like M. de Voiture."

"What does that mean, 'that poor Michon'?" asked the Swiss, who was chatting with the four friends when the letter arrived.

"Oh! good heavens! less than nothing," said Aramis; "a charming little linen-draper whom I was very fond of, and from whom I asked a few lines in her hand as a keepsake."

"Per Dieu!" said the Swiss, "if she is as great a lady as her writing, you are in good fortune, my comrade!"

Aramis read the letter, and passed it to Athos.

"See what she writes to me, Athos," said he.

Athos cast a glance upon the epistle, and to remove all suspicion that might be excited, read aloud:

"Cousin, my sister and I guess dreams very well, and we even have a terrible fear of them; but with regard to yours, I hope we may say every dream is a lie. Adieu! Keep well, and let us hear from you from time to time.

"Aglaé Michon."

"And of what dream does she speak?" asked the dragoon, who had approached during the reading.

"Yes, of what dream?" said the Swiss.

"Pardieu!" said Aramis, "it is very simple; of a dream that I had, and which I told her."

"Oh yes, per Dieu! it is very simple to tell one's dream; but I never dream."

"You are very fortunate," said Athos, rising, "and I should be very glad to be able to say as much as you."

"Never!" replied the Swiss, delighted that a man like Athos should envy him anything; "never! never!"

D'Artagnan, seeing that Athos rose, did the same, took his arm, and went out.

Porthos and Aramis remained to face the quibbles of the dragoon and the Swiss.

As for Bazin, he went and lay down on a truss of straw; and as he had more imagination than the Swiss, he dreamed that M. Aramis, having become pope, put a cardinal's hat upon his head.

But, as we have said, Bazin by his happy return had removed only a part of the anxiety which stung the four friends. The days of expectation are long, and d'Artagnan especially would have wagered that the days now had forty-eight hours. He forgot the necessary slowness of navigation; he exaggerated the power of Milady. He lent to this woman, who appeared to him like a demon, superhuman auxiliaries like herself; he imagined, at the slightest noise, that they were coming to arrest him, and that Planchet was being brought back to confront him with his friends. Still more, his confidence, formerly so great in the worthy Picard, decreased day by day. This anxiety was so great that it infected Porthos and Aramis. Athos alone remained impassive, as if no danger were hovering around him, and as if he breathed his usual atmosphere.

On the sixteenth day especially, these signs of agitation were so visible in d'Artagnan and his two friends that they could not stay in one place, and wandered like shadows along the road by which Planchet was to return.

"Really," said Athos to them, "you are not men, but children, for a woman to frighten you so much! And after all, what is the matter? To be imprisoned? Well, but we shall be taken out of prison; Madame Bonacieux was taken out. To be beheaded? But every day in the trenches we go gaily to expose ourselves to worse than that, for a cannon-ball may break our leg, and I am convinced that a surgeon gives us more pain in cutting off a thigh than an executioner in cutting off a head. Remain quiet then; in two hours, in four, in six hours at the latest, Planchet will be here; he promised to be here, and I have very great faith in Planchet's promises, who appears to me to be a very brave fellow."

"But if he does not arrive?" said d'Artagnan.

"Well, if he does not arrive, it is because he has been delayed, that is all. He may have fallen from his horse; he may have made a somersault over a bridge; he may have run so fast that he has caught a cold. Eh, gentlemen! let us allow something for events. Life is a chaplet of little miseries which the philosopher tells over with a smile. Be philosophers like me, gentlemen; sit down at table and let us drink; nothing makes the future look rosy like viewing it through a glass of Chambertin."

"That is all very well," replied d'Artagnan; "but I am tired of having to fear, while drinking cool, that the wine may come from Milady's cellar."

"You are very hard to please," said Athos; "such a fine woman!"

"A woman of mark!" said Porthos, with his coarse laugh.

Athos shuddered, passed his hand over his brow to wipe away the sweat, and rose in his turn, with a nervous movement which he could not repress.

The day passed away, however, and the evening came more slowly, but at last it came; the taprooms filled with customers; Athos, who had pocketed his share of the diamond, never left the Parpaillot. He had found in M. de Busigny, who, moreover, had given them a magnificent dinner, a partner worthy of him. They were playing together, as usual, when seven o'clock struck; the patrols were heard passing to relieve the posts; at half-past seven the tattoo beat.

"We are lost," said d'Artagnan, in the ear of Athos.

"You mean we have lost," said Athos quietly, drawing four pistoles from his pocket and throwing them upon the table. "Come, gentlemen, the tattoo is beating, let us go to bed."

And Athos left the Parpaillot, followed by d'Artagnan. Aramis came behind, giving his arm to Porthos. Aramis muttered verses, and Porthos from time to time pulled out a few hairs from his mustache in sign of despair.

But suddenly, in the darkness, a shadow appeared, the shape of which was familiar to d'Artagnan, and a well-known voice said to him:

"Sir, I bring you your cloak, for it is cool this evening."

"Planchet!" cried d'Artagnan, intoxicated with joy.

"Planchet!" repeated Porthos and Aramis.

"Well, yes, Planchet," said Athos; "what is there astonishing in that? He promised to be back at eight o'clock, and eight is striking. Bravo! Planchet, you are a lad of your word, and if ever you leave your master, I will keep a place for you in my service."

"Oh! no, never," said Planchet; "I will never leave M. d'Artagnan."

At the same time d'Artagnan felt Planchet slip a billet into his hand.

D'Artagnan had a great inclination to embrace Planchet on his return as he had embraced him on his departure; but he feared that this mark of affection, given to his lackey in the open street, might appear extraordinary to some passer-by, and he restrained himself.

"I have the billet," said he to Athos and his friends.

"That is well," said Athos; "let us go home, and we will read it."

The billet burned the hand of d'Artagnan; he wished to hasten his steps; but Athos took his arm and passed it under his own, and the young man was forced to regulate his pace by that of his friend.

At last they entered the tent, a lamp was lighted, and while Planchet stood at the door to prevent the four friends from being surprised, d'Artagnan, with a trembling hand, broke the seal and opened the so-impatiently expected letter.

It contained half a line, in a thoroughly British handwriting, and with a thoroughly Spartan conciseness:

"Thank you; be easy."

Which meant: "Thanks, be easy."

Athos took the letter from the hands of d'Artagnan, approached it to the lamp, set fire to it, and did not let it go until it was reduced to ashes.

Then, calling Planchet:

"Now, my lad," said he, "you may claim your seven hundred livres; but you ran no great risk with such a billet as that."

"It was not for want of inventing many means to hide it," said Planchet.

"Well," said d'Artagnan, "tell us about it."

"Faith! it is very long, sir."

"You are right, Planchet," said Athos; "besides, the tattoo has beat, and we should be observed in keeping the light longer than the others."

"So be it," said d'Artagnan; "let us go to bed. Sleep well, Planchet!"

"Faith! sir, it will be the first time for sixteen days."

"And me too!" said d'Artagnan.

"And me too!" repeated Porthos.

"And me too!" repeated Aramis.

"Well, would you like me to confess the truth? and me too!" said Athos.

Chapter 49: Fatality

Meanwhile, Milady, intoxicated with rage, roaring upon the deck of the vessel like a lioness being shipped, had been tempted to throw herself into the sea to regain the coast, for she could not reconcile herself to the idea that she had been insulted by d'Artagnan, threatened by Athos, and that she was leaving France without taking vengeance on them. Soon this idea became so insupportable to her that, at the risk of whatever terrible might happen to herself, she begged the captain to put her ashore; but the captain, anxious to escape from his false position, placed between the French and English cruisers, like the bat between the rats and the birds, was in great haste to regain England, and obstinately refused to obey what he took for a woman's caprice, promising his passenger, who was particularly recommended to him by the cardinal, that he would put her, if the sea and the French permitted, into one of the ports of Brittany — either Lorient or Brest. But in the meantime the wind was contrary, the sea rough; they tacked and stood off and on. Nine days after leaving the Charente, Milady, pale with grief and rage, saw only the bluish coasts of Finisterre.

She calculated that to cross this corner of France and return near the cardinal required at least three days; add a day for landing, and that made four; add these four days to the nine others, that made thirteen days lost — thirteen days during which so many important events might take place in London. She reflected that without doubt the cardinal would be furious at her return, and that consequently he would be more disposed to listen to the complaints that might be brought against her than to the accusations she should bring against others. She therefore let Lorient and Brest pass without insisting further with the captain, who, on his part, took good care not to remind her. Milady therefore continued her voyage, and on the very day when Planchet embarked from Portsmouth for France, the messenger of His Eminence entered the port in triumph.

The whole town was agitated by an extraordinary movement: four great ships recently finished had just been launched; on the jetty, laden with gold, dazzling, according to his custom, with diamonds and precious stones, his hat adorned with a white plume which fell over his shoulder, was to be seen Buckingham, surrounded by a staff almost as brilliant as himself.

“Stories of the world, in your language.”