Part 4

— You sent for me, sir, said Athos to M. de Tréville in a weakened but perfectly calm voice, you asked for me, so our comrades told me, and I hasten to obey your orders; here I am, sir, what do you wish of me?

And with these words the musketeer, in irreproachable attire, buckled as was his custom, entered the study with a firm step. M. de Tréville, moved to the depths of his heart by this proof of courage, rushed toward him.

— I was just telling these gentlemen, he added, that I forbid my musketeers to expose their lives without necessity, for brave men are very dear to the king, and the king knows that his musketeers are the bravest men on earth. Your hand, Athos.

And without waiting for the newcomer to respond of his own accord to this proof of affection, M. de Tréville seized his right hand and pressed it with all his strength, without noticing that Athos, however great his self-command, let escape a movement of pain and grew paler still—which might have been thought impossible.

The door had remained ajar, so great was the sensation produced by Athos's arrival, whose wound, despite the secrecy kept, was known to all. A murmur of satisfaction greeted the captain's last words, and two or three heads, carried away by enthusiasm, appeared through the openings in the tapestry. Doubtless M. de Tréville was about to repress this breach of etiquette with sharp words, when he suddenly felt Athos's hand clench in his, and looking at him perceived that he was about to faint. At that same instant Athos, who had gathered all his strength to struggle against the pain, finally overcome by it, fell upon the floor as if dead.

— A surgeon! cried M. de Tréville. Mine, the king's, the best! A surgeon! or, blood and thunder, my brave Athos will die.

At M. de Tréville's cries, everyone rushed into his study without his thinking to close the door on anyone, each pressing around the wounded man. But all this eagerness would have been useless if the doctor called for had not been in the house itself; he parted the crowd, approached Athos, still fainting, and, as all this noise and movement greatly inconvenienced him, he asked as his first and most urgent request that the musketeer be carried into an adjoining room. Immediately M. de Tréville opened a door and showed the way to Porthos and Aramis, who carried their comrade in their arms. Behind this group walked the surgeon, and behind the surgeon the door closed again.

Then M. de Tréville's study, that place ordinarily so respected, became momentarily a branch of the antechamber. Everyone chattered, held forth, spoke loudly, swearing, cursing, consigning the cardinal and his guards to all the devils.

A moment later Porthos and Aramis came back in; the surgeon and M. de Tréville alone had remained near the wounded man.

At length M. de Tréville came in his turn. The wounded man had recovered consciousness; the surgeon declared that the musketeer's condition afforded no cause for anxiety to his friends, his weakness having been purely and simply occasioned by loss of blood.

Then M. de Tréville made a sign with his hand, and everyone withdrew, except d'Artagnan, who did not forget that he had an audience and who, with his Gascon tenacity, had remained in the same place.

When everyone had gone out and the door was closed again, M. de Tréville turned round and found himself alone with the young man. The event that had just occurred had somewhat made him lose the thread of his thoughts. He inquired what the obstinate petitioner wanted with him. D'Artagnan then named himself, and M. de Tréville, recalling all at once his memories of the present and the past, found himself up to date on his situation.

— Pardon me, he said to him with a smile, pardon, my dear compatriot, but I had quite forgotten you. What do you want? A captain is nothing but a father of a family charged with a greater responsibility than an ordinary father of a family. Soldiers are big children; but as I am determined that the king's orders, and above all those of Monsieur the cardinal, be executed…

D'Artagnan could not disguise a smile. At this smile, M. de Tréville judged that he had not to do with a fool, and coming straight to the point, while changing the conversation:

— I greatly loved your father, sir, he said. What can I do for his son? Make haste, my time is not my own.

— Sir, said d'Artagnan, on leaving Tarbes and coming here, I proposed to ask you, in memory of that friendship of which you have not lost recollection, for a musketeer's uniform; but, after all I have seen for two hours, I understand that such a favor would be enormous, and I tremble at not deserving it.

— It is a favor indeed, young man, replied M. de Tréville; but it may not be so far above you as you believe or as you seem to believe. However, a decision of His Majesty has provided for this case, and I announce to you with regret that no one is received as a musketeer before the preliminary trial of some campaigns, of certain brilliant actions, or of two years' service in some other regiment less favored than ours.

D'Artagnan bowed without answering. He felt himself still more eager to don the musketeer's uniform since there were such great difficulties in obtaining it.

— But, continued Tréville, fixing on his compatriot a glance so piercing that one would have said he wished to read to the bottom of his heart, but, in favor of your father, my old companion, as I told you, I wish to do something for you, young man. Our cadets from Béarn are ordinarily not rich, and I doubt that things have much changed in aspect since my departure from the province. You must therefore not have too much, to live on, of the money you have brought with you.

D'Artagnan drew himself up with a proud air that meant he begged from no one.

— That is well, young man, that is well, continued Tréville, I know those airs, I came to Paris with four crowns in my pocket, and I would have fought anyone who told me I was not in a position to buy the Louvre.

D'Artagnan drew himself up more and more; thanks to the sale of his horse, he was beginning his career with four crowns more than M. de Tréville had begun his.

— You must therefore, as I was saying, have need to keep what you have, however large that sum may be; but you must also have need to perfect yourself in the exercises befitting a gentleman. I will write this very day to the director of the royal academy, and from tomorrow he will receive you without any fee. Do not refuse this small indulgence. Our best-born and richest gentlemen sometimes solicit it without being able to obtain it. You will learn horsemanship, fencing, and dancing; you will make good acquaintances there, and from time to time you will come back to see me to tell me how you are getting on and whether I can do anything for you.

D'Artagnan, stranger as he still was to court ways, perceived the coldness of this reception.

— Alas, sir, said he, I see how much the letter of recommendation that my father gave me for you fails me today!

— Indeed, replied M. de Tréville, I am astonished that you undertook so long a journey without that obligatory viaticum, our only resource, we other Béarnais.

— I had it, sir, and, thank God, in proper form, cried d'Artagnan; but it was perfidiously stolen from me.

And he recounted the whole scene at Meung, depicted the unknown gentleman in his slightest details, all with a warmth, a truthfulness that charmed M. de Tréville.

— That is strange, said the latter, meditating; you had then spoken of me aloud?

— Yes, sir, doubtless I had committed that imprudence; what would you have, a name like yours was bound to serve me as a shield on the road: judge if I often put myself under cover!

Flattery was very much in fashion then, and M. de Tréville loved incense like a king or like a cardinal. He could not therefore prevent himself from smiling with a visible satisfaction, but this smile soon faded, and returning of himself to the Meung adventure:

— Tell me, he continued, had this gentleman not a slight scar at the temple?

— Yes, such as the graze of a ball would make.

— Was he not a man of fine appearance?

— Yes.

— Of tall stature?

— Yes.

— Pale of complexion and dark of hair?

— Yes, yes, that is he. How is it, sir, that you know this man? Ah! if ever I find him again, and I shall find him again, I swear it to you, were it in hell…

— He was waiting for a woman? continued Tréville.

— At least he left after having talked a moment with the one he was waiting for.

— You do not know what the subject of their conversation was?

— He was giving her a box, telling her that this box contained her instructions, and recommending her to open it only in London.

— Was this woman English?

— He called her Milady.

— It is he! murmured Tréville; it is he! I thought him still at Brussels!

— Oh! sir, if you know who this man is, cried d'Artagnan, tell me who he is and whence he comes, then I hold you quit of all, even of your promise to get me into the musketeers; for before all else I wish to avenge myself.

— Beware of it, young man, cried Tréville; if you see him coming, on the contrary, from one side of the street, cross to the other! Do not run against such a rock: he would break you like glass.

— That does not prevent, said d'Artagnan, that if ever I find him again…

— Meanwhile, resumed Tréville, do not seek him out, if I have any advice to give you.

Suddenly Tréville stopped, struck by a sudden suspicion. This great hatred that the young traveler so openly manifested for this man, who, a rather unlikely thing, had stolen from him his father's letter, did this hatred hide some treachery? was not this young man sent by His Eminence? had he not come to lay some snare for him, this pretended d'Artagnan being an emissary of the cardinal whom they sought to introduce into his household, and who had been placed near him to surprise his confidence and to ruin him later, as had been practiced a thousand times? He looked at d'Artagnan more fixedly this second time than the first. He was but poorly reassured by the aspect of that countenance sparkling with cunning wit and affected humility.

— I know well he is a Gascon, thought he; but he may as well be one for the cardinal as for me. Let us see, let us test him.

— My friend, he said to him slowly, I wish, as to the son of my old friend, for I hold for true the story of that lost letter, I wish, I say, to repair the coldness you first remarked in my reception, to disclose to you the secrets of our policy. The king and the cardinal are the best of friends; their apparent quarrels are only to deceive fools. I do not intend that a compatriot, a fine cavalier, a brave lad, made to get on, should be the dupe of all these feints and fall like a ninny into the trap, after so many others who have been lost there. Reflect well that I am devoted to those two all-powerful masters, and that never shall my serious steps have any other aim than the service of the king and that of Monsieur the cardinal, one of the most illustrious geniuses that France has produced. Now, young man, regulate yourself accordingly, and if you have, whether by family, by connections, or by instinct itself, any of those enmities against the cardinal such as we see bursting forth among the gentry, say farewell to me and let us part. I will aid you in a thousand circumstances, but without attaching you to my person. I hope that my frankness, in any case, will make you my friend; for you are hitherto the only young man to whom I have spoken as I do.

Tréville said to himself:

— If the cardinal has dispatched this young fox to me, he will certainly not have failed, he who knows how I abhor him, to tell his spy that the best means of courting me is to speak as ill as possible of him; so, despite my protests, the crafty fellow will assuredly answer me that he holds His Eminence in horror.

It fell out quite otherwise than Tréville expected; d'Artagnan answered with the greatest simplicity:

— Sir, I arrive in Paris with intentions quite similar. My father recommended me to suffer nothing from the king, from Monsieur the cardinal, and from you, whom he holds for the three first men of France.

D'Artagnan added M. de Tréville to the other two, as may be perceived, but he thought this addition could spoil nothing.

— I have therefore the greatest veneration for Monsieur the cardinal, continued he, and the deepest respect for his acts. So much the better for me, sir, if you speak to me, as you say, with frankness; for then you will do me the honor of esteeming this likeness of taste; but if you have had some distrust, very natural besides, I feel that I lose myself in telling the truth; but, so much the worse, you will not fail to esteem me, and that is what I care for more than for anything in the world.

M. de Tréville was astonished to the last degree. So much penetration, so much frankness at length, caused him admiration, but did not entirely lift his doubts: the more this young man was superior to other young men, the more he was to be feared if he were mistaken. Nevertheless he shook hands with d'Artagnan, and said to him:

— You are an honest lad, but at this moment I can only do what I offered you just now. My hotel shall always be open to you. Later, being able to ask for me at any hour and consequently to seize all occasions, you will probably obtain what you desire to obtain.

— That is to say, sir, resumed d'Artagnan, that you wait until I have rendered myself worthy of it. Well, be at ease, he added with Gascon familiarity, you will not wait long.

And he bowed to withdraw, as if henceforth the rest concerned him.

— But wait, said M. de Tréville, stopping him, I promised you a letter for the director of the academy. Are you too proud to accept it, my young gentleman?

— No, sir, said d'Artagnan; I answer you that it will not be with this one as with the other. I will guard it so well that it will arrive, I swear to you, at its address, and woe to him who should attempt to take it from me!

M. de Tréville smiled at this bravado, and, leaving his young compatriot in the embrasure of the window where they were and where they had talked together, he went to sit at a table and set about writing the letter of recommendation promised. During this time, d'Artagnan, who had nothing better to do, began beating a march against the panes, watching the musketeers who went off one after another, and following them with his eyes until they had disappeared round the corner of the street.

M. de Tréville, having written the letter, sealed it, and, rising, approached the young man to give it to him; but at the very moment when d'Artagnan stretched out his hand to receive it, M. de Tréville was much astonished to see his protégé give a start, redden with anger, and dart out of the study crying:

— Ah! blood and thunder! he shall not escape me this time.

— And who is that? asked M. de Tréville.

— Him, my thief! answered d'Artagnan. Ah! traitor!

And he disappeared.

— Devil of a madman! murmured M. de Tréville. Unless however, he added, it is a clever way of slipping off, seeing he has missed his stroke.

CHAPTER IV. THE SHOULDER OF ATHOS, THE BALDRIC OF PORTHOS, AND THE HANDKERCHIEF OF ARAMIS

D'Artagnan, furious, had crossed the antechamber in three bounds and was darting toward the staircase, which he counted on descending four steps at a time, when, carried away by his run, he went head down against a musketeer who was leaving M. de Tréville's by a side door, and, striking him with his forehead on the shoulder, made him utter a cry or rather a howl.

— Excuse me, said d'Artagnan, trying to resume his run, excuse me, but I am in haste.

Scarcely had he descended the first flight, when an iron wrist seized him by his scarf and stopped him.

— You are in haste! cried the musketeer, pale as a shroud; under that pretext you bump into me, you say: 'Excuse me,' and you think that suffices? Not quite, my young man. Do you believe, because you heard M. de Tréville speak to us a bit cavalierly today, that one can treat us as he speaks to us? Undeceive yourself, comrade, you are not M. de Tréville.

— My faith, replied d'Artagnan, who recognized Athos, who, after the dressing done by the doctor, was regaining his apartment, my faith, I did not do it on purpose, I said: 'Excuse me.' It seems to me therefore that is enough. I repeat to you however, and this time it is too much perhaps, word of honor! I am in haste, very much in haste. Let me go then, I pray you, and let me go where I have business.

— Monsieur, said Athos, releasing him, you are not polite. One sees that you come from far.

D'Artagnan had already straddled three or four steps, but at Athos's remark he stopped short.

— Zounds, sir! said he, however far I come from, it is not you who will give me a lesson in good manners, I warn you.

— Perhaps, said Athos.

— Ah! if I were not so pressed, cried d'Artagnan, and if I were not running after someone…

— Monsieur the man in haste, you will find me without running, I, do you hear?

— And where, if you please?

— Near the Carmes-Deschaux.

— At what hour?

— Toward noon.

— Toward noon, that is well, I shall be there.

— Try not to make me wait, for at a quarter past noon I warn you it is I who will run after you and cut off your ears on the run.

— Good! cried d'Artagnan to him; we shall be there at ten minutes to noon.

And he set to running as if the devil were carrying him off, hoping to find again his unknown, whose tranquil pace could not have taken him far.

But, at the street door, Porthos was talking with a guardsman. Between the two talkers there was just the space of a man. D'Artagnan thought this space would suffice him, and he dashed to pass like an arrow between the two. But d'Artagnan had reckoned without the wind. As he was about to pass, the wind rushed into the long cloak of Porthos, and d'Artagnan came plumb against the cloak. Doubtless Porthos had reasons for not abandoning this essential part of his garment, for, instead of letting go the fold he held, he pulled it toward him, so that d'Artagnan wrapped himself in the velvet by a rotary movement explained by the resistance of the obstinate Porthos.

D'Artagnan, hearing the musketeer swear, wished to get out from under the cloak that blinded him, and sought his way in the fold. He dreaded above all having impaired the freshness of the magnificent baldric that we know; but, on opening his eyes timidly, he found his nose stuck between the two shoulders of Porthos—that is to say, precisely upon the baldric.

Alas! like most things of this world which have only appearance to recommend them, the baldric was of gold in front and of simple buffalo hide behind. Porthos, a true braggart as he was, being unable to have a baldric entirely of gold, had at least half of one: one understood then the necessity of the cold and the urgency of the cloak.

— Thunder! cried Porthos, making all his efforts to disembarrass himself of d'Artagnan, who was wriggling on his back, are you then mad to throw yourself thus upon people!

— Excuse me, said d'Artagnan reappearing under the giant's shoulder, but I am very much in haste, I am running after someone, and…

— Do you forget your eyes when you run, by chance? asked Porthos.

— No, answered d'Artagnan, piqued, no, and thanks to my eyes I see even what others do not see.

Porthos understood or did not understand; be that as it may, abandoning himself to his anger:

— Monsieur, said he, you will get a thrashing, I warn you, if you rub thus against musketeers.

— A thrashing, sir! said d'Artagnan; the word is hard.

— It is the one that befits a man accustomed to look his enemies in the face.

— Ah! by God! I know well that you do not turn your back on yours.

And the young man, delighted with his roguishness, moved away laughing at the top of his lungs.

Porthos foamed with rage and made a movement to throw himself upon d'Artagnan.

— Later, later, cried the latter to him, when you have no more your cloak.

— At one o'clock then, behind the Luxembourg.

— Very well, at one o'clock, answered d'Artagnan, turning the corner of the street.

But neither in the street he had just traversed, nor in that which he now embraced with his gaze, did he see anyone. However gently the unknown had walked, he had gained ground; perhaps also he had entered some house. D'Artagnan inquired for him of all he met, went down to the ferry, came up by the rue de Seine and the Croix-Rouge; but nothing, absolutely nothing. Yet this run was profitable to him in that, as the sweat flooded his brow, his heart grew cool.

He then began to reflect upon the events that had just passed; they were numerous and baneful: it was scarcely eleven in the morning, and already the morning had brought him the disgrace of M. de Tréville, who could not fail to find somewhat cavalier the way d'Artagnan had left him.

Besides, he had picked up two good duels with two men capable of killing three d'Artagnans each, with two musketeers in short, that is to say with two of those beings whom he esteemed so highly that he placed them, in his thought and in his heart, above all other men.

The conjecture was sad. Sure of being killed by Athos, one understands that the young man did not much concern himself about Porthos. Yet, as hope is the last thing to die in the heart of man, he came to hope that he might survive, with terrible wounds, to be sure, these two duels, and, in case of survival, he addressed to himself for the future the following reproofs:

— What a scatterbrain I am, and what a boor I am! This brave and unhappy Athos was wounded precisely at the shoulder against which I go, I, to butt with my head like a ram. The only thing that astonishes me is that he did not kill me outright; he had the right, and the pain I caused him must have been atrocious. As for Porthos! Oh! as for Porthos, my faith, that is funnier.

And in spite of himself the young man began to laugh, while nevertheless looking if this isolated laugh, and without cause in the eyes of those who saw him laugh, were not about to offend some passerby.

“Stories of the world, in your language.”