At the first word milady turned round, looking at the young man in astonishment; and when he had finished,
“Sir,” said she, in very good French, “I should with great confidence place myself under your protection, if the person who is picking a quarrel with me were not my brother.”
“Ah, excuse me, then,” said D’Artagnan; “you must be aware that I was ignorant of that, madame.”
“What is that presumptuous fellow troubling himself about?” cried the cavalier whom milady had designated as her brother, stooping down to the height of the coach window, “and why does he not go on?”
“Presumptuous fellow yourself!” said D’Artagnan, also bending down on his horse’s neck and answering through the carriage window. “I do not go on because it pleases me to stop here.”
You might think that milady, timid as women are in general, would have interposed at this beginning of mutual provocations in order to prevent the quarrel from going too far; but, on the contrary, she threw herself back in her carriage, and called out coolly to the coachman, “Drive home!”
The pretty maid cast an anxious glance at D’Artagnan, whose good looks seemed to have produced an impression on her.
The carriage went on, and left the two men face to face, no material obstacle separating them any longer.
“Well, sir,” said D’Artagnan, “you appear to be more presumptuous that I am, for you forget there is a little quarrel to arrange between us.”
“You see well enough that I have no sword,” said the Englishman. “Do you wish to play the braggart with an unarmed man?”
“I hope you have a sword at home,” replied D’Artagnan. “But, at all events, I have two, and if you like I will throw with you for one of them.”
“Quite unnecessary,” said the Englishman; “I am well furnished with such sorts of playthings.”
“Very well, my worthy gentleman,” replied D’Artagnan; “pick out the longest, and come and show it to me this evening.”
“Where?”
“Behind the Luxembourg. That’s a charming place for such strolls as the one I propose to you.”
“Very well; I will be there.”
“Your hour?”
“Six o’clock. Now, then, who are you?” asked the Englishman.
“I am M. D’Artagnan, a Gascon gentleman, serving in the guards, in the company of M. des Essarts. And you?”
“I am Lord Winter, Baron of Sheffield.”
“Well, then, I am your servant, baron,” said D’Artagnan, “though your names are rather difficult to remember.”
And touching his horse with his spur, he galloped back to Paris.
And D’Artagnan employed himself in arranging a little plan, the carrying out of which we shall see later on, and which promised him an agreeable adventure, as might be seen by the smiles which from time to time passed over his countenance, lighting up his thoughtful expression.
Chapter 27 - English and French
The hour having come, he repaired to a yard behind the Luxembourg where goats were kept. He threw a piece of money to the goatkeeper to withdraw.
A silent party soon drew near to the same enclosure, and came into it.
“Sir,” said D’Artagnan, “are we ready?”
“Yes!” answered the Englishman.
“On guard, then!” cried D’Artagnan.
And immediately two swords glittered in the rays of the setting sun, and the combat began with an animosity very natural to men who were enemies.
As to D’Artagnan, he fought purely and simply on the defensive. Then when he saw his adversary pretty well fatigued, with a vigorous side-thrust he knocked his sword from his grasp. The baron, finding himself disarmed, retreated two or three paces; but at this moment his foot slipped, and he fell backward.
D’Artagnan was on him at a bound, and placing his sword on his throat,
“I could kill you, sir,” said he to the Englishman; “you are quite at my mercy, but I spare your life for your sister’s sake.”
D’Artagnan was overjoyed. He had just realized the plan which he had conceived the development of which had occasioned the smiles we mentioned.
The Englishman, delighted at having to do with such a generous gentleman, pressed D’Artagnan in his arms, and paid a thousand compliments to him.
“And now, my young friend—for you will permit me, I hope, to call you by that name,” said Lord Winter—“on this very evening, if agreeable to you, I will present you to my sister, Lady Clarick. For I am desirous that she in her turn should take you into her good graces; and as she is in favour at court, perhaps, in the future, a word spoken by her might prove useful to you.”
D’Artagnan reddened with pleasure and bowed his assent.
Lord Winter, on quitting D’Artagnan, gave him his sister’s address. She lived at No. 6 Place Royale, then the fashionable quarter. Moreover, he promised to call and get him in order to present him. D’Artagnan appointed eight o’clock at Athos’s residence.
Lord Winter, arrived at the appointed time; but Athos, being warned of his coming, went into the other chamber. The Englishman accordingly found D’Artagnan alone, and as it was nearly eight o’clock, he took the young man with him.
An elegant coach below, drawn by two excellent horses, was waiting. They were soon at the Place Royale.
Milady Clarick received D’Artagnan seriously.
“You see,” said Lord Winter, presenting D’Artagnan to his sister, “a young gentleman who has held my life in his hands, and who has not abused his advantage, although we were doubly enemies, since it was I who insulted him, and since I am an Englishman. Thank him, then, madame, if you have any affection for me.”
Milady frowned slightly; a scarcely visible cloud passed over her brow, and such a peculiar smile appeared on her lips that the young man, observing this triple shade, almost shuddered at it.
“You are welcome, sir,” said milady, in a voice the singular sweetness of which contrasted with the symptoms of ill-humour which D’Artagnan had just remarked; “you have to-day acquired eternal rights to my gratitude.”
The pretty little maid whom D’Artagnan had already observed then came in. She spoke some words in English to Lord Winter, who immediately requested D’Artagnan’s permission to retire, excusing himself on account of the urgency of the business that called him away, and charging his sister to obtain his pardon.
D’Artagnan shook hands with Lord Winter, and then returned to milady. Her countenance, with surprising mobility, had recovered its gracious expression.
The conversation took a cheerful turn. She told D’Artagnan that Lord Winter was only her brother-in law, and not her brother. She had married a younger brother of the family, who had left her a widow with one child. This child was Lord Winter’s sole heir, if Lord Winter did not marry. All this showed D’Artagnan that there was a veil hiding something, but he could not yet see under this veil.
Moreover, after half an hour’s conversation D’Artagnan was convinced that milady was his compatriot. She spoke French with a purity and an elegance that left no doubt on that head.
He was profuse in gallant speeches and protestations of devotion. To all the nonsense which escaped our Gascon, milady replied with a smile of kindness. The hour for retiring arrived. D’Artagnan took leave of milady, and left the parlour the happiest of men.
On the stairs he met the pretty maid, who brushed gently against him as she passed, and then, blushing to the eyes, asked his pardon for having touched him in so sweet a voice that the pardon was granted instantly.
D’Artagnan came again on the morrow, and was even better received than on the day before. Lord Winter was not at home, and milady this time did all the honours of the evening. She appeared to take a great interest in him, and asked him where he was from, who were his friends, and whether he had not at some times thought of attaching himself to the cardinal.
D’Artagnan, who, as we have said, was exceedingly prudent for a young man of twenty, then remembered his suspicions regarding milady. He launched into a eulogy of his Eminence, and said that he should not have failed to enlist in the cardinal’s guards interest of the king’s if he had only known M. de Cavois instead of M. de Tréville.
Milady changed the conversation without any appearance of affecation, and asked D’Artagnan, in the most careless manner possible, if he had never been in England.
D’Artagnan replied that he had been sent there by M. de Tréville to bargain for some new horses.
At the same hour as on the preceding evening D’Artagnan retired. In the corridor he again met the pretty Kitty; that was the maid’s name. She looked at him with an expression of good-will which it was impossible to mistake. But D’Artagnan was so preoccupied by her mistress that he noticed absolutely nothing which did not come from her.
D’Artagnan came again on the morrow and the day after that, and each day milady gave him a more gracious welcome.
Every evening, either in the antechamber, the corridor, or on the stairs, he met the pretty maid. But, as we have said, D’Artagnan paid no attention to poor Kitty’s persistence.
Chapter 28 - Maid and Mistress
In spite of the warnings of his conscience and the wise counsels of Athos, D’Artagnan hour by hour grew more and more deeply in love with milady. So the venturesome Gascon paid court to her every day, and he was convinced that sooner or later she could not fail to respond. One day when he arrived with his head in the air and as light at heart as a man who is expecting a shower of gold, he found the maid at the gateway of the h?tel. But this time the pretty Kitty was not satisfied with merely touching him as he passed; she took him gently by the hand.
“Good!” thought D’Artagnan; “she is charged with some message to me from her mistress. She is about to appoint a meeting which she probably has not the courage to speak of.” And he looked down at the pretty girl with the most triumphant air imaginable.
“I should like to speak a few words with you, Chevalier,” stammered the maid.
“Speak, my dear, speak,” said D’Artagnan; “I am all attention.”
“Here? That’s impossible. What I have to say is too long, and, still more, too secret.”
“Well, what is to be done?”
“If you will follow me?” said Kitty timidly.
“Wherever you please.”
“Come, then.”
And Kitty, who had not let go D’Artagnan’s hand, led him up a little dark, winding staircase, and, after ascending about fifteen steps, opened a door.
“Come in here, Chevalier,” said she; “here we shall be alone, and can talk.”
“And whose chamber is this, my pretty friend?”
“It is mine, Chevalier. It communicates with my mistress’s by that door. But you need not fear; she will not hear what we say; she never goes to bed before midnight.”
D’Artagnan glanced around him. The little apartment was charmingly tasteful and neat. But in spite of himself his eyes were directed to the door which Kitty said led to milady’s chamber.
Kitty guessed what was passing in the young man’s mind, and sighed.
“You love my mistress, then, very dearly, Chevalier?” said she.
“Oh, more than I can say, Kitty! I am madly in love with her!” Kitty sighed again.
“Alas, sir,” said she, “that is a great pity.”
“What the devil do you see so pitiable in it?” said D’Artagnan.
“Because, sir,” replied Kitty, “my mistress does not love you at all.”
“Hah!” said D’Artagnan; “can she have charged you to tell me so?”
“Oh, no, sir. Out of the regard I have for you I have taken on myself to tell you so.”
“I am much obliged, my dear Kitty, but for the intention only— for the information, you must agree, is not very pleasant.”
“That is to say, you don’t believe what I have told you, do you?”
“We always have some difficulty in believing such things, if only from self-love.”
“Then you don’t believe me?”
“Why, I confess that unless you give me some proof of what you advance—”
“What do you say to this?”
And Kitty drew a little note from her bosom.
“For me?” said D’Artagnan, snatching the letter from her.
“No; for another.”
“For another?”
“Yes.”
“His name; his name!” cried D’Artagnan.
“Read the address.”
“The Comte de Wardes.”
The remembrance of the scene at St. Germain presented itself to the mind of the presumptuous Gascon. As quick as thought he tore open the letter, in spite of the cry which Kitty uttered on seeing what he was going to do, or rather what he was doing.
“Oh, good Lord! Chevalier,” said she, “what are you doing?”
“I?” said D’Artagnan; “nothing.” And he read,
“You have not answered my first note. Are you indisposed, or have you forgot the glances you gave me at Madame de Guise’s ball? You have an opportunity now, Count; do not allow it to escape.”
D’Artagnan became very pale.
“Poor dear Monsieur D’Artagnan!” said Kitty, in a voice full of compassion, and pressing the young man’s hand again.
“You pity me, my kind little creature?” said D’Artagnan.
“That I do, and with all my heart, for I know what it is to be in love.”
“You know what it is to be in love?” said D’Artagnan, looking at her for the first time with some attention.
“Alas, yes.”
“Well, then, instead of pitying me you would do much better to assist me in wreaking my revenge on your mistress.”
“And what sort of revenge would you take?”
“I would triumph over her, and supplant my rival.”
“I will never help you in that, Chevalier,” said Kitty warmly.
“Why not?”
“For two reasons.”
“What are they?”
“The first is, that my mistress will never love you. The second reason, Chevalier is, that in love, every one for herself!”
Then only D’Artagnan remembered Kitty’s languishing glances and stifled sigh; how she constantly met him in the antechamber, in the corridor, or on the stairs; how she touched him with her hand every time she met him. But absorbed by his desire to please the great lady, he had disdained the maid. He who hunts the eagle heeds not the sparrow.
But this time our Gascon saw at a glance all the advantage that he might derive from the love which Kitty had just confessed so na?vely, or so boldly—the interception of letters addressed to the Comte de Wardes, bits of secret information, entrance at all hours into Kitty’s chamber, which was near her mistress’s. The perfidious fellow, as may be seen, was already sacrificing in idea the poor girl to obtain milady willingly or by force.
“Well, my dear Kitty,” said he to the young girl, “do you want me to give you a proof of that love of which you doubt?”
“What love?” asked the girl.
“Of that which I am ready to feel for you.”
“And what proof is that?”
“Do you want me to spend with you this evening the time I generally spend with your mistress?”
“Oh yes!” said Kitty, clapping her hands, “indeed I do.”
“Well, then, my dear girl,” said D’Artagnan, establishing himself in an armchair, “come here and let me tell you that you are the prettiest maid I ever saw.”
And he told her so much, and so well, that the poor girl, who asked nothing better than to believe him, believed him. Nevertheless, to D’Artagnan’s great astonishment, the pretty Kitty defended herself with considerable resolution.
