“And whenever and wherever we meet again,” said Kitty, “you will find that I love you as devotedly as I love you to-day.”
“A gambler’s vow!” said Athos, while D’Artagnan went to conduct Kitty downstairs.
An instant afterwards the three young men separated, agreeing to meet again at four o’clock at Athos’s residence, and leaving Planchet to guard the house.
Aramis returned home, and Athos and D’Artagnan went to see about pawning the sapphire.
As our Gascon had foreseen, they found no difficulty in obtaining three hundred pistoles on the ring. Still further, the Jew told them that he would give five hundred pistoles for it if they would sell it to him, as it would make a magnificent pendant for an earring.
Athos and D’Artagnan, with the activity of two soldiers, and the knowledge of two connoisseurs, spent scarcely three hours in purchasing the musketeer’s entire outfit. Besides, Athos was very easy to please, and a great noble to his fingers’ ends. Whenever anything suited him, he paid the price asked, without any thought of dickering. D’Artagnan would have remonstrated at this, but Athos put his hand on his shoulder with a smile, and D’Artagnan understood that it was all very well for such a little Gascon gentleman as himself to drive a bargain, but not for a man who had the bearing of a prince.
The musketeer found a superb Andalusian horse, black as jet, nostrils of fire, legs clean and elegant, rising six years. He examined him, and found him sound and without blemish. A thousand livres was asked for him.
He might, perhaps, have been bought for less; but while D’Artagnan was discussing the price with the dealer, Athos was counting the hundred pistoles on the table.
Grimaud had a stout, short Picard cob, which cost three hundred livres.
But when the saddle and arms for Grimaud were purchased, Athos had not a sou left of his hundred and fifty pistoles. D’Artagnan offered his friend a part of his share, which he should return when convenient.
But Athos only replied to this proposal by shrugging his shoulders.
“How much did the Jew say he would give for the sapphire if he purchased it?” said Athos.
“Five hundred pistoles.”
“That is to say, two hundred more—a hundred pistoles for you, and a hundred pistoles for me. Well, now, that would be a real fortune to us, my friend; let us go back to the Jew’s again.”
“What! will you—”
“This ring would certainly only recall very bitter remembrances. Then we shall never be masters of three hundred pistoles to redeem it, so that we really should lose two hundred pistoles by the bargain. Go, tell him the ring is his, D’Artagnan, and come back with the two hundred pistoles.”
“Reflect, Athos!”
“We need ready money just now, and we must learn how to make sacrifices. Go, D’Artagnan, go; Grimaud will accompany you with his musketoon.”
Half an hour afterwards D’Artagnan returned with the two thousand livres, and without having met with any accident.
Thus it was that Athos found at home resources which he did not expect.
Chapter 34 - A Vision
At four o’clock the four friends were all assembled in Athos’s apartments. Their anxiety about their outfits had all disappeared, and each face preserved now only the expression of its own secret anxieties, for behind all present happiness is concealed a fear for the future.
Suddenly Planchet entered, bringing two letters for D’Artagnan.
The one was a little note neatly folded, with a pretty seal in green wax, on which was impressed a dove bearing a green branch.
The other was a large square epistle, resplendent with the terrible arms of his Eminence the cardinal-duke.
At the sight of the little letter D’Artagnan’s heart bounded, for he thought he recognized the writing; and though he had seen it but once, the memory of it remained at the bottom of his heart.
He therefore seized the little letter and opened it eagerly.
“On Thursday next, at seven o’clock in the evening,” said the letter, “be on the road to Chaillot. Look carefully into the carriages that pass; but if you value your own life, or the life of those who love you, do not speak a word, do not make a motion which may lead any one to believe that you recognize her who exposes herself to everything for the sake of seeing you for an instant only.”
No signature.
“That’s a snare,” said Athos; “don’t go, D’Artagnan.”
“And yet,” replied D’Artagnan, “I think I recognize the writing.”
“But your second letter,” said Athos—“you forget that. It appears to me, however, the seal shows it well deserves to be opened. For my part, I declare, D’Artagnan, I think it of much more consequence than the little piece of waste paper you have so slyly slipped into your bosom.”
D’Artagnan grew red.
“Well,” said the young man, “let us see, gentlemen, what his Eminence wants of me.” And D’Artagnan unsealed the letter and read,
“M. D’Artagnan, of the king’s guards, company Des Essarts, is expected at the Palais-Cardinal this evening at eight o’clock.
“La Houdenière, Captain of the Guards.”
“The devil!” said Athos; “here’s a rendezvous much more serious than the other.”
“I will go to the second after attending the first,” said D’Artagnan. “One is for seven o’clock, and the other for eight; there will be time for both.”
At this moment the clock of La Samaritaine struck six, and a short gallop brought D’Artagnan to the Chaillot road. The day was beginning to decline, carriages were passing and repassing. D’Artagnan darted a scrutinizing glance into every carriage that appeared, but saw no face with which he was acquainted.
At length, after waiting a quarter of an hour, and just as it was quite twilight, a carriage appeared, coming at full speed, on the road to Sèvres. A presentiment instantly told D’Artagnan that this carriage contained the person who had appointed the rendezvous. The young man was himself astonished to feel his heart beating so violently. Almost instantly a woman put her head out at the window, with two fingers placed on her mouth, either to enjoin silence or to send him a kiss. D’Artagnan uttered a slight cry of joy. This woman, or rather this apparition—for the carriage passed with the rapidity of a vision— was Madame Bonacieux.
By an involuntary movement, and in spite of the injunction given, D’Artagnan started his horse to a gallop, and in a few strides overtook the carriage. But the window was hermetically shut; the vision had disappeared.
D’Artagnan then remembered the injunction contained in the anonymous note: “If you value your own life, or the life of those who love you, do not speak a word, do not make a motion which may lead any one to believe that you recognize her who exposes herself to everything for the sake of seeing you for an instant only.”
He stopped, therefore, trembling, not for himself, but for the poor woman who had evidently exposed herself to great danger by appointing this rendezvous.
The carriage pursued its way, still going at a full pace, till it dashed into Paris and disappeared.
D’Artagnan remained fixed to the spot, astounded, and not knowing what to think. If it was Madame Bonacieux, and if she was returning to Paris, why this fugitive interview? why this simple exchange of a glance? why this last kiss? If, on the other side, it was not she, which was still quite possible—for the little light that remained rendered a mistake easy—if it was not she, might it not be the beginning of some machination against him with the bait of this woman with whom it was known he was in love?
Half-past seven struck. The carriage was twenty minutes behind the time appointed. D’Artagnan remembered that he had a visit to pay.
He reached the Rue St. Honoré, and in the Place du Palais-Cardinal, he entered boldly at the front gate.
He entered the antechamber and placed his letter in the hands of the user on duty, who showed him into the waiting-room and passed on into the interior of the palace.
The usher returned and made a sign to D’Artagnan to follow him. He passed along a corridor, crossed a large drawing-room, entered a library, and found himself in the presence of a man seated at a desk and writing.
The usher introduced him and retired without speaking a word. D’Artagnan remained standing and examined this man.
D’Artagnan at first believed that he had to do with some judge examining his papers, but he perceived that the man at the desk was writing, or rather correcting, lines of unequal length by scanning the words on his fingers. He saw that he was in presence of a poet. In an instant the poet closed his manuscript, on the cover of which was written Mirame, a Tragedy in Five Acts, and raised his head.
D’Artagnan recognized the cardinal.
Chapter 35 - A Terrible Vision
The cardinal leaned his elbow on his manuscript, his cheek on his hand, and looked at the young man for a moment. No one had a more searching eye than Cardinal Richelieu, and D’Artagnan felt this look run through his veins like a fever.
“Sit down there before me, Monsieur d’Artagnan; you are enough of a nobleman not to listen standing.”
And the cardinal pointed with his finger to a chair for the young man, who was so amazed at what was going on that he waited for a second sign from the cardinal before he obeyed.
“You are brave, Monsieur d’Artagnan,” continued his Eminence; “you are prudent, which is still better. I like men of head and heart. Don’t be afraid,” said he, smiling; “by men of heart I mean men of courage. But though you are young and have hardly entered on life, you have powerful enemies; if you do not take heed, they will destroy you!”
“Alas, monseigneur!” replied the young man, “very easily, no doubt; for they are strong and well supported, while I am alone.”
“Yes, that’s true. But alone as you are, you have already done much, and will do still more, I doubt not. And yet you need, I believe, to be guided in the adventurous career you have chosen, for, if I mistake not, you came to Paris with the ambitious idea of making your fortune.”
“I am at the age of extravagant hopes, monseigneur,” said D’Artagnan.
“There are no extravagant hopes save for fools, sir, and you are a man of brains. Now, what would you say to an ensign’s commission in my guards, and a company after the campaign?”
“Ah, monseigneur!”
“You accept, do you not?”
“Monseigneur,” replied D’Artagnan, with an embarrassed air.
“What! do you decline?” cried the cardinal, in astonishment.
“I am in his Majesty’s guards, monseigneur, and I have no reason to be dissatisfied.”
“But it seems to me that my guards are also his Majesty’s guards, and whoever serves in a French corps serves the king.”
“Monseigneur, your Eminence has misunderstood my words.”
“That is to say, you refuse to serve me, sir,” said the cardinal in a tone of vexation, through which, however, a sort of esteem manifested itself. “Remain free, then, and preserve your hatreds and your sympathies.”
“Monseigneur—”
“Well, well!” said the cardinal, “I am not angry with you, but you are aware it is enough to defend and reward our friends; we owe nothing to our enemies. And yet I will give you a piece of advice: take good care of yourself, Monsieur d’Artagnan, for from the moment I withdraw my hand from you I would not give an obole for your life.”
“I will try to do so, monseigneur,” replied the Gascon, with a noble confidence.
“Remember by-and-by, at some moment when mischance may happen to you,” said Richelieu pointedly, “that I came to seek you, and that I did all in my power to prevent this misfortune befalling you.”
“Whatever may happen,” said D’Artagnan, placing his hand on his heart and bowing, “I shall entertain an eternal gratitude toward your Eminence for what you are now doing for me.”
“Well, let it be, then, as you have said, Monsieur d’Artagnan; we shall meet again after the campaign. I will have my eye on you, for I shall be there,” replied the cardinal, pointing with his finger to a magnificent suit of armour he was to wear; “and on our return—well, we will settle our account!”
“Ah, monseigneur!” cried D’Artagnan, “spare me the weight of your disfavour; remain neutral, monseigneur, if you find that I act as a gentleman ought to act.”
“Young man,” said Richelieu, “if I am able once again to say to you what I have said to you to-day, I promise you to do so.”
This last expression of Richelieu’s conveyed a terrible doubt; it alarmed D’Artagnan more than a threat would have done, for it was a warning. The cardinal, then, was trying to preserve him from some threatened misfortune. He opened his mouth to reply, but with a gesture the cardinal dismissed him.
D’Artagnan descended by the same staircase at which he had entered.
When he reached Athos’s residence, Aramis and Porthos inquired as to the cause of this strange interview; but D’Artagnan confined himself to telling them that Richelieu had sent for him to propose to him to enter his guards with the rank of ensign, and that he had refused.
“And you were right,” cried Aramis and Porthos, with one voice.
Athos fell into a deep reverie and made no remark. But when they were alone,
“You have done your duty, D’Artagnan,” said Athos; “but yet perhaps you have done wrong.”
D’Artagnan sighed deeply, for this voice responded to a secret voice of his soul, which told him that great misfortunes were awaiting him.
The whole of the next day was spent in preparations for departure. D’Artagnan went to take leave of M. de Tréville. At that time it was still believed that the separation of the musketeers and the guards would be only temporary, as the king was holding his parliament that very day, and proposed to set out the day after. M. de Tréville contented himself with asking D’Artagnan if he could do anything for him, but D’Artagnan answered that he was supplied with all he wanted.
That night all the comrades of the company of M. des Essarts’s guards and of the company of M. de Tréville’s musketeers who had struck up a mutual friendship came together. They were parting to meet again when it should please God, and if it should please God. The night, therefore, was a somewhat riotous one, as may be imagined, for in such cases extreme preoccupation can be combated only by extreme carelessness.
At the first sound of the morning trumpet the friends separated, the musketeers hastening to M. de Tréville’s h?tel, the guards to M. des Essarts’s. Each of the captains then led his company to the Louvre, where the king reviewed them.
The review over, the guards set forward alone on their march, the musketeers waiting for the king.
Meantime, D’Artagnan was marching off with his company. On arriving at the Faubourg St. Antoine, he turned round to look gaily at the Bastille; but as he looked at the Bastille alone he did not observe milady, who, mounted upon a light bay horse, was pointing him out to two ill-looking men who immediately came close up to the ranks to take notice of him. To a questioning look milady signified that it was he. Then, certain that there could no longer be any mistake in the execution of her orders, she gave spurs to her horse and disappeared.
