“Listen, milady,” said the cardinal; “the affair is important. Sit down and let us talk.”
“Milady!” murmured Athos.
“I am listening to your Eminence with the greatest attention,” replied a woman’s voice that made the musketeer start.
“A small vessel, with an English crew, whose captain is devoted to me, awaits you at the mouth of the Charente, at Fort de la Pointe. He will set sail to-morrow morning.”
“I must go there to-night, then?”
“Instantly! That is to say, as soon as you have received my instructions. Two men, whom you will find at the door on going out, will serve as your escort. You will let me leave first, and, half an hour after, you can go away in your turn.”
“Yes, monseigneur. Now let us return to the mission in which you wish to employ me, and, as I desire to continue to merit your Eminence’s confidence, deign to explain it to me in clear and precise terms, so that I may not commit any error.”
There was a moment of deep silence between the two speakers. It was evident the cardinal was weighing beforehand the terms in which he was about to speak, and that milady was collecting all the powers of her mind to understand the things he was about to say, and to engrave them in her memory when they were spoken.
Athos took advantage of this moment to tell his two companions to fasten the door on the inside, and to beckon them to come and listen with him.
The two musketeers, who loved their ease, each brought a chair for himself and one for Athos. All three then sat down with their heads together and their ears alert.
“You will go to London,” pursued the cardinal; “when you reach London you will seek out Buckingham.”
“I must beg your Eminence to observe,” said milady, “that since the affair of the diamond studs, about which the duke always suspected me, his Grace has been very mistrustful of me.”
“Well, this time,” said the cardinal, “it is not a question of worming yourself into his confidence, but you will present yourself frankly and loyally as a negotiator.
“You will go to Buckingham in my behalf, and you will tell him I am acquainted with all the preparations he has made; but that they give me no uneasiness, since at the first step he takes I will ruin the queen.”
“Will he believe that your Eminence is in a position to accomplish the threat you make him?”
“Yes, for I have the proofs.”
“I must be able to present these proofs so as to convince him.”
“Unquestionably. And you will tell him I will publish the report of Bois-Robert and of the Marquis de Beautru, regarding the interview with the queen which the duke had at the constable’s residence, on the evening Madame la Connétable gave a masked ball. You will tell him, in order that he may not doubt anything, that he came there in the costume of the Great Mogul, which the Chevalier de Guise was to have worn, and which he bought for three thousand pistoles.”
“Very well, monseigneur.”
“All the details of his entrance and departure on the night when he was introduced into the palace in the character of an Italian fortuneteller you will tell him, in order that he may not doubt the correctness of my information.”
“Is that all, monseigneur?”
“Tell him also that I am acquainted with all the details of the adventure at Amiens; that I will have a little romance made of it, wittily turned, with a plan of the garden and portraits of the principal actors in that nocturnal romance.”
“I will tell him that.”
“Then add that his Grace in his precipitation to quit the Isle of Ré forgot and left behind him in his lodging a letter from Madame de Chevreuse, which singularly compromises the queen, inasmuch as it proves not only that her Majesty can love the king’s enemies, but that she can conspire with the enemies of France. You recollect perfectly all I have told you, do you not?”
“Your Eminence will judge: Madame la Connétable’s ball; the night at the Louvre; the evening at Amiens; the arrest of Montague; the letter of Madame de Chevreuse.”
“That’s it,” said the cardinal—“that’s it. You have an excellent memory, milady.”
“But,” resumed the lady to whom the cardinal had just addressed this flattering compliment, “if, in spite of all these reasons, the duke does not yield, and continues to threaten France?”
“If he persists—” His Eminence made a pause, and resumed: “If he persists—well, then I shall hope for one of those events which change the destinies of states.”
“If your Eminence would quote to me some of these events in history,” said milady, “perhaps I should partake of your confidence in the future.”
“Well, here, then, for example,” said Richelieu. “When in 1610, for a cause almost similar to the one that moves the duke, King Henry IV, of glorious memory, was about to invade Flanders and Italy at the same time, in order to attack Austria on both sides—well, did there not happen an event which saved Austria? Why should not the king of France have the same chance as the emperor?”
“Your Eminence means the knife-stab of the Rue de la Ferronnerie?”
“Exactly so,” said the cardinal. “The only difficulty at this moment is to find some woman, handsome, young, and clever, who wants to get revenge on the duke. Such a woman may be found. The duke has had many love affairs, and if he has succeeded in many of his intrigues by his promises of eternal constancy, he must likewise have sown the seeds of many hatreds by his eternal infidelities.”
“No doubt,” said milady coolly, “such a woman may be found.”
“Well, such a woman, who would put Jacques Clement’s knife or Ravaillac’s in a fanatic’s hands, would save France.”
“She is found,” said milady.
“Then we must find the miserable fanatic who will serve as an instrument of God’s justice.”
“He will be found.”
“Well,” said the cardinal, “that is it.”
“And now,” said milady, without appearing to remark the change of the cardinal’s tone toward her—“now that I have received your Eminence’s instructions regarding your enemies, will monseigneur permit me to say a few words to him of mine?”
“Who are they?” replied the cardinal.
“In the first place, there is a little intriguing woman named Bonacieux.”
“She is in the prison of Nantes.”
“That is to say, she was there,” replied milady; “but the queen obtained an order from the king, by means of which she has been conveyed to a convent.”
“And what convent?”
“I don’t know; the secret has been well kept.”
“But I will know!”
“And will your Eminence tell me in what convent this woman is?”
“I see nothing improper in that,” said the cardinal.
“Well, now I have an enemy much more to be dreaded by me than this little Madame Bonacieux.”
“Who is that?”
“Her lover.”
“What is his name?”
“I mean that wretch D’Artagnan.”
“He is a bold fellow,” said the cardinal.
“And because he is a bold fellow he is the more to be feared.”
“I must have,” said the cardinal, “a proof of his connection with Buckingham.”
“A proof!” cried milady; “I will find you ten.”
“Well, then, it is the simplest thing in the world. Get me your proof, and I will send him to the Bastille.”
“So far so good, monseigneur; but afterwards?”
“When one is in the Bastille there is no afterwards!” said the cardinal in a low voice. “Ah, by God!” continued he, “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 only against such people you required impunity—”
“Monseigneur,” replied milady, “a fair exchange—life for life, man for man; give me one, I will give you the other.”
“I don’t know what you mean, nor do I even wish to know what you mean,” replied the cardinal; “but I wish to please you, and see nothing out of the way in giving you what you ask for with respect to so mean a creature—the more so as you tell me this petty D’Artagnan is a libertine, a duellist, a traitor.”
“An infamous scoundrel, monseigneur, an infamous scoundrel!”
“Give me a paper, a pen, and some ink, then,” said the cardinal.
“Here they are, monseigneur.”
There was a moment of silence, which proved that the cardinal was engaged in seeking the terms in which he should write the note, or else in writing it. Athos, who had not lost a word of the conversation, took 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 it was necessary for us to hear; besides, I don’t prevent you from listening but I must be gone.”
“You must be gone!” said Porthos; “and if the cardinal asks for you, what answer can we make?”
“You will not wait till he asks; you will speak first, and tell him that I am gone as a scout, because certain expressions of our landlord have made me think the road is not safe. I will say a word or two about it to the cardinal’s attendant likewise. The rest concerns myself; don’t be anxious about that.”
“Be prudent, Athos,” said Aramis.
“Don’t be worried,” replied Athos.
Porthos and Aramis resumed their places by the stove-pipe.
Athos went out without any mystery, took his horse, which was tied with those of his friends to the fastenings of the shutters, in four words convinced the attendant of the necessity of a vanguard for their return, carefully examined the priming of his pistol, drew his sword, and, like a forlorn hope, took the road to the camp.
Chapter 40 - A Conjugal Scene
As athos had foreseen, the cardinal soon came down. He opened the door of the room where the musketeers were, and found Porthos playing an earnest game at dice with Aramis. He cast a rapid glance round the room, and perceived that one of his men was missing.
“What has become of Monsieur Athos?” asked he.
“Monseigneur,” replied Porthos, “he has gone on as a scout, owing to some expressions dropped by our landlord making him fear the road was not safe.”
“And how have you been amusing yourself, M. Porthos?”
“I have won five pistoles from Aramis, monseigneur.”
“Well; now will you return with me?”
“We are at your Eminence’s orders.”
“To horse, then, gentlemen, for it is getting late.”
The attendant was at the door, holding the cardinal’s horse by the bridle. A short distance away a group of two men and three horses appeared in the shade; these were the two men who were to conduct milady to Fort de la Pointe, and superintend her embarkation.
The attendant confirmed to the cardinal what the two musketeers had already said regarding Athos. The cardinal made an approving gesture, and started to return with the same precautions he had used in coming.
Let us leave him to follow the road to the camp, protected by his attendant and the two musketeers, and return to Athos.
For a hundred paces he maintained the gait with which he started, but when once out of sight, he turned his horse to the right, made a circuit and came back to within twenty paces, where, shielded by a coppice, he might watch the passage of the little troop. Having recognized his companions’ laced hats and the golden fringe of the cardinal’s cloak, he waited till the horsemen had turned the angle of the road, and having lost them from sight, he returned at a gallop to the tavern, which was opened to him without hesitation.
The landlord recognized him.
“My officer,” said Athos, “has forgotten to give a piece of very important information to the lady, and has sent me back to repair his forgetfulness.”
“Go up,” said the host; “she is still in her room.”
Athos availed himself of the permission, mounted the stairs with his lightest step, gained the landing, and through the open door saw milady putting on her hat.
He went straight into the chamber and closed the door behind him.
At the noise he made in bolting it milady turned round.
Athos was standing before the door, enveloped in his cloak, with his hat pulled down over his eyes. On seeing that figure, mute and motionless like a statue, milady was startled.
“Who are you, and what do you want?” cried she.
“There now!” murmured Athos; “it is certainly she!”
And dropping his cloak and raising his hat, he advanced toward milady.
“Do you know me, madame?” said he.
Milady took one step forward, and then grew pale, as though she saw a serpent.
“Come,” said Athos. “Good! I see you know me.”
“The Comte de la Fère!” murmured milady, drawing back till the wall prevented her going any farther.
“You believed me to be dead, did you not, as I believed you to be? And the name of Athos as well concealed the Comte de la Fère as the name of Lady Clarick concealed Anne de Beuil! Were you not so called when your honoured brother married us? Our position is truly strange,” pursued Athos, laughing. “We have lived up to the present time only because we believed each other to be dead, and because a remembrance is less oppressive than a living creature, though sometimes a remembrance is a devouring thing!”
“But,” said milady, in a hollow, faint voice, “what brings you back to me? and what do you want with me?”
“I wish to tell you that, though I have remained invisible to your eyes, I have not lost sight of you. I can tell you of your actions day by day from the time you entered the cardinal’s service until this evening.”
A smile of incredulity passed over milady’s pale lips.
“You must be Satan!” cried she.
“Perhaps,” said Athos. “But, at least, listen to what I say. Assassinate the Duke of Buckingham, or have him assassinated; it makes no difference to me. I don’t know him; besides, he is an Englishman. But do not touch with the tip of your finger a single hair of D’Artagnan, who is a faithful friend, whom I love and defend, or I swear to you by my father’s life the crime which you shall have committed shall be your last.”
Athos was seized with a kind of vertigo. The sight of this creature, who had nothing womanly about her, recalled devouring remembrances. His desire for her death returned, burning, and pervaded him like a raging fever. He put his hand to his belt, drew out a pistol, and cocked it.
Milady, pale as a corpse, struggled to cry out; but her frozen tongue could utter only a hoarse sound, which had nothing human in it, and seemed a wild beast’s rattle. Clinging to the dark tapestry, she appeared, with her hair in disorder, like the frightful image of terror.
Athos slowly raised his pistol, stretched out his arm, so that the weapon almost touched milady’s forehead; and then, in a voice the more terrible from having the supreme calmness of an inflexible resolution,
“Madame,” said he, “you will this instant deliver to me the paper the cardinal signed; or, on my soul, I will blow your brains out.”
With another 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 by the contraction of his countenance that he was about to pull the trigger; she put her hand quickly into her bosom, pulled out a paper, and held it toward Athos.
