“Well, then,” said Aramis, “we must form a plan of battle.”
“It’s very simple,” replied Athos. “As soon as the enemy are within range, we must fire on them. If they continue to advance, we must fire again. We must fire as long as we have loaded guns. Then, if the rest of the troop persist in mounting to the assault, we will allow the besiegers to reach the ditch, and then we will push down on their heads that strip of wall which seems to stand only by a miracle of equilibrium.”
“Bravo!” cried Porthos. “Decidedly, Athos, you were born to be a general, and the cardinal, who fancies himself a great captain, is nothing to you.”
“Gentlemen,” said Athos, “no divided attention, I beg. Let each one pick out his man.”
“I cover mine,” said D’Artagnan.
“And I mine,” said Porthos.
“And I idem,” said Aramis.
“Fire, then!” said Athos.
The four muskets made but one report, but four men fell.
The drum immediately beat, and the little troop advanced double-quick.
Then the musket-shots were repeated without regularity, but always aimed with the same correctness. Nevertheless, as if they had been aware of the numerical weakness of the friends, the Rochellais continued to advance on the run.
At every three shots at least two men fell; but the approach of those who remained was not slackened.
On reaching the foot of the bastion, there were still more than a dozen or fifteen of the enemy. A last discharge welcomed them, but did not stop them. They leaped into the ditch, and prepared to scale the breach.
“Now, my friends,” said Athos, “finish them at a blow. To the wall! to the wall!”
And the four friends, aided by Grimaud, pushed with the barrels of their muskets an enormous side of the wall, which bent over as if swayed by the wind, and giving way from its base, fell with a horrible crash into the ditch. Then a fearful cry was heard, a cloud of dust mounted toward the sky, and all was over!
“Can we have destroyed them all, from the first to the last?” said Athos.
“Faith, it seems so,” said D’Artagnan.
“No,” cried Porthos; “there go three or four, limping away.”
In fact, three or four of these unfortunate men, covered with dirt and blood, were escaping along the hollow way, and were making for the city. These were all that were left of the little troop.
Athos looked at his watch.
“Gentlemen,” said he, “we have been here an hour, and our wager is won; but we will be fair players. Besides, D’Artagnan has not told us his idea yet.”
And the musketeer, with his usual coolness, went and sat down again before the remains of the breakfast.
“My idea?” said D’Artagnan.
“Yes; you said you had an idea,” said Athos.
“Oh, I remember now,” said D’Artagnan. “Well, I will go to England again; I will go and find Buckingham.”
“You shall not do that, D’Artagnan,” said Athos coolly.“
And why not? Have I not been there once?”
“Yes; but at that period we were not at war. At that period Buckingham was an ally, and not an enemy. What you now contemplate doing would amount to treason.”
D’Artagnan perceived the force of this reasoning, and was silent.
“Let us have your idea, Aramis,” said Athos, who entertained great deference for the young musketeer.
“We must inform the queen.”
“Ah, ’pon my word, yes,” said Porthos and D’Artagnan at the same time. “I think we are getting at the proper means.”
“Inform the queen!” said Athos. “And how? Have we any friends at court? Can we send any one to Paris without its being known in the camp? It is a hundred and forty leagues from here to Paris; before our letter reached Angers we should be in a dungeon.”
“As to sending a letter safely to her Majesty,” said Aramis, “I will take that on myself. I know a clever person at Tours—”
Aramis stopped on seeing Athos smile.
“Well, do you not adopt this means, Athos?” asked D’Artagnan.
“I do not reject it altogether,” said Athos, “but I wish to remind Aramis that he cannot quit the camp, and that no one but one of us can be trusted; that two hours after the messenger has set out, all the capuchins, all the alguazils, all the black caps of the cardinal, will know your letter by heart, and you and your clever person will be arrested. Allow me to give Grimaud some indispensable orders.”
Athos made a sign for his lackey to draw near.
“Grimaud,” said Athos, pointing to the bodies which lay in the bastion, “take those gentlemen, set them up against the wall, put their hats on their heads, and their guns in their hands.”
“Oh, great man!” cried D’Artagnan, “I understand now.”
“This milady—this woman—this creature—this demon has a brother-in-law, as I think you have told me, D’Artagnan?”
“Yes, I know him very well; and I also believe that he has not a very warm affection for his sister-in-law.”
“There is no harm in that; if he detested her, it would be all the better,” replied Athos.
“In that case, we are as well off as we could wish.”
“What is her brother-in-law’s name?”
“Lord Winter.”
“Where is he now?”
“He returned to London at the first rumour of war.”
“Well, he’s just the man we want,” said Athos; “we must warn him. We will send him word that his sister-in-law is on the point of assassinating some one, and we will beg of him not to lose sight of her. There is in London, I hope, some establishment like that of the Magdalens, or of the Repentant Women. He will place his sister in one of these, and we are in peace.”
“But I think it would be still better,” said Aramis, “to inform the queen and Lord Winter at the same time.”
“Yes; but who is to carry the letter to Tours, and who the letter to London?”
“I answer for Bazin,” said Aramis.
“And I for Planchet,” said D’Artagnan.
“That is so,” said Porthos; “if we cannot leave the camp, our lackeys may.”
“To be sure they may,” said Aramis; “and this very day we write the letters, we give them money, and they set out.”
“We will give them money?” replied Athos. “Have you any money, then?”
The four friends looked at one another, and a cloud came over the brows which had been for an instant so cheerful.
“Quick!” cried D’Artagnan; “I see black points and red points moving yonder. It is a whole army!”
“’Pon my word,” said Athos; “yes, there they are. Do you see the sneaks coming without drums or trumpets?—Ah! have you finished, Grimaud?”
Grimaud made a sign in the affirmative, and pointed to a dozen bodies which he had set up in the most picturesque attitudes—some carrying arms, others seeming to aim, and the rest sword in hand.
“Bravo!” said Athos; “that does honour to your imagination.”
“Very good,” said Porthos. “I should like, however, to understand.”
“Let us get away first,” said D’Artagnan; “and you can understand afterwards.”
“Faith!” said Athos, “I have nothing more to say against a retreat. Our wager called for an hour: we have stayed an hour and a half. Nothing can be said; let us be off, gentlemen, let us be off!”
Grimaud had already gone on with the basket and the dessert. The four friends followed.
An instant later a furious firing was heard.
“What’s that?” asked Porthos; “what are they firing at now? I hear no balls, and I see no one!”
“They are firing on our dead men,” replied Athos.
“But our dead men will not return their fire.”
“You are right. Then they will fancy it is an ambuscade, they will deliberate; and by the time they find out the joke we shall be out of range. That’s why it is useless to get a pleurisy by going too fast.”
“Oh, I understand now,” said the astonished Porthos.
“That’s very lucky,” said Athos, shrugging his shoulders.
The French, seeing the four friends returning leisurely, uttered shouts of enthusiasm.
At length a fresh discharge was heard, and this time the balls came rattling among the stones around the four friends, and whistling sharply in their ears. The Rochellais had just taken possession of the bastion.
“What bunglers!” said Athos. “How many have we killed of them—a dozen?”
“Or fifteen.”
“How many did we crush under the wall?”
“Eight or ten.”
“And in exchange for all that, not a scratch! Ah! but what is the matter with your hand, D’Artagnan? It seems to me it is bleeding.”
“Oh, it’s nothing,” said D’Artagnan.
“A spent ball?”
“Not even that.”
“What is it, then?”
We have said that Athos loved D’Artagnan as though he was his son, and this sombre and inflexible character sometimes felt a parent’s anxiety for the young man.
“Only grazed a little,” replied D’Artagnan. “My fingers were caught between the stone of the wall and the stone of my ring, and the skin was broken.”
“That comes of wearing diamonds, my master,” said Athos disdainfully.
“Ah, to be sure,” cried Porthos; “there is really a diamond. Why the devil, then, do we plague ourselves about money when there is a diamond?”
“Well, then,” said D’Artagnan gaily, “let us sell the diamond, and say no more about it.”
The fusillade was still going on; but the friends were out of range, and the Rochellais only fired to soothe their consciences.
“Faith! it was time that idea came into Porthos’s head. Here we are in camp; therefore, gentlemen, not a word more of this affair. We are observed; they are coming to meet us; we shall be borne in in triumph.”
In fact, as we have said, the whole camp was in commotion. More than two thousand persons had been present, as at a play, at this fortunate escapade of the four friends—an escapade of the real motive of which no one had a suspicion. Nothing was heard but cries of “Hurrah for the musketeers! Hurrah for the guards!” M. de Busigny was the first to come and shake Athos by the hand, and acknowledge that the wager was lost. The dragoon and the Swiss followed him, and all their comrades followed the dragoon and the Swiss. There was no end to the congratulations, pressures of the hand, and embraces; there was inextinguishable laughter at the Rochellais. The tumult at length became so great that the cardinal fancied there was a riot, and sent La Houdinière, his captain of the guards, to find out what was going on.
The affair was described to the messenger with all the effervescence of enthusiasm.
“Well?” asked the cardinal, on seeing La Houdinière return.
“Well, monseigneur,” replied the latter, “three musketeers and a guardsman laid a wager with M. de Busigny that they would go and breakfast in the Bastion St. Gervais, and while breakfasting they held it for two hours against the enemy, and have killed I don’t know how many Rochellais.”
“Did you inquire the names of the three musketeers?”
“Yes, monseigneur.”
“What are their names?”
“MM. Athos, Porthos, and Aramis.”
“Always my three brave fellows!” murmured the cardinal. “And the guard?”
“M. d’Artagnan.”
“Still my young scapegrace. Positively, these four men must be mine.”
That same evening the cardinal spoke to M. de Trèville of the morning’s exploit, which was the talk of the whole camp. M. de Tréville, who had received the account of the adventure from the very mouths of the heroes of it, related it in all its details to his Eminence, not forgetting the episode of the napkin.
“Very well, Monsieur de Tréville,” said the cardinal; “pray let me have that napkin. I will have three fleurs-de-lis embroidered on it in gold, and will give it to your company as a standard.”
“Monseigneur,” said M. de Tréville, “that will hardly be doing justice to the guards. M. d’Artagnan is not mine; he serves under M. des Essarts.”
“Well, then, take him,” said the cardinal; “when four men are so much attached to one another, it is only fair that they should serve in the same company.”
That same evening M. de Tréville announced this good news to the three musketeers and D’Artagnan, inviting all four to breakfast with him next morning.
D’Artagnan was beside himself with joy. We know that the dream of his life had been to become a musketeer.
The three friends were likewise greatly delighted.
That evening D’Artagnan went to present his compliments to M. des Essarts, and to inform him of his promotion.
M. des Essarts, who esteemed D’Artagnan, offered to aid him in any way, as this change of corps would entail expenses for outfit.
D’Artagnan respectfully declined, but thinking the opportunity a good one, he begged him to have the diamond he put into his hand valued, as he wished to turn it into money.
By eight o’clock next morning M. des Essarts’s valet came to D’Artagnan’s lodging, and gave him a purse containing seven thousand livres.
This was the price of the queen’s diamond.
Chapter 43 - A Family Affair
Athos had invented the phrase, family affair. A family affair was not subject to the cardinal’s investigation; a family affair concerned no one; people might employ themselves in a family affair before all the world.
Thus Athos had discovered the words, family affair.
Aramis had discovered the idea, the lackeys.
Porthos had discovered the means, the diamond.
D’Artagnan alone had discovered nothing—he, ordinarily, the most inventive of the four; but it must also be said that the mere mention of milady paralysed him.
Oh no! we were mistaken; he had discovered a purchaser for his diamond.
The breakfast at M. de Tréville’s was delightfully gay. D’Artagnan was already in his uniform, for as he was nearly of the same size as Aramis, and as Aramis had bought two of everything, he furnished his friend with a complete outfit.
D’Artagnan would have been at the height of his wishes if he had not constantly seen milady, like a dark cloud, on the horizon.
After breakfast it was agreed that they should meet again in the evening at Athos’s lodging, and would there end the affair.
D’Artagnan passed the day in exhibiting his musketeer’s uniform in every street of the camp.
In the evening, at the appointed hour, the four friends met. There remained only three things to be decided on—what they should write to milady’s brother; what they should write to the clever person at Tours; and which should be the lackeys to carry the letters.
“Draw up this note for us, Aramis,” said D’Artagnan. “But be concise.”
“I ask nothing better,” said Aramis, with that ingenuous self-confidence which every poet has; “but let me know what I am about. I have heard, in one way and another, that Lord Winter’s sister-in-law was vile. It was even proved to me when I overheard her conversation with the cardinal.”
“Worse than vile, ye gods!” said Athos.
“But,” continued Aramis, “the details escape me.”
D’Artagnan told him all he needed to know about milady.
Aramis accordingly took the pen, reflected for a few moments, wrote eight or ten lines in a charming little feminine hand, and then, in a soft, slow voice, as if each word had been scrupulously weighed, he read the following:
“Milord.—The person who writes these lines had the honour of crossing swords with you in a little yard near the Rue d’Enfer. As you have several times since been kind enough to call yourself that person’s friend, he thinks it his duty to respond to your friendship by sending you important information. Twice you have almost been the victim of a near relative whom you believe to be your heir, because you do not know that before she contracted a marriage in England she was already married in France. But the third time, which is this, you may succumb. Your relative left Rochelle for England during the night. Be on the watch for her arrival, for she has great and terrible projects. If you absolutely insist on knowing what she is capable of, read her past history upon her left shoulder.”
