“Well, now, that’s wonderfully well done,” said Athos; “really, my dear Aramis, you have the pen of a secretary of state. Lord Winter will now be upon his guard, if the letter should reach him; and even if it should fall into the cardinal’s hands, we shall not be compromised. But as the lackey who goes may make us believe he has been to London and may stop at Chatellerault, let us give him only half the sum with the letter, promising that he shall have the other half in exchange for the reply. Have you the diamond?” continued Athos.
“I have what is still better: I have the value of it.”
And D’Artagnan threw the purse on the table. At the sound of the gold Aramis raised his eyes and Porthos started; Athos remained unmoved.
“How much is there in that purse?”
“Seven thousand livres, in louis of twelve francs.”
“Seven thousand livres!” cried Porthos—“that wretched little diamond was worth seven thousand livres?”
“It seems so,” said Athos, “since here they are. I don’t suppose that our friend D’Artagnan has added any of his own.”
“But, gentlemen, in all this,” said D’Artagnan, “we have no thought of the queen. Let us look a little after her dear Buckingham’s health. That is the least we owe her.”
“You are right,” said Athos; “but that falls to Aramis.”
“Well,” replied the latter, “what must I do?”
“Oh, it’s simple enough,” replied Athos. “Write a second letter for that clever personage who lives at Tours.”
Aramis resumed his pen, reflected a little more, and wrote the following lines, which he immediately submitted to his friends’ approbation,
“My dear cousin.”
“Ah, ha!” said Athos; “this clever lady is your relative, then?”
“She’s my cousin-german.”
“Good—for your cousin, then!”
Aramis continued:
“My dear Cousin,—His Eminence the cardinal, whom God preserve for the happiness of France and the confusion of the enemies of the kingdom, is on the point of finishing up with the heretic rebels of Rochelle; it is probable that the aid of the English fleet will never even arrive in sight of the place. I will even venture to say that I am certain the Duke of Buckingham will be prevented from starting for there by some great event. His Eminence is the most illustrious politician of times past, of times present, and probably of times to come. He would extinguish the sun, if the sun incommoded him. Give these happy tidings to your sister, my dear cousin. I have dreamed that that cursed Englishman was dead. I cannot recollect whether it was by steel or by poison; only I am sure of this: I have dreamed he was dead, and you know my dreams never deceive me. Be assured, then, of seeing me soon return.”
“Capital,” cried Athos; “you are the king of poets, my dear Aramis. You speak like the Apocalypse, and you are as true as the gospel. There is nothing now for you to do but to put the address on your letter.”
“That’s easily done,” said Aramis.
He folded the letter coquettishly, took it, and wrote,
“To Mademoiselle Michon, seamstress, Tours.”
The three friends looked at each other and laughed; they were caught.
“Now,” said Aramis, “you understand, gentlemen, that Bazin is the only person who can carry this letter to Tours. My cousin knows no one but Bazin, and places confidence in no one else; any other person would fail. Besides, Bazin is ambitious and learned; Bazin has read history, gentlemen. He knows that Sixtus V. became pope after having tended pigs. Then, as he means to enter holy orders at the same time as myself, he does not despair of becoming a pope in his turn, or at least a cardinal. You understand that a man who has such views will never allow himself to be taken, or if taken, will undergo martyrdom rather than speak.”
“Well, well,” said D’Artagnan, “I grant you Bazin with all my heart, but let me have Planchet. Milady one day had him turned out of doors, with a sound caning. Now Planchet has an excellent memory, and I will be bound that if he can see possible means of vengeance, he will let himself be beaten to death rather than fail. If your affairs of Tours are your affairs, Aramis, those of London are mine. I beg, then, that Planchet may be chosen, especially as he has already been to London with me, and knows how to say very correctly, London, sir, if you please, and, My master, Lord d’Artagnan. With that, you may be satisfied, he can make his way, both going and returning.”
“In that case,” said Athos, “Planchet must receive seven hundred livres for going, and seven hundred livres for coming back; and Bazin, three hundred livres for going, and three hundred livres for coming back. That will reduce the sum to five thousand livres. We will each take a thousand livres, to be employed as seems good to each, and we will leave a fund of a thousand livres, in the guardianship of the abbé here, for extraordinary occasions or common necessities. Does that suit you?”
“My dear Athos,” said Aramis, “you speak like Nestor.”
Planchet was sent for, and instructions were given him. He had already been notified by D’Artagnan, who had shown him first the glory, next the money, and then the danger.
“I will carry the letter in the lining of my coat,” said Planchet, “and if I am taken I will swallow it.”
“Well, but then you will not be able to fulfil your commission,” said D’Artagnan.
“You will give me a copy of it this evening, and I will know it by heart before morning.”
D’Artagnan looked at his friends, as if to say, “Well, what did I promise you?”
“Now,” continued he, addressing Planchet, “you have eight days to get to Lord Winter, you have eight days to return in—in all sixteen days; if on the sixteenth day after your departure, at eight o’clock in the evening, you are not here, no money, even if it be but five minutes past eight.”
“Ah, sir!”said Planchet, “I will succeed, or I will consent to be quartered; and if they quarter me, be assured that not a morsel of me will speak.”
In the morning, as he was mounting his horse, D’Artagnan, who felt at the bottom of his heart a partiality for the duke, took Planchet aside.
“Listen,” said he to him. “When you have given the letter to Lord Winter, and he has read it, you will further say to him, ‘Watch over his Grace, Lord Buckingham, for there is a plot to assassinate him.’ But, Planchet, you see this is so serious and important that I have not informed my friends that I would entrust this secret to you; and for a captain’s commission I would not write it.”
“Be at rest, sir,” said Planchet; “you shall see whether confidence can be placed in me or not.”
And mounted on an excellent horse, which he was to leave at the end of twenty leagues to take the post, Planchet set off at a gallop.
Bazin set out the next day for Tours, and was allowed a week in which to perform his commission.
On the morning of the eighth day Bazin, fresh as ever and smiling as usual, entered the tavern of the Infidel as the four friends were sitting down to breakfast, saying, as had been agreed upon,
“Monsieur Aramis, here is your cousin’s answer.”Aramis took the letter, which was in a large, coarse hand, and ill-spelt.
“Good gracious!” cried he, laughing, “I really despair of my poor Michon; she will never write like M. de Voiture.”
Aramis read the letter, and passed it to Athos.
“See what she writes to me, Athos,” said he.
Athos cast a glance over the epistle, and, to dissipate all the suspicions that might have been created, read aloud,
“My Cousin,—My sister and I are very skilful in interpreting dreams, and even entertain great fear of them; but of yours it may be said, I hope, every dream is an illusion. Farewell! Take care of yourself, and act so that we may, from time to time, hear you spoken of.
“Marie Michon.”
On the sixteenth day signs of anxiety were so manifest in D’Artagnan and his three friends that they could not remain quiet in one place, and they wandered about like ghosts on the road by which Planchet was expected.
The day, however, passed away, and the evening come on slower than ever, but it came. The taprooms were filled with drinkers. Athos, who had pocketed his share of the diamond, seldom quitted the Infidel. He had found in M. de Busigny—who, by the way, had given them a magnificent dinner—a partner worthy of his company. They were playing together as usual when seven o’clock struck; the patrols were heard passing to double the posts. At half-past seven tattoo was sounded.
“We are lost,” said D’Artagnan in Athos’s ear.
“You mean we have lost,” said Athos quietly, drawing four pistoles from his pocket and flinging them on the table. “Come, gentlemen,” said he, “they are beating the tattoo; to bed, to bed!”
And Athos went out of the Infidel, followed by D’Artagnan. Aramis came behind, giving his arm to Porthos. Aramis mumbled verses, and Porthos from time to time pulled a hair or two from his moustache, as a sign of despair.
But behold! suddenly a shadow appears in the darkness, the outline of which is familiar to D’Artagnan, and a well-known voice says,
“Sir, I have brought your cloak, for it is chilly this evening.”
“Planchet!” cried D’Artagnan intoxicated with joy.
“Planchet!” repeated Aramis and Porthos.
“Well, certainly Planchet,” said Athos; “what is there astonishing in that? He promised to be back by eight o’clock, and eight is just now striking. Bravo, Planchet! you are a lad of your word, and if ever you leave your master I promise you a place in my service.”
“Oh no, never!” said Planchet. “I will never leave M. d’Artagnan.”At the same time D’Artagnan felt Planchet slipping a note into his hand.
“I have a note,” said he to Athos and his friends.
“Very well,” said Athos; “let us go home and we will read it.”
The note burned in D’Artagnan’s hand. He wished to hasten; but Athos took his arm and passed it under his own, and the young man was obliged to regulate his pace by his friend’s.
At length they reached the tent, lit a lamp, and whilst Planchet stood at the entrance, so that the four friends might not be surprised, D’Artagnan with a trembling hand broke the seal and opened the letter so anxiously expected.
It contained half a line in a thoroughly British hand, and of thoroughly Spartan brevity:
“Thank you. Be easy.”
Athos took the letter from D’Artagnan’s hands, drew near to the lamp, set fire to it, and did not let it go till it was reduced to ashes.
Then calling Planchet,
“Now, my lad,” said he, “you may claim your seven hundred livres; but you did not run much risk with such a note as that.”
“Twas not from lack of trying every means to compass it,” said Planchet.
“Well,” cried D’Artagnan, “tell us about it.”
“Ah, sir, it’s a very long story.”
“You are right, Planchet,” said Athos; “besides, tattoo has been sounded, and we should be observed if we kept a light burning longer than the others.”
“So be it,” said D’Artagnan. “Let us go to bed. Planchet, sleep soundly.”
“Faith, sir, it will be the first time I have done so these sixteen days!”
“Or I either!” said D’Artagnan.
“Or I either!” said Porthos.
“Or I either!” said Aramis.
“Well, if I must tell you the truth—or I either!” said Athos.
Chapter 44 - Fatality
Meantime milady, drunk with rage, roaring on the deck of the vessel like a lioness embarked, had been tempted to leap into the sea in order to regain the coast, for she could not get rid of the idea that she had been insulted by D’Artagnan and threatened by Athos, and after all was leaving France without being revenged on either.
But milady continued her voyage, and on the very day that Planchet embarked at Portsmouth for France, his Eminence’s messenger entered the port in triumph.
All the city was stirred by an extraordinary commotion: four large ships, recently built, had just been launched. Standing on the jetty, his clothes bedizened with gold, glittering as usual with diamonds and precious stones, his hat ornamented with a white feather which drooped on his shoulder, Buckingham was seen, surrounded by a staff almost as brilliant as himself.
They entered the roadstead; but as they were making ready to cast anchor, a little cutter, formidably armed and purporting to be a coastguard, approached the merchant vessel, and dropped into the sea its gig, which directed its course to the ladder. The gig contained an officer, a boatswain, and eight oarsmen. The officer alone got on board, where he was received with all the deference inspired by a uniform.
The officer conversed a few moments with the captain, had him read several papers of which he was the bearer; and on the merchant-captain’s order, all on board, both passengers and crew, were called on deck.
After this kind of summons had been given, the officer inquired aloud about the place of the brig’s departure, of her route, of her landings; and all these questions the captain answered without hesitation and without difficulty.
Then the officer began to pass in review all the individuals, one after the other; and stopping in front of milady, surveyed her very closely, but without addressing a single word to her. He then went up to the captain, again said a few words to him, and, as if from that moment the vessel was under his command, he ordered a man?uvre which the crew immediately executed.
Then the vessel resumed her course, still escorted by the little cutter, which sailed side by side with it, threatening her side with the mouths of its six cannon, while the boat followed in the wake of the ship.
While the officer made his scrutiny of milady, milady, as may well be imagined, had been sharply eyeing him. But great as was the power of this woman, with eyes of flame, in reading the hearts of those whose secrets she wished to divine, she met this time with a face so impenetrable that no discovery followed her investigation. The officer who had stopped before her and silently studied her with so much care might have been twenty-five or twenty-six years old. He had a pale complexion, with clear blue eyes, rather deeply set; his mouth, fine and well cut, remained motionless in its correct lines; his chin, strongly set, denoted that strength of will which, in the ordinary Britannic type, usually stands only for obstinacy; a brow a little receding, as is proper for poets, enthusiasts, and soldiers, was scarcely shaded by short thin hair, which, like the beard covering the lower part of his face. was of a beautiful deep-chestnut colour.
When they entered the port it was already nightfall. The fog made the darkness still denser, and formed round the beacons and the lantern of the jetty a circle like that which surrounds the moon when the weather threatens to become rainy. The air they breathed was gloomy, damp, and cold.
Milady, courageous as she was, shivered in spite of herself.
The officer desired to have milady’s luggage pointed out to him, ordered it to be placed in the boat; and when this operation was completed, he offered her his hand and invited her to descend.
