“Sir,” said Athos, letting him go, “you are not polite; it is easy to perceive that you come from a distance.”
D’Artagnan had already strode down three or four stairs when Athos’s last remark stopped him short.
“Zounds, sir!” said he, “however far I may have come, it is not you who can give me a lesson in good manners, I warn you.”
“Perhaps!” said Athos.
“Ah! if I were not in such haste, and if I were not running after some one!” said D’Artagnan.
“Mr. Man-in-a-hurry, you can find me without running after me—me! Do you understand me?”
“And where, I pray you?”
“Near the Carmes-Deschaux.”
“At what hour?”
“About noon.”
“About noon. That will do; I will be there.”
“Try not to make me wait, for at a quarter-past twelve I will cut off your ears as you run.”
“Good!” cried D’Artagnan; “I will be there ten minutes before twelve.”
And he set off, running as if the devil possessed him, hoping that he might yet find the unknown, whose slow pace could not have carried him far.
But at the street gate Porthos was talking with the soldier on guard. Between the two talkers there was just room for a man to pass. D’Artagnan thought it would suffice for him, and he sprang forward like a dart between them. But D’Artagnan had reckoned without the wind. As he was about to pass the wind blew out Porthos’s long cloak, and D’Artagnan rushed straight into the middle of it. Without doubt Porthos had reasons for not abandoning this essential part of his vestments, for instead of letting go the flap, which he was holding, he pulled it towards him, so that D’Artagnan rolled himself up in the velvet by a movement of rotation explained by the resistance of the obstinate Porthos.
D’Artagnan, hearing the musketeer swear, wished to escape from under the cloak which blinded him, and endeavoured to make his way out of its folds. He was particularly anxious to avoid marring the freshness of the magnificent baldric we are acquainted with; but on timidly opening his eyes, he found himself with his nose fixed between the two shoulders of Porthos—that is to say, exactly upon the baldric.
Alas! like most of the things in this world which have nothing in their favour but appearance, the baldric was glittering with gold in the front, but was nothing but simple buff behind. Vainglorious as he was, Porthos could not afford to have an entirely gold-worked baldric, but had at least half a one. The pretext about the cold and the necessity for the cloak were thus exposed.
“Good Lord!” cried Porthos, making strong efforts to get rid of D’Artagnan, who was wriggling about his back, “the fellow must be mad to run against people in this manner.”
“Excuse me,” said D’Artagnan, reappearing under the shoulder of the giant, “but I am in such haste. I was running after some one, and—”“And do you always forget your eyes when you happen to be in a hurry?” asked Porthos.
“No,” replied D’Artagnan, piqued, “no; and, thanks to my eyes, I can see what other people cannot see.”
Whether Porthos understood him or did not understand him, the fact is that giving way to his anger,
“Sir,” said he, “I warn you that you stand a chance of getting chastised if you run against musketeers in this fashion.”
“Chastised, sir?” said D’Artagnan. “The expression is strong.”
“It is one that becomes a man accustomed to look his enemies in the face.”
“Ah, zounds! I know full well that you do not turn your back to yours.”
And the young man, delighted with his joke, went away laughing with all his might.
Porthos foamed with rage, and started to rush after D’Artagnan.
“Wait awhile, wait awhile,” cried the latter; “when you haven’t your cloak on.”
“At one o’clock, then, behind the Luxembourg.”
“Very well; at one o’clock, then,” replied D’Artagnan, turning the angle of the street.
But neither in the street through which he had passed, nor in the one which his glance now eagerly scanned, could he see any one. However slowly the unknown had walked, he had gained ground, or perhaps had entered some house. D’Artagnan inquired of every one he met, went down to the ferry, came up again by the Rue de Seine and the Croix Rouge, but he could see nothing of him, absolutely nothing! This race was, however, advantageous to him in one sense, for in proportion as the perspiration broke from his forehead his heart began to cool.
He began to reflect upon the events that had passed. D’Artagnan, walking and soliloquizing, had arrived within a few steps of the H?tel d’Aiguillon, and in front of that h?tel perceived Aramis chatting gaily with three gentlemen of the king’s guards. D’Artagnan approached the young men with a profound bow, accompanied by a most gracious smile. Aramis bowed his head slightly, but did not smile. All four of them immediately ceased talking.
D’Artagnan was not so dull as not to perceive that he was not wanted, but he was not sufficiently acquainted with the ways of the world to know how to withdraw with ease from the awkward position of having forced himself upon persons he scarcely knew, and having joined in a conversation which did not concern him. He was seeking in his mind, then, for the least disagreeable means of retreat, when he remarked that Aramis had let his handkerchief fall, and by mistake, no doubt, had placed his foot upon it, and it appeared a favourable opportunity to atone for his intrusion. He stooped, and with the most gracious air he could assume, drew the handkerchief from under the foot of the musketeer, in spite of the efforts the latter made to detain it, and holding it out to him, said,
“I believe, sir, that this is a handkerchief you would be sorry to lose?”
The handkerchief was, in fact, richly embroidered, and had a coronet and arms at one of its corners. Aramis blushed excessively, and snatched rather than took the handkerchief from D’Artagnan’s hand.
The young men burst into a loud laugh, and as may be supposed, the affair had no other sequel. In a moment or two the conversation ceased, and the three guards and the musketeer, after having cordially shaken hands, separated, the guards going one way and Aramis another.
“Now is my time to make my peace with this gentleman,” said D’Artagnan to himself, having kept at a little distance all the latter part of the conversation; and with this good feeling he drew near to Aramis, who was going away without paying any attention to him.
“Sir,” said he, “you will excuse me, I hope.”
“Ah!” interrupted Aramis, “allow me to call to your attention that you have not acted in this affair as a man of good breeding ought to have.”
“What!” cried D’Artagnan; “you suppose—”
“I suppose, sir, that you are not a fool, and that you know very well, although coming from Gascony, that people do not tread upon pocket handkerchiefs without a reason. What the devil! Paris is not paved with cambric!”
“Sir, you do wrong in endeavouring to mortify me,” said D’Artagnan, to whom his quarrelsome nature began to speak more loudly than his pacific resolutions. “I am from Gascony, it is true; and since you know it, there is no need of telling you that Gascons are not very patient, so that when they have asked pardon once, were it even for a folly, they are convinced that they have done already at least as much again as they ought to have done.”
“Sir, what I say to you about the matter,” said Aramis, “is not for the sake of seeking a quarrel. Thank God, I am not a bully; and being a musketeer only for a time, I only fight when I am forced to do so, and always with great repugnance. But this time the affair is serious, for here is a lady compromised by you.”
“By us, you mean,” cried D’Artagnan.
“Why did you so awkwardly give me the handkerchief?”
“Why did you so awkwardly let it fall?”
“I have said, sir, that the handkerchief did not fall from my pocket.”
“Well, and by saying so you have lied twice, sir, for I saw it fall.”
“Oh, oh! you take it up in that way, do you, Master Gascon? Well, I will teach you how to behave yourself.”
“And I will send you back to your mass-book, Master Abbé. Draw, if you please, and right away.”“Not at all, if you please, my good friend—not here, at least. Do you not perceive that we are opposite the H?tel d’Aiguillon, which is full of the cardinal’s creatures? How do I know that it is not his Eminence who has honoured you with the commission to bring him my head? Now I really entertain a ridiculous partiality for my head, because it seems to suit my shoulders so admirably. I have no objection to killing you, depend upon that, but quietly, in a snug, remote place, where you will not be able to boast of your death to anybody.”
“I agree, sir; but do not be too confident. Take away your handkerchief. Whether it belongs to you or another, you may, perhaps, stand in need of it.”
“The gentleman is a Gascon?” asked Aramis.
“Yes. The gentleman does not postpone a meeting through prudence.”
“Prudence, sir, is a virtue quite useless to musketeers, I know, but indispensable to churchmen; and as I am only a musketeer provisionally, I deem it best to be prudent. At two o’clock I shall have the honour of expecting you at the h?tel of M. de Tréville. There I will point out to you the best place and time.”
The two young men bowed and separated, Aramis ascending the street which led to the Luxembourg, while D’Artagnan, perceiving that the appointed hour was approaching, took the road to the Carmes-Deschaux, saying to himself, “Decidedly I can’t draw back; but at least, if I am killed, I shall be killed by a musketeer!”
Chapter 5 - The King’s Musketeers and the Cardinal’s Guards
When D’Artagnan arrived in sight of the bare spot of ground which stretched out at the base of the monastery, Athos had been waiting about five minutes, and twelve o’clock was striking. He was, then, as punctual as the Samaritan woman, and the most rigorous casuist on duels could have nothing to say.
Athos, who still suffered grievously from his wound, though it had been freshly dressed by M. de Tréville’s surgeon, was seated on a stone, awaiting his adversary with that placid countenance and that noble air which never forsook him. At sight of D’Artagnan he arose and politely came a few steps to meet him. The latter, on his part, saluted his adversary with hat in hand, and his feather even touching the ground.
“Sir,” said Athos, “I have engaged two of my friends as seconds, but these two friends have not yet come. I am astonished at their delay, as it is not at all their custom to be behindhand. We will wait for these gentlemen, if you please; I have plenty of time, and it will be more correct. Ah! here is one of them, I think.”
In fact, at the end of the Rue Vaugirard the gigantic form of Porthos began to loom.
“What!” cried D’Artagnan, “is your first second M. Porthos?”
“Yes. Does that displease you?”
“Oh, not at all.”
“And here comes the other.”
D’Artagnan turned in the direction pointed to by Athos, and perceived Aramis.
“What!” cried he, with an accent of greater astonishment than before, “is your second witness M. Aramis?”
“Doubtless he is. Are you not aware that we are never seen one without the others, and that we are called in the musketeers and the guards, at court and in the city, Athos, Porthos, and Aramis, or the Three Inseparables? And yet, as you come from Dax or Pau——”
“From Tarbes,” said D’Artagnan.
“It is probable you are ignorant of this circumstance,” said Athos.
“Pon my word,” replied D’Artagnan, “you are well named, gentlemen; and my adventure, if it should make any noise, will prove at least that your union is not founded upon contrasts.”
In the meantime Porthos had come up, waved his hand to Athos, and then turning towards D’Artagnan, stopped astonished.
Permit us to say in passing that he had changed his baldric and laid aside his cloak.
“Ah, ah!” said he, “what does this mean?”
“This is the gentleman I am going to fight with,” said Athos, pointing to D’Artagnan with his hand, and saluting him with the same gesture.
“Why, it is with him I am also going to fight,” said Porthos.
“But not before one o’clock,” replied D’Artagnan.
“Well, and I also am going to fight with that gentleman,” said Aramis, coming up in his turn.
“But not till two o’clock,” said D’Artagnan, with the same calmness.
“But what are you going to fight about, Athos?” asked Aramis.
“Pon my word, I don’t very well know; he hurt my shoulder.—And you, Porthos?”
“ ’Pon my word, I am going to fight because I am going to fight,” answered Porthos, colouring deeply.
Athos, whose keen eyes lost nothing, perceived a sly smile pass over the lips of the young Gascon as he replied.
“We had a short discussion upon dress.”
“And you, Aramis?” asked Athos.
“Oh, ours is a theological quarrel,” replied Aramis, making a sign to D’Artagnan to keep secret the cause of their dispute.
Athos saw a second smile on the lips of D’Artagnan.
“Indeed?” said Athos.“Yes; a passage of St. Augustine, upon which we could not agree,” said the Gascon.
“By Jove! this is a clever fellow,” murmured Athos.
“And now you are all assembled, gentlemen,” said D’Artagnan, “permit me to offer you my excuses.”
At this word excuses a cloud passed over the brow of Athos, a haughty smile curled the lip of Porthos, and a negative sign was the reply of Aramis.
“You do not understand me, gentlemen,” said D’Artagnan, throwing up his head, on which was playing at that moment a ray of sunlight, gilding its clear and bold outlines. “I ask to be excused in case I should not be able to discharge my debt to all three; for M. Athos has the right to kill me first, which must much diminish the facevalue of your bill, M. Porthos, and render yours almost worthless, M. Aramis. And now, gentlemen, I repeat, excuse me, but on that account only, and—on guard!”
At these words, with the most gallant air possible, D’Artagnan drew his sword.
The blood had mounted to the head of D’Artagnan, and at that moment he would have drawn his sword against all the musketeers in the kingdom as willingly as he now did against Athos, Porthos, and Aramis.
It was a quarter past twelve. The sun was in its zenith, and the spot chosen for the theatre of the duel was exposed to its full power.
“It is very hot,” said Athos, drawing his sword in his turn, “and yet I cannot take off my doublet, for only just now I felt my wound begin to bleed again, and I should not like to annoy the gentleman with the sight of blood which he has not drawn from me himself.”
“That is true, sir,” replied D’Artagnan; “and whether drawn by myself or another, I assure you I shall always view with regret the blood of so brave a man. I will therefore fight in my doublet, as you do.”
“Come, come, enough of such compliments,” cried Porthos; “please remember we are waiting our turn.”
“Speak for yourself when you are inclined to utter such incongruities,” interrupted Aramis. “For my part, I think what they say is very well said, and quite worthy of two gentlemen.”
