“Rochefort,” said the cardinal, “you see M. d’Artagnan. I receive him among the number of my friends. Shake hands, then, and be prudent, if you wish to preserve your heads.”
Rochefort and D’Artagnan saluted each other distantly, but the cardinal was there observing them with his vigilant eye.
They left the chamber at the same time.
“We shall meet again, shall we not, sir?”
“When you please,” said D’Artagnan.
“An opportunity will offer,” replied Rochefort.
“What’s that?” said the cardinal, opening the door.
The two men smiled at each other, shook hands, and bowed to his Eminence.
“We were beginning to grow impatient,” said Athos.
“Here I am, friends,” replied D’Artagnan—“not only free, but in favour.”
“Will you tell us about it?”
“This evening.”
Accordingly, that same evening D’Artagnan repaired to the quarters of Athos, whom he found in a fair way of emptying his bottle of Spanish wine, an occupation which he religiously fulfilled every night.
He related what had taken place between the cardinal and himself, and drawing the commission from his pocket,
“Here, my dear Athos,” said he; “this naturally belongs to you.”
Athos smiled his sweet, fascinating smile.
“My friend,” said he, “for Athos this is too much, for the Comte de la Fère it is too little. Keep the commission; it is yours. Alas! my God! it has cost you enough.”
D’Artagnan left Athos’s room and went to Porthos’s.
He found him dressed in a magnificent coat covered with splendid embroidery, looking at himself in a glass.
“Ah, ha!” exclaimed Porthos; “it is you, dear friend. How do you think these garments fit me?”
“Wonderfully well,” said D’Artagnan. “But I have come to offer you a dress which will suit you still better.”
“What’s that?” asked Porthos.
“That of a lieutenant in the musketeers.”
D’Artagnan related to Porthos his interview with the cardinal, and taking the commission from his pocket,
“Here, my dear,” said he; “write your name in it, and become my officer.”
Porthos cast his eyes over the commission, and returned it to D’Artagnan, to the young man’s great astonishment.
“Yes,” said he—“yes, that would flatter me very much, but I should not have time enough to enjoy the distinction. During our expedition to Béthune my duchess’s husband died; so that, my dear, since the coffer of the defunct is holding out its arms to me, I am going to marry the widow. Look here! I was trying on my wedding suit. Keep your lieutenancy, my dear, keep it.”
The young man entered Aramis’s apartment.
He found him kneeling before a praying-desk, with his head leaning on an open prayer-book.
He described to him his interview with the cardinal, and for the third time drawing his commission from his pocket,
“You, our friend, our intelligence, our invisible protector,” said he, “accept this commission. You have deserved it more than any one by your wisdom and your counsels, which were always followed by such happy results.”
“Alas! dear friend,” said Aramis, “our recent adventures have entirely disgusted me with life and with the sword. This time my determination is irrevocably taken. After the siege I shall enter the house of the Lazarists. Keep the commission, D’Artagnan. The profession of arms suits you. You will be a brave and gallant captain.”
D’Artagnan, his eye moist with gratitude and beaming with joy, went back to Athos, whom he found still at table, contemplating the charms of his last glass of Malaga by the light of his lamp.
“Well,” said he, “they also have refused this commission!”
“Because, dear friend, no one is more worthy of it than yourself.”
And he took a pen, wrote D’Artagnan’s name on the commission, and returned it to him.
“I shall then no longer have any friends,” said the young man. “Alas! nothing more, only bitter recollections.”
And he let his head sink into his hands, while two tears rolled down his cheeks.
“You are young,” replied Athos, “and your bitter recollections have time to be changed into sweet memories.”
Epilogue
Rochelle, deprived of the aid of the English fleet and the reinforcements promised by Buckingham, surrendered after a siege of a year. On the 28th of October, 1628, the capitulation was signed.
The king made his entrance into Paris on December 23 the same year. He was received in triumph, as if he came from conquering an enemy and not Frenchmen. He entered by the Faubourg St. Jacques with magnificent display.
The procession, led by symbolical cars, passed under a dozen triumphal arches, on which all the gods of Olympus were celebrating the unnumbered virtues of Louis the Victorious. An immense throng, stationed along the whole route of the procession, rent the air with their enthusiastic acclamations, greeting the conqueror’s return.
D’Artagnan took possession of his rank. Porthos left the service, and during the following year married Madame Coquenard. The coffer so eagerly coveted contained 800,000 livres.
Mousqueton had a magnificent livery, and enjoyed the satisfaction for which he had yearned all his life—that of standing behind a gilded carriage.
Aramis, after a long absence in Lorraine, suddenly disappeared, and ceased to write his friends. They learned long afterwards, through Madame de Chevreuse, who told it to two or three of her lovers, that he had decided to assume the habit in a religious house at Nancy.
Bazin became a lay brother.
Athos remained a musketeer under D’Artagnan’s command till the year 1631, when, after a journey which he made to Touraine, he also quitted the service, under the pretext of having just inherited a small property in Roussillon.
Grimaud followed Athos.
D’Artagnan fought three times with Rochefort, and wounded him three times.
“I shall probably kill you the fourth,” said he to him, holding out his hand to assist him to rise.
“Then it is better for you and for me that we stop here,” answered the wounded man. “Zounds! I am much more your friend than you think; for after our very first encounter, I could, by saying a word to the cardinal, have had your head cut off!”
This time they heartily shook hands, and without retaining any malice.
Planchet obtained from Rochefort the rank of sergeant in the guards.
M. Bonacieux lived on very quietly, perfectly ignorant of what had become of his wife, and caring very little about the matter. One day he had the imprudence to recall himself to the cardinal’s memory. The cardinal sent him word that he would see to it that he should never want for anything in future.
In fact, the next day M. Bonacieux left his house at seven o’clock in the evening to go to the Louvre, and he was never seen again in the Rue des Fossoyeurs. The opinion of those who seemed to be best informed was that he was fed and lodged in some royal castle at the expense of his generous Eminence.
—THE END—
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