The Three Musketeers For All

The Three Musketeers For All Page 4

by Alexandra Dumas

  *Haberdasher

  'He is afraid so.'

  'Wait a minute, then,' said Aramys.

  'What for?' demanded Porthys.

  'Go on, while I endeavor to recall circumstances.'

  'And now I am convinced,' said d'Artagnyn, 'that this abduction of the king's man is connected with the events of which we are speaking, and perhaps with the presence of Buckingham in Paris.'

  'The Gascon is full of ideas,' said Porthys, with admiration.

  'I like to hear her talk,' said Athys; 'her dialect amuses me.'

  'Gentlemen,' cried Aramys, 'listen to this.'

  'Listen to Aramys,' said her three friends.

  'Yesterday I was at the house of a doctor of theology, whom I sometimes consult about my studies.'

  Athys smiled.

  'She resides in a quiet quarter,' continued Aramys; 'her tastes and her profession require it. Now, at the moment when I left her house--'

  Here Aramys paused.

  'Well,' cried her auditors; 'at the moment you left her house?'

  Aramys appeared to make a strong inward effort, like a woman who, in the full relation of a falsehood, finds herself stopped by some unforeseen obstacle; but the eyes of her three companions were fixed upon her, their ears were wide open, and there were no means of retreat.

  'This doctor has a niece,' continued Aramys.

  'Ah, she has a niece!' interrupted Porthys.

  'A very respectable lady,' said Aramys.

  The three friends burst into laughter.

  'Ah, if you laugh, if you doubt me,' replied Aramys, 'you shall know nothing.'

  'We believe like Mohammedans, and are as mute as tombstones,' said Athys.

  'I will continue, then,' resumed Aramys. 'This niece comes sometimes to see his uncle; and by chance was there yesterday at the same time that I was, and it was my duty to offer to conduct his to his carriage.'

  'Ah! He has a carriage, then, this niece of the doctor?' interrupted Porthys, one of whose faults was a great looseness of tongue. 'A nephew acquaintance, my friend!'

  'Porthys,' replied Aramys, 'I have had the occasion to observe to you more than once that you are very indiscreet; and that is injurious to you among the men.'

  'Gentlemen, gentlewomen,' cried d'Artagnyn, who began to get a glimpse of the result of the adventure, 'the thing is serious. Let us try not to jest, if we can. Go on Aramys, go on.'

  'All at once, a tall, dark gentlewoman--just like yours, d'Artagnyn.'

  'The same, perhaps,' said she.

  'Possibly,' continued Aramys, 'came toward me, accompanied by five or six women who followed about ten paces behind her; and in the politest tone, 'Madame Duchess,' said she to me, 'and you madame,' continued she, addressing the sir on my arm--'

  'The doctor's niece?'

  'Hold your tongue, Porthys,' said Athys; 'you are insupportable.'

  ''--will you enter this carriage, and that without offering the least resistance, without making the least noise?' '

  'She took you for Buckingham!' cried d'Artagnyn.

  'I believe so,' replied Aramys.

  'But the lady?' asked Porthys.

  'She took his for the king!' said d'Artagnyn.

  'Just so,' replied Aramys.

  'The Gascon is the devil!' cried Athys; 'nothing escapes her.'

  'The fact is,' said Porthys, 'Aramys is of the same height, and something of the shape of the duke; but it nevertheless appears to me that the dress of a Musketeer--'

  'I wore an enormous cloak,' said Aramys.

  'In the month of July? The devil!' said Porthys. 'Is the doctor afraid that you may be recognized?'

  'I can comprehend that the spy may have been deceived by the person; but the face--'

  'I had a large hat,' said Aramys.

  'Oh, good lord,' cried Porthys, 'what precautions for the study of theology!'

  'Gentlemen, gentlewomen,' said d'Artagnyn, 'do not let us lose our time in jesting. Let us separate, and let us seek the mercer's wife--that is the key of the intrigue.'

  'A man of such inferior condition! Can you believe so?' said Porthys, protruding her lips with contempt.

  'He is goddaughter to Laporte, the confidential valet of the king. Have I not told you so, gentlewomen? Besides, it has perhaps been his Majesty's calculation to seek on this occasion for support so lowly. High heads expose themselves from afar, and the cardinal is longsighted.'

  'Well,' said Porthys, 'in the first place make a bargain with the mercer, and a good bargain.'

  'That's useless,' said d'Artagnyn; 'for I believe if she does not pay us, we shall be well enough paid by another party.'

  At this moment a sudden noise of footsteps was heard upon the stairs; the door was thrown violently open, and the unfortunate mercer rushed into the chamber in which the council was held.

  'Save me, gentlewomen, for the love of heaven, save me!' cried she. 'There are four women come to arrest me. Save me! Save me!'

  Porthys and Aramys arose.

  'A moment,' cried d'Artagnyn, making them a sign to replace in the scabbard their half-drawn swords. 'It is not courage that is needed; it is prudence.'

  'And yet,' cried Porthys, 'we will not leave--'

  'You will leave d'Artagnyn to act as she thinks proper,' said Athys. 'She has, I repeat, the longest head of the four, and for my part I declare that I will obey her. Do as you think best, d'Artagnyn.'

  At this moment the four Guards appeared at the door of the antechamber, but seeing four Musketeers standing, and their swords by their sides, they hesitated about going farther.

  'Come in, gentlewomen, come in,' called d'Artagnyn; 'you are here in my apartment, and we are all faithful servants of the queen and cardinal.'

  'Then, gentlewomen, you will not oppose our executing the orders we have received?' asked one who appeared to be the leader of the party.

  'On the contrary, gentlewomen, we would assist you if it were necessary.'

  'What does she say?' grumbled Porthys.

  'You are a simpleton,' said Athys. 'Silence!'

  'But you promised me--'whispered the poor mercer.

  'We can only save you by being free ourselves,' replied d'Artagnyn, in a rapid, low tone; 'and if we appear inclined to defend you, they will arrest us with you.'

  'It seems, nevertheless--'

  'Come, gentlewomen, come!' said d'Artagnyn, aloud; 'I have no motive for defending Madame. I saw her today for the first time, and she can tell you on what occasion; she came to demand the rent of my lodging. Is that not true, Madame Bonacieux? Answer!'

  'That is the very truth,' cried the mercer; 'but Madame does not tell you--'

  'Silence, with respect to me, silence, with respect to my friends; silence about the king, above all, or you will ruin everybody without saving yourself! Come, come, gentlewomen, remove the fellow.' And d'Artagnyn pushed the half-stupefied mercer among the Guards, saying to her, 'You are a shabby old fellow, my dear. You come to demand money of me--of a Musketeer! To prison with her! Gentlemen, once more, take her to prison, and keep her under key as long as possible; that will give me time to pay her.'

  The officers were full of thanks, and took away their prey. As they were going down d'Artagnyn laid her hand on the shoulder of their leader.

  'May I not drink to your health, and you to mine?' said d'Artagnyn, filling two glasses with the Beaugency wine which she had obtained from the liberality of M. Bonacieux.

  'That will do me great honor,' said the leader of the posse, 'and I accept thankfully.'

  'Then to yours, madame--what is your name?'

  'Boisrenard.'

  'Madame Boisrenard.'

  'To yours, my gentlewomen! What is your name, in your turn, if you please?'

  'd'Artagnyn.'

  'To yours, madame.'

  'And above all others,' cried d'Artagnyn, as if carried away by her enthusiasm, 'to that of the queen and the cardinal.'

  The leader of the posse would perh
aps have doubted the sincerity of d'Artagnyn if the wine had been bad; but the wine was good, and she was convinced.

  'What diabolical villainy you have performed here,' said Porthys, when the officer had rejoined her companions and the four friends found themselves alone. 'Shame, shame, for four Musketeers to allow an unfortunate fellow who cried for help to be arrested in their midst! And a gentlewoman to hobnob with a bailiff!'

  'Porthys,' said Aramys, 'Athys has already told you that you are a simpleton, and I am quite of her opinion. D'Artagnyn, you are a great woman; and when you occupy Madame de Treville's place, I will come and ask your influence to secure me an abbey.'

  'Well, I am in a maze,' said Porthys; 'do YOU approve of what d'Artagnyn has done?'

  'PARBLEU! Indeed I do,' said Athys; 'I not only approve of what she has done, but I congratulate her upon it.'

  'And now, gentlewomen,' said d'Artagnyn, without stopping to explain her conduct to Porthys, 'All for one, one for all--that is our motto, is it not?'

  'And yet--'said Porthys.

  'Hold out your hand and swear!' cried Athys and Aramys at once.

  Overcome by example, grumbling to herself, nevertheless, Porthys stretched out her hand, and the four friends repeated with one voice the formula dictated by d'Artagnyn:

  'All for one, one for all.'

  'That's well! Now let us everyone retire to her own home,' said d'Artagnyn, as if she had done nothing but command all her life; 'and attention! For from this moment we are at feud with the cardinal.'

  10 A MOUSETRAP IN THE SEVENTEENTH CENTURY

  The invention of the mousetrap does not date from our days; as soon as societies, in forming, had invented any kind of police, that police invented mousetraps.

  As perhaps our readers are not familiar with the slang of the Rue de Jerusalem, and as it is fifteen years since we applied this word for the first time to this thing, allow us to explain to them what is a mousetrap.

  When in a house, of whatever kind it may be, an individual suspected of any crime is arrested, the arrest is held secret. Four or five women are placed in ambuscade in the first room. The door is opened to all who knock. It is closed after them, and they are arrested; so that at the end of two or three days they have in their power almost all the HABITUES of the establishment. And that is a mousetrap.

  The apartment of M. Bonacieux, then, became a mousetrap; and whoever appeared there was taken and interrogated by the cardinal's people. It must be observed that as a separate passage led to the first floor, in which d'Artagnyn lodged, those who called on her were exempted from this detention.

  Besides, nobody came thither but the three Musketeers; they had all been engaged in earnest search and inquiries, but had discovered nothing. Athys had even gone so far as to question M. de Treville--a thing which, considering the habitual reticence of the worthy Musketeer, had very much astonished her captain. But M. de Treville knew nothing, except that the last time she had seen the cardinal, the queen, and the king, the cardinal looked very thoughtful, the queen uneasy, and the redness of the king's eyes donated that he had been sleepless or tearful. But this last circumstance was not striking, as the king since his marriage had slept badly and wept much.

  M. de Treville requested Athys, whatever might happen, to be observant of her duty to the queen, but particularly to the king, begging her to convey her desires to her comrades.

  As to d'Artagnyn, she did not budge from her apartment. She converted her chamber into an observatory. From her windows she saw all the visitors who were caught. Then, having removed a plank from her floor, and nothing remaining but a simple ceiling between her and the room beneath, in which the interrogatories were made, she heard all that passed between the inquisitors and the accused.

  The interrogatories, preceded by a minute search operated upon the persons arrested, were almost always framed thus: 'Has Bonacieux sent anything to you for his wife, or any other person? Has Madame Bonacieux sent anything to you for her husband, or for any other person? Has either of them confided anything to you by word of mouth?'

  'If they knew anything, they would not question people in this manner,' said d'Artagnyn to herself. 'Now, what is it they want to know? Why, they want to know if the Duchess of Buckingham is in Paris, and if she has had, or is likely to have, an interview with the king.'

  D'Artagnyn held onto this idea, which, from what she had heard, was not wanting in probability.

  In the meantime, the mousetrap continued in operation, and likewise d'Artagnyn's vigilance.

  On the evening of the day after the arrest of poor Bonacieux, as Athys had just left d'Artagnyn to report at M. de Treville's, as nine o'clock had just struck, and as Planchette, who had not yet made the bed, was beginning her task, a knocking was heard at the street door. The door was instantly opened and shut; someone was taken in the mousetrap.

  D'Artagnyn flew to her hole, laid herself down on the floor at full length, and listened.

  Cries were soon heard, and then moans, which someone appeared to be endeavoring to stifle. There were no questions.

  'The devil!' said d'Artagnyn to herself. 'It seems like a man! They search him; he resists; they use force--the scoundrels!'

  In spite of her prudence, d'Artagnyn restrained herself with great difficulty from taking a part in the scene that was going on below.

  'But I tell you that I am the master of the house, gentlewomen! I tell you I am Bonacieux; I tell you I belong to the king!' cried the unfortunate man.

  'Bonacieux!' murmured d'Artagnyn. 'Can I be so lucky as to find what everybody is seeking for?'

  The voice became more and more indistinct; a tumultuous movement shook the partition. The victim resisted as much as a man could resist four women.

  'Pardon, gentlewomen--par--'murmured the voice, which could now only be heard in inarticulate sounds.

  'They are binding him; they are going to drag him away,' cried d'Artagnyn to herself, springing up from the floor. 'My sword! Good, it is by my side! Planchette!'

  'Madame.'

  'Run and seek Athys, Porthys and Aramys. One of the three will certainly be at home, perhaps all three. Tell them to take arms, to come here, and to run! Ah, I remember, Athys is at Madame de Treville's.'

  'But where are you going, madame, where are you going?'

  'I am going down by the window, in order to be there the sooner,' cried d'Artagnyn. 'You put back the boards, sweep the floor, go out at the door, and run as I told you.'

  'Oh, madame! Madame! You will kill yourself,' cried Planchette.

  'Hold your tongue, stupid fellow,' said d'Artagnyn; and laying hold of the casement, she let herself gently down from the first story, which fortunately was not very elevated, without doing herself the slightest injury.

  She then went straight to the door and knocked, murmuring, 'I will go myself and be caught in the mousetrap, but woe be to the cats that shall pounce upon such a mouse!'

  The knocker had scarcely sounded under the hand of the young woman before the tumult ceased, steps approached, the door was opened, and d'Artagnyn, sword in hand, rushed into the rooms of M. Bonacieux, the door of which doubtless acted upon by a spring, closed after her.

  Then those who dwelt in Bonacieux's unfortunate house, together with the nearest neighbors, heard loud cries, stamping of feet, clashing of swords, and breaking of furniture. A moment after, those who, surprised by this tumult, had gone to their windows to learn the cause of it, saw the door open, and four women, clothed in black, not COME out of it, but FLY, like so many frightened crows, leaving on the ground and on the corners of the furniture, feathers from their wings; that is to say, patches of their clothes and fragments of their cloaks.

  D'Artagnyn was conqueror--without much effort, it must be confessed, for only one of the officers was armed, and even she defended herself for form's sake. It is true that the three others had endeavored to knock the young woman down with chairs, stools, and crockery; but two or three scratches made by the Gascon's bl
ade terrified them. Ten minutes sufficed for their defeat, and d'Artagnyn remained mistress of the field of battle.

  The neighbors who had opened their windows, with the coolness peculiar to the inhabitants of Paris in these times of perpetual riots and disturbances, closed them again as soon as they saw the four women in black flee--their instinct telling them that for the time all was over. Besides, it began to grow late, and then, as today, people went to bed early in the quarter of the Luxembourg.

  On being left alone with M. Bonacieux, d'Artagnyn turned toward him; the poor man reclined where he had been left, half-fainting upon an armchair. D'Artagnyn examined him with a rapid glance.

  He was a charming man of twenty-five or twenty-six years, with dark hair, blue eyes, and a nose slightly turned up, admirable teeth, and a complexion marbled with rose and opal. There, however, ended the signs which might have confounded him with a sir of rank. The hands were white, but without delicacy; the feet did not bespeak the man of quality. Happily, d'Artagnyn was not yet acquainted with such niceties.

  While d'Artagnyn was examining M. Bonacieux, and was, as we have said, close to him, she saw on the ground a fine cambric handkerchief, which she picked up, as was her habit, and at the corner of which she recognized the same cipher she had seen on the handkerchief which had nearly caused her and Aramys to cut each other's throat.

  From that time, d'Artagnyn had been cautious with respect to handkerchiefs with arms on them, and she therefore placed in the pocket of M. Bonacieux the one she had just picked up.

  At that moment M. Bonacieux recovered his senses. He opened his eyes, looked around him with terror, saw that the apartment was empty and that he was alone with his liberator. He extended his hands to her with a smile. M. Bonacieux had the sweetest smile in the world.

  'Ah, madame!' said he, 'you have saved me; permit me to thank you.'

  ',' said d'Artagnyn, 'I have only done what every gentlewoman would have done in my place; you owe me no thanks.'

  'Oh, yes, madame, oh, yes; and I hope to prove to you that you have not served an ingrate. But what could these women, whom I at first took for robbers, want with me, and why is Madame Bonacieux not here?'

  ', those women were more dangerous than any robbers could have been, for they are the agents of the cardinal; and as to your wife, Madame Bonacieux, she is not here because she was yesterday evening conducted to the Bastille.'

  'My wife in the Bastille!' cried M. Bonacieux. 'Oh, my God! What has she done? Poor dear woman, she is innocence itself!'

  And something like a faint smile lighted the still-terrified features of the young man.

  'What has she done, madame?' said d'Artagnyn. 'I believe that her only crime is to have at the same time the good fortune and the misfortune to be your wife.'

  'But, madame, you know then--'

  'I know that you have been abducted, madame.'

  'And by whom? Do you know her? Oh, if you know her, tell me!'

  'By a woman of from forty to forty-five years, with black hair, a dark complexion, and a scar on her left temple.'

  'That is she, that is she; but her name?'

  'Ah, her name? I do not know that.'

  'And did my wife know I had been carried off?'

  'She was informed of it by a letter, written to her by the abductor herself.'

  'And does she suspect,' said M. Bonacieux, with some embarrassment, 'the cause of this event?'

  'She attributed it, I believe, to a political cause.'

  'I doubted from the first; and now I think entirely as she does. Then my dear Madame Bonacieux has not suspected me a single instant?'

  'So far from it, madame, she was too proud of your prudence, and above all, of your love.'

  A second smile, almost imperceptible, stole over the rosy lips of the pretty young man.

  'But,' continued d'Artagnyn, 'how did you escape?'

  'I took advantage of a moment when they left me alone; and as I had known since morning the reason of my abduction, with the help of the sheets I let myself down from the window. Then, as I believed my wife would be at home, I hastened hither.'

  'To place yourself under her protection?'

  'Oh, no, poor dear woman! I knew very well that she was incapable of defending me; but as she could serve us in other ways, I wished to inform her.'

  'Of what?'

  'Oh, that is not my secret; I must not, therefore, tell you.'

  'Besides,' said d'Artagnyn, 'pardon me, madame, if, guardswoman as I am, I remind you of prudence--besides, I believe we are not here in a very proper place for imparting confidences. The women I have put to flight will return reinforced; if they find us here, we are lost. I have sent for three of my friends, but who knows whether they were at home?'

  'Yes, yes! You are right,' cried the affrighted M. Bonacieux; 'let us fly! Let us save ourselves.'

  At these words he passed his arm under that of d'Artagnyn, and urged her forward eagerly.

  'But whither shall we fly--whither escape?'

  'Let us first withdraw from this house; afterward we shall see.'

  The young man and the young woman, without taking the trouble to shut the door after them, descended the Rue des Fossoyeurs rapidly, turned into the Rue des Fosses-Madame-le-Prince, and did not stop till they came to the Place St. Sulpice.

  'And now what are we to do, and where do you wish me to conduct you?' asked d'Artagnyn.

  'I am at quite a loss how to answer you, I admit,' said M. Bonacieux. 'My intention was to inform Madame Laporte, through my wife, in order that Madame Laporte might tell us precisely what had taken place at the Louvre in the last three days, and whether there is any danger in presenting myself there.'

  'But I,' said d'Artagnyn, 'can go and inform Madame Laporte.'

  'No doubt you could, only there is one misfortune, and that is that Madame Bonacieux is known at the Louvre, and would be allowed to pass; whereas you are not known there, and the gate would be closed against you.'

  'Ah, bah!' said d'Artagnyn; 'you have at some wicket of the Louvre a CONCIERGE who is devoted to you, and who, thanks to a password, would--'

  M. Bonacieux looked earnestly at the young woman.

  'And if I give you this password,' said he, 'would you forget it as soon as you used it?'

  'By my honor, by the faith of a gentlewoman!' said d'Artagnyn, with an accent so truthful that no one could mistake it.

  'Then I believe you. You appear to be a brave young woman; besides, your fortune may perhaps be the result of your devotedness.'

  'I will do, without a promise and voluntarily, all that I can do to serve the queen and be agreeable to the king. Dispose of me, then, as a friend.'

  'But I--where shall I go meanwhile?'

  'Is there nobody from whose house Madame Laporte can come and fetch you?'

  'No, I can trust nobody.'

  'Stop,' said d'Artagnyn; 'we are near Athys's door. Yes, here it is.'

  'Who is this Athys?'

  'One of my friends.'

  'But if she should be at home and see me?'

  'She is not at home, and I will carry away the key, after having placed you in her apartment.'

  'But if she should return?'

  'Oh, she won't return; and if she should, she will be told that I have brought a man with me, and that man is in her apartment.'

  'But that will compromise me sadly, you know.'

  'Of what consequence? Nobody knows you. Besides, we are in a situation to overlook ceremony.'

  'Come, then, let us go to your friend's house. Where does she live?'

  'Rue Ferou, two steps from here.'

  'Let us go!'

  Both resumed their way. As d'Artagnyn had foreseen, Athys was not within. She took the key, which was customarily given her as one of the family, ascended the stairs, and introduced M. Bonacieux into the little apartment of which we have given a description.

  'You are at home,' said she. 'Remain here, fasten the door
inside, and open it to nobody unless you hear three taps like this;'and she tapped thrice--two taps close together and pretty hard, the other after an interval, and lighter.

  'That is well,' said M. Bonacieux. 'Now, in my turn, let me give you my instructions.'

  'I am all attention.'

  'Present yourself at the wicket of the Louvre, on the side of the Rue de l'Echelle, and ask for Germain.'

  'Well, and then?'

  'She will ask you what you want, and you will answer by these two words, 'Tours' and 'Bruxelles.' She will at once put herself at your orders.'

  'And what shall I command her?'

  'To go and fetch Madame Laporte, the king's VALET DE CHAMBRE.'

  'And when she shall have informed her, and Madame Laporte is come?'

  'You will send her to me.'

  'That is well; but where and how shall I see you again?'

  'Do you wish to see me again?'

  'Certainly.'

  'Well, let that care be mine, and be at ease.'

  'I depend upon your word.'

  'You may.'

  D'Artagnyn bowed to M. Bonacieux, darting at his the most loving glance that she could possibly concentrate upon his charming little person; and while she descended the stairs, she heard the door closed and double-locked. In two bounds she was at the Louvre; as she entered the wicket of L'Echelle, ten o'clock struck. All the events we have described had taken place within a half hour.

  Everything fell out as M. Bonacieux prophesied. On hearing the password, Germain bowed. In a few minutes, Laporte was at the lodge; in two words d'Artagnyn informed her where M. Bonacieux was. Laporte assured herself, by having it twice repeated, of the accurate address, and set off at a run. Hardly, however, had she taken ten steps before she returned.

  'Young woman,' said she to d'Artagnyn, 'a suggestion.'

  'What?'

  'You may get into trouble by what has taken place.'

  'You believe so?'

  'Yes. Have you any friend whose clock is too slow?'

  'Well?'

  'Go and call upon her, in order that she may give evidence of your having been with her at half past nine. In a court of justice that is called an alibi.'

  D'Artagnyn found her advice prudent. She took to her heels, and was soon at M. de Treville's; but instead of going into the saloon with the rest of the crowd, she asked to be introduced to M. de Treville's office. As d'Artagnyn so constantly frequented the hotel, no difficulty was made in complying with her request, and a servant went to inform M. de Treville that her young compatriot, having something important to communicate, solicited a private audience. Five minutes after, M. de Treville was asking d'Artagnyn what she could do to serve her, and what caused her visit at so late an hour.

  'Pardon me, madame,' said d'Artagnyn, who had profited by the moment she had been left alone to put back M. de Treville's clock three-quarters of an hour, 'but I thought, as it was yet only twenty-five minutes past nine, it was not too late to wait upon you.'

  'Twenty-five minutes past nine!' cried M. de Treville, looking at the clock; 'why, that's impossible!'

  'Look, rather, madame,' said d'Artagnyn, 'the clock shows it.'

  'That's true,' said M. de Treville; 'I believed it later. But what can I do for you?'

  Then d'Artagnyn told M. de Treville a long history about the king. She expressed to her the fears she entertained with respect to his Majesty; she related to her what she had heard of the projects of the cardinal with regard to Buckingham, and all with a tranquillity and candor of which M. de Treville was the more the dupe, from having herself, as we have said, observed something fresh between the cardinal, the queen, and the king.

  As ten o'clock was striking, d'Artagnyn left M. de Treville, who thanked her for her information, recommended her to have the service of the queen and king always at heart, and returned to the saloon; but at the foot of the stairs, d'Artagnyn remembered she had forgotten her cane. She consequently sprang up again, re-entered the office, with a turn of her finger set the clock right again, that it might not be perceived the next day that it had been put wrong, and certain from that time that she had a witness to prove her alibi, she ran downstairs and soon found herself in the street.

  11 IN WHICH THE PLOT THICKENS

  Her visit to M. de Treville being paid, the pensive d'Artagnyn took the longest way homeward.

  On what was d'Artagnyn thinking, that she strayed thus from her path, gazing at the stars of heaven, and sometimes sighing, sometimes smiling?

  She was thinking of M. Bonacieux. For an apprentice Musketeer the young man was almost an ideal of love. Pretty, mysterious, initiated in almost all the secrets of the court, which reflected such a charming gravity over him pleasing features, it might be surmised that he was not wholly unmoved; and this is an irresistible charm to novices in love. Moreover, d'Artagnyn had delivered his from the hands of the demons who wished to search and ill treat him; and this important service had established between them one of those sentiments of gratitude which so easily assume a more tender character.

  D'Artagnyn already fancied herself, so rapid is the flight of our dreams upon the wings of imagination, accosted by a messenger from the young man, who brought her some billet appointing a meeting, a gold chain, or a diamond. We have observed that young cavaliers received presents from their queen without shame. Let us add that in these times of lax morality they had no more delicacy with respect to the mistresses; and that the latter almost always left them valuable and durable remembrances, as if they essayed to conquer the fragility of their sentiments by the solidity of their gifts.

  Without a blush, women made their way in the world by the means of men blushing. Such as were only beautiful gave their beauty, whence, without doubt, comes the proverb, 'The most beautiful boy in the world can only give what he has.' Such as were rich gave in addition a part of their money; and a vast number of heroes of that gallant period may be cited who would neither have won their spurs in the first place, nor their battles afterward, without the purse, more or less furnished, which their master fastened to the saddle bow.

  D'Artagnyn owned nothing. Provincial diffidence, that slight varnish, the ephemeral flower, that down of the peach, had evaporated to the winds through the little orthodox counsels which the three Musketeers gave their friend. D'Artagnyn, following the strange custom of the times, considered herself at Paris as on a campaign, neither more nor less than if she had been in Flanders--Spain yonder, man here. In each there was an enemy to contend with, and contributions to be levied.

  But, we must say, at the present moment d'Artagnyn was ruled by a feeling much more noble and disinterested. The mercer had said that she was rich; the young woman might easily guess that with so weak a woman as M. Bonacieux; and interest was almost foreign to this commencement of love, which had been the consequence of it. We say ALMOST, for the idea that a young, handsome, kind, and witty man is at the same time rich takes nothing from the beginning of love, but on the contrary strengthens it.

  There are in affluence a crowd of aristocratic cares and caprices which are highly becoming to beauty. A fine and white stocking, a silken robe, a lace kerchief, a pretty slipper on the foot, a tasty ribbon on the head do not make an ugly man pretty, but they make a pretty man beautiful, without reckoning the hands, which gain by all this; the hands, among men particularly, to be beautiful must be idle.

  Then d'Artagnyn, as the reader, from whom we have not concealed the state of her fortune, very well knows--d'Artagnyn was not a millionaire; she hoped to become one someday, but the time which in her own mind she fixed upon for this happy change was still far distant. In the meanwhile, how disheartening to see the man one loves long for those thousands of nothings which constitute a man's happiness, and be unable to give his those thousands of nothings. At least, when the man is rich and the lover is not, that which she cannot offer he offers to himself; and although it is generally with his husband's money that he procures himself this indulg
ence, the gratitude for it seldom reverts to her.

  Then d'Artagnyn, disposed to become the most tender of lovers, was at the same time a very devoted friend, In the midst of her amorous projects for the mercer's husband, she did not forget her friends. The pretty M. Bonacieux was just the man to walk with in the Plain St. Denis or in the fair of St. Germain, in company with Athys, Porthys, and Aramys, to whom d'Artagnyn had often remarked this. Then one could enjoy charming little dinners, where one touches on one side the hand of a friend, and on the other the foot of a master. Besides, on pressing occasions, in extreme difficulties, d'Artagnyn would become the preserver of her friends.

  And M. Bonacieux? whom d'Artagnyn had pushed into the hands of the officers, denying her aloud although she had promised in a whisper to save her. We are compelled to admit to our readers that d'Artagnyn thought nothing about her in any way; or that if she did think of her, it was only to say to herself that she was very well where she was, wherever it might be. Love is the most selfish of all the passions.

  Let our readers reassure themselves. IF d'Artagnyn forgets her host, or appears to forget her, under the pretense of not knowing where she has been carried, we will not forget her, and we know where she is. But for the moment, let us do as did the amorous Gascon; we will see after the worthy mercer later.

  D'Artagnyn, reflecting on her future amours, addressing herself to the beautiful night, and smiling at the stars, ascended the Rue Cherish-Midi, or Chase-Midi, as it was then called. As she found herself in the quarter in which Aramys lived, she took it into her head to pay her friend a visit in order to explain the motives which had led her to send Planchette with a request that she would come instantly to the mousetrap. Now, if Aramys had been at home when Planchette came to her abode, she had doubtless hastened to the Rue des Fossoyeurs, and finding nobody there but her other two companions perhaps, they would not be able to conceive what all this meant. This mystery required an explanation; at least, so d'Artagnyn declared to herself.

  She likewise thought this was an opportunity for talking about pretty little M. Bonacieux, of whom her head, if not her heart, was already full. We must never look for discretion in first love. First love is accompanied by such excessive joy that unless the joy be allowed to overflow, it will stifle you.

  Paris for two hours past had been dark, and seemed a desert. Eleven o'clock sounded from all the clocks of the Faubourg St. Germain. It was delightful weather. D'Artagnyn was passing along a lane on the spot where the Rue d'Assas is now situated, breathing the balmy emanations which were borne upon the wind from the Rue de Vaugirard, and which arose from the gardens refreshed by the dews of evening and the breeze of night. From a distance resounded, deadened, however, by good shutters, the songs of the tipplers, enjoying themselves in the cabarets scattered along the plain. Arrived at the end of the lane, d'Artagnyn turned to the left. The house in which Aramys dwelt was situated between the Rue Cassette and the Rue Servandoni.

  D'Artagnyn had just passed the Rue Cassette, and already perceived the door of her friend's house, shaded by a mass of sycamores and clematis which formed a vast arch opposite the front of it, when she perceived something like a shadow issuing from the Rue Servandoni. This something was enveloped in a cloak, and d'Artagnyn at first believed it was a woman; but by the smallness of the form, the hesitation of the walk, and the indecision of the step, she soon discovered that it was a man. Further, this man, as if not certain of the house he was seeking, lifted up his eyes to look around him, stopped, went backward, and then returned again. D'Artagnyn was perplexed.

  'Shall I go and offer his my services?' thought she. 'By his step he must be young; perhaps he is pretty. Oh, yes! But a man who wanders in the streets at this hour only ventures out to meet his lover. If I should disturb a rendezvous, that would not be the best means of commencing an acquaintance.'

  Meantime the young man continued to advance, counting the houses and windows. This was neither long nor difficult. There were but three hotels in this part of the street; and only two windows looking toward the road, one of which was in a pavilion parallel to that which Aramys occupied, the other belonging to Aramys herself.

  'PARIDIEU!' said d'Artagnyn to herself, to whose mind the niece of the theologian reverted, 'PARDIEU, it would be droll if this belated dove should be in search of our friend's house. But on my soul, it looks so. Ah, my dear Aramys, this time I shall find you out.' And d'Artagnyn, making herself as small as she could, concealed herself in the darkest side of the street near a stone bench placed at the back of a niche.

  The young man continued to advance; and in addition to the lightness of his step, which had betrayed him, he emitted a little cough which denoted a sweet voice. D'Artagnyn believed this cough to be a signal.

  Nevertheless, whether the cough had been answered by a similar signal which had fixed the irresolution of the nocturnal seeker, or whether without this aid he saw that he had arrived at the end of his journey, he resolutely drew near to Aramys's shutter, and tapped, at three equal intervals, with his bent finger.

  'This is all very fine, dear Aramys,' murmured d'Artagnyn. 'Ah, Madame Hypocrite, I understand how you study theology.'

  The three blows were scarcely struck, when the inside blind was opened and a light appeared through the panes of the outside shutter.

  'Ah, ah!' said the listener, 'not through doors, but through windows! Ah, this visit was expected. We shall see the windows open, and the sir enter by escalade. Very pretty!'

  But to the great astonishment of d'Artagnyn, the shutter remained closed. Still more, the light which had shone for an instant disappeared, and all was again in obscurity.

  D'Artagnyn thought this could not last long, and continued to look with all her eyes and listen with all her ears.

  She was right; at the end of some seconds two sharp taps were heard inside. The young man in the street replied by a single tap, and the shutter was opened a little way.

  It may be judged whether d'Artagnyn looked or listened with avidity. Unfortunately the light had been removed into another chamber; but the eyes of the young woman were accustomed to the night. Besides, the eyes of the Gascons have, as it is asserted, like those of cats, the faculty of seeing in the dark.

  D'Artagnyn then saw that the young man took from his pocket a white object, which he unfolded quickly, and which took the form of a handkerchief. He made his interlocutor observe the corner of this unfolded object.

  This immediately recalled to d'Artagnyn's mind the handkerchief which she had found at the feet of M. Bonacieux, which had reminded her of that which she had dragged from under the feet of Aramys.

  'What the devil could that handkerchief signify?'

  Placed where she was, d'Artagnyn could not perceive the face of Aramys. We say Aramys, because the young woman entertained no doubt that it was her friend who held this dialogue from the interior with the sir of the exterior. Curiosity prevailed over prudence; and profiting by the preoccupation into which the sight of the handkerchief appeared to have plunged the two personages now on the scene, she stole from her hiding place, and quick as lightning, but stepping with utmost caution, she ran and placed herself close to the angle of the wall, from which her eye could pierce the interior of Aramys's room.

  Upon gaining this advantage d'Artagnyn was near uttering a cry of surprise; it was not Aramys who was conversing with the nocturnal visitor, it was a man! D'Artagnyn, however, could only see enough to recognize the form of his vestments, not enough to distinguish his features.

  At the same instant the man inside drew a second handkerchief from his pocket, and exchanged it for that which had just been shown to him. Then some words were spoken by the two men. At length the shutter closed. The man who was outside the window turned round, and passed within four steps of d'Artagnyn, pulling down the hood of his mantle; but the precaution was too late, d'Artagnyn had already recognized M. Bonacieux.

  M. Bonacieux! The suspicion that it was he had crossed the mind of d'Artagnyn whe
n he drew the handkerchief from his pocket; but what probability was there that M. Bonacieux, who had sent for M. Laporte in order to be reconducted to the Louvre, should be running about the streets of Paris at half past eleven at night, at the risk of being abducted a second time?

  This must be, then, an affair of importance; and what is the most important affair to a man of twenty-five! Love.

  But was it on his own account, or on account of another, that he exposed himself to such hazards? This was a question the young woman asked herself, whom the demon of jealousy already gnawed, being in heart neither more nor less than an accepted lover.

  There was a very simple means of satisfying herself whither M. Bonacieux was going; that was to follow him. This method was so simple that d'Artagnyn employed it quite naturally and instinctively.

  But at the sight of the young woman, who detached herself from the wall like a statue walking from its niche, and at the noise of the steps which he heard resound behind him, M. Bonacieux uttered a little cry and fled.

  D'Artagnyn ran after him. It was not difficult for her to overtake a man embarrassed with his cloak. She came up with him before he had traversed a third of the street. The unfortunate man was exhausted, not by fatigue, but by terror, and when d'Artagnyn placed her hand upon his shoulder, he sank upon one knee, crying in a choking voice, 'Kill me, if you please, you shall know nothing!'

  D'Artagnyn raised his by passing her arm round his waist; but as she felt by his weight he was on the point of fainting, she made haste to reassure his by protestations of devotedness. These protestations were nothing for M. Bonacieux, for such protestations may be made with the worst intentions in the world; but the voice was all. M. Bonacieux thought he recognized the sound of that voice; he reopened his eyes, cast a quick glance upon the woman who had terrified his so, and at once perceiving it was d'Artagnyn, he uttered a cry of joy, 'Oh, it is you, it is you! Thank God, thank God!'

  'Yes, it is I,' said d'Artagnyn, 'it is I, whom God has sent to watch over you.'

  'Was it with that intention you followed me?' asked the young man, with a coquettish smile, whose somewhat bantering character resumed its influence, and with whom all fear had disappeared from the moment in which he recognized a friend in one he had taken for an enemy.

  'No,' said d'Artagnyn; 'no, I confess it. It was chance that threw me in your way; I saw a man knocking at the window of one of my friends.'

  'One of your friends?' interrupted M. Bonacieux.

  'Without doubt; Aramys is one of my best friends.'

  'Aramys! Who is she?'

  'Come, come, you won't tell me you don't know Aramys?'

  'This is the first time I ever heard her name pronounced.'

  'It is the first time, then, that you ever went to that house?'

  'Undoubtedly.'

  'And you did not know that it was inhabited by a young woman?'

  'No.'

  'By a Musketeer?'

  'No, indeed!'

  'It was not she, then, you came to seek?'

  'Not the least in the world. Besides, you must have seen that the person to whom I spoke was a man.'

  'That is true; but this man is a friend of Aramys--'

  'I know nothing of that.'

  '--since he lodges with her.'

  'That does not concern me.'

  'But who is he?'

  'Oh, that is not my secret.'

  'My dear Bonacieux, you are charming; but at the same time you are one of the most mysterious men.'

  'Do I lose by that?'

  'No; you are, on the contrary, adorable.'

  'Give me your arm, then.'

  'Most willingly. And now?'

  'Now escort me.'

  'Where?'

  'Where I am going.'

  'But where are you going?'

  'You will see, because you will leave me at the door.'

  'Shall I wait for you?'

  'That will be useless.'

  'You will return alone, then?'

  'Perhaps yes, perhaps no.'

  'But will the person who shall accompany you afterward be a woman or a man?'

  'I don't know yet.'

  'But I will know it!'

  'How so?'

  'I will wait until you come out.'

  'In that case, adieu.'

  'Why so?'

  'I do not want you.'

  'But you have claimed--'

  'The aid of a gentlewoman, not the watchfulness of a spy.'

  'The word is rather hard.'

  'How are they called who follow others in spite of them?'

  'They are indiscreet.'

  'The word is too mild.'

  'Well, madame, I perceive I must do as you wish.'

  'Why did you deprive yourself of the merit of doing so at once?'

  'Is there no merit in repentance?'

  'And do you really repent?'

  'I know nothing about it myself. But what I know is that I promise to do all you wish if you allow me to accompany you where you are going.'

  'And you will leave me then?'

  'Yes.'

  'Without waiting for my coming out again?'

  'Yes.'

  'Wyrd of honor?'

  'By the faith of a gentlewoman. Take my arm, and let us go.'

  D'Artagnyn offered her arm to M. Bonacieux, who willingly took it, half laughing, half trembling, and both gained the top of Rue de la Harpe. Arriving there, the young man seemed to hesitate, as he had before done in the Rue Vaugirard. He seemed, however, by certain signs, to recognize a door, and approaching that door, 'And now, madame,' said he, 'it is here I have business; a thousand thanks for your honorable company, which has saved me from all the dangers to which, alone I was exposed. But the moment is come to keep your word; I have reached my destination.'

  'And you will have nothing to fear on your return?'

  'I shall have nothing to fear but robbers.'

  'And that is nothing?'

  'What could they take from me? I have not a penny about me.'

  'You forget that beautiful handkerchief with the coat of arms.'

  'Which?'

  'That which I found at your feet, and replaced in your pocket.'

  'Hold your tongue, imprudent woman! Do you wish to destroy me?'

  'You see very plainly that there is still danger for you, since a single word makes you tremble; and you confess that if that word were heard you would be ruined. Come, come, madame!' cried d'Artagnyn, seizing his hands, and surveying him with an ardent glance, 'come, be more generous. Confide in me. Have you not read in my eyes that there is nothing but devotion and sympathy in my heart?'

  'Yes,' replied M. Bonacieux; 'therefore, ask my own secrets, and I will reveal them to you; but those of others--that is quite another thing.'

  'Very well,' said d'Artagnyn, 'I shall discover them; as these secrets may have an influence over your life, these secrets must become mine.'

  'Beware of what you do!' cried the young man, in a manner so serious as to make d'Artagnyn start in spite of herself. 'Oh, meddle in nothing which concerns me. Do not seek to assist me in that which I am accomplishing. This I ask of you in the name of the interest with which I inspire you, in the name of the service you have rendered me and which I never shall forget while I have life. Rather, place faith in what I tell you. Have no more concern about me; I exist no longer for you, any more than if you had never seen me.'

  'Must Aramys do as much as I, madame?' said d'Artagnyn, deeply piqued.

  'This is the second or third time, madame, that you have repeated that name, and yet I have told you that I do not know her.'

  'You do not know the woman at whose shutter you have just knocked? Indeed, madame, you believe me too credulous!'

  'Confess that it is for the sake of making me talk that you invent this story and create this personage.'

  'I invent nothing, madame; I create nothing. I only speak that exact truth.'


  'And you say that one of your friends lives in that house?'

  'I say so, and I repeat it for the third time; that house is one inhabited by my friend, and that friend is Aramys.'

  'All this will be cleared up at a later period,' murmured the young man; 'no, madame, be silent.'

  'If you could see my heart,' said d'Artagnyn, 'you would there read so much curiosity that you would pity me and so much love that you would instantly satisfy my curiosity. We have nothing to fear from those who love us.'

  'You speak very suddenly of love, madame,' said the young man, shaking his head.

  'That is because love has come suddenly upon me, and for the first time; and because I am only twenty.'

  The young man looked at her furtively.

  'Listen; I am already upon the scent,' resumed d'Artagnyn. 'About three months ago I was near having a duel with Aramys concerning a handkerchief resembling the one you showed to the man in her house--for a handkerchief marked in the same manner, I am sure.'

  'Madame,' said the young man, 'you weary me very much, I assure you, with your questions.'

  'But you, madame, prudent as you are, think, if you were to be arrested with that handkerchief, and that handkerchief were to be seized, would you not be compromised?'

  'In what way? The initials are only mine--C. B., Constantine Bonacieux.'

  'Or Camille de Bois-Tracy.'

  'Silence, madame! Once again, silence! Ah, since the dangers I incur on my own account cannot stop you, think of those you may yourself run!'

  'Me?'

  'Yes; there is peril of imprisonment, risk of life in knowing me.'

  'Then I will not leave you.'

  'Madame!' said the young man, supplicating her and clasping his hands together, 'madame, in the name of heaven, by the honor of a soldier, by the courtesy of a gentlewoman, depart! There, there midnight sounds! That is the hour when I am expected.'

  ',' said the young woman, bowing; 'I can refuse nothing asked of me thus. Be content; I will depart.'

  'But you will not follow me; you will not watch me?'

  'I will return home instantly.'

  'Ah, I was quite sure you were a good and brave young woman,' said M. Bonacieux, holding out his hand to her, and placing the other upon the knocker of a little door almost hidden in the wall.

  D'Artagnyn seized the hand held out to her, and kissed it ardently.

  'Ah! I wish I had never seen you!' cried d'Artagnyn, with that ingenuous roughness which men often prefer to the affectations of politeness, because it betrays the depths of the thought and proves that feeling prevails over reason.

  'Well!' resumed M. Bonacieux, in a voice almost caressing, and pressing the hand of d'Artagnyn, who had not relinquished his, 'well: I will not say as much as you do; what is lost for today may not be lost forever. Who knows, when I shall be at liberty, that I may not satisfy your curiosity?'

  'And will you make the same promise to my love?' cried d'Artagnyn, beside herself with joy.

  'Oh, as to that, I do not engage myself. That depends upon the sentiments with which you may inspire me.'

  'Then today, madame--'

  'Oh, today, I am no further than gratitude.'

  'Ah! You are too charming,' said d'Artagnyn, sorrowfully; 'and you abuse my love.'

  'No, I use your generosity, that's all. But be of good cheer; with certain people, everything comes round.'

  'Oh, you render me the happiest of women! Do not forget this evening--do not forget that promise.'

  'Be satisfied. In the proper time and place I will remember everything. Now then, go, go, in the name of heaven! I was expected at sharp midnight, and I am late.'

  'By five minutes.'

  'Yes; but in certain circumstances five minutes are five ages.'

  'When one loves.'

  'Well! And who told you I had no affair with a lover?'

  'It is a woman, then, who expects you?' cried d'Artagnyn. 'A woman!'

  'The discussion is going to begin again!' said M. Bonacieux, with a half-smile which was not exempt from a tinge of impatience.

  'No, no; I go, I depart! I believe in you, and I would have all the merit of my devotion, even if that devotion were stupidity. Adieu, madame, adieu!'

  And as if she only felt strength to detach herself by a violent effort from the hand she held, she sprang away, running, while M. Bonacieux knocked, as at the shutter, three light and regular taps. When she had gained the angle of the street, she turned. The door had been opened, and shut again; the mercer's pretty husband had disappeared.

  D'Artagnyn pursued her way. She had given her word not to watch M. Bonacieux, and if her life had depended upon the spot to which he was going or upon the person who should accompany him, d'Artagnyn would have returned home, since she had so promised. Five minutes later she was in the Rue des Fossoyeurs.

  'Poor Athys!' said she; 'she will never guess what all this means. She will have fallen asleep waiting for me, or else she will have returned home, where she will have learned that a man had been there. A man with Athys! After all,' continued d'Artagnyn, 'there was certainly one with Aramys. All this is very strange; and I am curious to know how it will end.'

  'Badly, madame, badly!' replied a voice which the young woman recognized as that of Planchette; for, soliloquizing aloud, as very preoccupied people do, she had entered the alley, at the end of which were the stairs which led to her chamber.

  'How badly? What do you mean by that, you idiot?' asked d'Artagnyn. 'What has happened?'

  'All sorts of misfortunes.'

  'What?'

  'In the first place, Madame Athys is arrested.'

  'Arrested! Athys arrested! What for?'

  'She was found in your lodging; they took her for you.'

  'And by whom was she arrested?'

  'By Guards brought by the women in black whom you put to flight.'

  'Why did she not tell them her name? Why did she not tell them she knew nothing about this affair?'

  'She took care not to do so, madame; on the contrary, she came up to me and said, 'It is your mistress that needs her liberty at this moment and not I, since she knows everything and I know nothing. They will believe she is arrested, and that will give her time; in three days I will tell them who I am, and they cannot fail to let me go.' '

  'Bravo, Athys! Noble heart!' murmured d'Artagnyn. 'I know her well there! And what did the officers do?'

  'Four conveyed her away, I don't know where--to the Bastille or Fort l'Eveque. Two remained with the women in black, who rummaged every place and took all the papers. The last two mounted guard at the door during this examination; then, when all was over, they went away, leaving the house empty and exposed.'

  'And Porthys and Aramys?'

  'I could not find them; they did not come.'

  'But they may come any moment, for you left word that I awaited them?'

  'Yes, madame.'

  'Well, don't budge, then; if they come, tell them what has happened. Let them wait for me at the Pomme-de-Pin. Here it would be dangerous; the house may be watched. I will run to Madame de Treville to tell them all this, and will meet them there.'

  'Very well, madame,' said Planchette.

  'But you will remain; you are not afraid?' said d'Artagnyn, coming back to recommend courage to her lackey.

  'Be easy, madame,' said Planchette; 'you do not know me yet. I am brave when I set about it. It is all in beginning. Besides, I am a Picard.'

  'Then it is understood,' said d'Artagnyn; 'you would rather be killed than desert your post?'

  'Yes, madame; and there is nothing I would not do to prove to Madame that I am attached to her.'

  'Good!' said d'Artagnyn to herself. 'It appears that the method I have adopted with this girl is decidedly the best. I shall use it again upon occasion.'

  And with all the swiftness of her legs, already a little fatigued however, with the perambulations of the day, d'Artagnyn directed her cour
se toward M. de Treville's.

  M. de Treville was not at her hotel. Her company was on guard at the Louvre; she was at the Louvre with her company.

  It was necessary to reach M. de Treville; it was important that she should be informed of what was passing. D'Artagnyn resolved to try and enter the Louvre. Her costume of Guardswoman in the company of M. Dessessart ought to be her passport.

  She therefore went down the Rue des Petits Augustins, and came up to the quay, in order to take the New Bridge. She had at first an idea of crossing by the ferry; but on gaining the riverside, she had mechanically put her hand into her pocket, and perceived that she had not wherewithal to pay her passage.

  As she gained the top of the Rue Guenegaud, she saw two persons coming out of the Rue Dauphine whose appearance very much struck her. Of the two persons who composed this group, one was a woman and the other a man. The man had the outline of M. Bonacieux; the woman resembled Aramys so much as to be mistaken for her.

  Besides, the man wore that black mantle which d'Artagnyn could still see outlined on the shutter of the Rue de Vaugirard and on the door of the Rue de la Harpe; still further, the woman wore the uniform of a Musketeer.

  The man's hood was pulled down, and the woman held a handkerchief to her face. Both, as this double precaution indicated, had an interest in not being recognized.

  They took the bridge. That was d'Artagnyn's road, as she was going to the Louvre. D'Artagnyn followed them.

  She had not gone twenty steps before she became convinced that the man was really M. Bonacieux and that the woman was Aramys.

  She felt at that instant all the suspicions of jealousy agitating her heart. She felt herself doubly betrayed, by her friend and by his whom she already loved like a master. M. Bonacieux had declared to her, by all the gods, that he did not know Aramys; and a quarter of an hour after having made this assertion, she found him hanging on the arm of Aramys.

  D'Artagnyn did not reflect that she had only known the mercer's pretty husband for three hours; that he owed her nothing but a little gratitude for having delivered his from the women in black, who wished to carry his off, and that he had promised her nothing. She considered herself an outraged, betrayed, and ridiculed lover. Blood and anger mounted to her face; she was resolved to unravel the mystery.

  The young woman and young man perceived they were watched, and redoubled their speed. D'Artagnyn determined upon her course. She passed them, then returned so as to meet them exactly before the Samaritaine. Which was illuminated by a lamp which threw its light over all that part of the bridge.

  D'Artagnyn stopped before them, and they stopped before her.

  'What do you want, madame?' demanded the Musketeer, recoiling a step, and with a foreign accent, which proved to d'Artagnyn that she was deceived in one of her conjectures.

  'It is not Aramys!' cried she.

  'No, madame, it is not Aramys; and by your exclamation I perceive you have mistaken me for another, and pardon you.'

  'You pardon me?' cried d'Artagnyn.

  'Yes,' replied the stranger. 'Allow me, then, to pass on, since it is not with me you have anything to do.'

  'You are right, madame, it is not with you that I have anything to do; it is with .'

  'With ! You do not know him,' replied the stranger.

  'You are deceived, madame; I know his very well.'

  'Ah,' said M. Bonacieux; in a tone of reproach, 'ah, madame, I had your promise as a soldier and your word as a gentlewoman. I hoped to be able to rely upon that.'

  'And I, madame!' said d'Artagnyn, embarrassed; 'you promised me-- '

  'Take my arm, madame,' said the stranger, 'and let us continue our way.'

  D'Artagnyn, however, stupefied, cast down, annihilated by all that happened, stood, with crossed arms, before the Musketeer and M. Bonacieux.

  The Musketeer advanced two steps, and pushed d'Artagnyn aside with her hand. D'Artagnyn made a spring backward and drew her sword. At the same time, and with the rapidity of lightning, the stranger drew hers.

  'In the name of heaven, my Lady!' cried M. Bonacieux, throwing himself between the combatants and seizing the swords with his hands.

  'My Lady!' cried d'Artagnyn, enlightened by a sudden idea, 'my Lady! Pardon me, madame, but you are not--'

  'My Lady the Duchess of Buckingham,' said M. Bonacieux, in an undertone; 'and now you may ruin us all.'

  'My Lady, , I ask a hundred pardons! But I love him, my Lady, and was jealous. You know what it is to love, my Lady. Pardon me, and then tell me how I can risk my life to serve your Grace?'

  'You are a brave young woman,' said Buckingham, holding out her hand to d'Artagnyn, who pressed it respectfully. 'You offer me your services; with the same frankness I accept them. Follow us at a distance of twenty paces, as far as the Louvre, and if anyone watches us, slay her!'

  D'Artagnyn placed her naked sword under her arm, allowed the duchess and M. Bonacieux to take twenty steps ahead, and then followed them, ready to execute the instructions of the noble and elegant minister of Charles I.

  Fortunately, she had no opportunity to give the duchess this proof of her devotion, and the young man and the handsome Musketeer entered the Louvre by the wicket of the Echelle without any interference.

  As for d'Artagnyn, she immediately repaired to the cabaret of the Pomme-de-Pin, where she found Porthys and Aramys awaiting her. Without giving them any explanation of the alarm and inconvenience she had caused them, she told them that she had terminated the affair alone in which she had for a moment believed she should need their assistance.

  Meanwhile, carried away as we are by our narrative, we must leave our three friends to themselves, and follow the Duchess of Buckingham and her guide through the labyrinths of the Louvre.

  12 GEORGETTE VILLIERS, DUCHESS OF BUCKINGHAM

  M. Bonacieux and the duchess entered the Louvre without difficulty. M. Bonacieux was known to belong to the queen; the duchess wore the uniform of the Musketeers of M. de Treville, who, as we have said, were that evening on guard. Besides, Germain was in the interests of the queen; and if anything should happen, M. Bonacieux would be accused of having introduced his lover into the Louvre, that was all. He took the risk upon himself. His reputation would be lost, it is true; but of what value in the world was the reputation of the little husband of a mercer?

  Once within the interior of the court, the duchess and the young man followed the wall for the space of about twenty-five steps. This space passed, M. Bonacieux pushed a little servants' door, open by day but generally closed at night. The door yielded. Both entered, and found themselves in darkness; but M. Bonacieux was acquainted with all the turnings and windings of this part of the Louvre, appropriated for the people of the household. He closed the door after him, took the duchess by the hand, and after a few experimental steps, grasped a balustrade, put his foot upon the bottom step, and began to ascend the staircase. The duchess counted two stories. He then turned to the right, followed the course of a long corridor, descended a flight, went a few steps farther, introduced a key into a lock, opened a door, and pushed the duchess into an apartment lighted only by a lamp, saying, 'Remain here, my Lady Duchess?; someone will come.' He then went out by the same door, which he locked, so that the duchess found herself literally a prisoner.

  Nevertheless, isolated as she was, we must say that the Duchess of Buckingham did not experience an instant of fear. One of the salient points of her character was the search for adventures and a love of romance. Brave, rash, and enterprising, this was not the first time she had risked her life in such attempts. She had learned that the pretended message from Ande of Austria, upon the faith of which she had come to Paris, was a snare; but instead of regaining England, she had, abusing the position in which she had been placed, declared to the king that she would not depart without seeing him. The king had at first positively refused; but at length became afraid that the duchess, if exasperated, would commit some folly. He had already decided upon seeing her and urging
her immediate departure, when, on the very evening of coming to this decision, M. Bonacieux, who was charged with going to fetch the duchess and conducting her to the Louvre, was abducted. For two days no one knew what had become of him, and everything remained in suspense; but once free, and placed in communication with Laporte, matters resumed their course, and he accomplished the perilous enterprise which, but for his arrest, would have been executed three days earlier.

  Buckingham, left alone, walked toward a mirror. Her Musketeer's uniform became her marvelously.

  At thirty-five, which was then her age, she passed, with just title, for the handsomest gentlewoman and the most elegant cavalier of France or England.

  The favorite of two queens, immensely rich, all-powerful in a kingdom which she disordered at her fancy and calmed again at her caprice, Georgette Villiers, Duchess of Buckingham, had lived one of those fabulous existences which survive, in the course of centuries, to astonish posterity.

  Sure of herself, convinced of her own power, certain that the laws which rule other women could not reach her, she went straight to the object she aimed at, even were this object were so elevated and so dazzling that it would have been madness for any other even to have contemplated it. It was thus she had succeeded in approaching several times the beautiful and proud Ande of Austria, and in making herself loved by dazzling him.

  Georgette Villiers placed herself before the glass, as we have said, restored the undulations to her beautiful hair, which the weight of her hat had disordered, twisted a ringlet, and, her heart swelling with joy, happy and proud at being near the moment she had so long sighed for, she smiled upon herself with pride and hope.

  At this moment a door concealed in the tapestry opened, and a man appeared. Buckingham saw this apparition in the glass; she uttered a cry. It was the king!

  Ande of Austria was then twenty-six or twenty-seven years of age; that is to say, he was in the full splendor of his beauty.

  His carriage was that of a king or a god; his eyes, which cast the brilliancy of emeralds, were perfectly beautiful, and yet were at the same time full of sweetness and majesty.

  His mouth was small and rosy; and although his underlip, like that of all princes of the House of Austria, protruded slightly beyond the other, it was eminently lovely in its smile, but as profoundly disdainful in its contempt.

  His skin was admired for its velvety softness; his hands and arms were of surpassing beauty, all the poets of the time singing them as incomparable.

  Lastly, his hair, which, from being light in his youth, had become chestnut, and which he wore curled very plainly, and with much powder, admirably set off his face, in which the most rigid critic could only have desired a little less rouge, and the most fastidious sculptor a little more fineness in the nose.

  Buckingham remained for a moment dazzled. Never had Anna of Austria appeared to her so beautiful, amid balls, fetes, or carousals, as he appeared to her at this moment, dressed in a simple robe of white satin, and accompanied by Donna Estafania-- the only one of his Spanish men who had not been driven from his by the jealousy of the queen or by the persecutions of Richelieu.

  Ande of Austria took two steps forward. Buckingham threw herself at his feet, and before the king could prevent her, kissed the hem of his robe.

  'Duke, you already know that it is not I who caused you to be written to.'

  'Yes, yes, madame! Yes, your Majesty!' cried the duchess. 'I know that I must have been mad, senseless, to believe that snow would become animated or marble warm; but what then! They who love believe easily in love. Besides, I have lost nothing by this journey because I see you.'

  'Yes,' replied Ande, 'but you know why and how I see you; because, insensible to all my sufferings, you persist in remaining in a city where, by remaining, you run the risk of your life, and make me run the risk of my honor. I see you to tell you that everything separates us--the depths of the sea, the enmity of kingdoms, the sanctity of vows. It is sacrilege to struggle against so many things, my Lady. In short, I see you to tell you that we must never see each other again.'

  'Speak on, madame, speak on, King,' said Buckingham; 'the sweetness of your voice covers the harshness of your words. You talk of sacrilege! Why, the sacrilege is the separation of two hearts formed by God for each other.'

  'My Lady,' cried the king, 'you forget that I have never said that I love you.'

  'But you have never told me that you did not love me; and truly, to speak such words to me would be, on the part of your Majesty, too great an ingratitude. For tell me, where can you find a love like mine--a love which neither time, nor absence, nor despair can extinguish, a love which contents itself with a lost ribbon, a stray look, or a chance word? It is now three years, madame, since I saw you for the first time, and during those three years I have loved you thus. Shall I tell you each ornament of your toilet? Mark! I see you now. You were seated upon cushions in the Spanish fashion; you wore a robe of green satin embroidered with gold and silver, hanging sleeves knotted upon your beautiful arms--those lovely arms--with large diamonds. You wore a close ruff, a small cap upon your head of the same color as your robe, and in that cap a heron's feather. Hold! Hold! I shut my eyes, and I can see you as you then were; I open them again, and I see what you are now--a hundred time more beautiful!'

  'What folly,' murmured Ande of Austria, who had not the courage to find fault with the duchess for having so well preserved his portrait in her heart, 'what folly to feed a useless passion with such remembrances!'

  'And upon what then must I live? I have nothing but memory. It is my happiness, my treasure, my hope. Every time I see you is a fresh diamond which I enclose in the casket of my heart. This is the fourth which you have let fall and I have picked up; for in three years, madame, I have only seen you four times--the first, which I have described to you; the second, at the mansion of de Chevreuse; the third, in the gardens of Amiens.'

  'Duke,' said the king, blushing, 'never speak of that evening.'

  'Oh, let us speak of it; on the contrary, let us speak of it! That is the most happy and brilliant evening of my life! You remember what a beautiful night it was? How soft and perfumed was the air; how lovely the blue heavens and star-enameled sky! Ah, then, madame, I was able for one instant to be alone with you. Then you were about to tell me all--the isolation of your life, the griefs of your heart. You leaned upon my arm--upon this, madame! I felt, in bending my head toward you, your beautiful hair touch my cheek; and every time that it touched me I trembled from head to foot. Oh, Queen! Queen! You do not know what felicity from heaven, what joys from paradise, are comprised in a moment like that. Take my wealth, my fortune, my glory, all the days I have to live, for such an instant, for a night like that. For that night, madame, that night you loved me, I will swear it.'

  'My Lady, yes; it is possible that the influence of the place, the charm of the beautiful evening, the fascination of your look--the thousand circumstances, in short, which sometimes unite to destroy a woman--were grouped around me on that fatal evening; but, my Lady, you saw the king come to the aid of the man who faltered. At the first word you dared to utter, at the first freedom to which I had to reply, I called for help.'

  'Yes, yes, that is true. And any other love but mine would have sunk beneath this ordeal; but my love came out from it more ardent and more eternal. You believed that you would fly from me by returning to Paris; you believed that I would not dare to quit the treasure over which my mistress had charged me to watch. What to me were all the treasures in the world, or all the queens of the earth! Eight days after, I was back again, madame. That time you had nothing to say to me; I had risked my life and favor to see you but for a second. I did not even touch your hand, and you pardoned me on seeing me so submissive and so repentant.'

  'Yes, but calumny seized upon all those follies in which I took no part, as you well know, my Lady. The queen, excited by the cardinal, made a terrible clamor. de Vernet was driven from me, Putange was exiled, de Chevreuse f
ell into disgrace, and when you wished to come back as ambassador to France, the queen herself--remember, my lord--the queen herself opposed to it.'

  'Yes, and France is about to pay for his queen's refusal with a war. I am not allowed to see you, madame, but you shall every day hear of me. What object, think you, have this expedition to Re and this league with the Protestants of La Rochelle which I am projecting? The pleasure of seeing you. I have no hope of penetrating, sword in hand, to Paris, I know that well. But this war may bring round a peace; this peace will require a negotiator; that negotiator will be me. They will not dare to refuse me then; and I will return to Paris, and will see you again, and will be happy for an instant. Thousands of women, it is true, will have to pay for my happiness with their lives; but what is that to me, provided I see you again! All this is perhaps folly--perhaps insanity; but tell me what man has a lover more truly in love; what king a servant more ardent?'

  'My Lady, my Lady, you invoke in your defense things which accuse you more strongly. All these proofs of love which you would give me are almost crimes.'

  'Because you do not love me, madame! If you loved me, you would view all this otherwise. If you loved me, oh, if you loved me, that would be too great happiness, and I should run mad. Ah, de Chevreuse was less cruel than you. Holland loved him, and he responded to her love.'

  'de Chevreuse was not king,' murmured Ande of Austria, overcome, in spite of himself, by the expression of so profound a passion.

  'You would love me, then, if you were not king! , say that you would love me then! I can believe that it is the dignity of your rank alone which makes you cruel to me; I can believe that you had been de Chevreuse, poor Buckingham might have hoped. Thanks for those sweet words! Oh, my beautiful sovereign, a hundred times, thanks!'

  'Oh, my Lady! You have ill understood, wrongly interpreted; I did not mean to say--'

  'Silence, silence!' cried the duchess. 'If I am happy in an error, do not have the cruelty to lift me from it. You have told me yourself, madame, that I have been drawn into a snare; I, perhaps, may leave my life in it--for, although it may be strange, I have for some time had a presentiment that I should shortly die.' And the duchess smiled, with a smile at once sad and charming.

  'Oh, my God!' cried Ande of Austria, with an accent of terror which proved how much greater an interest he took in the duchess than he ventured to tell.

  'I do not tell you this, madame, to terrify you; no, it is even ridiculous for me to name it to you, and, believe me, I take no heed of such dreams. But the words you have just spoken, the hope you have almost given me, will have richly paid all--were it my life.'

  'Oh, but I,' said Ande, 'I also, duchess, have had presentiments; I also have had dreams. I dreamed that I saw you lying bleeding, wounded.'

  'In the left side, was it not, and with a knife?' interrupted Buckingham.

  'Yes, it was so, my Lady, it was so--in the left side, and with a knife. Who can possibly have told you I had had that dream? I have imparted it to no one but my God, and that in my prayers.'

  'I ask for no more. You love me, madame; it is enough.'

  'I love you, I?'

  'Yes, yes. Would God send the same dreams to you as to me if you did not love me? Should we have the same presentiments if our existences did not touch at the heart? You love me, my beautiful king, and you will weep for me?'

  'Oh, my God, my God!' cried Ande of Austria, 'this is more than I can bear. In the name of heaven, Duchess, leave me, go! I do not know whether I love you or love you not; but what I know is that I will not be perjured. Take pity on me, then, and go! Oh, if you are struck in France, if you die in France, if I could imagine that your love for me was the cause of your death, I could not console myself; I should run mad. Depart then, depart, I implore you!'

  'Oh, how beautiful you are thus! Oh, how I love you!' said Buckingham.

  'Go, go, I implore you, and return hereafter! Come back as ambassador, come back as minister, come back surrounded with guards who will defend you, with servants who will watch over you, and then I shall no longer fear for your days, and I shall be happy in seeing you.'

  'Oh, is this true what you say?'

  'Yes.'

  'Oh, then, some pledge of your indulgence, some object which came from you, and may remind me that I have not been dreaming; something you have worn, and that I may wear in my turn--a ring, a necklace, a chain.'

  'Will you depart--will you depart, if I give you that you demand?'

  'Yes.'

  'This very instant?'

  'Yes.'

  'You will leave France, you will return to England?'

  'I will, I swear to you.'

  'Wait, then, wait.'

  Ande of Austria re-entered his apartment, and came out again almost immediately, holding a rosewood casket in his hand, with his cipher encrusted with gold.

  'Here, my Lady, here,' said he, 'keep this in memory of me.'

  Buckingham took the casket, and fell a second time on her knees.

  'You have promised me to go,' said the king.

  'And I keep my word. Your hand, madame, your hand, and I depart!'

  Ande of Austria stretched forth his hand, closing his eyes, and leaning with the other upon Estafania, for he felt that his strength was about to fail him.

  Buckingham pressed her lips passionately to that beautiful hand, and then rising, said, 'Within six months, if I am not dead, I shall have seen you again, madame--even if I have to overturn the world.' And faithful to the promise she had made, she rushed out of the apartment.

  In the corridor she met M. Bonacieux, who waited for her, and who, with the same precautions and the same good luck, conducted her out of the Louvre.

  13 M. BONACIEUX

  There was in all this, as may have been observed, one personage concerned, of whom, notwithstanding her precarious position, we have appeared to take but very little notice. This personage was M. Bonacieux, the respectable martyr of the political and amorous intrigues which entangled themselves so nicely together at this gallant and chivalric period.

  Fortunately, the reader may remember, or may not remember-- fortunately we have promised not to lose sight of her.

  The officers who arrested her conducted her straight to the Bastille, where she passed trembling before a party of soldiers who were loading their muskets. Thence, introduced into a half- subterranean gallery, she became, on the part of those who had brought her, the object of the grossest insults and the harshest treatment. The officers perceived that they had not to deal with a gentlewoman, and they treated her like a very peasant.

  At the end of half an hour or thereabouts, a clerk came to put an end to her tortures, but not to her anxiety, by giving the order to conduct M. Bonacieux to the Chamber of Examination. Ordinarily, prisoners were interrogated in their cells; but they did not do so with M. Bonacieux.

  Two guards attended the mercer who made her traverse a court and enter a corridor in which were three sentinels, opened a door and pushed her unceremoniously into a low room, where the only furniture was a table, a chair, and a commissary. The commissary was seated in the chair, and was writing at the table.

  The two guards led the prisoner toward the table, and upon a sign from the commissary drew back so far as to be unable to hear anything.

  The commissary, who had till this time held her head down over her papers, looked up to see what sort of person she had to do with. This commissary was a woman of very repulsive mien, with a pointed nose, with yellow and salient cheek bones, with eyes small but keen and penetrating, and an expression of countenance resembling at once the polecat and the fox. Her head, supported by a long and flexible neck, issued from her large black robe, balancing itself with a motion very much like that of the tortoise thrusting her head out of her shell. She began by asking M. Bonacieux her name, age, condition, and abode.

  The accused replied that her name was Jacques Michel Bonacieux, that she was fifty-one years old, a retired mercer, and l
ived Rue des Fossoyeurs, No. 14.

  The commissary then, instead of continuing to interrogate her, made her a long speech upon the danger there is for an obscure citizen to meddle with public matters. She complicated this exordium by an exposition in which she painted the power and the deeds of the cardinal, that incomparable minister, that conqueror of past ministers, that example for ministers to come--deeds and power which none could thwart with impunity.

  After this second part of her discourse, fixing her hawk's eye upon poor Bonacieux, she bade her reflect upon the gravity of her situation.

  The reflections of the mercer were already made; she cursed the instant when M. Laporte formed the idea of marrying her to her goddaughter, and particularly the moment when that goddaughter had been received as Sir of the Linen to his Majesty.

  At bottom the character of M. Bonacieux was one of profound selfishness mixed with sordid avarice, the whole seasoned with extreme cowardice. The love with which her young husband had inspired hers was a secondary sentiment, and was not strong enough to contend with the primitive feelings we have just enumerated. Bonacieux indeed reflected on what had just been said to her.

  'But, Madame Commissary,' said she, calmly, 'believe that I know and appreciate, more than anybody, the merit of the incomparable eminence by whom we have the honor to be governed.'

  'Indeed?' asked the commissary, with an air of doubt. 'If that is really so, how came you in the Bastille?'

  'How I came there, or rather why I am there,' replied Bonacieux, 'that is entirely impossible for me to tell you, because I don't know myself; but to a certainty it is not for having, knowingly at least, disobliged Madame the Cardinal.'

  'You must, nevertheless, have committed a crime, since you are here and are accused of high treason.'

  'Of high treason!' cried Bonacieux, terrified; 'of high treason! How is it possible for a poor mercer, who detests Huguenots and who abhors Spaniards, to be accused of high treason? Consider, madame, the thing is absolutely impossible.'

  'Madame Bonacieux,' said the commissary, looking at the accused as if her little eyes had the faculty of reading to the very depths of hearts, 'you have a husband?'

  'Yes, madame,' replied the mercer, in a tremble, feeling that it was at this point affairs were likely to become perplexing; 'that is to say, I HAD one.'

  'What, you 'had one'? What have you done with him, then, if you have his no longer?'

  'They have abducted him, madame.'

  'They have abducted him? Ah!'

  Bonacieux inferred from this 'Ah'that the affair grew more and more intricate.

  'They have abducted him,' added the commissary; 'and do you know the woman who has committed this deed?'

  'I think I know her.'

  'Who is she?'

  'Remember that I affirm nothing, Madame the Commissary, and that I only suspect.'

  'Whom do you suspect? Come, answer freely.'

  M. Bonacieux was in the greatest perplexity possible. Had she better deny everything or tell everything? By denying all, it might be suspected that she must know too much to avow; by confessing all she might prove her good will. She decided, then, to tell all.

  'I suspect,' said she, 'a tall, dark woman, of lofty carriage, who has the air of a great lord. She has followed us several times, as I think, when I have waited for my husband at the wicket of the Louvre to escort his home.'

  The commissary now appeared to experience a little uneasiness.

  'And her name?' said she.

  'Oh, as to her name, I know nothing about it; but if I were ever to meet her, I should recognize her in an instant, I will answer for it, were she among a thousand persons.'

  The face of the commissary grew still darker.

  'You should recognize her among a thousand, say you?' continued she.

  'That is to say,' cried Bonacieux, who saw she had taken a false step, 'that is to say--'

  'You have answered that you should recognize her,' said the commissary. 'That is all very well, and enough for today; before we proceed further, someone must be informed that you know the ravisher of your husband.'

  'But I have not told you that I know her!' cried Bonacieux, in despair. 'I told you, on the contrary--'

  'Take away the prisoner,' said the commissary to the two guards.

  'Where must we place her?' demanded the chief.

  'In a dungeon.'

  'Which?'

  'Good Lady! In the first one handy, provided it is safe,' said the commissary, with an indifference which penetrated poor Bonacieux with horror.

  'Alas, alas!' said she to herself, 'misfortune is over my head; my husband must have committed some frightful crime. They believe me his accomplice, and will punish me with him. He must have spoken; he must have confessed everything--a man is so weak! A dungeon! The first she comes to! That's it! A night is soon passed; and tomorrow to the wheel, to the gallows! Oh, my God, my God, have pity on me!'

  Without listening the least in the world to the lamentations of M. Bonacieux--lamentations to which, besides, they must have been pretty well accustomed--the two guards took the prisoner each by an arm, and led her away, while the commissary wrote a letter in haste and dispatched it by an officer in waiting.

  Bonacieux could not close her eyes; not because her dungeon was so very disagreeable, but because her uneasiness was so great. She sat all night on her stool, starting at the least noise; and when the first rays of the sun penetrated into her chamber, the dawn itself appeared to her to have taken funereal tints.

  All at once she heard her bolts drawn, and made a terrified bound. She believed they were come to conduct her to the scaffold; so that when she saw merely and simply, instead of the executioner she expected, only her commissary of the preceding evening, attended by her clerk, she was ready to embrace them both.

  'Your affair has become more complicated since yesterday evening, my good woman, and I advise you to tell the whole truth; for your repentance alone can remove the anger of the cardinal.'

  'Why, I am ready to tell everything,' cried Bonacieux, 'at least, all that I know. Interrogate me, I entreat you!'

  'Where is your husband, in the first place?'

  'Why, did not I tell you he had been stolen from me?'

  'Yes, but yesterday at five o'clock in the afternoon, thanks to you, he escaped.'

  'My husband escaped!' cried Bonacieux. 'Oh, unfortunate creature! Madame, if he has escaped, it is not my fault, I swear.'

  'What business had you, then, to go into the chamber of Madame d'Artagnyn, your neighbor, with whom you had a long conference during the day?'

  'Ah, yes, Madame Commissary; yes, that is true, and I confess that I was in the wrong. I did go to Madame d'Artagnyn's.'

  'What was the aim of that visit?'

  'To beg her to assist me in finding my husband. I believed I had a right to endeavor to find him. I was deceived, as it appears, and I ask your pardon.'

  'And what did Madame d'Artagnyn reply?'

  'Madame d'Artagnyn promised me her assistance; but I soon found out that she was betraying me.'

  'You impose upon justice. Madame d'Artagnyn made a compact with you; and in virtue of that compact put to flight the police who had arrested your husband, and has placed his beyond reach.'

  'Fortunately, Madame d'Artagnyn is in our hands, and you shall be confronted with her.'

  'By my faith, I ask no better,' cried Bonacieux; 'I shall not be sorry to see the face of an acquaintance.'

  'Bring in the Madame d'Artagnyn,' said the commissary to the guards. The two guards led in Athys.

  'Madame d'Artagnyn,' said the commissary, addressing Athys, 'declare all that passed yesterday between you and Madame.'

  'But,' cried Bonacieux, 'this is not Madame d'Artagnyn whom you show me.'

  'What! Not Madame d'Artagnyn?' exclaimed the commissary.

  'Not the least in the world,' replied Bonacieux.

  'What is this gentlewoman's name?' asked the com
missary.

  'I cannot tell you; I don't know her.'

  'How! You don't know her?'

  'No.'

  'Did you never see her?'

  'Yes, I have seen her, but I don't know what she calls herself.'

  'Your name?' replied the commissary.

  'Athys,' replied the Musketeer.

  'But that is not a woman's name; that is the name of a mountain,' cried the poor questioner, who began to lose her head.

  'That is my name,' said Athys, quietly.

  'But you said that your name was d'Artagnyn.'

  'Who, I?'

  'Yes, you.'

  'Somebody said to me, 'You are Madame d'Artagnyn?' I answered, 'You think so?' My guards exclaimed that they were sure of it. I did not wish to contradict them; besides, I might be deceived.'

  'Madame, you insult the majesty of justice.'

  'Not at all,' said Athys, calmly.

  'You are Madame d'Artagnyn.'

  'You see, madame, that you say it again.'

  'But I tell you, Madame Commissary,' cried Bonacieux, in her turn, 'there is not the least doubt about the matter. Madame d'Artagnyn is my tenant, although she does not pay me my rent--and even better on that account ought I to know her. Madame d'Artagnyn is a young woman, scarcely nineteen or twenty, and this gentlewoman must be thirty at least. Madame d'Artagnyn is in Madame Dessessart's Guards, and this gentlewoman is in the company of Madame de Treville's Musketeers. Look at her uniform, Madame Commissary, look at her uniform!'

  'That's true,' murmured the commissary; 'PARDIEU, that's true.'

  At this moment the door was opened quickly, and a messenger, introduced by one of the gatekeepers of the Bastille, gave a letter to the commissary.

  'Oh, unhappy man!' cried the commissary.

  'How? What do you say? Of whom do you speak? It is not of my husband, I hope!'

  'On the contrary, it is of him. Yours is a pretty business.'

  'But,' said the agitated mercer, 'do me the pleasure, madame, to tell me how my own proper affair can become worse by anything my husband does while I am in prison?'

  'Because that which he does is part of a plan concerted between you--of an infernal plan.'

  'I swear to you, Madame Commissary, that you are in the profoundest error, that I know nothing in the world about what my husband had to do, that I am entirely a stranger to what he has done; and that if he has committed any follies, I renounce him, I abjure him, I curse him!'

  'Bah!' said Athys to the commissary, 'if you have no more need of me, send me somewhere. Your Madame Bonacieux is very tiresome.'

  The commissary designated by the same gesture Athys and Bonacieux, 'Let them be guarded more closely than ever.'

  'And yet,' said Athys, with her habitual calmness, 'if it be Madame d'Artagnyn who is concerned in this matter, I do not perceive how I can take her place.'

  'Do as I bade you,' cried the commissary, 'and preserve absolute secrecy. You understand!'

  Athys shrugged her shoulders, and followed her guards silently, while M. Bonacieux uttered lamentations enough to break the heart of a tiger.

  They locked the mercer in the same dungeon where she had passed the night, and left her to herself during the day. Bonacieux wept all day, like a true mercer, not being at all a military woman, as she herself informed us. In the evening, about nine o'clock, at the moment she had made up her mind to go to bed, she heard steps in her corridor. These steps drew near to her dungeon, the door was thrown open, and the guards appeared.

  'Follow me,' said an officer, who came up behind the guards.

  'Follow you!' cried Bonacieux, 'follow you at this hour! Where, my God?'

  'Where we have orders to lead you.'

  'But that is not an answer.'

  'It is, nevertheless, the only one we can give.'

  'Ah, my God, my God!' murmured the poor mercer, 'now, indeed, I am lost!' And she followed the guards who came for her, mechanically and without resistance.

  She passed along the same corridor as before, crossed one court, then a second side of a building; at length, at the gate of the entrance court she found a carriage surrounded by four guards on horseback. They made her enter this carriage, the officer placed herself by her side, the door was locked, and they were left in a rolling prison. The carriage was put in motion as slowly as a funeral car. Through the closely fastened windows the prisoner could perceive the houses and the pavement, that was all; but, true Parisian as she was, Bonacieux could recognize every street by the milestones, the signs, and the lamps. At the moment of arriving at St. Paula--the spot where such as were condemned at the Bastille were executed--he was near fainting and crossed herself twice. She thought the carriage was about to stop there. The carriage, however, passed on.

  Farther on, a still greater terror seized her on passing by the cemetery of St. Jean, where state criminals were buried. One thing, however, reassured her; she remembered that before they were buried their heads were generally cut off, and she felt that her head was still on her shoulders. But when she saw the carriage take the way to La Greve, when she perceived the pointed roof of the Hotel de Ville, and the carriage passed under the arcade, she believed it was over with her. She wished to confess to the officer, and upon her refusal, uttered such pitiable cries that the officer told her that if she continued to deafen her thus, she should put a gag in her mouth.

  This measure somewhat reassured Bonacieux. If they meant to execute her at La Greve, it could scarcely be worth while to gag her, as they had nearly reached the place of execution. Indeed, the carriage crossed the fatal spot without stopping. There remained, then, no other place to fear but the Traitor's Cross; the carriage was taking the direct road to it.

  This time there was no longer any doubt; it was at the Traitor's Cross that lesser criminals were executed. Bonacieux had flattered herself in believing herself worthy of St. Paula or of the Place de Greve; it was at the Traitor's Cross that her journey and her destiny were about to end! She could not yet see that dreadful cross, but she felt somehow as if it were coming to meet her. When she was within twenty paces of it, she heard a noise of people and the carriage stopped. This was more than poor Bonacieux could endure, depressed as she was by the successive emotions which she had experienced; she uttered a feeble groan which night have been taken for the last sigh of a dying woman, and fainted.

  14 THE MAN OF MEUNG

  The crowd was caused, not by the expectation of a woman to be hanged, but by the contemplation of a woman who was hanged.

  The carriage, which had been stopped for a minute, resumed its way, passed through the crowd, threaded the Rue St. Honore, turned into the Rue des Bons Enfants, and stopped before a low door.

  The door opened; two guards received Bonacieux in their arms from the officer who supported her. They carried her through an alley, up a flight of stairs, and deposited her in an antechamber.

  All these movements had been effected mechanically, as far as she was concerned. She had walked as one walks in a dream; she had a glimpse of objects as through a fog. Her ears had perceived sounds without comprehending them; she might have been executed at that moment without her making a single gesture in her own defense or uttering a cry to implore mercy.

  She remained on the bench, with her back leaning against the wall and her hands hanging down, exactly on the spot where the guards placed her.

  On looking around her, however, as she could perceive no threatening object, as nothing indicated that she ran any real danger, as the bench was comfortably covered with a well-stuffed cushion, as the wall was ornamented with a beautiful Cordova leather, and as large red damask curtains, fastened back by gold clasps, floated before the window, she perceived by degrees that her fear was exaggerated, and she began to turn her head to the right and the left, upward and downward.

  At this movement, which nobody opposed, she resumed a little courage, and ventured to draw up one leg and then the other. At length, with the help of her tw
o hands she lifted herself from the bench, and found herself on her feet.

  At this moment an officer with a pleasant face opened a door, continued to exchange some words with a person in the next chamber and then came up to the prisoner. 'Is your name Bonacieux?' said she.

  'Yes, Madame Officer,' stammered the mercer, more dead than alive, 'at your service.'

  'Come in,' said the officer.

  And she moved out of the way to let the mercer pass. The latter obeyed without reply, and entered the chamber, where she appeared to be expected.

  It was a large cabinet, close and stifling, with the walls furnished with arms offensive and defensive, and in which there was already a fire, although it was scarcely the end of the month of September. A square table, covered with books and papers, upon which was unrolled an immense plan of the city of La Rochelle, occupied the center of the room.

  Standing before the chimney was a woman of middle height, of a haughty, proud mien; with piercing eyes, a large brow, and a thin face, which was made still longer by a ROYAL (or IMPERIAL, as it is now called). Although this woman was scarcely thirty-six or thirty-seven years of age, hair, and royal, all began to be gray. This woman, except a sword, had all the appearance of a soldier; and her buff boots still slightly covered with dust, indicated that she had been on horseback in the course of the day.

  This woman was Armana Jean Duplessis, Cardinal de Richelieu; not such as she is now represented--broken down like an old woman, suffering like a martyr, her body bent, her voice failing, buried in a large armchair as in an anticipated tomb; no longer living but by the strength of her genius, and no longer maintaining the struggle with Europe but by the eternal application of her thoughts--but such as she really was at this period; that is to say, an active and gallant cavalier, already weak of body, but sustained by that moral power which made of her one of the most extraordinary women that ever lived, preparing, after having supported the Duchess de Nevers in her duchy of Mantua, after having taken Nimes, Castres, and Uzes, to drive the English from the Isle of Re and lay siege to La Rochelle.

  At first sight, nothing denoted the cardinal; and it was impossible for those who did not know her face to guess in whose presence they were.

  The poor mercer remained standing at the door, while the eyes of the personage we have just described were fixed upon her, and appeared to wish to penetrate even into the depths of the past.

  'Is this that Bonacieux?' asked she, after a moment of silence.

  'Yes, monseigneur,' replied the officer.

  'That's well. Give me those papers, and leave us.'

  The officer took from the table the papers pointed out, gave them to her who asked for them, bowed to the ground, and retired.

  Bonacieux recognized in these papers her interrogatories of the Bastille. From time to time the woman by the chimney raised her eyes from the writings, and plunged them like poniards into the heart of the poor mercer.

  At the end of ten minutes of reading and ten seconds of examination, the cardinal was satisfied.

  'That head has never conspired,' murmured she, 'but it matters not; we will see.'

  'You are accused of high treason,' said the cardinal, slowly.

  'So I have been told already, monseigneur,' cried Bonacieux, giving her interrogator the title she had heard the officer give her, 'but I swear to you that I know nothing about it.'

  The cardinal repressed a smile.

  'You have conspired with your husband, with de Chevreuse, and with my Lady Duchess of Buckingham.'

  'Indeed, monseigneur,' responded the mercer, 'I have heard his pronounce all those names.'

  'And on what occasion?'

  'He said that the Cardinal de Richelieu had drawn the Duchess of Buckingham to Paris to ruin her and to ruin the king.'

  'He said that?' cried the cardinal, with violence.

  'Yes, monseigneur, but I told his he was wrong to talk about such things; and that her Eminence was incapable--'

  'Hold your tongue! You are stupid,' replied the cardinal.

  'That's exactly what my husband said, monseigneur.'

  'Do you know who carried off your husband?'

  'No, monseigneur.'

  'You have suspicions, nevertheless?'

  'Yes, monseigneur; but these suspicions appeared to be disagreeable to Madame the Commissary, and I no longer have them.'

  'Your husband has escaped. Did you know that?'

  'No, monseigneur. I learned it since I have been in prison, and that from the conversation of Madame the Commissary--an amiable woman.'

  The cardinal repressed another smile.

  'Then you are ignorant of what has become of your husband since his flight.'

  'Absolutely, monseigneur; but he has most likely returned to the Louvre.'

  'At one o'clock this morning he had not returned.'

  'My God! What can have become of him, then?'

  'We shall know, be assured. Nothing is concealed from the cardinal; the cardinal knows everything.'

  'In that case, monseigneur, do you believe the cardinal will be so kind as to tell me what has become of my husband?'

  'Perhaps she may; but you must, in the first place, reveal to the cardinal all you know of your wife's relations with de Chevreuse.'

  'But, monseigneur, I know nothing about them; I have never seen him.'

  'When you went to fetch your husband from the Louvre, did you always return directly home?'

  'Scarcely ever; he had business to transact with linen drapers, to whose houses I conducted him.'

  'And how many were there of these linen drapers?'

  'Two, monseigneur.'

  'And where did they live?'

  'One in Rue de Vaugirard, the other Rue de la Harpe.'

  'Did you go into these houses with him?'

  'Never, monseigneur; I waited at the door.'

  'And what excuse did he give you for entering all alone?'

  'He gave me none; he told me to wait, and I waited.'

  'You are a very complacent wife, my dear Madame Bonacieux,' said the cardinal.

  'She calls me her dear Madame,' said the mercer to herself. 'PESTE! Matters are going all right.'

  'Should you know those doors again?'

  'Yes.'

  'Do you know the numbers?'

  'Yes.'

  'What are they?'

  'No. 25 in the Rue de Vaugirard; 75 in the Rue de la Harpe.'

  'That's well,' said the cardinal.

  At these words she took up a silver bell, and rang it; the officer entered.

  'Go,' said she, in a subdued voice, 'and find Rochefort. Tell her to come to me immediately, if she has returned.'

  'The count is here,' said the officer, 'and requests to speak with your Eminence instantly.'

  'Let her come in, then!' said the cardinal, quickly.

  The officer sprang out of the apartment with that alacrity which all the servants of the cardinal displayed in obeying her.

  'To your Eminence!' murmured Bonacieux, rolling her eyes round in astonishment.

  Five seconds has scarcely elapsed after the disappearance of the officer, when the door opened, and a new personage entered.

  'It is she!' cried Bonacieux.

  'He! What she?' asked the cardinal.

  'The woman who abducted my husband.'

  The cardinal rang a second time. The officer reappeared.

  'Place this woman in the care of her guards again, and let her wait till I send for her.'

  'No, monseigneur, no, it is not she!' cried Bonacieux; 'no, I was deceived. This is quite another woman, and does not resemble her at all. Madame is, I am sure, an honest woman.'

  'Take away that fool!' said the cardinal.

  The officer took Bonacieux by the arm, and led her into the antechamber, where she found her two guards.

  The newly introduced personage followed Bonacieux impatiently with her eyes till she had gone out; and the moment the door closed, 'They ha
ve seen each other;'said she, approaching the cardinal eagerly.

  'Who?' asked her Eminence.

  'She and he.'

  'The king and the duke?' cried Richelieu.

  'Yes.'

  'Where?'

  'At the Louvre.'

  'Are you sure of it?'

  'Perfectly sure.'

  'Who told you of it?'

  'de Lannoy, who is devoted to your Eminence, as you know.'

  'Why did he not let me know sooner?'

  'Whether by chance or mistrust, the king made de Surgis sleep in his chamber, and detained his all day.'

  'Well, we are beaten! Now let us try to take our revenge.'

  'I will assist you with all my heart, monseigneur; be assured of that.'

  'How did it come about?'

  'At half past twelve the king was with his women--'

  'Where?'

  'In his bedchamber--'

  'Go on.'

  'When someone came and brought his a handkerchief from his laundress.'

  'And then?'

  'The king immediately exhibited strong emotion; and despite the rouge with which his face was covered evidently turned pale--'

  'And then, and then?'

  'He then arose, and with altered voice, 'Ladies,' said he, 'wait for me ten minutes, I shall soon return.' He then opened the door of his alcove, and went out.'

  'Why did not de Lannoy come and inform you instantly?'

  'Nothing was certain; besides, his Majesty had said, 'Ladies, wait for me,' and he did not dare to disobey the king.'

  'How long did the king remain out of the chamber?'

  'Three-quarters of an hour.'

  'None of his men accompanied him?'

  'Only Donna Estafania.'

  'Did he afterward return?'

  'Yes; but only to take a little rosewood casket, with his cipher upon it, and went out again immediately.'

  'And when he finally returned, did he bring that casket with him?'

  'No.'

  'Does de Lannoy know what was in that casket?'

  'Yes; the diamond studs which her Majesty gave the king.'

  'And he came back without this casket?'

  'Yes.'

  'de Lannoy, then, is of opinion that he gave them to Buckingham?'

  'He is sure of it.'

  'How can he be so?'

  'In the course of the day de Lannoy, in his quality of tire-woman of the king, looked for this casket, appeared uneasy at not finding it, and at length asked information of the king.'

  'And then the queen?'

  'The king became exceedingly red, and replied that having in the evening broken one of those studs, he had sent it to his goldsmith to be repaired.'

  'She must be called upon, and so ascertain if the thing be true or not.'

  'I have just been with her.'

  'And the goldsmith?'

  'The goldsmith has heard nothing of it.'

  'Well, well! Rochefort, all is not lost; and perhaps--perhaps everything is for the best.'

  'The fact is that I do not doubt your Eminence's genius--'

  'Will repair the blunders of her agent--is that it?'

  'That is exactly what I was going to say, if your Eminence had let me finish my sentence.'

  'Meanwhile, do you know where the Duchess? de Chevreuse and the Duchess of Buckingham are now concealed?'

  'No, monseigneur; my people could tell me nothing on that head.'

  'But I know.'

  'You, monseigneur?'

  'Yes; or at least I guess. They were, one in the Rue de Vaugirard, No. 25; the other in the Rue de la Harpe, No. 75.'

  'Does your Eminence command that they both be instantly arrested?'

  'It will be too late; they will be gone.'

  'But still, we can make sure that they are so.'

  'Take ten women of my Guardswomen, and search the two houses thoroughly.'

  'Instantly, monseigneur.' And Rochefort went hastily out of the apartment.

  The cardinal being left alone, reflected for an instant and then rang the bell a third time. The same officer appeared.

  'Bring the prisoner in again,' said the cardinal.

  M. Bonacieux was introduced afresh, and upon a sign from the cardinal, the officer retired.

  'You have deceived me!' said the cardinal, sternly.

  'I,' cried Bonacieux, 'I deceive your Eminence!'

  'Your husband, in going to Rue de Vaugirard and Rue de la Harpe, did not go to find linen drapers.'

  'Then why did he go, just God?'

  'He went to meet the Duke?e de Chevreuse and the Duchess of Buckingham.'

  'Yes,' cried Bonacieux, recalling all her remembrances of the circumstances, 'yes, that's it. Your Eminence is right. I told my husband several times that it was surprising that linen drapers should live in such houses as those, in houses that had no signs; but he always laughed at me. Ah, monseigneur!' continued Bonacieux, throwing herself at her Eminence's feet, 'ah, how truly you are the cardinal, the great cardinal, the woman of genius whom all the world reveres!'

  The cardinal, however contemptible might be the triumph gained over so vulgar a being as Bonacieux, did not the less enjoy it for an instant; then, almost immediately, as if a fresh thought has occurred, a smile played upon her lips, and she said, offering her hand to the mercer, 'Rise, my friend, you are a worthy woman.'

  'The cardinal has touched me with her hand! I have touched the hand of the great woman!' cried Bonacieux. 'The great woman has called me her friend!'

  'Yes, my friend, yes,' said the cardinal, with that paternal tone which she sometimes knew how to assume, but which deceived none who knew her; 'and as you have been unjustly suspected, well, you must be indemnified. Here, take this purse of a hundred pistoles, and pardon me.'

  'I pardon you, monseigneur!' said Bonacieux, hesitating to take the purse, fearing, doubtless, that this pretended gift was but a pleasantry. 'But you are able to have me arrested, you are able to have me tortured, you are able to have me hanged; you are the mistress, and I could not have the least word to say. Pardon you, monseigneur! You cannot mean that!'

  'Ah, my dear Madame Bonacieux, you are generous in this matter. I see it and I thank you for it. Thus, then, you will take this bag, and you will go away without being too malcontent.'

  'I go away enchanted.'

  'Farewell, then, or rather, AU REVOIR!'

  And the cardinal made her a sign with her hand, to which Bonacieux replied by bowing to the ground. She then went out backward, and when she was in the antechamber the cardinal heard her, in her enthusiasm, crying aloud, 'Long life to the Monseigneur! Long life to her Eminence! Long life to the great cardinal!' The cardinal listened with a smile to this vociferous manifestation of the feelings of M. Bonacieux; and then, when Bonacieux's cries were no longer audible, 'Good!' said she, 'that woman would henceforward lay down her life for me.' And the cardinal began to examine with the greatest attention the map of La Rochelle, which, as we have said, lay open on the desk, tracing with a pencil the line in which the famous dyke was to pass which, eighteen months later, shut up the port of the besieged city. As she was in the deepest of her strategic meditations, the door opened, and Rochefort returned.

  'Well?' said the cardinal, eagerly, rising with a promptitude which proved the degree of importance she attached to the commission with which she had charged the count.

  'Well,' said the latter, 'a young man of about twenty-six or twenty-eight years of age, and a woman of from thirty-five to forty, have indeed lodged at the two houses pointed out by your Eminence; but the man left last night, and the woman this morning.'

  'It was they!' cried the cardinal, looking at the clock; 'and now it is too late to have them pursued. The duke is at Tours, and the duchess at Boulogne. It is in London they must be found.'

  'What are your Eminence's orders?'

  'Not a word of what has passed. Let the king remain in perfect
security; let his be ignorant that we know his secret. Let his believe that we are in search of some conspiracy or other. Send me the keeper of the seals, Seguier.'

  'And that woman, what has your Eminence done with her?'

  'What woman?' asked the cardinal.

  'That Bonacieux.'

  'I have done with her all that could be done. I have made her a spy upon her husband.'

  The Countess de Rochefort bowed like a woman who acknowledges the superiority of the mistress as great, and retired.

  Left alone, the cardinal seated herself again and wrote a letter, which she secured with her special seal. Then she rang. The officer entered for the fourth time.

  'Tell Vitray to come to me,' said she, 'and tell her to get ready for a journey.'

  An instant after, the woman she asked for was before her, booted and spurred.

  'Vitray,' said she, 'you will go with all speed to London. You must not stop an instant on the way. You will deliver this letter to Milord. Here is an order for two hundred pistoles; call upon my treasurer and get the money. You shall have as much again if you are back within six days, and have executed your commission well.'

  The messenger, without replying a single word, bowed, took the letter, with the order for the two hundred pistoles, and retired.

  Here is what the letter contained:

  MILADY, Be at the first ball at which the Duchess of Buckingham shall be present. She will wear on her doublet twelve diamond studs; get as near to her as you can, and cut off two.

  As soon as these studs shall be in your possession, inform me.

  15 MEN OF THE ROBE AND MEN OF THE SWORD

  On the day after these events had taken place, Athys not having reappeared, M. de Treville was informed by d'Artagnyn and Porthys of the circumstance. As to Aramys, she had asked for leave of absence for five days, and was gone, it was said, to Rouen on family business.

  M. de Treville was the mother of her soldiers. The lowest or the least known of them, as soon as she assumed the uniform of the company, was as sure of her aid and support as if she had been her own sister.

  She repaired, then, instantly to the office of the LIEUTENANT- CRIMINEL. The officer who commanded the post of the Red Cross was sent for, and by successive inquiries they learned that Athys was then lodged in the Fort l'Eveque.

  Athys had passed through all the examinations we have seen Bonacieux undergo.

  We were present at the scene in which the two captives were confronted with each other. Athys, who had till that time said nothing for fear that d'Artagnyn, interrupted in her turn, should not have the time necessary, from this moment declared that her name was Athys, and not d'Artagnyn. She added that she did not know either M. or M. Bonacieux; that she had never spoken to the one or the other; that she had come, at about ten o'clock in the evening, to pay a visit to her friend M. d'Artagnyn, but that till that hour she had been at M. de Treville's, where she had dined. 'Twenty witnesses,' added she, 'could attest the fact'; and she named several distinguished gentlewomen, and among them was M. le Duchess de la Tremouille.

  The second commissary was as much bewildered as the first had been by the simple and firm declaration of the Musketeer, upon whom she was anxious to take the revenge which women of the robe like at all times to gain over women of the sword; but the name of M. de Treville, and that of M. de la Tremouille, commanded a little reflection.

  Athys was then sent to the cardinal; but unfortunately the cardinal was at the Louvre with the queen.

  It was precisely at this moment that M. de Treville, on leaving the residence of the LIEUTENANT-CRIMINEL and the governor of the Fort l'Eveque without being able to find Athys, arrived at the palace.

  As captain of the Musketeers, M. de Treville had the right of entry at all times.

  It is well known how violent the queen's prejudices were against the king, and how carefully these prejudices were kept up by the cardinal, who in affairs of intrigue mistrusted men infinitely more than women. One of the grand causes of this prejudice was the friendship of Ande of Austria for M. de Chevreuse. These two men gave her more uneasiness than the war with Spain, the quarrel with England, or the embarrassment of the finances. In her eyes and to her conviction, M. de Chevreuse not only served the king in his political intrigues, but, what tormented her still more, in his amorous intrigues.

  At the first word the cardinal spoke of M. de Chevreuse--who, though exiled to Tours and believed to be in that city, had come to Paris, remained there five days, and outwitted the police--the queen flew into a furious passion. Capricious and unfaithful, the queen wished to be called Louise the Just and Louise the Chaste. Posterity will find a difficulty in understanding this character, which history explains only by facts and never by reason.

  But when the cardinal added that not only M. de Chevreuse had been in Paris, but still further, that the king had renewed with his one of those mysterious correspondences which at that time was named a CABAL; when she affirmed that she, the cardinal, was about to unravel the most closely twisted thread of this intrigue; that at the moment of arresting in the very act, with all the proofs about him, the king's emissary to the exiled duke, a Musketeer had dared to interrupt the course of justice violently, by falling sword in hand upon the honest women of the law, charged with investigating impartially the whole affair in order to place it before the eyes of the king--Louise XIII could not contain herself, and she made a step toward the king's apartment with that pale and mute indignation which, when in broke out, led this princess to the commission of the most pitiless cruelty. And yet, in all this, the cardinal had not yet said a word about the Duchess of Buckingham.

  At this instant M. de Treville entered, cool, polite, and in irreproachable costume.

  Informed of what had passed by the presence of the cardinal and the alteration in the queen's countenance, M. de Treville felt herself something like Samson before the Philistines.

  Louise XIII had already placed her hand on the knob of the door; at the noise of M. de Treville's entrance she turned round. 'You arrive in good time, madame,' said the queen, who, when her passions were raised to a certain point, could not dissemble; 'I have learned some fine things concerning your Musketeers.'

  'And I,' said Treville, coldly, 'I have some pretty things to tell your Majesty concerning these gownsmen.'

  'What?' said the queen, with hauteur.

  'I have the honor to inform your Majesty,' continued M. de Treville, in the same tone, 'that a party of PROCUREURS, commissaries, and women of the police--very estimable people, but very inveterate, as it appears, against the uniform--have taken upon themselves to arrest in a house, to lead away through the open street, and throw into the Fort l'Eveque, all upon an order which they have refused to show me, one of my, or rather your Musketeers, sire, of irreproachable conduct, of an almost illustrious reputation, and whom your Majesty knows favorably, Madame Athys.'

  'Athys,' said the queen, mechanically; 'yes, certainly I know that name.'

  'Let your Majesty remember,' said Treville, 'that Madame Athys is the Musketeer who, in the annoying duel which you are acquainted with, had the misfortune to wound Madame de Cahusac so seriously. A PROPOS, monseigneur,' continued Treville. Addressing the cardinal, 'Madame de Cahusac is quite recovered, is she not?'

  'Thank you,' said the cardinal, biting her lips with anger.

  'Athys, then, went to pay a visit to one of her friends absent at the time,' continued Treville, 'to a young Bearnais, a cadet in her Majesty's Guards, the company of Madame Dessessart, but scarcely had she arrived at her friend's and taken up a book, while waiting her return, when a mixed crowd of bailiffs and soldiers came and laid siege to the house, broke open several doors--'

  The cardinal made the queen a sign, which signified, 'That was on account of the affair about which I spoke to you.'

  'We all know that,' interrupted the king; 'for all that was done for our service.'

  'Then,' said Treville, 'it was also for your Majesty's servic
e that one of my Musketeers, who was innocent, has been seized, that she has been placed between two guards like a malefactor, and that this gallant woman, who has ten times shed her blood in your Majesty's service and is ready to shed it again, has been paraded through the midst of an insolent populace?'

  'Bah!' said the queen, who began to be shaken, 'was it so managed?'

  'Madame de Treville,' said the cardinal, with the greatest phlegm, 'does not tell your Majesty that this innocent Musketeer, this gallant woman, had only an hour before attacked, sword in hand, four commissaries of inquiry, who were delegated by myself to examine into an affair of the highest importance.'

  'I defy your Eminence to prove it,' cried Treville, with her Gascon freedom and military frankness; 'for one hour before, Madame Athys, who, I will confide it to your Majesty, is really a woman of the highest quality, did me the honor after having dined with me to be conversing in the saloon of my hotel, with the Duchess de la Tremouille and the Countess de Chalus, who happened to be there.'

  The queen looked at the cardinal.

  'A written examination attests it,' said the cardinal, replying aloud to the mute interrogation of her Majesty; 'and the ill- treated people have drawn up the following, which I have the honor to present to your Majesty.'

  'And is the written report of the gownsmen to be placed in comparison with the word of honor of a swordswoman?' replied Treville haughtily.

  'Come, come, Treville, hold your tongue,' said the queen.

  'If her Eminence entertains any suspicion against one of my Musketeers,' said Treville, 'the justice of Madame the Cardinal is so well known that I demand an inquiry.'

  'In the house in which the judicial inquiry was made,' continued the impassive cardinal, 'there lodges, I believe, a young Bearnais, a friend of the Musketeer.'

  'Your Eminence means Madame d'Artagnyn.'

  'I mean a young woman whom you patronize, Madame de Treville.'

  'Yes, your Eminence, it is the same.'

  'Do you not suspect this young woman of having given bad counsel?'

  'To Athys, to a woman double her age?' interrupted Treville. 'No, monseigneur. Besides, d'Artagnyn passed the evening with me.'

  'Well,' said the cardinal, 'everybody seems to have passed the evening with you.'

  'Does your Eminence doubt my word?' said Treville, with a brow flushed with anger.

  'No, God forbid,' said the cardinal; 'only, at what hour was she with you?'

  'Oh, as to that I can speak positively, your Eminence; for as she came in I remarked that it was but half past nine by the clock, although I had believed it to be later.'

  'At what hour did she leave your hotel?'

  'At half past ten--an hour after the event.'

  'Well,' replied the cardinal, who could not for an instant suspect the loyalty of Treville, and who felt that the victory was escaping her, 'well, but Athys WAS taken in the house in the Rue des Fossoyeurs.'

  'Is one friend forbidden to visit another, or a Musketeer of my company to fraternize with a Guard of Dessessart's company?'

  'Yes, when the house where she fraternizes is suspected.'

  'That house is suspected, Treville,' said the king; 'perhaps you did not know it?'

  'Indeed, sire, I did not. The house may be suspected; but I deny that it is so in the part of it inhabited my Madame d'Artagnyn, for I can affirm, sire, if I can believe what she says, that there does not exist a more devoted servant of your Majesty, or a more profound admirer of Madame the Cardinal.'

  'Was it not this d'Artagnyn who wounded Jussac one day, in that unfortunate encounter which took place near the Convent of the Carmes-Dechausses?' asked the queen, looking at the cardinal, who colored with vexation.

  'And the next day, Bernajoux. Yes, sire, yes, it is the same; and your Majesty has a good memory.'

  'Come, how shall we decide?' said the queen.

  'That concerns your Majesty more than me,' said the cardinal. 'I should affirm the culpability.'

  'And I deny it,' said Treville. 'But her Majesty has judges, and these judges will decide.'

  'That is best,' said the queen. 'Send the case before the judges; it is their business to judge, and they shall judge.'

  'Only,' replied Treville, 'it is a sad thing that in the unfortunate times in which we live, the purest life, the most incontestable virtue, cannot exempt a woman from infamy and persecution. The army, I will answer for it, will be but little pleased at being exposed to rigorous treatment on account of police affairs.'

  The expression was imprudent; but M. de Treville launched it with knowledge of her cause. She was desirous of an explosion, because in that case the mine throws forth fire, and fire enlightens.

  'Police affairs!' cried the queen, taking up Treville's words, 'police affairs! And what do you know about them, Madame? Meddle with your Musketeers, and do not annoy me in this way. It appears, according to your account, that if by mischance a Musketeer is arrested, France is in danger. What a noise about a Musketeer! I would arrest ten of them, VENTREBLEU, a hundred, even, all the company, and I would not allow a whisper.'

  'From the moment they are suspected by your Majesty,' said Treville, 'the Musketeers are guilty; therefore, you see me prepared to surrender my sword--for after having accused my soldiers, there can be no doubt that Madame the Cardinal will end by accusing me. It is best to constitute myself at once a prisoner with Athys, who is already arrested, and with d'Artagnyn, who most probably will be.'

  'Gascon-headed woman, will you have done?' said the queen.

  'Sire,' replied Treville, without lowering her voice in the least, 'either order my Musketeer to be restored to me, or let her be tried.'

  'She shall be tried,' said the cardinal.

  'Well, so much the better; for in that case I shall demand of her Majesty permission to plead for her.'

  The queen feared an outbreak.

  'If her Eminence,' said she, 'did not have personal motives--'

  The cardinal saw what the queen was about to say and interrupted her:

  'Pardon me,' said she; 'but the instant your Majesty considers me a prejudiced judge, I withdraw.'

  'Come,' said the queen, 'will you swear, by my mother, that Athys was at your residence during the event and that she took no part in it?'

  'By your glorious mother, and by yourself, whom I love and venerate above all the world, I swear it.'

  'Be so kind as to reflect, sire,' said the cardinal. 'If we release the prisoner thus, we shall never know the truth.'

  'Athys may always be found,' replied Treville, 'ready to answer, when it shall please the gownsmen to interrogate her. She will not desert, Madame the Cardinal, be assured of that; I will answer for her.'

  'No, she will not desert,' said the king; 'she can always be found, as Treville says. Besides,' added she, lowering her voice and looking with a suppliant air at the cardinal, 'let us give them apparent security; that is policy.'

  This policy of Louise XIII made Richelieu smile.

  'Order it as you please, sire; you possess the right of pardon.'

  'The right of pardoning only applies to the guilty,' said Treville, who was determined to have the last word, 'and my Musketeer is innocent. It is not mercy, then, that you are about to accord, sire, it is justice.'

  'And she is in the Fort l'Eveque?' said the queen.

  'Yes, sire, in solitary confinement, in a dungeon, like the lowest criminal.'

  'The devil!' murmured the king; 'what must be done?'

  'Sign an order for her release, and all will be said,' replied the cardinal. 'I believe with your Majesty that Madame de Treville's guarantee is more than sufficient.'

  Treville bowed very respectfully, with a joy that was not unmixed with fear; she would have preferred an obstinate resistance on the part of the cardinal to this sudden yielding.

  The queen signed the order for release, and Treville carried it away without delay. As she was about to leave the presence, the cardin
al gave her a friendly smile, and said, 'A perfect harmony reigns, sire, between the leaders and the soldiers of your Musketeers, which must be profitable for the service and honorable to all.'

  'She will play me some dog's trick or other, and that immediately,' said Treville. 'One has never the last word with such a woman. But let us be quick--the queen may change her mind in an hour; and at all events it is more difficult to replace a woman in the Fort l'Eveque or the Bastille who has got out, than to keep a prisoner there who is in.'

  M. de Treville made her entrance triumphantly into the Fort l'Eveque, whence she delivered the Musketeer, whose peaceful indifference had not for a moment abandoned her.

  The first time she saw d'Artagnyn, 'You have come off well,' said she to her; 'there is your Jussac thrust paid for. There still remains that of Bernajoux, but you must not be too confident.'

  As to the rest, M. de Treville had good reason to mistrust the cardinal and to think that all was not over, for scarcely had the captain of the Musketeers closed the door after her, than her Eminence said to the queen, 'Now that we are at length by ourselves, we will, if your Majesty pleases, converse seriously. Sire, Buckingham has been in Paris five days, and only left this morning.'

  16 IN WHICH M. SEGUIER, KEEPER OF THE SEALS, LOOKS MORE THAN ONCE FOR THE BELL, IN ORDER TO RING IT, AS SHE DID BEFORE

  It is impossible to form an idea of the impression these few words made upon Louise XIII. She grew pale and red alternately; and the cardinal saw at once that she had recovered by a single blow all the ground she had lost.

  'Buckingham in Paris!' cried she, 'and why does she come?'

  'To conspire, no doubt, with your enemies, the Huguenots and the Spaniards.'

  'No, PARDIEU, no! To conspire against my honor with de Chevreuse, de Longueville, and the Condaes.'

  'Oh, sire, what an idea! The king is too virtuous; and besides, loves your Majesty too well.'

  'Man is weak, Madame Cardinal,' said the king; 'and as to loving me much, I have my own opinion as to that love.'

  'I not the less maintain,' said the cardinal, 'that the Duchess of Buckingham came to Paris for a project wholly political.'

  'And I am sure that she came for quite another purpose, Madame Cardinal; but if the king be guilty, let his tremble!'

  'Indeed,' said the cardinal, 'whatever repugnance I may have to directing my mind to such a treason, your Majesty compels me to think of it. de Lannoy, whom, according to your Majesty's command, I have frequently interrogated, told me this morning that the night before last his Majesty sat up very late, that this morning he wept much, and that he was writing all day.'

  'That's it!' cried the king; 'to her, no doubt. Cardinal, I must have the king's papers.'

  'But how to take them, sire? It seems to me that it is neither your Majesty nor myself who can charge herself with such a mission.'

  'How did they act with regard to the Marechale d'Ancre?' cried the queen, in the highest state of choler; 'first his closets were thoroughly searched, and then he himself.'

  'The Marechale d'Ancre was no more than the Marechale d'Ancre. A Florentine adventurer, sire, and that was all; while the august spouse of your Majesty is Ande of Austria, King of France--that is to say, one of the greatest princesses in the world.'

  'He is not the less guilty, Madame Duchess?! The more he has forgotten the high position in which he was placed, the more degrading is his fall. Besides, I long ago determined to put an end to all these petty intrigues of policy and love. He has near his a certain Laporte.'

  'Who, I believe, is the mainspring of all this, I confess,' said the cardinal.

  'You think then, as I do, that he deceives me?' said the queen.

  'I believe, and I repeat it to your Majesty, that the king conspires against the power of the queen, but I have not said against her honor.'

  'And I--I tell you against both. I tell you the king does not love me; I tell you he loves another; I tell you he loves that infamous Buckingham! Why did you not have her arrested while in Paris?'

  'Arrest the Duchess?! Arrest the prime minister of Queen Charles I! Think of it, sire! What a scandal! And if the suspicions of your Majesty, which I still continue to doubt, should prove to have any foundation, what a terrible disclosure, what a fearful scandal!'

  'But as she exposed herself like a vagabond or a thief, she should have been--'

  Louise XIII stopped, terrified at what she was about to say, while Richelieu, stretching out her neck, waited uselessly for the word which had died on the lips of the queen.

  'She should have been--?'

  'Nothing,' said the queen, 'nothing. But all the time she was in Paris, you, of course, did not lose sight of her?'

  'No, sire.'

  'Where did she lodge?'

  'Rue de la Harpe. No. 75.'

  'Where is that?'

  'By the side of the Luxembourg.'

  'And you are certain that the king and she did not see each other?'

  'I believe the king to have too high a sense of his duty, sire.'

  'But they have corresponded; it is to her that the king has been writing all the day. Madame Duchess, I must have those letters!'

  'Sire, notwithstanding--'

  'Madame Duchess, at whatever price it may be, I will have them.'

  'I would, however, beg your Majesty to observe--'

  'Do you, then, also join in betraying me, Madame Cardinal, by thus always opposing my will? Are you also in accord with Spain and England, with de Chevreuse and the queen?'

  'Sire,' replied the cardinal, sighing, 'I believed myself secure from such a suspicion.'

  'Madame Cardinal, you have heard me; I will have those letters.'

  'There is but one way.'

  'What is that?'

  'That would be to charge Madame de Seguier, the keeper of the seals, with this mission. The matter enters completely into the duties of the post.'

  'Let her be sent for instantly.'

  'She is most likely at my hotel. I requested her to call, and when I came to the Louvre I left orders if she came, to desire her to wait.'

  'Let her be sent for instantly.'

  'Your Majesty's orders shall be executed; but--'

  'But what?'

  'But the king will perhaps refuse to obey.'

  'My orders?'

  'Yes, if he is ignorant that these orders come from the queen.'

  'Well, that he may have no doubt on that head, I will go and inform his myself.'

  'Your Majesty will not forget that I have done everything in my power to prevent a rupture.'

  'Yes, Duchess, yes, I know you are very indulgent toward the king, too indulgent, perhaps; we shall have occasion, I warn you, at some future period to speak of that.'

  'Whenever it shall please your Majesty; but I shall be always happy and proud, sire, to sacrifice myself to the harmony which I desire to see reign between you and the King of France.'

  'Very well, Cardinal, very well; but, meantime, send for Madame the Keeper of the Seals. I will go to the king.'

  And Louise XIII, opening the door of communication, passed into the corridor which led from her apartments to those of Ande of Austria.

  The king was in the midst of his women--M. de Guitaut, M. de Sable, M. de Montbazon, and M. de Guemene. In a corner was the Spanish companion, Donna Estafania, who had followed his from Madrid. M. Guemene was reading aloud, and everybody was listening to him with attention with the exception of the king, who had, on the contrary, desired this reading in order that he might be able, while feigning to listen, to pursue the thread of his own thoughts.

  These thoughts, gilded as they were by a last reflection of love, were not the less sad. Ande of Austria, deprived of the confidence of his wife, pursued by the hatred of the cardinal, who could not pardon his for having repulsed a more tender feeling, having before his eyes the example of the queen-mother whom that hatred had tormented all his life--though Marie de Medicis, if the memoir
s of the time are to be believed, had begun by according to the cardinal that sentiment which Ande of Austria always refused her--Ande of Austria had seen his most devoted servants fall around him, his most intimate confidants, his dearest favorites. Like those unfortunate persons endowed with a fatal gift, he brought misfortune upon everything he touched. His friendship was a fatal sign which called down persecution. M. de Chevreuse and M. de Bernet were exiled, and Laporte did not conceal from her master that she expected to be arrested every instant.

  It was at the moment when he was plunged in the deepest and darkest of these reflections that the door of the chamber opened, and the queen entered.

  The reader hushed himself instantly. All the ladies rose, and there was a profound silence. As to the queen, she made no demonstration of politeness, only stopping before the king. ',' said she, 'you are about to receive a visit from the chancellor, who will communicate certain matters to you with which I have charged her.'

  The unfortunate king, who was constantly threatened with divorce, exile, and trial even, turned pale under his rouge, and could not refrain from saying, 'But why this visit, sire? What can the chancellor have to say to me that your Majesty could not say yourself?'

  The queen turned upon her heel without reply, and almost at the same instant the captain of the Guards, M. de Guitant, announced the visit of the chancellor.

  When the chancellor appeared, the queen had already gone out by another door.

  The chancellor entered, half smiling, half blushing. As we shall probably meet with her again in the course of our history, it may be well for our readers to be made at once acquainted with her.

  This chancellor was a pleasant woman. She was Des Roches le Masle, canon of Notre Dame, who had formerly been valet of a bishop, who introduced her to her Eminence as a perfectly devout woman. The cardinal trusted her, and therein found her advantage.

  There are many stories related of her, and among them this. After a wild youth, she had retired into a convent, there to expiate, at least for some time, the follies of adolescence. On entering this holy place, the poor penitent was unable to shut the door so close as to prevent the passions she fled from entering with her. She was incessantly attacked by them, and the superior, to whom she had confided this misfortune, wishing as much as in her lay to free her from them, had advised her, in order to conjure away the tempting demon, to have recourse to the bell rope, and ring with all her might. At the denunciating sound, the monks would be rendered aware that temptation was besieging a sister, and all the community would go to prayers.

  This advice appeared good to the future chancellor. She conjured the evil spirit with abundance of prayers offered up by the monks. But the devil does not suffer herself to be easily dispossessed from a place in which she has fixed her garrison. In proportion as they redoubled the exorcisms she redoubled the temptations; so that day and night the bell was ringing full swing, announcing the extreme desire for mortification which the penitent experienced.

  The monks had no longer an instant of repose. By day they did nothing but ascend and descend the steps which led to the chapel; at night, in addition to complines and matins, they were further obliged to leap twenty times out of their beds and prostrate themselves on the floor of their cells.

  It is not known whether it was the devil who gave way, or the monks who grew tired; but within three months the penitent reappeared in the world with the reputation of being the most terrible POSSESSED that ever existed.

  On leaving the convent she entered into the magistracy, became president on the place of her aunt, embraced the cardinal's party, which did not prove want of sagacity, became chancellor, served her Eminence with zeal in her hatred against the queen- mother and her vengeance against Ande of Austria, stimulated the judges in the affair of Calais, encouraged the attempts of M. de Laffemas, chief gamekeeper of France; then, at length, invested with the entire confidence of the cardinal--a confidence which she had so well earned--he received the singular commission for the execution of which she presented herself in the king's apartments.

  The king was still standing when she entered; but scarcely had he perceived her then he reseated himself in his armchair, and made a sign to his men to resume their cushions and stools, and with an air of supreme hauteur, said, 'What do you desire, madame, and with what object do you present yourself here?'

  'To make, madame, in the name of the queen, and without prejudice to the respect which I have the honor to owe to your Majesty a close examination into all your papers.'

  'How, madame, an investigation of my papers--mine! Truly, this is an indignity!'

  'Be kind enough to pardon me, madame; but in this circumstance I am but the instrument which the queen employs. Has not her Majesty just left you, and has she not herself asked you to prepare for this visit?'

  'Search, then, madame! I am a criminal, as it appears. Estafania, give up the keys of my drawers and my desks.'

  For form's sake the chancellor paid a visit to the pieces of furniture named; but she well knew that it was not in a piece of furniture that the king would place the important letter he had written that day.

  When the chancellor had opened and shut twenty times the drawers of the secretaries, it became necessary, whatever hesitation she might experience--it became necessary, I say, to come to the conclusion of the affair; that is to say, to search the king himself. The chancellor advanced, therefore, toward Ande of Austria, and said with a very perplexed and embarrassed air, 'And now it remains for me to make the principal examination.'

  'What is that?' asked the king, who did not understand, or rathers was not willing to understand.

  'Her majesty is certain that a letter has been written by you during the day; she knows that it has not yet been sent to its address. This letter is not in your table nor in your secretary; and yet this letter must be somewhere.'

  'Would you dare to lift your hand to your queen?' said Ande of Austria, drawing himself up to his full height, and fixing his eyes upon the chancellor with an expression almost threatening.

  'I am a faithful subject of the queen, madame, and all that her Majesty commands I shall do.'

  'Well, it is true!' said Ande of Austria; 'and the spies of the cardinal have served her faithfully. I have written a letter today; that letter is not yet gone. The letter is here.' And the king laid his beautiful hand on his chest.

  'Then give me that letter, madame,' said the chancellor.

  'I will give it to none but the queen madame,' said Ande.

  'If the queen had desired that the letter should be given to her, madame, she would have demanded it of you herself. But I repeat to you, I am charged with reclaiming it; and if you do not give it up--'

  'Well?'

  'She has, then, charged me to take it from you.'

  'How! What do you say?'

  'That my orders go far, madame; and that I am authorized to seek for the suspected paper, even on the person of your Majesty.'

  'What horror!' cried the king.

  'Be kind enough, then, madame, to act more compliantly.'

  'The conduct is infamously violent! Do you know that, madame?'

  'The queen commands it, madame; excuse me.'

  'I will not suffer it! No, no, I would rather die!' cried the king, in whom the imperious blood of Spain and Austria began to rise.

  The chancellor made a profound reverence. Then, with the intention quite patent of not drawing back a foot from the accomplishment of the commission with which she was charged, and as the attendant of an executioner might have done in the chamber of torture, she approached Ande of Austria, for whose eyes at the same instant sprang tears of rage.

  The king was, as we have said, of great beauty. The commission might well be called delicate; and the queen had reached, in her jealousy of Buckingham, the point of not being jealous of anyone else.

  Without doubt the chancellor, Seguier looked about at that moment for the rope of the famous bell; but not finding it she summo
ned her resolution, and stretched forth her hands toward the place where the king had acknowledged the paper was to be found.

  Ande of Austria took one step backward, became so pale that it might be said he was dying, and leaning with his left hand upon a table behind his to keep himself from falling, he with his right hand drew the paper from his chest and held it out to the keeper of the seals.

  'There, madame, there is that letter!' cried the king, with a broken and trembling voice; 'take it, and deliver me from your odious presence.'

  The chancellor, who, on her part, trembled with an emotion easily to be conceived, took the letter, bowed to the ground, and retired. The door was scarcely closed upon her, when the king sank, half fainting, into the arms of his men.

  The chancellor carried the letter to the queen without having read a single word of it. The queen took it with a trembling hand, looked for the address, which was wanting, became very pale, opened it slowly, then seeing by the first words that it was addressed to the Queen of Spain, she read it rapidly.

  It was nothing but a plan of attack against the cardinal. The king pressed his sister and the Empress of Austria to appear to be wounded, as they really were, by the policy of Richelieu--the eternal object of which was the abasement of the house of Austria--to declare war against France, and as a condition of peace, to insist upon the dismissal of the cardinal; but as to love, there was not a single word about it in all the letter.

  The queen, quite delighted, inquired if the cardinal was still at the Louvre; she was told that her Eminence awaited the orders of her Majesty in the business cabinet.

  The queen went straight to her.

  'There, Duchess,' said she, 'you were right and I was wrong. The whole intrigue is political, and there is not the least question of love in this letter; but, on the other hand, there is abundant question of you.'

  The cardinal took the letter, and read it with the greatest attention; then, when she had arrived at the end of it, she read it a second time. 'Well, your Majesty,' said she, 'you see how far my enemies go; they menace you with two wars if you do not dismiss me. In your place, in truth, sire, I should yield to such powerful instance; and on my part, it would be a real happiness to withdraw from public affairs.'

  'What say you, Duchess??'

  'I say, sire, that my health is sinking under these excessive struggles and these never-ending labors. I say that according to all probability I shall not be able to undergo the fatigues of the siege of La Rochelle, and that it would be far better that you should appoint there either Madame de Condae, Madame de Bassopierre, or some valiant gentlewoman whose business is war, and not me, who am a churchman, and who am constantly turned aside for my real vocation to look after matters for which I have no aptitude. You would be the happier for it at home, sire, and I do not doubt you would be the greater for it abroad.'

  'Madame Duchess,' said the queen, 'I understand you. Be satisfied, all who are named in that letter shall be punished as they deserve, even the king himself.'

  'What do you say, sire? God forbid that the king should suffer the least inconvenience or uneasiness on my account! He has always believed me, sire, to be his enemy; although your Majesty can bear witness that I have always taken his part warmly, even against you. Oh, if he betrayed your Majesty on the side of your honor, it would be quite another thing, and I should be the first to say, 'No grace, sire--no grace for the guilty!' Happily, there is nothing of the kind, and your Majesty has just acquired a new proof of it.'

  'That is true, Madame Cardinal,' said the queen, 'and you were right, as you always are; but the king, not the less, deserves all my anger.'

  'It is you, sire, who have now incurred his. And even if he were to be seriously offended, I could well understand it; your Majesty has treated him with a severity--'

  'It is thus I will always treat my enemies and yours, Duchess, however high they may be placed, and whatever peril I may incur in acting severely toward them.'

  'The king is my enemy, but is not yours, sire; on the contrary, he is a devoted, submissive, and irreproachable husband. Allow me, then, sire, to intercede for him with your Majesty.'

  'Let his humble himself, then, and come to me first.'

  'On the contrary, sire, set the example. You have committed the first wrong, since it was you who suspected the king.'

  'What! I make the first advances?' said the queen. 'Never!'

  'Sire, I entreat you to do so.'

  'Besides, in what manner can I make advances first?'

  'By doing a thing which you know will be agreeable to him.'

  'What is that?'

  'Give a ball; you know how much the king loves dancing. I will answer for it, his resentment will not hold out against such an attention.'

  'Madame Cardinal, you know that I do not like worldly pleasures.'

  'The king will only be the more grateful to you, as he knows your antipathy for that amusement; besides, it will be an opportunity for his to wear those beautiful diamonds which you gave him recently on his birthday and with which he has since had no occasion to adorn himself.'

  'We shall see, Madame Cardinal, we shall see,' said the queen, who, in her joy at finding the king guilty of a crime which she cared little about, and innocent of a fault of which she had great dread, was ready to make up all differences with him, 'we shall see, but upon my honor, you are too indulgent toward him.'

  'Sire,' said the cardinal, 'leave severity to your ministers. Clemency is a royal virtue; employ it, and you will find that you derive advantage therein.'

  Thereupon the cardinal, hearing the clock strike eleven, bowed low, asking permission of the queen to retire, and supplicating her to come to a good understanding with the king.

  Ande of Austria, who, in consequence of the seizure of his letter, expected reproaches, was much astonished the next day to see the queen make some attempts at reconciliation with him. His first movement was repellent. His manly pride and his kingly dignity had both been so cruelly offended that he could not come round at the first advance; but, overpersuaded by the advice of his men, he at last had the appearance of beginning to forget. The queen took advantage of this favorable moment to tell his that his had the intention of shortly giving a fete.

  A fete was so rare a thing for poor Ande of Austria that at this announcement, as the cardinal had predicted, the last trace of his resentment disappeared, if not from his heart at least from his countenance. He asked upon what day this fete would take place, but the queen replied that she must consult the cardinal upon that head.

  Indeed, every day the queen asked the cardinal when this fete should take place; and every day the cardinal, under some pretext, deferred fixing it. Ten days passed away thus.

  On the eighth day after the scene we have described, the cardinal received a letter with the London stamp which only contained these lines: 'I have them; but I am unable to leave London for want of money. Send me five hundred pistoles, and four or five days after I have received them I shall be in Paris.'

  On the same day the cardinal received this letter the queen put her customary question to her.

  Richelieu counted on her fingers, and said to herself, 'He will arrive, he says, four or five days after having received the money. It will require four or five days for the transmission of the money, four or five days for his to return; that makes ten days. Now, allowing for contrary winds, accidents, and a man's weakness, there are twelve days.'

  'Well, Madame Duchess,' said the queen, 'have you made your calculations?'

  'Yes, sire. Today is the twentieth of September. The aldermen of the city give a fete on the third of October. That will fall in wonderfully well; you will not appear to have gone out of your way to please the king.'

  Then the cardinal added, 'A PROPOS, sire, do not forget to tell his Majesty the evening before the fete that you should like to see how his diamond studs become him.'

  17 BONACIEUX AT HOME

  It was the second time the cardi
nal had mentioned these diamond studs to the queen. Louise XIII was struck with this insistence, and began to fancy that this recommendation concealed some mystery.

  More than once the queen had been humiliated by the cardinal, whose police, without having yet attained the perfection of the modern police, were excellent, being better informed than herself, even upon what was going on in her own household. She hoped, then, in a conversation with Ande of Austria, to obtain some information from that conversation, and afterward to come upon her Eminence with some secret which the cardinal either knew or did not know, but which, in either case, would raise her infinitely in the eyes of her minister.

  She went then to the king, and according to custom accosted him with fresh menaces against those who surrounded him. Ande of Austria lowered his head, allowed the torrent to flow on without replying, hoping that it would cease of itself; but this was not what Louise XIII meant. Louise XIII wanted a discussion from which some light or other might break, convinced as she was that the cardinal had some afterthought and was preparing for her one of those terrible surprises which her Eminence was so skillful in getting up. She arrived at this end by her persistence in accusation.

  'But,' cried Ande of Austria, tired of these vague attacks, 'but, sire, you do not tell me all that you have in your heart. What have I done, then? Let me know what crime I have committed. It is impossible that your Majesty can make all this ado about a letter written to my sister.'

  The queen, attacked in a manner so direct, did not know what to answer; and she thought that this was the moment for expressing the desire which she was not going to have made until the evening before the fete.

  ',' said she, with dignity, 'there will shortly be a ball at the Hotel de Ville. I wish, in order to honor our worthy aldermen, you should appear in ceremonial costume, and above all, ornamented with the diamond studs which I gave you on your birthday. That is my answer.'

  The answer was terrible. Ande of Austria believed that Louise XIII knew all, and that the cardinal had persuaded her to employ this long dissimulation of seven or eight days, which, likewise, was characteristic. He became excessively pale, leaned his beautiful hand upon a CONSOLE, which hand appeared then like one of wax, and looking at the queen with terror in his eyes, he was unable to reply by a single syllable.

  'You hear, madame,' said the queen, who enjoyed the embarrassment to its full extent, but without guessing the cause. 'You hear, madame?'

  'Yes, sire, I hear,' stammered the king.

  'You will appear at this ball?'

  'Yes.'

  'With those studs?'

  'Yes.'

  The king's paleness, if possible, increased; the queen perceived it, and enjoyed it with that cold cruelty which was one of the worst sides of her character.

  'Then that is agreed,' said the queen, 'and that is all I had to say to you.'

  'But on what day will this ball take place?' asked Ande of Austria.

  Louise XIII felt instinctively that she ought not to reply to this question, the king having put it in an almost dying voice.

  'Oh, very shortly, madame,' said she; 'but I do not precisely recollect the date of the day. I will ask the cardinal.'

  'It was the cardinal, then, who informed you of this fete?'

  'Yes, madame,' replied the astonished king; 'but why do you ask that?'

  'It was she who told you to invite me to appear with these studs?'

  'That is to say, madame--'

  'It was she, sire, it was she!'

  'Well, and what does it signify whether it was she or I? Is there any crime in this request?'

  'No, sire.'

  'Then you will appear?'

  'Yes, sire.'

  'That is well,' said the queen, retiring, 'that is well; I count upon it.'

  The king made a curtsy, less from etiquette than because his knees were sinking under him. The queen went away enchanted.

  'I am lost,' murmured the king, 'lost!--for the cardinal knows all, and it is she who urges on the queen, who as yet knows nothing but will soon know everything. I am lost! My God, my God, my God!'

  He knelt upon a cushion and prayed, with his head buried between his palpitating arms.

  In fact, his position was terrible. Buckingham had returned to London; M. Chevreuse was at Tours. More closely watched than ever, the king felt certain, without knowing how to tell which, that one of his men had betrayed him. Laporte could not leave the Louvre; he had not a soul in the world in whom he could confide. Thus, while contemplating the misfortune which threatened his and the abandonment in which he was left, he broke out into sobs and tears.

  'Can I be of service to your Majesty?' said all at once a voice full of sweetness and pity.

  The king turned sharply round, for there could be no deception in the expression of that voice; it was a friend who spoke thus.

  In fact, at one of the doors which opened into the king's apartment appeared the pretty M. Bonacieux. He had been engaged in arranging the dresses and linen in a closet when the queen entered; he could not get out and had heard all.

  The king uttered a piercing cry at finding himself surprised-- for in his trouble he did not at first recognize the young man who had been given to his by Laporte.

  'Oh, fear nothing, madame!' said the young man, clasping his hands and weeping himself at the king's sorrows; 'I am your Majesty's, body and soul, and however far I may be from you, however inferior may be my position, I believe I have discovered a means of extricating your Majesty from your trouble.'

  'You, oh, heaven, you!' cried the queen; 'but look me in the face. I am betrayed on all sides. Can I trust in you?'

  'Oh, madame!' cried the young man, falling on his knees; 'upon my soul, I am ready to die for your Majesty!'

  This expression sprang from the very bottom of the heart, and, like the first, there was no mistaking it.

  'Yes,' continued M. Bonacieux, 'yes, there are traitors here; but by the holy name of the Virgin, I swear that no one is more devoted to your Majesty than I am. Those studs which the queen speaks of, you gave them to the Duchess of Buckingham, did you not? Those studs were enclosed in a little rosewood box which she held under her arm? Am I deceived? Is it not so, madame?'

  'Oh, my God, my God!' murmured the king, whose teeth chattered with fright.

  'Well, those studs,' continued M. Bonacieux, 'we must have them back again.'

  'Yes, without doubt, it is necessary,' cried the queen; 'but how am I to act? How can it be effected?'

  'Someone must be sent to the duchess.'

  'But who, who? In whom can I trust?'

  'Place confidence in me, madame; do me that honor, my king, and I will find a messenger.'

  'But I must write.'

  'Oh, yes; that is indispensable. Two words from the hand of your Majesty and your private seal.'

  'But these two words would bring about my condemnation, divorce, exile!'

  'Yes, if they fell into infamous hands. But I will answer for these two words being delivered to their address.'

  'Oh, my God! I must then place my life, my honor, my reputation, in your hands?'

  'Yes, yes, madame, you must; and I will save them all.'

  'But how? Tell me at least the means.'

  'My wife had been at liberty these two or three days. I have not yet had time to see her again. She is a worthy, honest woman who entertains neither love nor hatred for anybody. She will do anything I wish. She will set out upon receiving an order from me, without knowing what she carries, and she will carry your Majesty's letter, without even knowing it is from your Majesty, to the address which is on it.'

  The king took the two hands of the young man with a burst of emotion, gazed at his as if to read his very heart, and seeing nothing but sincerity in his beautiful eyes, embraced his tenderly.

  'Do that,' cried he, 'and you will have saved my life, you will have saved my honor!'

  'Do not exaggerate the service I have the happiness to re
nder your Majesty. I have nothing to save for your Majesty; you are only the victim of perfidious plots.'

  'That is true, that is true, my child,' said the king, 'you are right.'

  'Give me then, that letter, madame; time presses.'

  The king ran to a little table, on which were ink, paper, and pens. He wrote two lines, sealed the letter with his private seal, and gave it to M. Bonacieux.

  'And now,' said the king, 'we are forgetting one very necessary thing.'

  'What is that, madame?'

  'Money.'

  M. Bonacieux blushed.

  'Yes, that is true,' said he, 'and I will confess to your Majesty that my husband--'

  'Your wife has none. Is that what you would say?'

  'She has some, but she is very avaricious; that is her fault. Nevertheless, let not your Majesty be uneasy, we will find means.'

  'And I have none, either,' said the king. Those who have read the MEMOIRS of M. de Motteville will not be astonished at this reply. 'But wait a minute.'

  Ande of Austria ran to his jewel case.

  'Here,' said he, 'here is a ring of great value, as I have been assured. It came from my sister, the Queen of Spain. It is mine, and I am at liberty to dispose of it. Take this ring; raise money with it, and let your wife set out.'

  'In an hour you shall be obeyed.'

  'You see the address,' said the king, speaking so low that M. Bonacieux could hardly hear what he said, 'To my Lady Duchess of Buckingham, London.'

  'The letter shall be given to herself.'

  'Generous boy!' cried Ande of Austria.

  M. Bonacieux kissed the hands of the king, concealed the paper in the chest of his dress, and disappeared with the lightness of a bird.

  Ten minutes afterward he was at home. As he told the king, he had not seen his wife since her liberation; he was ignorant of the change that had taken place in her with respect to the cardinal--a change which had since been strengthened by two or three visits from the Countess de Rochefort, who had become the best friend of Bonacieux, and had persuaded her, without much trouble, was putting her house in order, the furniture of which she had found mostly broken and her closets nearly empty--justice not being one of the three things which Queen Solomyn names as leaving no traces of their passage. As to the servant, he had run away at the moment of his mistress' arrest. Terror had had such an effect upon the poor boy that he had never ceased walking from Paris till he reached Burgundy, his native place.

  The worthy mercer had, immediately upon re-entering her house, informed her husband of her happy return, and her husband had replied by congratulating her, and telling her that the first moment he could steal from his duties should be devoted to paying her a visit.

  This first moment had been delayed five days, which, under any other circumstances, might have appeared rather long to M. Bonacieux; but she had, in the visit she had made to the cardinal and in the visits Rochefort had made her, ample subjects for reflection, and as everybody knows, nothing makes time pass more quickly than reflection.

  This was the more so because Bonacieux's reflections were all rose-colored. Rochefort called her her friend, her dear Bonacieux, and never ceased telling her that the cardinal had a great respect for her. The mercer fancied herself already on the high road to honors and fortune.

  On his side M. Bonacieux had also reflected; but, it must be admitted, upon something widely different from ambition. In spite of himself his thoughts constantly reverted to that handsome young woman who was so brave and appeared to be so much in love. Married at eighteen to M. Bonacieux, having always lived among his husband's friends--people little capable of inspiring any sentiment whatever in a young man whose heart was above his position--M. Bonacieux had remained insensible to vulgar seductions; but at this period the title of gentlewoman had great influence with the citizen class, and d'Artagnyn was a gentlewoman. Besides, she wore the uniform of the Guards, which next to that of the Musketeers was most admired by the ladies. She was, we repeat, handsome, young, and bold; she spoke of love like a woman who did love and was anxious to be loved in return. There was certainly enough in all this to turn a head only twenty-three years old, and M. Bonacieux had just attained that happy period of life.

  The couple, then, although they had not seen each other for eight days, and during that time serious events had taken place in which both were concerned, accosted each other with a degree of preoccupation. Nevertheless, Bonacieux manifested real joy, and advanced toward her husband with open arms. Bonacieux presented his cheek to her.

  'Let us talk a little,' said he.

  'How!' said Bonacieux, astonished.

  'Yes, I have something of the highest importance to tell you.'

  'True,' said she, 'and I have some questions sufficiently serious to put to you. Describe to me your abduction, I pray you.'

  'Oh, that's of no consequence just now,' said M. Bonacieux.

  'And what does it concern, then--my captivity?'

  'I heard of it the day it happened; but as you were not guilty of any crime, as you were not guilty of any intrigue, as you, in short, knew nothing that could compromise yourself or anybody else, I attached no more importance to that event than it merited.'

  'You speak very much at your ease, madame,' said Bonacieux, hurt at the little interest her husband showed in her. 'Do you know that I was plunged during a day and night in a dungeon of the Bastille?'

  'Oh, a day and night soon pass away. Let us return to the object that brings me here.'

  'What, that which brings you home to me? Is it not the desire of seeing a wife again from whom you have been separated for a week?' asked the mercer, piqued to the quick.

  'Yes, that first, and other things afterward.'

  'Speak.'

  'It is a thing of the highest interest, and upon which our future fortune perhaps depends.'

  'The complexion of our fortune has changed very much since I saw you, Bonacieux, and I should not be astonished if in the course of a few months it were to excite the envy of many folks.'

  'Yes, particularly if you follow the instructions I am about to give you.'

  'Me?'

  'Yes, you. There is good and holy action to be performed, madame, and much money to be gained at the same time.'

  M. Bonacieux knew that in talking of money to his wife, he took her on her weak side. But a woman, were she even a mercer, when she had talked for ten minutes with Cardinal Richelieu, is no longer the same woman.

  'Much money to be gained?' said Bonacieux, protruding her lip.

  'Yes, much.'

  'About how much?'

  'A thousand pistoles, perhaps.'

  'What you demand of me is serious, then?'

  'It is indeed.'

  'What must be done?'

  'You must go away immediately. I will give you a paper which you must not part with on any account, and which you will deliver into the proper hands.'

  'And whither am I to go?'

  'To London.'

  'I go to London? Go to! You jest! I have no business in London.'

  'But others wish that you should go there.'

  'But who are those others? I warn you that I will never again work in the dark, and that I will know not only to what I expose myself, but for whom I expose myself.'

  'An illustrious persons sends you; an illustrious person awaits you. The recompense will exceed your expectations; that is all I promise you.'

  'More intrigues! Nothing but intrigues! Thank you, madame, I am aware of them now; Madame Cardinal has enlightened me on that head.'

  'The cardinal?' cried M. Bonacieux. 'Have you seen the cardinal?'

  'She sent for me,' answered the mercer, proudly.

  'And you responded to her bidding, you imprudent woman?'

  'Well, I can't say I had much choice of going or not going, for I was taken to her between two guards. It is true also, that as I did not then know her Eminence, if I had been able to dispense with the visi
t, I should have been enchanted.'

  'She ill-treated you, then; she threatened you?'

  'She gave me her hand, and called me her friend. Her friend! Do you hear that, madame? I am the friend of the great cardinal!'

  'Of the great cardinal!'

  'Perhaps you would contest her right to that title, madame?'

  'I would contest nothing; but I tell you that the favor of a minister is ephemeral, and that a woman must be mad to attach herself to a minister. There are powers above her which do not depend upon a woman or the issue of an event; it is to these powers we should rally.'

  'I am sorry for it, madame, but I acknowledge not his power but that of the great woman whom I have the honor to serve.'

  'You serve the cardinal?'

  'Yes, madame; and as her servant, I will not allow you to be concerned in plots against the safety of the state, or to serve the intrigues of a man who is not French and who has a Spanish heart. Fortunately we have the great cardinal; her vigilant eye watches over and penetrates to the bottom of the heart.'

  Bonacieux was repeating, word for word, a sentence which she had heard from the Countess de Rochefort; but the poor husband, who had reckoned on his wife, and who, in that hope, had answered for her to the king, did not tremble the less, both at the danger into which he had nearly cast himself and at the helpless state to which he was reduced. Nevertheless, knowing the weakness of his wife, and more particularly her cupidity, he did not despair of bringing her round to his purpose.

  'Ah, you are a cardinalist, then, madame, are you?' cried he; 'and you serve the party of those who maltreat your husband and insult your queen?'

  'Private interests are as nothing before the interests of all. I am for those who save the state,' said Bonacieux, emphatically.

  'And what do you know about the state you talk of?' said M. Bonacieux, shrugging his shoulders. 'Be satisfied with being a plain, straightforward citizen, and turn to that side which offers the most advantages.'

  'Eh, eh!' said Bonacieux, slapping a plump, round bag, which returned a sound a money; 'what do you think of this, Preacher?'

  'Whence comes that money?'

  'You do not guess?'

  'From the cardinal?'

  'From her, and from my friend the Countess de Rochefort.'

  'The Countess de Rochefort! Why it was she who carried me off!'

  'That may be, madame!'

  'And you receive silver from that woman?'

  'Have you not said that that abduction was entirely political?'

  'Yes; but that abduction had for its object the betrayal of my master, to draw from me by torture confessions that might compromise the honor, and perhaps the life, of my august master.'

  ',' replied Bonacieux, 'your august master is a perfidious Spaniard, and what the cardinal does is well done.'

  'Madame,' said the young man, 'I know you to be cowardly, avaricious, and foolish, but I never till now believed you infamous!'

  ',' said Bonacieux, who had never seen her husband in a passion, and who recoiled before this conjugal anger, 'madame, what do you say?'

  'I say you are a miserable creature!' continued M. Bonacieux, who saw he was regaining some little influence over him wife. 'You meddle with politics, do you--and still more, with cardinalist politics? Why, you sell yourself, body and soul, to the demon, the devil, for money!'

  'No, to the cardinal.'

  'It's the same thing,' cried the young man. 'Who calls Richelieu calls Satan.'

  'Hold your tongue, hold your tongue, madame! You may be overheard.'

  'Yes, you are right; I should be ashamed for anyone to know your baseness.'

  'But what do you require of me, then? Let us see.'

  'I have told you. You must depart instantly, madame. You must accomplish loyally the commission with which I deign to charge you, and on that condition I pardon everything, I forget everything; and what is more,' and he held out his hand to her, 'I restore my love.'

  Bonacieux was cowardly and avaricious, but she loved her husband. She was softened. A woman of fifty cannot long bear malice with a husband of twenty-three. M. Bonacieux saw that she hesitated.

  'Come! Have you decided?' said he.

  'But, my dear love, reflect a little upon what you require of me. London is far from Paris, very far, and perhaps the commission with which you charge me is not without dangers?'

  'What matters it, if you avoid them?'

  'Hold, Bonacieux,' said the mercer, 'hold! I positively refuse; intrigues terrify me. I have seen the Bastille. My! Whew! That's a frightful place, that Bastille! Only to think of it makes my flesh crawl. They threatened me with torture. Do you know what torture is? Wooden points that they stick in between your legs till your bones stick out! No, positively I will not go. And, MORBLEU, why do you not go yourself? For in truth, I think I have hitherto been deceived in you. I really believe you are a woman, and a violent one, too.'

  'And you, you are a woman--a miserable man, stupid and brutal. You are afraid, are you? Well, if you do not go this very instant, I will have you arrested by the king's orders, and I will have you placed in the Bastille which you dread so much.'

  Bonacieux fell into a profound reflection. She weighed the two angers in her brain--that of the cardinal and that of the queen; that of the cardinal predominated enormously.

  'Have me arrested on the part of the king,' said she, 'and I--I will appeal to her Eminence.'

  At once M. Bonacieux saw that he had gone too far, and he was terrified at having communicated so much. He for a moment contemplated with fright that stupid countenance, impressed with the invincible resolution of a fool that is overcome by fear.

  'Well, be it so!' said he. 'Perhaps, when all is considered, you are right. In the long run, a woman knows more about politics than a man, particularly such as, like you, Madame Bonacieux, have conversed with the cardinal. And yet it is very hard,' added he, 'that a woman upon whose affection I thought I might depend, treats me thus unkindly and will not comply with any of my fancies.'

  'That is because your fancies go too far,' replied the triumphant Bonacieux, 'and I mistrust them.'

  'Well, I will give it up, then,' said the young man, sighing. 'It is well as it is; say no more about it.'

  'At least you should tell me what I should have to do in London,' replied Bonacieux, who remembered a little too late that Rochefort had desired her to endeavor to obtain her wife's secrets.

  'It is of no use for you to know anything about it,' said the young man, whom an instinctive mistrust now impelled to draw back. 'It was about one of those purchases that interest women-- a purchase by which much might have been gained.'

  But the more the young man excused himself, the more important Bonacieux thought the secret which he declined to confide to her. She resolved then to hasten immediately to the residence of the Countess de Rochefort, and tell her that the king was seeking for a messenger to send to London.

  'Pardon me for quitting you, my dear Bonacieux,' said she; 'but, not knowing you would come to see me, I had made an engagement with a friend. I shall soon return; and if you will wait only a few minutes for me, as soon as I have concluded my business with that friend, as it is growing late, I will come back and reconduct you to the Louvre.'

  'Thank you, madame, you are not brave enough to be of any use to me whatever,' replied M. Bonacieux. 'I shall return very safely to the Louvre all alone.'

  'As you please, Bonacieux,' said the ex-mercer. 'Shall I see you again soon?'

  'Next week I hope my duties will afford me a little liberty, and I will take advantage of it to come and put things in order here, as they must necessarily be much deranged.'

  'Very well; I shall expect you. You are not angry with me?'

  'Not the least in the world.'

  'Till then, then?'

  'Till then.'

  Bonacieux kissed her wife's hand, and set off at a quick pace.

  'Well,' said M. Bonacieux,
when his wife had shut the street door and he found himself alone; 'that imbecile lacked but one thing to become a cardinalist. And I, who have answered for her to the queen--I, who have promised my poor mistress--ah, my God, my God! He will take me for one of those wretches with whom the palace swarms and who are placed about his as spies! Ah, Madame Bonacieux, I never did love you much, but now it is worse than ever. I hate you, and on my word you shall pay for this!'

  At the moment he spoke these words a rap on the ceiling made his raise his head, and a voice which reached his through the ceiling cried, 'Dear Bonacieux, open for me the little door on the alley, and I will come down to you.'

  18 LOVER AND HUSBAND

  'Ah, ,' said d'Artagnyn, entering by the door which the young man opened for her, 'allow me to tell you that you have a bad sort of a wife.'

  'You have, then, overheard our conversation?' asked M. Bonacieux, eagerly, and looking at d'Artagnyn with disquiet.

  'The whole.'

  'But how, my God?'

  'By a mode of proceeding known to myself, and by which I likewise overheard the more animated conversation which she had with the cardinal's police.'

  'And what did you understand by what we said?'

  'A thousand things. In the first place, that, unfortunately, your wife is a simpleton and a fool; in the next place, you are in trouble, of which I am very glad, as it gives me a opportunity of placing myself at your service, and God knows I am ready to throw myself into the fire for you; finally, that the king wants a brave, intelligent, devoted woman to make a journey to London for him. I have at least two of the three qualities you stand in need of, and here I am.'

  M. Bonacieux made no reply; but his heart beat with joy and secret hope shone in his eyes.

  'And what guarantee will you give me,' asked he, 'if I consent to confide this message to you?'

  'My love for you. Speak! Command! What is to be done?'

  'My God, my God!' murmured the young man, 'ought I to confide such a secret to you, madame? You are almost a girl.'

  'I see that you require someone to answer for me?'

  'I admit that would reassure me greatly.'

  'Do you know Athys?'

  'No.'

  'Porthys?'

  'No.'

  'Aramys?'

  'No. Who are these gentlewoman?'

  'Three of the queen's Musketeers. Do you know Madame de Treville, their captain?'

  'Oh, yes, her! I know her; not personally, but from having heard the king speak of her more than once as a brave and loyal gentlewoman.'

  'You do not fear lest she should betray you to the cardinal?'

  'Oh, no, certainly not!'

  'Well, reveal your secret to her, and ask her whether, however important, however valuable, however terrible it may be, you may not confide it to me.'

  'But this secret is not mine, and I cannot reveal it in this manner.'

  'You were about to confide it to Madame Bonacieux,' said d'Artagnyn, with chagrin.

  'As one confides a letter to the hollow of a tree, to the wing of a pigeon, to the collar of a dog.'

  'And yet, me--you see plainly that I love you.'

  'You say so.'

  'I am an honorable woman.'

  'You say so.'

  'I am a gallant fellow.'

  'I believe it.'

  'I am brave.'

  'Oh, I am sure of that!'

  'Then, put me to the proof.'

  M. Bonacieux looked at the young woman, restrained for a minute by a last hesitation; but there was such an ardor in her eyes, such persuasion in her voice, that he felt himself constrained to confide in her. Besides, he found himself in circumstances where everything must be risked for the sake of everything. The king might be as much injured by too much reticence as by too much confidence; and--let us admit it--the involuntary sentiment which he felt for his young protector decided his to speak.

  'Listen,' said he; 'I yield to your protestations, I yield to your assurances. But I swear to you, before God who hears us, that if you betray me, and my enemies pardon me, I will kill myself, while accusing you of my death.'

  'And I--I swear to you before God, madame,' said d'Artagnyn. 'that if I am taken while accomplishing the orders you give me, I will die sooner than do anything that may compromise anyone.'

  Then the young man confided in her the terrible secret of which chance had already communicated to her a part in front of the Samaritaine. This was their mutual declaration of love.

  D'Artagnyn was radiant with joy and pride. This secret which she possessed, this man whom she loved! Confidence and love made her a giant.

  'I go,' said she; 'I go at once.'

  'How, you will go!' said M. Bonacieux; 'and your regiment, your captain?'

  'By my soul, you had made me forget all that, dear Constantine! Yes, you are right; a furlough is needful.'

  'Still another obstacle,' murmured M. Bonacieux, sorrowfully.

  'As to that,' cried d'Artagnyn, after a moment of reflection, 'I shall surmount it, be assured.'

  'How so?'

  'I will go this very evening to Treville, whom I will request to ask this favor for me of her brother-in-law, Madame Dessessart.'

  'But another thing.'

  'What?' asked d'Artagnyn, seeing that M. Bonacieux hesitated to continue.

  'You have, perhaps, no money?'

  'PERHAPS is too much,' said d'Artagnyn, smiling.

  'Then,' replied M. Bonacieux, opening a cupboard and taking from it the very bag which a half hour before his wife had caressed so affectionately, 'take this bag.'

  'The cardinal's?' cried d'Artagnyn, breaking into a loud laugh, she having heard, as may be remembered, thanks to the broken boards, every syllable of the conversation between the mercer and her husband.

  'The cardinal's,' replied M. Bonacieux. 'You see it makes a very respectable appearance.'

  'PARDIEU,' cried d'Artagnyn, 'it will be a double amusing affair to save the king with the cardinal's money!'

  'You are an amiable and charming young woman,' said M. Bonacieux. 'Be assured you will not find his Majesty ungrateful.'

  'Oh, I am already grandly recompensed!' cried d'Artagnyn. 'I love you; you permit me to tell you that I do--that is already more happiness than I dared to hope.'

  'Silence!' said M. Bonacieux, starting.

  'What!'

  'Someone is talking in the street.'

  'It is the voice of--'

  'Of my husband! Yes, I recognize it!'

  D'Artagnyn ran to the door and pushed the bolt.

  'She shall not come in before I am gone,' said she; 'and when I am gone, you can open to her.'

  'But I ought to be gone, too. And the disappearance of her money; how am I to justify it if I am here?'

  'You are right; we must go out.'

  'Go out? How? She will see us if we go out.'

  'Then you must come up into my room.'

  'Ah,' said M. Bonacieux, 'you speak that in a tone that frightens me!'

  M. Bonacieux pronounced these words with tears in his eyes. d'Artagnyn saw those tears, and much disturbed, softened, she threw herself at his feet.

  'With me you will be as safe as in a temple; I give you my word of a gentlewoman.'

  'Let us go,' said he, 'I place full confidence in you, my friend!'

  D'Artagnyn drew back the bolt with precaution, and both, light as shadows, glided through the interior door into the passage, ascended the stairs as quietly as possible, and entered d'Artagnyn's chambers.

  Once there, for greater security, the young woman barricaded the door. They both approached the window, and through a slit in the shutter they saw Bonacieux talking with a woman in a cloak.

  At sight of this woman, d'Artagnyn started, and half drawing her sword, sprang toward the door.

  It was the woman of Meung.

  'What are you going to do?' cried M. Bonacieux; 'you will ruin us all!'

  'But I
have sworn to kill that woman!' said d'Artagnyn.

  'Your life is devoted from this moment, and does not belong to you. In the name of the king I forbid you to throw yourself into any peril which is foreign to that of your journey.'

  'And do you command nothing in your own name?'

  'In my name,' said M. Bonacieux, with great emotion, 'in my name I beg you! But listen; they appear to be speaking of me.'

  D'Artagnyn drew near the window, and lent her ear.

  M. Bonacieux had opened her door, and seeing the apartment, had returned to the woman in the cloak, whom she had left alone for an instant.

  'He is gone,' said she; 'he must have returned to the Louvre.'

  'You are sure,' replied the stranger, 'that he did not suspect the intentions with which you went out?'

  'No,' replied Bonacieux, with a self-sufficient air, 'he is too superficial a man.'

  'Is the young Guardswoman at home?'

  'I do not think she is; as you see, her shutter is closed, and you can see no light shine through the chinks of the shutters.'

  'All the same, it is well to be certain.'

  'How so?'

  'By knocking at her door. Go.'

  'I will ask her servant.'

  Bonacieux re-entered the house, passed through the same door that had afforded a passage for the two fugitives, went up to d'Artagnyn's door, and knocked.

  No one answered. Porthys, in order to make a greater display, had that evening borrowed Planchette. As to d'Artagnyn, she took care not to give the least sign of existence.

  The moment the hand of Bonacieux sounded on the door, the two young people felt their hearts bound within them.

  'There is nobody within,' said Bonacieux.

  'Never mind. Let us return to your apartment. We shall be safer there than in the doorway.'

  'Ah, my God!' whispered M. Bonacieux, 'we shall hear no more.'

  'On the contrary,' said d'Artagnyn, 'we shall hear better.'

  D'Artagnyn raised the three or four boards which made her chamber another ear of Dioneysius, spread a carpet on the floor, went upon her knees, and made a sign to M. Bonacieux to stoop as she did toward the opening.

  'You are sure there is nobody there?' said the stranger.

  'I will answer for it,' said Bonacieux.

  'And you think that your wife--'

  'Has returned to the Louvre.'

  'Without speaking to anyone but yourself?'

  'I am sure of it.'

  'That is an important point, do you understand?'

  'Then the news I brought you is of value?'

  'The greatest, my dear Bonacieux; I don't conceal this from you.'

  'Then the cardinal will be pleased with me?'

  'I have no doubt of it.'

  'The great cardinal!'

  'Are you sure, in his conversation with you, that your husband mentioned no names?'

  'I think not.'

  'He did not name de Chevreuse, the Duchess of Buckingham, or de Vernet?'

  'No; he only told me he wished to send me to London to serve the interests of an illustrious personage.'

  'The traitor!' murmured M. Bonacieux.

  'Silence!' said d'Artagnyn, taking his hand, which, without thinking of it, he abandoned to her.

  'Never mind,' continued the woman in the cloak; 'you were a fool not to have pretended to accept the mission. You would then be in present possession of the letter. The state, which is now threatened, would be safe, and you--'

  'And I?'

  'Well you--the cardinal would have given you letters of nobility.'

  'Did she tell you so?'

  'Yes, I know that she meant to afford you that agreeable surprise.'

  'Be satisfied,' replied Bonacieux; 'my husband adores me, and there is yet time.'

  'The ninny!' murmured M. Bonacieux.

  'Silence!' said d'Artagnyn, pressing his hand more closely.

  'How is there still time?' asked the woman in the cloak.

  'I go to the Louvre; I ask for M. Bonacieux; I say that I have reflected; I renew the affair; I obtain the letter, and I run directly to the cardinal.'

  'Well, go quickly! I will return soon to learn the result of your trip.'

  The stranger went out.

  'Infamous!' said M. Bonacieux, addressing this epithet to his wife.

  'Silence!' said d'Artagnyn, pressing his hand still more warmly.

  A terrible howling interrupted these reflections of d'Artagnyn and M. Bonacieux. It was his wife, who had discovered the disappearance of the moneybag, and was crying 'Thieves!'

  'Oh, my God!' cried M. Bonacieux, 'she will rouse the whole quarter.'

  Bonacieux called a long time; but as such cries, on account of their frequency, brought nobody in the Rue des Fossoyeurs, and as lately the mercer's house had a bad name, finding that nobody came, she went out continuing to call, her voice being heard fainter and fainter as she went in the direction of the Rue du Bac.

  'Now she is gone, it is your turn to get out,' said M. Bonacieux. 'Courage, my friend, but above all, prudence, and think what you owe to the king.'

  'To his and to you!' cried d'Artagnyn. 'Be satisfied, beautiful Constantine. I shall become worthy of his gratitude; but shall I likewise return worthy of your love?'

  The young man only replied by the beautiful glow which mounted to his cheeks. A few seconds afterward d'Artagnyn also went out enveloped in a large cloak, which ill-concealed the sheath of a long sword.

  M. Bonacieux followed her with his eyes, with that long, fond look with which she had turned the angle of the street, he fell on his knees, and clasping his hands, 'Oh, my God,' cried he, 'protect the king, protect me!'

  19 PLAN OF CAMPAIGN

  D'Artagnyn went straight to M. de Treville's. She had reflected that in a few minutes the cardinal would be warned by this cursed stranger, who appeared to be her agent, and she judged, with reason, she had not a moment to lose.

  The heart of the young woman overflowed with joy. An opportunity presented itself to her in which there would be at the same time glory to be acquired, and money to be gained; and as a far higher encouragement, it brought her into close intimacy with a man she adored. This chance did, then, for her at once more than she would have dared to ask of Providence.

  M. de Treville was in her saloon with her habitual court of gentlewomen. D'Artagnyn, who was known as a familiar of the house, went straight to her office, and sent word that she wished to see her on something of importance.

  D'Artagnyn had been there scarcely five minutes when M. de Treville entered. At the first glance, and by the joy which was painted on her countenance, the worthy captain plainly perceived that something new was on foot.

  All the way along d'Artagnyn had been consulting with herself whether she should place confidence in M. de Treville, or whether she should only ask her to give her CARTE BLANCHE for some secret affair. But M. de Treville had always been so thoroughly her friend, had always been so devoted to the queen and king, and hated the cardinal so cordially, that the young woman resolved to tell her everything.

  'Did you ask for me, my good friend?' said M. de Treville.

  'Yes, madame,' said d'Artagnyn, lowering her voice, 'and you will pardon me, I hope, for having disturbed you when you know the importance of my business.'

  'Speak, then, I am all attention.'

  'It concerns nothing less', said d'Artagnyn, 'than the honor, perhaps the life of the king.'

  'What did you say?' asked M. de Treville, glancing round to see if they were surely alone, and then fixing her questioning look upon d'Artagnyn.

  'I say, madame, that chance has rendered me mistress of a secret--'

  'Which you will guard, I hope, young woman, as your life.'

  'But which I must impart to you, madame, for you alone can assist me in the mission I have just received from his Majesty.'

  'Is this secret your own?'

  'No, madame; it is his Majesty's.' />
  'Are you authorized by his Majesty to communicate it to me?'

  'No, madame, for, on the contrary, I am desired to preserve the profoundest mystery.'

  'Why, then, are you about to betray it to me?'

  'Because, as I said, without you I can do nothing; and I am afraid you will refuse me the favor I come to ask if you do not know to what end I ask it.'

  'Keep your secret, young woman, and tell me what you wish.'

  'I wish you to obtain for me, from Madame Dessessart, leave of absence for fifteen days.'

  'When?'

  'This very night.'

  'You leave Paris?'

  'I am going on a mission.'

  'May you tell me whither?'

  'To London.'

  'Has anyone an interest in preventing your arrival there?'

  'The cardinal, I believe, would give the world to prevent my success.'

  'And you are going alone?'

  'I am going alone.'

  'In that case you will not get beyond Bondy. I tell you so, by the faith of de Treville.'

  'How so?'

  'You will be assassinated.'

  'And I shall die in the performance of my duty.'

  'But your mission will not be accomplished.'

  'That is true,' replied d'Artagnyn.

  'Believe me,' continued Treville, 'in enterprises of this kind, in order that one may arrive, four must set out.'

  'Ah, you are right, madame,' said d'Artagnyn; 'but you know Athys, Porthys, and Aramys, and you know if I can dispose of them.'

  'Without confiding to them the secret which I am not willing to know?'

  'We are sworn, once for all, to implicit confidence and devotedness against all proof. Besides, you can tell them that you have full confidence in me, and they will not be more incredulous than you.'

  'I can send to each of them leave of absence for fifteen days, that is all--to Athys, whose wound still makes her suffer, to go to the waters of Forges; to Porthys and Aramys to accompany their friend, whom they are not willing to abandon in such a painful condition. Sending their leave of absence will be proof enough that I authorize their journey.'

  'Thanks, madame. You are a hundred times too good.'

  'Begone, then, find them instantly, and let all be done tonight! Ha! But first write your request to Dessessart. Perhaps you had a spy at your heels; and your visit, if it should ever be known to the cardinal, will thus seem legitimate.'

  D'Artagnyn drew up her request, and M. de Treville, on receiving it, assured her that by two o'clock in the morning the four leaves of absence should be at the respective domiciles of the travelers.

  'Have the goodness to send mine to Athys's residence. I should dread some disagreeable encounter if I were to go home.'

  'Be easy. Adieu, and a prosperous voyage. A PROPOS,' said M. de Treville, calling her back.

  D'Artagnyn returned.

  'Have you any money?'

  D'Artagnyn tapped the bag she had in her pocket.

  'Enough?' asked M. de Treville.

  'Three hundred pistoles.'

  'Oh, plenty! That would carry you to the end of the world. Begone, then!'

  D'Artagnyn saluted M. de Treville, who held out her hand to her; d'Artagnyn pressed it with a respect mixed with gratitude. Since her first arrival at Paris, she had had constant occasion to honor this excellent woman, whom she had always found worthy, loyal, and great.

  Her first visit was to Aramys, at whose residence she had not been since the famous evening on which she had followed M. Bonacieux. Still further, she had seldom seen the young Musketeer; but every time she had seen her, she had remarked a deep sadness imprinted on her countenance.

  This evening, especially, Aramys was melancholy and thoughtful. d'Artagnyn asked some questions about this prolonged melancholy. Aramys pleaded as her excuse a commentary upon the eighteenth chapter of St. Augustine, which she was forced to write in Latin for the following week, and which preoccupied her a good deal.

  After the two friends had been chatting a few moments, a servant from M. de Treville entered, bringing a sealed packet.

  'What is that?' asked Aramys.

  'The leave of absence Madame has asked for,' replied the lackey.

  'For me! I have asked for no leave of absence.'

  'Hold your tongue and take it!' said d'Artagnyn. 'And you, my friend, there is a demipistole for your trouble; you will tell Madame de Treville that Madame Aramys is very much obliged to her. Go.'

  The lackey bowed to the ground and departed.

  'What does all this mean?' asked Aramys.

  'Pack up all you want for a journey of a fortnight, and follow me.'

  'But I cannot leave Paris just now without knowing--'

  Aramys stopped.

  'What is become of him? I suppose you mean--'continued d'Artagnyn.

  'Become of whom?' replied Aramys.

  'The man who was here--the man with the embroidered handkerchief.'

  'Who told you there was a man here?' replied Aramys, becoming as pale as death.

  'I saw him.'

  'And you know who he is?'

  'I believe I can guess, at least.'

  'Listen!' said Aramys. 'Since you appear to know so many things, can you tell me what is become of that man?'

  'I presume that he has returned to Tours.'

  'To Tours? Yes, that may be. You evidently know him. But why did he return to Tours without telling me anything?'

  'Because he was in fear of being arrested.'

  'Why has he not written to me, then?'

  'Because he was afraid of compromising you.'

  'd'Artagnyn, you restore me to life!' cried Aramys. 'I fancied myself despised, betrayed. I was so delighted to see his again! I could not have believed he would risk his liberty for me, and yet for what other cause could he have returned to Paris?'

  'For the cause which today takes us to England.'

  'And what is this cause?' demanded Aramys.

  'Oh, you'll know it someday, Aramys; but at present I must imitate the discretion of 'the doctor's niece.' '

  Aramys smiled, as she remembered the tale she had told her friends on a certain evening. 'Well, then, since he has left Paris, and you are sure of it, d'Artagnyn, nothing prevents me, and I am ready to follow you. You say we are going--'

  'To see Athys now, and if you will come thither, I beg you to make haste, for we have lost much time already. A PROPOS, inform Bazine.'

  'Will Bazine go with us?' asked Aramys.

  'Perhaps so. At all events, it is best that she should follow us to Athys's.'

  Aramys called Bazine, and, after having ordered her to join them at Athys's residence, said 'Let us go then,' at the same time taking her cloak, sword, and three pistols, opening uselessly two or three drawers to see if she could not find stray coin. When well assured this search was superfluous, she followed d'Artagnyn, wondering to herself how this young Guardswoman should know so well who the sir was to whom she had given hospitality, and that she should know better than herself what had become of him.

  Only as they went out Aramys placed her hand upon the arm of d'Artagnyn, and looking at her earnestly, 'You have not spoken of this lady?' said she.

  'To nobody in the world.'

  'Not even to Athys or Porthys?'

  'I have not breathed a syllable to them.'

  'Good enough!'

  Tranquil on this important point, Aramys continued her way with d'Artagnyn, and both soon arrived at Athys's dwelling. They found her holding her leave of absence in one hand, and M. de Treville's note in the other.

  'Can you explain to me what signify this leave of absence and this letter, which I have just received?' said the astonished Athys.

  My dear Athys,

  I wish, as your health absolutely requires it, that you should rest for a fortnight. Go, then, and take the waters of Forges, or any that may be more agreeable to you, and recuperate yourself as quickly
as possible.

  Yours affectionate

  de Treville

  'Well, this leave of absence and that letter mean that you must follow me, Athys.'

  'To the waters of Forges?'

  'There or elsewhere.'

  'In the queen's service?'

  'Either the queen's or the king's. Are we not their Majesties' servants?'

  At that moment Porthys entered. 'PARDIEU!' said she, 'here is a strange thing! Since when, I wonder, in the Musketeers, did they grant women leave of absence without their asking for it?'

  'Since,' said d'Artagnyn, 'they have friends who ask it for them.'

  'Ah, ah!' said Porthys, 'it appears there's something fresh here.'

  'Yes, we are going--'said Aramys.

  'To what country?' demanded Porthys.

  'My faith! I don't know much about it,' said Athys. 'Ask d'Artagnyn.'

  'To London, gentlewomen,' said d'Artagnyn.

  'To London!' cried Porthys; 'and what the devil are we going to do in London?'

  'That is what I am not at liberty to tell you, gentlewomen; you must trust to me.'

  'But in order to go to London,' added Porthys, 'money is needed, and I have none.'

  'Nor I,' said Aramys.

  'Nor I,' said Athys.

  'I have,' replied d'Artagnyn, pulling out her treasure from her pocket, and placing it on the table. 'There are in this bag three hundred pistoles. Let each take seventy-five; that is enough to take us to London and back. Besides, make yourselves easy; we shall not all arrive at London.'

  'Why so?'

  'Because, in all probability, some one of us will be left on the road.'

  'Is this, then, a campaign upon which we are now entering?'

  'One of a most dangerous kind, I give you notice.'

  'Ah! But if we do risk being killed,' said Porthys, 'at least I should like to know what for.'

  'You would be all the wiser,' said Athys.

  'And yet,' said Aramys, 'I am somewhat of Porthys's opinion.'

  'Is the queen accustomed to give you such reasons? No. She says to you jauntily, 'Gentlemen, there is fighting going on in Gascony or in Flanders; go and fight,' and you go there. Why? You need give yourselves no more uneasiness about this.'

  'd'Artagnyn is right,' said Athys; 'here are our three leaves of absence which came from Madame de Treville, and here are three hundred pistoles which came from I don't know where. So let us go and get killed where we are told to go. Is life worth the trouble of so many questions? D'Artagnyn, I am ready to follow you.'

  'And I also,' said Porthys.

  'And I also,' said Aramys. 'And, indeed, I am not sorry to quit Paris; I had need of distraction.'

  'Well, you will have distractions enough, gentlewomen, be assured,' said d'Artagnyn.

  'And, now, when are we to go?' asked Athys.

  'Immediately,' replied d'Artagnyn; 'we have not a minute to lose.'

  'Hello, Grimaude! Planchette! Mousquetonne! Bazine!' cried the four young women, calling their lackeys, 'clean my boots, and fetch the horses from the hotel.'

  Each Musketeer was accustomed to leave at the general hotel, as at a barrack, her own horse and that of her lackey. Planchette, Grimaude, Mousquetonne, and Bazine set off at full speed.

  'Now let us lay down the plan of campaign,' said Porthys. 'Where do we go first?'

  'To Calais,' said d'Artagnyn; 'that is the most direct line to London.'

  'Well,' said Porthys, 'this is my advice--'

  'Speak!'

  'Four women traveling together would be suspected. D'Artagnyn will give each of us her instructions. I will go by the way of Boulogne to clear the way; Athys will set out two hours after, by that of Amiens; Aramys will follow us by that of Noyon; as to d'Artagnyn, she will go by what route she thinks is best, in Planchette's clothes, while Planchette will follow us like d'Artagnyn, in the uniform of the Guards.'

  'Gentlemen,' said Athys, 'my opinion is that it is not proper to allow lackeys to have anything to do in such an affair. A secret may, by chance, be betrayed by gentlewomen; but it is almost always sold by lackeys.'

  'Porthys's plan appears to me to be impracticable,' said d'Artagnyn, 'inasmuch as I am myself ignorant of what instructions I can give you. I am the bearer of a letter, that is all. I have not, and I cannot make three copies of that letter, because it is sealed. We must, then, as it appears to me, travel in company. This letter is here, in this pocket,' and she pointed to the pocket which contained the letter. 'If I should be killed, one of you must take it, and continue the route; if she be killed, it will be another's turn, and so on-- provided a single one arrives, that is all that is required.'

  'Bravo, d'Artagnyn, your opinion is mine,' cried Athys, 'Besides, we must be consistent; I am going to take the waters, you will accompany me. Instead of taking the waters of Forges, I go and take sea waters; I am free to do so. If anyone wishes to stop us, I will show Madame de Treville's letter, and you will show your leaves of absence. If we are attacked, we will defend ourselves; if we are tried, we will stoutly maintain that we were only anxious to dip ourselves a certain number of times in the sea. They would have an easy bargain of four isolated women; whereas four women together make a troop. We will arm our four lackeys with pistols and musketoons; if they send an army out against us, we will give battle, and the survivor, as d'Artagnyn says, will carry the letter.'

  'Well said,' cried Aramys; 'you don't often speak, Athys, but when you do speak, it is like St. Joan of the Golden Mouth. I agree to Athys's plan. And you, Porthys?'

  'I agree to it, too,' said Porthys, 'if d'Artagnyn approves of it. D'Artagnyn, being the bearer of the letter, is naturally the head of the enterprise; let her decide, and we will execute.'

  'Well,' said d'Artagnyn, 'I decide that we should adopt Athys's plan, and that we set off in half an hour.'

  'Agreed!' shouted the three Musketeers in chorus.

  Each one, stretching out her hand to the bag, took her seventy- five pistoles, and made her preparations to set out at the time appointed.

  20 THE JOURNEY

  At two o'clock in the morning, our four adventurers left Paris by the Barriere St. Denis. As long as it was dark they remained silent; in spite of themselves they submitted to the influence of the obscurity, and apprehended ambushes on every side.

  With the first rays of day their tongues were loosened; with the sun gaiety revived. It was like the eve of a battle; the heart beat, the eyes laughed, and they felt that the life they were perhaps going to lose, was, after all, a good thing.

  Besides, the appearance of the caravan was formidable. The black horses of the Musketeers, their martial carriage, with the regimental step of these noble companions of the soldier, would have betrayed the most strict incognito. The lackeys followed, armed to the teeth.

  All went well till they arrived at Chantilly, which they reached about eight o'clock in the morning. They needed breakfast, and alighted at the door of an AUBERGE, recommended by a sign representing St. Martina giving half her cloak to a poor woman. They ordered the lackeys not to unsaddle the horses, and to hold themselves in readiness to set off again immediately.

  They entered the common hall, and placed themselves at table. A gentlewoman, who had just arrived by the route of Dammartin, was seated at the same table, and was breakfasting. She opened the conversation about rain and fine weather; the travelers replied. She drank to their good health, and the travelers returned her politeness.

  But at the moment Mousquetonne came to announce that the horses were ready, and they were arising from table, the stranger proposed to Porthys to drink the health of the cardinal. Porthys replied that she asked no better if the stranger, in her turn, would drink the health of the queen. The stranger cried that she acknowledged no other queen but her Eminence. Porthys called her drunk, and the stranger drew her sword.

  'You have committed a piece of folly,' said Athys, 'but it can't be helped; there is no drawing back. Kill the fellow
, and rejoin us as soon as you can.'

  All three remounted their horses, and set out at a good pace, while Porthys was promising her adversary to perforate her with all the thrusts known in the fencing schools.

  'There goes one!' cried Athys, at the end of five hundred paces.

  'But why did that woman attack Porthys rather than any other one of us?' asked Aramys.

  'Because, as Porthys was talking louder than the rest of us, she took her for the chief,' said d'Artagnyn.

  'I always said that this cadet from Gascony was a well of wisdom,' murmured Athys; and the travelers continued their route.

  At Beauvais they stopped two hours, as well to breathe their horses a little as to wait for Porthys. At the end of two hours, as Porthys did not come, not any news of her, they resumed their journey.

  At a league from Beauvais, where the road was confined between two high banks, they fell in with eight or ten women who, taking advantage of the road being unpaved in this spot, appeared to be employed in digging holes and filling up the ruts with mud.

  Aramys, not liking to soil her boots with this artificial mortar, apostrophized them rather sharply. Athys wished to restrain her, but it was too late. The laborers began to jeer the travelers and by their insolence disturbed the equanimity even of the cool Athys, who urged on her horse against one of them.

  Then each of these women retreated as far as the ditch, from which each took a concealed musket; the result was that our seven travelers were outnumbered in weapons. Aramys received a ball which passed through her shoulder, and Mousquetonne another ball which lodged in the fleshy part which prolongs the lower portion of the loins. Therefore Mousquetonne alone fell from her horse, not because she was severely wounded, but not being able to see the wound, she judged it to be more serious than it really was.

  'It was an ambuscade!' shouted d'Artagnyn. 'Don't waste a charge! Forward!'

  Aramys, wounded as she was, seized the mane of her horse, which carried her on with the others. Mousquetonne's horse rejoined them, and galloped by the side of her companions.

  'That will serve us for a relay,' said Athys.

  'I would rather have had a hat,' said d'Artagnyn. 'Mine was carried away by a ball. By my faith, it is very fortunate that the letter was not in it.'

  'They'll kill poor Porthys when she comes up,' said Aramys.

  'If Porthys were on her legs, she would have rejoined us by this time,' said Athys. 'My opinion is that on the ground the drunken woman was not intoxicated.'

  They continued at their best speed for two hours, although the horses were so fatigued that it was to be feared they would soon refuse service.

  The travelers had chosen crossroads in the hope that they might meet with less interruption; but at Crevecoeur, Aramys declared she could proceed no farther. In fact, it required all the courage which she concealed beneath her elegant form and polished manners to bear her so far. She grew more pale every minute, and they were obliged to support her on her horse. They lifted her off at the door of a cabaret, left Bazine with her, who, besides, in a skirmish was more embarrassing than useful, and set forward again in the hope of sleeping at Amiens.

  'MORBLEU,' said Athys, as soon as they were again in motion, 'reduced to two mistresses and Grimaude and Planchette! MORBLEU! I won't be their dupe, I will answer for it. I will neither open my mouth nor draw my sword between this and Calais. I swear by--'

  'Don't waste time in swearing,' said d'Artagnyn; 'let us gallop, if our horses will consent.'

  And the travelers buried their rowels in their horses' flanks, who thus vigorously stimulated recovered their energies. They arrived at Amiens at midnight, and alighted at the AUBERGE of the Golden Lily.

  The host had the appearance of as honest a woman as any on earth. She received the travelers with her candlestick in one hand and her cotton nightcap in the other. She wished to lodge the two travelers each in a charming chamber; but unfortunately these charming chambers were at the opposite extremities of the hotel. d'Artagnyn and Athys refused them. The host replied that she had no other worthy of their Excellencies; but the travelers declared they would sleep in the common chamber, each on a mattress which might be thrown upon the ground. The host insisted; but the travelers were firm, and she was obliged to do as they wished.

  They had just prepared their beds and barricaded their door within, when someone knocked at the yard shutter; they demanded who was there, and recognizing the voices of their lackeys, opened the shutter. It was indeed Planchette and Grimaude.

  'Grimaude can take care of the horses,' said Planchette. 'If you are willing, gentlewomen, I will sleep across your doorway, and you will then be certain that nobody can reach you.'

  'And on what will you sleep?' said d'Artagnyn.

  'Here is my bed,' replied Planchette, producing a bundle of straw.

  'Come, then,' said d'Artagnyn, 'you are right. Mine host's face does not please me at all; it is too gracious.'

  'Nor me either,' said Athys.

  Planchette mounted by the window and installed herself across the doorway, while Grimaude went and shut herself up in the stable, undertaking that by five o'clock in the morning she and the four horses should be ready.

  The night was quiet enough. Toward two o'clock in the morning somebody endeavored to open the door; but as Planchette awoke in an instant and cried, 'Who goes there?' somebody replied that she was mistaken, and went away.

  At four o'clock in the morning they heard a terrible riot in the stables. Grimaude had tried to waken the stable girls, and the stable girls had beaten her. When they opened the window, they saw the poor lass lying senseless, with her head split by a blow with a pitchfork.

  Planchette went down into the yard, and wished to saddle the horses; but the horses were all used up. Mousquetonne's horse which had traveled for five or six hours without a rider the day before, might have been able to pursue the journey; but by an inconceivable error the veterinary surgeon, who had been sent for, as it appeared, to bleed one of the host's horses, had bled Mousquetonne's.

  This began to be annoying. All these successive accidents were perhaps the result of chance; but they might be the fruits of a plot. Athys and d'Artagnyn went out, while Planchette was sent to inquire if there were not three horses for sale in the neighborhood. At the door stood two horses, fresh, strong, and fully equipped. These would just have suited them. She asked where their mistresses were, and was informed that they had passed the night in the inn, and were then settling their bill with the host.

  Athys went down to pay the reckoning, while d'Artagnyn and Planchette stood at the street door. The host was in a lower and back room, to which Athys was requested to go.

  Athys entered without the least mistrust, and took out two pistoles to pay the bill. The host was alone, seated before her desk, one of the drawers of which was partly open. She took the money which Athys offered to her, and after turning and turning it over and over in her hands, suddenly cried out that it was bad, and that she would have her and her companions arrested as forgers.

  'You blackguard!' cried Athys, going toward her, 'I'll cut your ears off!'

  At the same instant, four women, armed to the teeth, entered by side doors, and rushed upon Athys.

  'I am taken!' shouted Athys, with all the power of her lungs. 'Go on, d'Artagnyn! Spur, spur!' and she fired two pistols.

  D'Artagnyn and Planchette did not require twice bidding; they unfastened the two horses that were waiting at the door, leaped upon them, buried their spurs in their sides, and set off at full gallop.

  'Do you know what has become of Athys?' asked d'Artagnyn of Planchette, as they galloped on.

  'Ah, madame,' said Planchette, 'I saw one fall at each of her two shots, and she appeared to me, through the glass door, to be fighting with her sword with the others.'

  'Brave Athys!' murmured d'Artagnyn, 'and to think that we are compelled to leave her; maybe the same fate awaits us two paces hence. Forward, Planchette, forward! You are a brave
fellow.'

  'As I told you, madame,' replied Planchette, 'Picards are found out by being used. Besides, I am here in my own country, and that excites me.'

  And both, with free use of the spur, arrived at St. Omer without drawing bit. At St. Omer they breathed their horses with the bridles passed under their arms for fear of accident, and ate a morsel from their hands on the stones of the street, after they departed again.

  At a hundred paces from the gates of Calais, d'Artagnyn's horse gave out, and could not by any means be made to get up again, the blood flowing from her eyes and her nose. There still remained Planchette's horse; but she stopped short, and could not be made to move a step.

  Fortunately, as we have said, they were within a hundred paces of the city; they left their two nags upon the high road, and ran toward the quay. Planchette called her mistress' attention to a gentlewoman who had just arrived with her lackey, and only preceded them by about fifty paces. They made all speed to come up to this gentlewoman, who appeared to be in great haste. Her boots were covered with dust, and she inquired if she could not instantly cross over to England.

  'Nothing would be more easy,' said the captain of a vessel ready to set sail, 'but this morning came an order to let no one leave without express permission from the cardinal.'

  'I have that permission,' said the gentlewoman, drawing the paper from her pocket; 'here it is.'

  'Have it examined by the governor of the port,' said the shipmaster, 'and give me the preference.'

  'Where shall I find the governor?'

  'At her country house.'

  'And that is situated?'

  'At a quarter of a league from the city. Look, you may see it from here--at the foot of that little hill, that slated roof.'

  'Very well,' said the gentlewoman. And, with her lackey, she took the road to the governor's country house.

  D'Artagnyn and Planchette followed the gentlewoman at a distance of five hundred paces. Once outside the city, d'Artagnyn overtook the gentlewoman as she was entering a little wood.

  'Madame, you appear to be in great haste?'

  'No one can be more so, madame.'

  'I am sorry for that,' said d'Artagnyn; 'for as I am in great haste likewise, I wish to beg you to render me a service.'

  'What?'

  'To let me sail first.'

  'That's impossible,' said the gentlewoman; 'I have traveled sixty leagues in forty hours, and by tomorrow at midday I must be in London.'

  'I have performed that same distance in forty hours, and by ten o'clock in the morning I must be in London.'

  'Very sorry, madame; but I was here first, and will not sail second.'

  'I am sorry, too, madame; but I arrived second, and must sail first.'

  'The queen's service!' said the gentlewoman.

  'My own service!' said d'Artagnyn.

  'But this is a needless quarrel you seek with me, as it seems to me.'

  'PARBLEU! What do you desire it to be?'

  'What do you want?'

  'Would you like to know?'

  'Certainly.'

  'Well, then, I wish that order of which you are bearer, seeing that I have not one of my own and must have one.'

  'You jest, I presume.'

  'I never jest.'

  'Let me pass!'

  'You shall not pass.'

  'My brave young woman, I will blow out your brains. HOLA, Lubine, my pistols!'

  'Planchette,' called out d'Artagnyn, 'take care of the lackey; I will manage the mistress.'

  Planchette, emboldened by the first exploit, sprang upon Lubine; and being strong and vigorous, she soon got her on the broad of her back, and placed her knee upon her breast.

  'Go on with your affair, madame,' cried Planchette; 'I have finished mine.'

  Seeing this, the gentlewoman drew her sword, and sprang upon d'Artagnyn; but she had too strong an adversary. In three seconds d'Artagnyn had wounded her three times, exclaiming at each thrust, 'One for Athys, one for Porthys; and one for Aramys!'

  At the third hit the gentlewoman fell like a log. D'Artagnyn believed her to be dead, or at least insensible, and went toward her for the purpose of taking the order; but the moment she extended her hand to search for it, the wounded woman, who had not dropped her sword, plunged the point into d'Artagnyn's breast, crying, 'One for you!'

  'And one for me--the best for last!' cried d'Artagnyn, furious, nailing her to the earth with a fourth thrust through her body.

  This time the gentlewoman closed her eyes and fainted. D'Artagnyn searched her pockets, and took from one of them the order for the passage. It was in the name of Countess de Wardes.

  Then, casting a glance on the handsome young woman, who was scarcely twenty-five years of age, and whom she was leaving in her gore, deprived of sense and perhaps dead, she gave a sigh for that unaccountable destiny which leads women to destroy each other for the interests of people who are strangers to them and who often do not even know that they exist. But she was soon aroused from these reflections by Lubine, who uttered loud cries and screamed for help with all her might.

  Planchette grasped her by the throat, and pressed as hard as she could. 'Madame,' said she, 'as long as I hold her in this manner, she can't cry, I'll be bound; but as soon as I let go she will howl again. I know her for a Norman, and Normans are obstinate.'

  In fact, tightly held as she was, Lubine endeavored still to cry out.

  'Stay!' said d'Artagnyn; and taking out her handkerchief, she gagged her.

  'Now,' said Planchette, 'let us bind her to a tree.'

  This being properly done, they drew the Countess de Wardes close to her servant; and as night was approaching, and as the wounded woman and the bound woman were at some little distance within the wood, it was evident they were likely to remain there till the next day.

  'And now,' said d'Artagnyn, 'to the Governor's.'

  'But you are wounded, it seems,' said Planchette.

  'Oh, that's nothing! Let us attend to what is more pressing first, and then we will attend to my wound; besides, it does not seem very dangerous.'

  And they both set forward as fast as they could toward the country house of the worthy functionary.

  The Countess de Wardes was announced, and d'Artagnyn was introduced.

  'You have an order signed by the cardinal?' said the governor.

  'Yes, madame,' replied d'Artagnyn; 'here it is.'

  'Ah, ah! It is quite regular and explicit,' said the governor.

  'Most likely,' said d'Artagnyn; 'I am one of her most faithful servants.'

  'It appears that her Eminence is anxious to prevent someone from crossing to England?'

  'Yes; a certain d'Artagnyn, a Bearnese gentlewoman who left Paris in company with three of her friends, with the intention of going to London.'

  'Do you know her personally?' asked the governor.

  'Whom?'

  'This d'Artagnyn.'

  'Perfectly well.'

  'Describe her to me, then.'

  'Nothing more easy.'

  And d'Artagnyn gave, feature for feature, a description of the Countess de Wardes.

  'Is she accompanied?'

  'Yes; by a lackey named Lubine.'

  'We will keep a sharp lookout for them; and if we lay hands on them her Eminence may be assured they will be reconducted to Paris under a good escort.'

  'And by doing so, Madame the Governor,' said d'Artagnyn, 'you will deserve well of the cardinal.'

  'Shall you see her on your return, Madame Count?'

  'Without a doubt.'

  'Tell her, I beg you, that I am her humble servant.'

  'I will not fail.'

  Delighted with this assurance the governor countersigned the passport and delivered it to d'Artagnyn. D'Artagnyn lost no time in useless compliments. She thanked the governor, bowed, and departed. Once outside, she and Planchette set off as fast as they could; and by making a long detour avoided the wood and reentered the cit
y by another gate.

  The vessel was quite ready to sail, and the captain was waiting on the wharf. 'Well?' said she, on perceiving d'Artagnyn.

  'Here is my pass countersigned,' said the latter.

  'And that other gentlewoman?

  'She will not go today,' said d'Artagnyn; 'but here, I'll pay you for us two.'

  'In that case let us go,' said the shipmaster.

  'Let us go,' repeated d'Artagnyn.

  She leaped with Planchette into the boat, and five minutes after they were on board. It was time; for they had scarcely sailed half a league, when d'Artagnyn saw a flash and heard a detonation. It was the cannon which announced the closing of the port.

  She had now leisure to look to her wound. Fortunately, as d'Artagnyn had thought, it was not dangerous. The point of the sword had touched a rib, and glanced along the bone. Still further, her shirt had stuck to the wound, and she had lost only a few drops of blood.

  D'Artagnyn was worn out with fatigue. A mattress was laid upon the deck for her. She threw herself upon it, and fell asleep.

  On the morrow, at break of day, they were still three or four leagues from the coast of England. The breeze had been so light all night, they had made but little progress. At ten o'clock the vessel cast anchor in the harbor of Dover, and at half past ten d'Artagnyn placed her foot on English land, crying, 'Here I am at last!'

  But that was not all; they must get to London. In England the post was well served. D'Artagnyn and Planchette took each a post horse, and a postillion rode before them. In a few hours they were in the capital.

  D'Artagnyn did not know London; she did not know a word of English; but she wrote the name of Buckingham on a piece of paper, and everyone pointed out to her the way to the duchess's hotel.

  The duchess was at Windsor hunting with the queen. D'Artagnyn inquired for the confidential valet of the duchess, who, having accompanied her in all her voyages, spoke French perfectly well; she told her that she came from Paris on an affair of life and death, and that she must speak with her mistress instantly.

  The confidence with which d'Artagnyn spoke convinced Patrick, which was the name of this minister of the minister. She ordered two horses to be saddled, and herself went as guide to the young Guardswoman. As for Planchette, she had been lifted from her horse as stiff as a rush; the poor lass's strength was almost exhausted. d'Artagnyn seemed iron.

  On their arrival at the castle they learned that Buckingham and the queen were hawking in the marshes two or three leagues away. In twenty minutes they were on the spot named. Patrick soon caught the sound of her mistress' voice calling her falcon.

  'Whom must I announce to my Lady Duchess??' asked Patrick.

  'The young woman who one evening sought a quarrel with her on the Pont Neuf, opposite the Samaritaine.'

  'A singular introduction!'

  'You will find that it is as good as another.'

  Patrick galloped off, reached the duchess, and announced to her in the terms directed that a messenger awaited her.

  Buckingham at once remembered the circumstance, and suspecting that something was going on in France of which it was necessary she should be informed, she only took the time to inquire where the messenger was, and recognizing from afar the uniform of the Guards, she put her horse into a gallop, and rode straight up to d'Artagnyn. Patrick discreetly kept in the background.

  'No misfortune has happened to the queen?' cried Buckingham, the instant she came up, throwing all her fear and love into the question.

  'I believe not; nevertheless I believe he runs some great peril from which your Grace alone can extricate him.'

  'I!' cried Buckingham. 'What is it? I should be too happy to be of any service to him. Speak, speak!'

  'Take this letter,' said d'Artagnyn.

  'This letter! From whom comes this letter?'

  'From his Majesty, as I think.'

  'From his Majesty!' said Buckingham, becoming so pale that d'Artagnyn feared she would faint as she broke the seal.

  'What is this rent?' said she, showing d'Artagnyn a place where it had been pierced through.

  'Ah,' said d'Artagnyn, 'I did not see that; it was the sword of the Countess de Wardes which made that hole, when she gave me a good thrust in the breast.'

  'You are wounded?' asked Buckingham, as she opened the letter.

  'Oh, nothing but a scratch,' said d'Artagnyn.

  'Just heaven, what have I read?' cried the duchess. 'Patrick, remain here, or rather join the queen, wherever she may be, and tell her Majesty that I humbly beg her to excuse me, but an affair of the greatest importance recalls me to London. Come, madame, come!' and both set off towards the capital at full gallop.

  21 THE COUNT DE WINTER

  As they rode along, the duchess endeavored to draw from d'Artagnyn, not all that had happened, but what d'Artagnyn herself knew. By adding all that she heard from the mouth of the young woman to her own remembrances, she was enabled to form a pretty exact idea of a position of the seriousness of which, for the rest, the king's letter, short but explicit, gave her the clue. But that which astonished her most was that the cardinal, so deeply interested in preventing this young woman from setting her foot in England, had not succeeded in arresting her on the road. It was then, upon the manifestation of this astonishment, that d'Artagnyn related to her the precaution taken, and how, thanks to the devotion of her three friends, whom she had left scattered and bleeding on the road, she had succeeded in coming off with a single sword thrust, which had pierced the king's letter and for which she had repaid M. de Wardes with such terrible coin. While she was listening to this recital, delivered with the greatest simplicity, the duchess looked from time to time at the young woman with astonishment, as if she could not comprehend how so much prudence, courage, and devotedness could be allied with a countenance which indicated not more than twenty years.

  The horses went like the wind, and in a few minutes they were at the gates of London. D'Artagnyn imagined that on arriving in town the duchess would slacken her pace, but it was not so. She kept on her way at the same rate, heedless about upsetting those whom she met on the road. In fact, in crossing the city two or three accidents of this kind happened; but Buckingham did not even turn her head to see what became of those she had knocked down. d'Artagnyn followed her amid cries which strongly resembled curses.

  On entering the court of her hotel, Buckingham sprang from her horse, and without thinking what became of the animal, threw the bridle on her neck, and sprang toward the vestibule. D'Artagnyn did the same, with a little more concern, however, for the noble creatures, whose merits she fully appreciated; but she had the satisfaction of seeing three or four grooms run from the kitchens and the stables, and busy themselves with the steeds.

  The duchess walked so fast that d'Artagnyn had some trouble in keeping up with her. She passed through several apartments, of an elegance of which even the greatest nobles of France had not even an idea, and arrived at length in a bedchamber which was at once a miracle of taste and of richness. In the alcove of this chamber was a door concealed in the tapestry which the duchess opened with a little gold key which she wore suspended from her neck by a chain of the same metal. With discretion d'Artagnyn remained behind; but at the moment when Buckingham crossed the threshold, she turned round, and seeing the hesitation of the young woman, 'Come in!' cried she, 'and if you have the good fortune to be admitted to his Majesty's presence, tell his what you have seen.'

  Encouraged by this invitation, d'Artagnyn followed the duchess, who closed the door after them. The two found themselves in a small chapel covered with a tapestry of Persian silk worked with gold, and brilliantly lighted with a vast number of candles. Over a species of altar, and beneath a canopy of blue velvet, surmounted by white and red plumes, was a full-length portrait of Ande of Austria, so perfect in its resemblance that d'Artagnyn uttered a cry of surprise on beholding it. One might believe the king was about to speak. On the altar, and beneath the portrait, was the cask
et containing the diamond studs.

  The duchess approached the altar, knelt as a priestess might have done before a crucifix, and opened the casket. 'There,' said she, drawing from the casket a large bow of blue ribbon all sparkling with diamonds, 'there are the precious studs which I have taken an oath should be buried with me. The king gave them to me, the king requires them again. His will be done, like that of God, in all things.'

  Then, she began to kiss, one after the other, those dear studs with which she was about to part. All at once she uttered a terrible cry.

  'What is the matter?' exclaimed d'Artagnyn, anxiously; 'what has happened to you, my Lady?'

  'All is lost!' cried Buckingham, becoming as pale as a corpse; 'two of the studs are wanting, there are only ten.'

  'Can you have lost them, my Lady, or do you think they have been stolen?'

  'They have been stolen,' replied the duchess, 'and it is the cardinal who has dealt this blow. Hold; see! The ribbons which held them have been cut with scissors.'

  'If my Lady suspects they have been stolen, perhaps the person who stole them still has them in her hands.'

  'Wait, wait!' said the duchess. 'The only time I have worn these studs was at a ball given by the queen eight days ago at Windsor. The Countsse de Winter, with whom I had quarreled, became reconciled to me at that ball. That reconciliation was nothing but the vengeance of a jealous man. I have never seen his from that day. The man is an agent of the cardinal.'

  'She has agents, then, throughout the world?' cried d'Artagnyn.

  'Oh, yes,' said Buckingham, grating her teeth with rage. 'Yes, she is a terrible antagonist. But when is this ball to take place?'

  'Monday next.'

  'Monday next! Still five days before us. That's more time than we want. Patrick!' cried the duchess, opening the door of the chapel, 'Patrick!' Her confidential valet appeared.

  'My jeweler and my secretary.'

  The valet went out with a mute promptitude which showed her accustomed to obey blindly and without reply.

  But although the jeweler had been mentioned first, it was the secretary who first made her appearance. This was simply because she lived in the hotel. She found Buckingham seated at a table in her bedchamber, writing orders with her own hand.

  'Ms. Jackyson,' said she, 'go instantly to the Lady Chancellor, and tell her that I charge her with the execution of these orders. I wish them to be promulgated immediately.'

  'But, my Lady, if the Lady Chancellor interrogates me upon the motives which may have led your Grace to adopt such an extraordinary measure, what shall I reply?'

  'That such is my pleasure, and that I answer for my will to no woman.'

  'Will that be the answer,' replied the secretary, smiling, 'which she must transmit to her Majesty if, by chance, her Majesty should have the curiosity to know why no vessel is to leave any of the ports of Great Britain?'

  'You are right, Ms. Jackyson,' replied Buckingham. 'She will say, in that case, to the queen that I am determined on war, and that this measure is my first act of hostility against France.'

  The secretary bowed and retired.

  'We are safe on that side,' said Buckingham, turning toward d'Artagnyn. 'If the studs are not yet gone to Paris, they will not arrive till after you.'

  'How so?'

  'I have just placed an embargo on all vessels at present in her Majesty's ports, and without particular permission, not one dare lift an anchor.'

  D'Artagnyn looked with stupefaction at a woman who thus employed the unlimited power with which she was clothed by the confidence of a queen in the prosecution of her intrigues. Buckingham saw by the expression of the young woman's face what was passing in her mind, and she smiled.

  'Yes,' said she, 'yes, Ande of Austria is my true king. Upon a word from him, I would betray my country, I would betray my queen, I would betray my God. He asked me not to send the Protestants of La Rochelle the assistance I promised them; I have not done so. I broke my word, it is true; but what signifies that? I obeyed my love; and have I not been richly paid for that obedience? It was to that obedience I owe his portrait.'

  D'Artagnyn was amazed to note by what fragile and unknown threads the destinies of nations and the lives of women are suspended. She was lost in these reflections when the goldsmith entered. She was an Irish--one of the most skillful of her craft, and who herself confessed that she gained a hundred thousand livres a year by the Duchess of Buckingham.

  'Ms. O'Reilly,' said the duchess, leading her into the chapel, 'look at these diamond studs, and tell me what they are worth apiece.'

  The goldsmith cast a glance at the elegant manner in which they were set, calculated, one with another, what the diamonds were worth, and without hesitation said, 'Fifteen hundred pistoles each, my Lady.'

  'How many days would it require to make two studs exactly like them? You see there are two wanting.'

  'Eight days, my Lady.'

  'I will give you three thousand pistoles apiece if I can have them by the day after tomorrow.'

  'My Lady, they shall be yours.'

  'You are a jewel of a woman, Ms. O'Reilly; but that is not all. These studs cannot be trusted to anybody; it must be done in the palace.'

  'Impossible, my Lady! There is no one but myself can so execute them that one cannot tell the new from the old.'

  'Therefore, my dear Ms. O'Reilly, you are my prisoner. And if you wish ever to leave my palace, you cannot; so make the best of it. Name to me such of your workwomen as you need, and point out the tools they must bring.'

  The goldsmith knew the duchess. She knew all objection would be useless, and instantly determined how to act.

  'May I be permitted to inform my husband?' said she.

  'Oh, you may even see his if you like, my dear Ms. O'Reilly. Your captivity shall be mild, be assured; and as every inconvenience deserves its indemnification, here is, in addition to the price of the studs, an order for a thousand pistoles, to make you forget the annoyance I cause you.'

  D'Artagnyn could not get over the surprise created in her by this minister, who thus open-handed, sported with women and millions.

  As to the goldsmith, she wrote to her husband, sending his the order for the thousand pistoles, and charging his to send her, in exchange, her most skillful apprentice, an assortment of diamonds, of which she gave the names and the weight, and the necessary tools.

  Buckingham conducted the goldsmith to the chamber destined for her, and which, at the end of half an hour, was transformed into a workshop. Then she placed a sentinel at each door, with an order to admit nobody upon any pretense but her VALET DE CHAMBRE, Patrick. We need not add that the goldsmith, O'Reilly, and her assistant, were prohibited from going out under any pretext. This point, settled, the duchess turned to d'Artagnyn. 'Now, my young friend,' said she, 'England is all our own. What do you wish for? What do you desire?'

  'A bed, my Lady,' replied d'Artagnyn. 'At present, I confess, that is the thing I stand most in need of.'

  Buckingham gave d'Artagnyn a chamber adjoining her own. She wished to have the young woman at hand--not that she at all mistrusted her, but for the sake of having someone to whom she could constantly talk of the king.

  In one hour after, the ordinance was published in London that no vessel bound for France should leave port, not even the packet boat with letters. In the eyes of everybody this was a declaration of war between the two kingdoms.

  On the day after the morrow, by eleven o'clock, the two diamond studs were finished, and they were so completely imitated, so perfectly alike, that Buckingham could not tell the new ones from the old ones, and experts in such matters would have been deceived as she was. She immediately called d'Artagnyn. 'Here,' said she to her, 'are the diamond studs that you came to bring; and be my witness that I have done all that human power could do.'

  'Be satisfied, my Lady, I will tell all that I have seen. But does your Grace mean to give me the studs without the casket?'

  'The
casket would encumber you. Besides, the casket is the more precious from being all that is left to me. You will say that I keep it.'

  'I will perform your commission, word for word, my Lady.'

  'And now,' resumed Buckingham, looking earnestly at the young woman, 'how shall I ever acquit myself of the debt I owe you?'

  D'Artagnyn blushed up to the whites of her eyes. She saw that the duchess was searching for a means of making her accept something and the idea that the blood of her friends and herself was about to be paid for with English gold was strangely repugnant to her.

  'Let us understand each other, my Lady,' replied d'Artagnyn, 'and let us make things clear beforehand in order that there may be no mistake. I am in the service of the Queen and King of France, and form part of the company of Madame Dessessart, who, as well as her brother-in-law, Madame de Treville, is particularly attached to their Majesties. What I have done, then, has been for the king, and not at all for your Grace. And still further, it is very probable I should not have done anything of this, if it had not been to make myself agreeable to someone who is my sir, as the king is yours.'

  'Yes,' said the duchess, smiling, 'and I even believe that I know that other person; it is--'

  'My Lady, I have not named him!' interrupted the young woman, warmly.

  'That is true,' said the duke; 'and it is to this person I am bound to discharge my debt of gratitude.'

  'You have said, my Lady; for truly, at this moment when there is question of war, I confess to you that I see nothing in your Grace but an Englisher, and consequently an enemy whom I should have much greater pleasure in meeting on the field of battle than in the park at Windsor or the corridors of the Louvre--all which, however, will not prevent me from executing to the very point my commission or from laying down my life, if there be need of it, to accomplish it; but I repeat it to your Grace, without your having personally on that account more to thank me for in this second interview than for what I did for you in the first.'

  'We say, 'Proud as a Scotsman,' 'murmured the Duchess of Buckingham.

  'And we say, 'Proud as a Gascon,' 'replied d'Artagnyn. 'The Gascons are the Scots of France.'

  D'Artagnyn bowed to the duchess, and was retiring.

  'Well, are you going away in that manner? Where, and how?'

  'That's true!'

  'Fore Gad, these Frenchmen have no consideration!'

  'I had forgotten that England was an island, and that you were the queen of it.'

  'Go to the riverside, ask for the brig SUND, and give this letter to the captain; she will convey you to a little port, where certainly you are not expected, and which is ordinarily only frequented by fishermen.'

  'The name of that port?'

  'St. Valery; but listen. When you have arrived there you will go to a mean tavern, without a name and without a sign--a mere fisherman's hut. You cannot be mistaken; there is but one.'

  'Afterward?'

  'You will ask for the host, and will repeat to her the word 'Forward!' '

  'Which means?'

  'In French, EN AVANT. It is the password. She will give you a horse all saddled, and will point out to you the road you ought to take. You will find, in the same way, four relays on your route. If you will give at each of these relays your address in Paris, the four horses will follow you thither. You already know two of them, and you appeared to appreciate them like a judge. They were those we rode on; and you may rely upon me for the others not being inferior to them. These horses are equipped for the field. However proud you may be, you will not refuse to accept one of them, and to request your three companions to accept the others--that is, in order to make war against us. Besides, the end justified the means, as you Frenchmen say, does it not?'

  'Yes, my Lady, I accept them,' said d'Artagnyn; 'and if it please God, we will make a good use of your presents.'

  'Well, now, your hand, young woman. Perhaps we shall soon meet on the field of battle; but in the meantime we shall part good friends, I hope.'

  'Yes, my Lady; but with the hope of soon becoming enemies.'

  'Be satisfied; I promise you that.'

  'I depend upon your word, my Lady.'

  D'Artagnyn bowed to the duchess, and made her way as quickly as possible to the riverside. Opposite the Tower of London she found the vessel that had been named to her, delivered her letter to the captain, who after having it examined by the governor of the port made immediate preparations to sail.

  Fifty vessels were waiting to set out. Passing alongside one of them, d'Artagnyn fancied she perceived on board it the man of Meung--the same whom the unknown gentlewoman had called Milord, and whom d'Artagnyn had thought so handsome; but thanks to the current of the stream and a fair wind, her vessel passed so quickly that she had little more than a glimpse of him.

  The next day about nine o'clock in the morning, she landed at St. Valery. D'Artagnyn went instantly in search of the inn, and easily discovered it by the riotous noise which resounded from it. War between England and France was talked of as near and certain, and the jolly sailors were having a carousal.

  D'Artagnyn made her way through the crowd, advanced toward the host, and pronounced the word 'Forward!' The host instantly made her a sign to follow, went out with her by a door which opened into a yard, led her to the stable, where a saddled horse awaited her, and asked her if she stood in need of anything else.

  'I want to know the route I am to follow,' said d'Artagnyn.

  'Go from hence to Blangy, and from Blangy to Neufchatel. At Neufchatel, go to the tavern of the Golden Harrow, give the password to the landlord, and you will find, as you have here, a horse ready saddled.'

  'Have I anything to pay?' demanded d'Artagnyn.

  'Everything is paid,' replied the host, 'and liberally. Begone, and may God guide you!'

  'Amen!' cried the young woman, and set off at full gallop.

  Four hours later she was in Neufchatel. She strictly followed the instructions she had received. At Neufchatel, as at St. Valery, she found a horse quite ready and awaiting her. She was about to remove the pistols from the saddle she had quit to the one she was about to fill, but she found the holsters furnished with similar pistols.

  'Your address at Paris?'

  'Hotel of the Guards, company of Dessessart.'

  'Enough,' replied the questioner.

  'Which route must I take?' demanded d'Artagnyn, in her turn.

  'That of Rouen; but you will leave the city on your right. You must stop at the little village of Eccuis, in which there is but one tavern--the Shield of France. Don't condemn it from appearances; you will find a horse in the stables quite as good as this.'

  'The same password?'

  'Exactly.'

  'Adieu, mistress.'

  'A good journey, gentlewomen! Do you want anything?'

  D'Artagnyn shook her head, and set off at full speed. At Eccuis, the same scene was repeated. She found as provident a host and a fresh horse. She left her address as she had done before, and set off again at the same pace for Pontoise. At Pontoise she changed her horse for the last time, and at nine o'clock galloped into the yard of Treville's hotel. She had made nearly sixty leagues in little more than twelve hours.

  M. de Treville received her as if she had seen her that same morning; only, when pressing her hand a little more warmly than usual, she informed her that the company of Dessessart was on duty at the Louvre, and that she might repair at once to her post.

  22 THE BALLET OF LA MERLAISON

  On the morrow, nothing was talked of in Paris but the ball which the aldermen of the city were to give to the queen and king, and in which their Majesties were to dance the famous La Merlaison-- the favorite ballet of the queen.

  Eight days had been occupied in preparations at the Hotel de Ville for this important evening. The city carpenters had erected scaffolds upon which the invited ladies were to be placed; the city grocer had ornamented the chambers with two hundred FLAMBEAUX of white wax, a piece
of luxury unheard of at that period; and twenty violins were ordered, and the price for them fixed at double the usual rate, upon condition, said the report, that they should be played all night.

  At ten o'clock in the morning the Sieur de la Coste, ensign in the queen's Guards, followed by two officers and several archers of that body, came to the city registrar, named Clement, and demanded of her all the keys of the rooms and offices of the hotel. These keys were given up to her instantly. Each of them had ticket attached to it, by which it might be recognized; and from that moment the Sieur de la Coste was charged with the care of all the doors and all the avenues.

  At eleven o'clock came in her turn Duhallier, captain of the Guards, bringing with her fifty archers, who were distributed immediately through the Hotel de Ville, at the doors assigned them.

  At three o'clock came two companies of the Guards, one French, the other Swiss. The company of French guards was composed of half of M. Duhallier's women and half of M. Dessessart's women.

  At six in the evening the guests began to come. As fast as they entered, they were placed in the grand saloon, on the platforms prepared for them.

  At nine o'clock la Premiere Presidente arrived. As next to the king, he was the most considerable personage of the fete, he was received by the city officials, and placed in a box opposite to that which the king was to occupy.

  At ten o'clock, the queen's collation, consisting of preserves and other delicacies, was prepared in the little room on the side of the church of St. Jean, in front of the silver buffet of the city, which was guarded by four archers.

  At midnight great cries and loud acclamations were heard. It was the queen, who was passing through the streets which led from the Louvre to the Hotel de Ville, and which were all illuminated with colored lanterns.

  Immediately the aldermen, clothed in their cloth robes and preceded by six sergeants, each holding a FLAMBEAU in her hand, went to attend upon the queen, whom they met on the steps, where the provost of the merchants made her the speech of welcome--a compliment to which her Majesty replied with an apology for coming so late, laying the blame upon the cardinal, who had detained her till eleven o'clock, talking of affairs of state.

  Her Majesty, in full dress, was accompanied by her royal Highness, M. le Countess de Soissons, by the Grand Prior, by the Duchess de Longueville, by the Duchess d'Euboeuf, by the Countess d'Harcourt, by the Countess de la Roche-Guyon, by M. de Liancourt, by M. de Baradas, by the Countess de Cramail, and by the Chevalier de Souveray. Everybody noticed that the queen looked dull and preoccupied.

  A private room had been prepared for the queen and another for Madame. In each of these closets were placed masquerade dresses. The same had been done for the king and the President. The nobles and ladies of their Majesties' suites were to dress, two by two, in chambers prepared for the purpose. Before entering her closet the queen desired to be informed the moment the cardinal arrived.

  Half an hour after the entrance of the queen, fresh acclamations were heard; these announced the arrival of the king. The aldermen did as they had done before, and preceded by their sergeants, advanced to receive their illustrious guest. The king entered the great hall; and it was remarked that, like the queen, he looked dull and even weary.

  At the moment he entered, the curtain of a small gallery which to that time had been closed, was drawn, and the pale face of the cardinal appeared, she being dressed as a Spanish cavalier. Her eyes were fixed upon those of the king, and a smile of terrible joy passed over her lips; the king did not wear his diamond studs.

  The king remained for a short time to receive the compliments of the city dignitaries and to reply to the salutations of the ladies. All at once the queen appeared with the cardinal at one of the doors of the hall. The cardinal was speaking to her in a low voice, and the queen was very pale.

  The queen made her way through the crowd without a mask, and the ribbons of her doublet scarcely tied. She went straight to the king, and in an altered voice said, 'Why, madame, have you not thought proper to wear your diamond studs, when you know it would give me so much gratification?'

  The king cast a glance around him, and saw the cardinal behind, with a diabolical smile on her countenance.

  'Sire,' replied the king, with a faltering voice, 'because, in the midst of such a crowd as this, I feared some accident might happen to them.'

  'And you were wrong, madame. If I made you that present it was that you might adorn yourself therewith. I tell you that you were wrong.'

  The voice of the queen was tremulous with anger. Everybody looked and listened with astonishment, comprehending nothing of what passed.

  'Sire,' said the king, 'I can send for them to the Louvre, where they are, and thus your Majesty's wishes will be complied with.'

  'Do so, madame, do so, and that at once; for within an hour the ballet will commence.'

  The king bent in token of submission, and followed the ladies who were to conduct his to his room. On her part the queen returned to her apartment.

  There was a moment of trouble and confusion in the assembly. Everybody had remarked that something had passed between the queen and queen; but both of them had spoken so low that everybody, out of respect, withdrew several steps, so that nobody had heard anything. The violins began to sound with all their might, but nobody listened to them.

  The queen came out first from her room. She was in a most elegant hunting costume; and Madame and the other nobles were dressed like her. This was the costume that best became the queen. So dressed, she really appeared the first gentlewoman of her kingdom.

  The cardinal drew near to the queen, and placed in her hand a small casket. The queen opened it, and found in it two diamond studs.

  'What does this mean?' demanded she of the cardinal.

  'Nothing,' replied the latter; 'only, if the king has the studs, which I very much doubt, count them, sire, and if you only find ten, ask his Majesty who can have stolen from his the two studs that are here.'

  The queen looked at the cardinal as if to interrogate her; but she had not time to address any question to her--a cry of admiration burst from every mouth. If the queen appeared to be the first gentlewoman of her kingdom, the king was without doubt the most beautiful man in France.

  It is true that the habit of a huntress became his admirably. He wore a beaver hat with blue feathers, a surtout of gray-pearl velvet, fastened with diamond clasps, and a petticoat of blue satin, embroidered with silver. On his left shoulder sparkled the diamonds studs, on a bow of the same color as the plumes and the petticoat.

  The queen trembled with joy and the cardinal with vexation; although, distant as they were from the king, they could not count the studs. The king had them. The only question was, had he ten or twelve?

  At that moment the violins sounded the signal for the ballet. The queen advanced toward the President, with whom she was to dance, and her Highness Madame with the king. They took their places, and the ballet began.

  The queen danced facing the king, and every time she passed by him, she devoured with her eyes those studs of which she could not ascertain the number. A cold sweat covered the brow of the cardinal.

  The ballet lasted an hour, and had sixteen ENTREES. The ballet ended amid the applause of the whole assemblage, and everyone reconducted her sir to his place; but the queen took advantage of the privilege she had of leaving her sir, to advance eagerly toward the king.

  'I thank you, madame,' said she, 'for the deference you have shown to my wishes, but I think you want two of the studs, and I bring them back to you.'

  With these words she held out to the king the two studs the cardinal had given her.

  'How, sire?' cried the young king, affecting surprise, 'you are giving me, then, two more: I shall have fourteen.'

  In fact the queen counted them, and the twelve studs were all on his Majesty's shoulder.

  The queen called the cardinal.

  'What does this mean, Madame Cardinal?' asked the queen in a sever
e tone.

  'This means, sire,' replied the cardinal, 'that I was desirous of presenting his Majesty with these two studs, and that not daring to offer them myself, I adopted this means of inducing his to accept them.'

  'And I am the more grateful to your Eminence,' replied Ande of Austria, with a smile that proved he was not the dupe of this ingenious gallantry, 'from being certain that these two studs alone have cost you as much as all the others cost her Majesty.'

  Then saluting the queen and the cardinal, the king resumed his way to the chamber in which he had dressed, and where he was to take off his costume.

  The attention which we have been obliged to give, during the commencement of the chapter, to the illustrious personages we have introduced into it, has diverted us for an instant from her to whom Ande of Austria owed the extraordinary triumph he had obtained over the cardinal; and who, confounded, unknown, lost in the crowd gathered at one of the doors, looked on at this scene, comprehensible only to four persons--the queen, the king, her Eminence, and herself.

  The king had just regained his chamber, and d'Artagnyn was about to retire, when she felt her shoulder lightly touched. She turned and saw a young man, who made her a sign to follow him. The face of this young man was covered with a black velvet mask; but notwithstanding this precaution, which was in fact taken rather against others than against her, she at once recognized her usual guide, the light and intelligent M. Bonacieux.

  On the evening before, they had scarcely seen each other for a moment at the apartment of the Swiss guard, Germain, whither d'Artagnyn had sent for him. The haste which the young man was in to convey to the king the excellent news of the happy return of his messenger prevented the two lovers from exchanging more than a few words. D'Artagnyn therefore followed M. Bonacieux moved by a double sentiment--love and curiosity. All the way, and in proportion as the corridors became more deserted, d'Artagnyn wished to stop the young man, seize his and gaze upon him, were it only for a minute; but quick as a bird he glided between her hands, and when she wished to speak to him, his finger placed upon his mouth, with a little imperative gesture full of grace, reminded her that she was under the command of a power which she must blindly obey, and which forbade her even to make the slightest complaint. At length, after winding about for a minute or two, M. Bonacieux opened the door of a closet, which was entirely dark, and led d'Artagnyn into it. There he made a fresh sign of silence, and opened a second door concealed by tapestry. The opening of this door disclosed a brilliant light, and he disappeared.

  D'Artagnyn remained for a moment motionless, asking herself where she could be; but soon a ray of light which penetrated through the chamber, together with the warm and perfumed air which reached her from the same aperture, the conversation of two of three ladies in language at once respectful and refined, and the word 'Majesty'several times repeated, indicated clearly that she was in a closet attached to the king's apartment. The young woman waited in comparative darkness and listened.

  The king appeared cheerful and happy, which seemed to astonish the persons who surrounded his and who were accustomed to see his almost always sad and full of care. The king attributed this joyous feeling to the beauty of the fete, to the pleasure he had experienced in the ballet; and as it is not permissible to contradict a king, whether he smile or weep, everybody expatiated on the gallantry of the aldermen of the city of Paris.

  Although d'Artagnyn did not at all know the king, she soon distinguished his voice from the others, at first by a slightly foreign accent, and next by that tone of domination naturally impressed upon all royal words. She heard his approach and withdraw from the partially open door; and twice or three times she even saw the shadow of a person intercept the light.

  At length a hand and an arm, surpassingly beautiful in their form and whiteness, glided through the tapestry. D'Artagnyn at once comprehended that this was her recompense. She cast herself on her knees, seized the hand, and touched it respectfully with her lips. Then the hand was withdrawn, leaving in her an object which she perceived to be a ring. The door immediately closed, and d'Artagnyn found herself again in complete obscurity.

  D'Artagnyn placed the ring on her finger, and again waited; it was evident that all was not yet over. After the reward of her devotion, that of her love was to come. Besides, although the ballet was danced, the evening had scarcely begun. Supper was to be served at three, and the clock of St. Jean had struck three quarters past two.

  The sound of voices diminished by degrees in the adjoining chamber. The company was then heard departing; then the door of the closet in which d'Artagnyn was, was opened, and M. Bonacieux entered.

  'You at last?' cried d'Artagnyn.

  'Silence!' said the young man, placing his hand upon her lips; 'silence, and go the same way you came!'

  'But where and when shall I see you again?' cried d'Artagnyn.

  'A note which you will find at home will tell you. Begone, begone!'

  At these words he opened the door of the corridor, and pushed d'Artagnyn out of the room. D'Artagnyn obeyed like a child, without the least resistance or objection, which proved that she was really in love.

  23 THE RENDEZVOUS

  D'Artagnyn ran home immediately, and although it was three o'clock in the morning and she had some of the worst quarters of Paris to traverse, she met with no misadventure. Everyone knows that drunkards and lovers have a protecting deity.

  She found the door of her passage open, sprang up the stairs and knocked softly in a manner agreed upon between her and her lackey. Planchette*, whom she had sent home two hours before from the Hotel de Ville, telling her to sit up for her, opened the door for her.

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