The Modern Library Children's Classics

by Kenneth Grahame

  “It is Aramis!” D’Artagnan murmured. “Ha, Monsieur Hypocrite, this time I’ve caught you studying theology.”

  Scarcely was the rapping done when the window opened and a light appeared through the slats of the shutter.

  “Ah ha!” said our quidnunc, “the pretty caller was expected! There, the shutters will open in a minute and the lady will climb over the window sill, entering by escalade, to use a technical term. Very neat, very neat indeed.”

  To his vast astonishment, however, the shutter remained closed, the light that had shown for a moment disappeared, and once again darkness reigned.

  D’Artagnan, sensing that this could not last long, kept his eyes peeled and his ears pricked up for the next move. He was right. After a few seconds two sharp raps were heard inside; the young woman in the street replied by a single rap and the shutter opened ever so slightly.

  The reader may judge with what avidity D’Artagnan looked and listened. Unfortunately the light had been moved into another room. But his eyes were accustomed to the night; and besides, according to report, the eyes of the Gascons, like those of cats, possess the faculty of seeing through the dark.

  The young woman drew a white object from her pocket and unfolded it quickly into the shape of a handkerchief, then drew her interlocutor’s attention to one corner of it. D’Artagnan suddenly recalled the handkerchief he had found at Madame Bonacieux’s feet, which in turn reminded him of the one he had pulled out from under the feet of Aramis.

  What in the Devil’s name could this handkerchief mean to these people?

  From his point of vantage, D’Artagnan could not distinguish Aramis, but he felt certain it was his friend within conversing with the lady without. Curiosity prevailed over prudence. Making the most of the couple’s preoccupation over the handkerchief, he emerged from his hiding-place and swift as lightning but stepping with the utmost caution, flattened himself against an angle of the wall, whence he could see into the room Aramis occupied.

  Looking in, he almost cried out, so great was his surprise. It was not with Aramis the midnight visitor was conversing but with another woman! He perceived her clearly enough to recognize the clothes she wore but he could not make out her features.

  The woman inside now drew a handkerchief from her pocket and exchanged it for the one the visitor had shown her. The two women spoke a few words more and presently the shutter was closed. The visitor turned back and passed within four steps of D’Artagnan, lowering the hood of her mantle. But her precaution was too late; D’Artagnan had recognized Madame Bonacieux.

  Madame Bonacieux! Already when he had seen her draw the handkerchief from her pocket a suspicion had flashed through his mind, but he dismissed it. After all, was it likely that Madame Bonacieux, having sent for Monsieur de La Porte to conduct her back to the Louvre, would be running about the streets of Paris alone at half-past eleven at night at the risk of being abducted a second time?

  Her errand must be one of immense importance. And what is the most important errand for a woman of twenty-five? Love.

  Was she exposing herself to such hazards on her own account or for the sake of somebody else? There, thought D’Artagnan, lay the whole problem as the demon of jealousy gnawed at his heart as bitterly as though he were already her accepted lover. Well, there was a very simple means of finding out where Madame Bonacieux was going; he need but follow her.

  Seeing the young man as he detached himself from the wall like a statue walking out of its niche and hearing his footsteps resound so near her, Madame Bonacieux uttered a little cry and fled.

  D’Artagnan, running after her, had no difficulty in overtaking a woman burdened by a long, heavy cloak; he came abreast of her before she was one-third of the way down the street. The unfortunate woman was exhausted not by fatigue but by terror, and when D’Artagnan laid his hand on her shoulder, she fell to one knee and cried in a choking voice:

  “Kill me if you like, I shall not tell you anything.”

  D’Artagnan slipped his arm around her waist and drew her to her feet; as he felt that she was about to faint, he hastily comforted her by protestations of devotion. Such protestations meant nothing to Madame Bonacieux for a person might make them while harboring the most evil intentions in the world; but the voice that uttered them meant everything to her. Despite her confusion, she thought she recognized that voice; she opened her eyes, cast a glance at the man who had terrified her, and recognizing D’Artagnan, gave a cry of joy.

  “Oh, it is you! Thank God! Thank God!”

  “Yes, it is I, whom God has sent to watch over you.”

  “Was that why you followed me?”

  The moment she recognized her supposed enemy to be a friend, all her fears vanished. She flashed him a coquettish smile.

  “No,” D’Artagnan told her, “I must confess it was chance threw me in your way. I saw a woman tapping at the window of one of my friends.”

  “Of one of your friends?”

  “Certainly, Aramis is one of my best friends.”

  “Aramis? Who is he?”

  “Come, come, you’re not telling me you don’t know Aramis?”

  “This is the first time I have ever heard his name.”

  “And I suppose it is the first time you ever went to his house?”

  “Assuredly.”

  “And you did not know that a young man lived there?”

  “No.”

  “A musketeer?”

  “No, indeed.”

  “So you weren’t looking for Aramis?”

  “Absolutely not. Besides, as you saw, I was talking to a woman.”

  “That is quite true. But the woman is probably a friend of Aramis—”

  “I don’t know anything about that.”

  “She must be if she lives in his apartment.”

  “That is none of my business.”

  “But who is she?”

  “Oh, that is not my secret.”

  “My dear Madame Bonacieux, you are the most attractive and the most mysterious of women.”

  “Is what you call my mystery a handicap?”

  “No. On the contrary, you are adorable.”

  “Give me your arm, then.”

  “Gladly. And now?”

  “Now escort me; I have a call to make.”

  “Where?”

  “Where I am going.”

  “But where are you going?”

  “You will see because I shall ask you to leave me at the door.”

  “Shall I wait for you?”

  “That will be unnecessary.”

  “Will you come back from there unaccompanied?”

  “Maybe yes, maybe no.”

  “Will the person accompanying you be a man or a woman?”

  “I don’t know yet.”

  “I shall find out!”

  “How?”

  “I shall wait until you come out.”

  “In that case, good-bye.”

  “Why so?”

  “I do not need you.”

  “But you asked me to—”

  “I asked a gentleman to aid me, not a spy to shadow me.”

  “The word ‘spy’ is a harsh one.”

  “What do you call a man who trails people against their will?”

  “I call him indiscreet.”

  “The word ‘indiscreet’ is too mild.”

  “Well, Madame, I see I must do as you wish.”

  “Why did you forgo the merit of doing so at once?”

  “Is there no merit in repentance?”

  “Are you really repentant?”

  “Frankly I scarce know if I am or not. But this I do know: I promise to do whatever you wish if you will allow me to accompany you where you are going.”

  “And you will leave me afterward?”

  “Yes.”

  “Without waiting for me to come out again?”

  “Yes.”

  “On your word of honor?”

  “By my faith as a gentleman. Take my arm and let
us go.”

  Half-laughing, half-trembling, she slipped her arm through his and together they strolled up the Rue de La Harpe. Reaching the end of the street, the young woman appeared to hesitate, just as she had done in the Rue de Vaugirard. Yet she seemed by certain signs to recognize a particular door and, going toward it:

  “Now, Monsieur,” she said, “this is where I have business to do. A thousand thanks for your honorable company; it has saved me from all the dangers I would have faced had I come alone. But now I have reached my destination, the time has come for you to keep your word.”

  “And you will have nothing to fear on your way home?”

  “I shall have nothing to fear but robbers.”

  “And are robbers nothing?”

  “What could they take? I haven’t a sou on me.”

  “You forget that beautiful embroidered handkerchief with the crest in the corner?”

  “What handkerchief?”

  “The one I found at your feet and put back into your pocket.”

  “Hush, hold your tongue, man! You must be mad to be so foolhardy! Do you wish to destroy me?”

  “You see, you are still in danger since a single word makes you tremble and you admit you would be ruined if anyone heard me saying it. Oh, come, Madame, please,” he cried, seizing her hands and gazing ardently into her eyes, “please be more generous. Confide in me. Can you not see by my eyes that my heart is filled with sympathy and devotion?”

  “Truly, I can. Ask me my own secrets and I shall hold nothing back. But you are asking me to divulge the secrets of others—which is a very different matter.”

  “No matter, I shall discover them. Since these secrets may have an influence over your life, they must become my secrets too.”

  “Beware of doing anything of the sort!” the young woman replied so earnestly that D’Artagnan gave an involuntary start. “Please, please do not meddle in anything that concerns me; please do not seek to aid me in what I am accomplishing. I ask you this in the name of the interest I have inspired in you and in the name of the service you rendered me, which I shall never forget. Rather, believe everything that I have told you. Do not bother about me; I no longer exist for you, it is as though you had never laid eyes on me!”

  “Must Aramis do so likewise?” D’Artagnan asked in an access of pique.

  “You mentioned that name two or three times and I told you I did not know him, Monsieur.”

  “You don’t know the man at whose shutter you knocked? Now, now, Madame, you take me to be too credulous.”

  “Be honest, Monsieur. You manufactured this story and invented this character in order to make me talk.”

  “I am manufacturing and inventing nothing. I am speaking the naked truth.”

  “You say that a friend of yours lives in that house?”

  “I say and repeat for the third time: a friend of mine lives in that house and his name is Aramis.”

  “This misunderstanding will be cleared up later,” the young woman murmured, “but for the present, Monsieur, please be silent.”

  “If you could see plainly into my heart, you would discover so much curiosity that you would have pity on me and so much love that you would satisfy my curiosity at once. A woman has nothing to fear from the man who loves her.”

  “You speak very suddenly of love,” she objected, shaking her head.

  “That is because love has come upon me very suddenly, because I was never in love before and because I am only nineteen.”

  The young woman eyed him shyly.

  “Listen to me, Madame, I am already on the scent,” D’Artagnan continued. “Three months ago I almost fought a duel with Aramis over a handkerchief like the one you showed the woman in his house, a handkerchief bearing the same crest, I am sure.”

  “Monsieur, I assure you that you are wearying me with all this questioning.”

  “But you, Madame, prudent as you are, just think: if you were to be arrested and that handkerchief seized, wouldn’t you be compromised?”

  “In what way? The initials are mine, C. B. for Constance Bonacieux.”

  “Or for Camille de Bois-Tracy.”

  “Silence, Monsieur! Once again, silence! If the dangers I myself face cannot stop you, think of those you are facing.”

  “I?”

  “Yes, you. By knowing me you are in danger of imprisonment or even of death.”

  “Then I refuse to leave you.”

  “Monsieur,” the young woman implored, her hands clasped, “Monsieur, in the name of Heaven, on the honor of a soldier and the courtesy of a gentleman, please, please be off. Hark! midnight is striking, the hour of my appointment.”

  “Madame,” said D’Artagnan bowing, “I cannot refuse a request couched in such terms. Be content, I will go my way.”

  “You won’t follow me, you won’t watch me?”

  “I shall go straight home.”

  “Ah, I was sure of it, I knew you were a gentleman,” said Madame Bonacieux.

  Seizing her outstretched hand, D’Artagnan kissed it ardently. Then, with that naïve brutality which women often prefer to the affectations of politeness (because it betrays the depths of a man’s thoughts and establishes the triumph of feeling over reason) he murmured:

  “Ah, would to God I had never seen you!”

  “Well, well, I will not say the same about you!” Her voice was almost caressing and she squeezed the hand that still clung to hers. “What is lost today is not lost forever. Who knows, some day I may be free to satisfy your curiosity.”

  “Will you promise the same to my love?” D’Artagnan asked, overcome with joy.

  “Oh, as to that, I will not commit myself. It depends on the feelings you may stir in me.”

  “So that today, Madame—”

  “Today, Monsieur, my feelings do not go beyond gratitude.”

  “You are too beautiful,” D’Artagnan sighed, “and you take advantage of my love.”

  “No, of your generosity! Pray believe me, Monsieur, with certain people, everything works out well.”

  “Oh, you have made me the happiest of mortals! Do not forget this evening, do not forget your promise.”

  “Rest assured, in good time and at the proper place, I shall remember everything. And now go, go in Heaven’s name! I was expected promptly at midnight and I am late.”

  “Five minutes late.”

  “Yes, but in certain circumstances, five minutes are five centuries!”

  “To a person in love.”

  “Who told you I was not meeting a lover this evening?”

  “A lover is waiting for you!” D’Artagnan cried indignantly. “A lover!”

  “Oh dear! so the argument is to begin all over again?” she sighed, half-smiling, half-impatient.

  “No, no, I’m off, I’m leaving; I believe in you and I wish to enjoy my devotion even were that devotion stupid. Farewell, Madame, farewell.”

  As if it required the most violent effort to make him release the hand he held in his, he sprang away from her and started running down the street while she rapped three times at regular intervals. When he reached the street corner, he turned around; the door had opened and shut again, the haberdasher’s pretty wife had disappeared.

  D’Artagnan pursued his way. He had given his word not to watch Madame Bonacieux. Had his very life depended upon this visit of hers or upon the person who was to accompany her, D’Artagnan would nevertheless have returned home, because he had so promised. Five minutes later he was in the Rue des Fossoyeurs.

  “Poor Athos!” he muttered. “How can he possibly have guessed what all this is about? He probably fell asleep waiting for me or else he went home to be informed that a woman had called there. A woman under his roof! Well, why not? Aramis certainly had a woman in his place. All this is very strange and I am most curious to know how it will end.”

  “It will end badly, Monsieur,” said a voice which he recognized as Planchet’s. Soliloquizing as people so often will when they are preoccupi
ed, D’Artagnan had turned into the alley that led to his staircase.

  “What do you mean, badly? Explain yourself, idiot! What has happened?”

  “All sorts of misfortunes.”

  “What?”

  “To begin with, Monsieur Athos was arrested.”

  “Arrested? Athos arrested? What for?”

  “He was found in your room. They mistook him for you.”

  “Who arrested him?”

  “Guards brought by those men in black that you drove off.”

  “Why didn’t he give them his name? Why didn’t he tell them he knew nothing about the whole business?”

  Planchet explained to his master that Athos had been careful to do no such thing. On the contrary, drawing Planchet aside, he had said: “Your master knows all about this, I know nothing; he needs his liberty, I don’t need mine. The police will think they have arrested him; that should give him time. In three days, I shall tell them who I am and they will have to let me go.”

  “Bravo, Athos! noble heart! how typical of him!… But tell me, Planchet, what did the officers do?”

  “Four of them took him away I don’t know where, either to the Bastille or to Fort L’Evêque. Two stayed with the men in black, rummaging through everything and seizing all your papers. There were two more; while all this was going on, they were mounting guard at the door. When it was all over, they went away, leaving the house empty and wide open.”

  “And Porthos and Aramis?”

  “I could not reach them. They did not come.”

  “But they may still come at any moment. You left word that I was expecting them, eh?”

  “Yes, Monsieur.”

  “Well, you sit tight here, Planchet, and don’t budge. If they come, tell them what happened. The house may be watched, it’s too dangerous to meet here; tell them to wait for me at the Sign of the Fir Cone. I am off to Monsieur de Tréville’s to inform him of all this, then I will go to the tavern.”

  “Very good, Monsieur.”

  “Mind you stay, Planchet. You’re not afraid?”

  “Don’t worry, Monsieur,” the lackey replied. “You see, you don’t really know me yet. I can be brave when I put my mind to it. That’s the whole point: to put one’s mind to it. Besides, I come from Picardy.”