The Modern Library Children's Classics

by Kenneth Grahame

  “You speak very lightly of it, Madame,” Bonacieux retorted, hurt at his wife’s lack of interest. “Do you realize that I spent a day and a night in a dungeon in the Bastille?”

  “Oh, a day and a night pass very quickly. Let us forget your captivity and return to the matter that brings me here.”

  “What? The matter that brings you here!” The haberdasher was wounded to the quick. “Are you not here to see a husband from whom you have been separated for a week?”

  “Yes, that first! But there is also something else.”

  “Speak out.”

  “Something of the greatest interest … something on which our future fortunes depend.…”

  “Our fortunes have changed considerably since I last saw you, Madame Bonacieux. In fact I should not be surprised if, sooner or later, our fortunes were to excite the envy of a great many people.”

  “Indeed, yes! Especially if you follow the instructions I am about to give you.”

  “Instructions? You—about to give me—”

  “Yes, you. There is a good and holy deed to be done, Monsieur, and a great deal of money to be made into the bargain.”

  Madame Bonacieux knew that by talking of money she was attacking his weakest spot. But a man (even a haberdasher) who has once spoken to Cardinal Richelieu (if only for ten minutes) is no longer the same man.

  “A great deal of money to be made?” said Bonacieux, pursing his lips.

  “Yes, a great deal.”

  “How much, roughly?”

  “About a thousand pistoles.”

  “I see! Obviously what you are about to ask of me is very serious?”

  “Ay!”

  “What is to be done?”

  “You must set out immediately. I shall give you a paper which you must not part with on any account whatever. You are to deliver that paper into the proper hands.”

  “And where am I to go?”

  “To London.”

  “I go to London! Look here, you are joking! I have no business in London.”

  “Others require that you go then.”

  “Others? Who are those others? I warn you I will never again act without knowing what is what. I wish to know not only what risks I run but for whose sake.”

  “An illustrious personage is sending you, an illustrious person awaits you. The reward will exceed your expectations, that I can promise you.”

  “More intrigues, always intrigues!” Bonacieux grumbled. “Thank you, I have had my fill of them. His Eminence the Cardinal has enlightened me on that score!”

  “The Cardinal? You saw the Cardinal?”

  “He sent for me,” the haberdasher answered proudly.

  “And you went? What rashness!”

  “I must confess I had no choice one way or the other; I was marched off between two guards. I must also confess I did not know His Eminence—at that time.”

  “So he ill-treated you? He threatened you?”

  “He gave me his hand and called me his friend—his friend, do you understand, Madame? I am a friend of the great Cardinal.”

  “Of the great Cardinal!”

  “Do you perchance deny him that title, Madame?”

  “I deny him nothing. But I tell you that the favor of a minister is ephemeral. A man must be mad to attach himself to a minister! There are powers superior to his which do not depend on the whim of an individual or the outcome of an event. It is around these powers that we should rally.”

  “I am sorry, Madame, but I recognize no power other than that of the great man I serve.”

  “You serve the Cardinal?”

  “Ay, Madame, and as his servant, I will not permit you to participate in plots against the security of the State or to assist in the intrigues of an alien woman whose heart is devoted to Spain. Fortunately we have the great Cardinal: his watchful eye observes and penetrates to the bottom of the human heart.”

  Bonacieux was repeating word for word a phrase which he had heard Comte de Rochefort utter. His poor wife, who had counted on her husband and vouched for him to the Queen, shuddered at the danger which she had so narrowly avoided and at her present helplessness. There was one consolation: she knew her husband’s weakness and more particularly his cupidity; therefore she did not despair of bringing him round to her purpose.

  “So you are a cardinalist, Monsieur?” she exclaimed. “You serve the party who mistreat your wife and insult your Queen.”

  “Private interests are of no import against the interest of all,” Bonacieux observed sententiously. “I am for those who support the State.”

  This was another quotation from the Comte de Rochefort; he had committed it avidly to memory against such time as he could trot it out.

  “The State? Do you know what this State you speak of actually is?” Madame Bonacieux shrugged her shoulders. “Be satisfied with living as a plain, straightforward bourgeois; turn to that side which holds out the greatest advantages.”

  “Well, well!” Bonacieux slapped a plump round bag which jingled at his touch, “what do you say of this, Madame Preacher?”

  “Where does that money come from?”

  “Can’t you guess?”

  “From the Cardinal?”

  “From him and from my friend the Comte de Rochefort.”

  “The Comte de Rochefort! Why, it was he who carried me off!”

  “That is quite possible, Madame.”

  “And you accept money from that man?”

  “Why not? You yourself seem scarcely worried about your abduction. I suppose you were carried off for political reasons.”

  “Yes, I was. They carried me off in order to make me betray my sovereign; they hoped by torturing me to wring from me confessions that might compromise the honor and perhaps the very life of my august mistress.”

  “Madame, your august mistress is a perfidious Spaniard. What the Cardinal has done, was well done.”

  “Monsieur, I knew you for a coward, a miser and an idiot. But I never supposed you were infamous.”

  Bonacieux, who had never seen his wife angry, retreated before this outburst of conjugal wrath:

  “Madame, what are you saying?” he asked, incredulous.

  “I am saying that you are a wretched creature!” she insisted, as she noted that she was regaining some influence over her husband. “You meddle with politics, do you? You? And with Cardinalist politics at that? Why, you are selling yourself body and soul to the Devil—for money!”

  “No, it’s the Cardinal.”

  “It is all one and the same thing! Who says Richelieu, says Satan.”

  “Hold your tongue, Madame, hold your tongue, we may be overheard.”

  “Yes, you are right. I should be ashamed to have anyone know of your cowardice.”

  “But what on earth do you want me to do? Tell me!”

  “I have told you already. I want you to leave instantly, Monsieur, and faithfully to carry out the mission with which I have deigned to charge you. If you do this, I shall forgive and forget everything, and—” she held out her hand to him,—“I will give you my love again.”

  Bonacieux was a coward and a miser but he loved his wife. He was touched. A man of fifty cannot long bear a grudge against a wife of twenty-three. Madame Bonacieux saw he was hesitating.

  “Well, have you made up your mind?” she asked.

  “But, my love, think of what you require of me! London is far away, very far away! And the mission you suggest may well offer considerable danger.”

  “What matter, if you avoid it?”

  “No, Madame Bonacieux,” the haberdasher decided, “No, no, no, I positively refuse. Intrigues terrify me. I have seen the Bastille, yes, Madame, that I have! Ugh, it’s a ghastly place; the very thought of it gives me gooseflesh. I was threatened with torture; do you know what torture is? Wooden blocks wedged in between your legs till the bones burst! No, I shan’t go; decidedly not! By Heaven, why don’t you go yourself? Upon my word, I think I have been mistaken about you; you sound like a
man and a madman at that!”

  “And you—you’re a woman, a miserable, stupid and besotted woman! So you are scared, are you? Well, if you do not leave immediately, I shall have you arrested by order of the Queen and clapped into that Bastille you dread so much.”

  Bonacieux carefully weighed the respective angers of Queen and Cardinal; the latter easily won the day.

  “You have me arrested by order of the Queen,” he threatened, “and I shall appeal to His Eminence.”

  Madame Bonacieux saw she had gone too far; she was terrified at her boldness. For a moment, lost in dread, she contemplated his stupid countenance and read in it all the invincible resolution of a fool overcome by fear.

  “Well, so be it,” she said, “perhaps you are right after all. A man knows more about politics than a woman, especially a man like you, Monsieur Bonacieux, who have met the Cardinal. And yet it is very hard,” she added, “that my husband, upon whose affection I thought I could rely, treats me so ungraciously and will not gratify a whim of mine.”

  “The trouble is that your whims may carry one too far,” Bonacieux replied triumphantly. “I mistrust them.”

  “Very well, I give up the idea! Let us say no more about it.”

  Bonacieux now recalled somewhat belatedly that Rochefort had admonished him to discover his wife’s secrets.

  “You might at least tell me what you expected me to do in London?” he suggested.

  “There is no point in your knowing,” she answered, with instinctive mistrust. “It was a trifling matter … one of those purchases that interest women … and we might have made a good profit on the transaction.…”

  But the more she excused herself, the more important he believed her secret to be. He therefore decided to hasten to the Comte de Rochefort to tell him that the Queen was seeking a messenger to send to London.

  “Pray forgive me if I must leave you now, dear Madame Bonacieux,” he said unctuously “I did not know you were coming to see me, so I made an appointment to meet a friend. I shall be back soon, and, if you wait, I will escort you to the Louvre.”

  “Thank you, Monsieur, you can be of no service to me. I shall return to the Louvre alone.”

  “As you please, Madame Bonacieux. Shall I see you soon again?”

  “Probably. Next week, I hope, my duties will afford me a little liberty; I shall take advantage of it to come here and tidy up. This place is a shambles.”

  “Very well, I shall expect you. You are not angry with me?”

  “Who, I? Not in the least.”

  “We shall meet shortly then?”

  “Yes, in a few days.”

  Bonacieux kissed his wife’s hand and set off hurriedly.

  “Well, well!” Madame Bonacieux mused as soon as her husband had shut the street door and she was alone. “Poor idiot, all he required to crown his baseness was to become a Cardinalist! And I vouched for him to the Queen; I promised my poor mistress—Ah, dear God! the Queen will take me for one of those wretches in the Louvre who spy upon her night and day. Alas, Monsieur Bonacieux, I never did love you much; now, things are worse than ever. I hate you and I vow you shall pay for it.”

  Suddenly, hearing a rap at the ceiling, she raised her head. Through the plaster, she heard a voice from the floor above. A man was saying:

  “Dear Madame Bonacieux, please open the side door; I shall come downstairs at once.”

  XVIII

  LOVER AND HUSBAND

  Passing through the side door, D’Artagnan announced:

  “Forgive me, Madame, if I say so, but your husband is a sorry specimen.”

  “You heard our conversation?” Madame Bonacieux asked anxiously.

  “Every word.”

  “How could you overhear us?”

  “I have a system, Madame, known only to myself. By this system, I also overheard the somewhat more lively conversation you had with the Cardinal’s police.”

  “What did you learn from all this?”

  “I learned a great deal. First, I discovered that your husband is a simpleton and a fool, which is fortunate for me … Secondly, I gathered that you are in distress, which pleases me beyond words because it affords me a chance to serve you … Third, I realized that to do so I was willing to risk all the fires of Hell … Fourth and last, I ascertained that the Queen needs a brave, intelligent, devoted man to go to London on her behalf.… Personally, I possess three of these four requisite qualities. That is why I am here.”

  Madame Bonacieux dared not speak; but her heart leaped for joy and her eyes shone with all the brightness of her secret hope.

  “What pledge can you offer?” she asked timidly. “This mission is a weighty one.”

  “My pledge will be the love I bear you. You have but to command; I am at your orders.”

  The young woman paused, wondering whether she dared confide in so young a man. “You are but a boy!” she whispered. D’Artagnan protested that there were plenty of older men who could vouch for him.

  “I admit I would be more comfortable if you—”

  “Do you know Athos?”

  “No.”

  “Porthos?”

  “No.”

  “Aramis?”

  “No, I do not,” Madame Bonacieux said helplessly. “Who are these gentlemen?”

  “They belong to His Majesty’s musketeers. Have you heard of Monsieur de Tréville, their Captain?”

  Madame Bonacieux admitted that she knew him—not personally of course, but she had often heard people cite him to the Queen as a brave and loyal gentleman. When D’Artagnan suggested that Tréville might betray her to the Cardinal, she dismissed it as impossible. D’Artagnan then proposed that she reveal her secret to Tréville:

  “Ask Tréville,” he insisted, “whether I can be trusted with so urgent, precious and terrible a secret?”

  “But my secret does not belong to me. I am not at liberty to divulge it.”

  “You were about to divulge it to Monsieur Bonacieux,” the Gascon objected.

  “Ay, Monsieur, just as a woman leaves a letter in the hollow of a tree or pins a note on a pigeon’s wing or fastens a message under the collar of a dog.”

  “Yet you must know I love you.”

  “So you say.”

  “I am an honorable man.”

  “I believe it.”

  “I have pluck … I have initiative … I can shift for myself and for others, too.…”

  “Oh, I am sure of that!”

  “Then use me … let me help you … put me to the test …!”

  As Madame Bonacieux looked at him, her last doubt vanished. There was such ardor in his eyes and such conviction in his voice that she could not but trust him. For her, it was a case of risk all, lose all; the Queen’s cause could be ruined as easily by too excessive caution as by excessive confidence. In all sincerity, her private feelings toward her young champion were what compelled her to speak frankly.

  “I yield to your protestations and I accept your assurances,” she said. “But, God be my witness, I swear upon His Presence here and now that if you betray me I shall kill myself and you will be held responsible.”

  “Madame, for my part, I can only swear by God that, if I die before carrying out your orders, your secret will go with me to the grave.”

  Madame Bonacieux told him all that worried her now and all that had worried her when they met near the Louvre the night he had challenged her mysterious escort.

  This explanation amounted to a mutual declaration of love.

  D’Artagnan was radiant with joy and pride; the woman he loved had confided her deepest, purest secret! Confidence and passion made of him a very Titan.

  “I go,” he vowed, “I go at once!”

  “How can you go? What of your Captain and your regiment?”

  “Upon my soul, you had made me forget such things. Dear Constance, you are right; I must get a furlough immediately.”

  “One more obstacle!” Madame Bonacieux sighed.

  “Not a s
erious one!” D’Artagnan assured her after a moment’s reflection, “I shall hurdle it, I promise you.”

  “But how?”

  “I shall call on Monsieur de Tréville this very evening and request him to obtain leave for me from his brother-in-law, Monsieur des Essarts.”

  “But there is something else,” she said hesitantly.

  “Namely—”

  “Perhaps you have no money?”

  “Perhaps is an exaggeration!”

  Madame Bonacieux opened a wardrobe; out of it she drew the bag which her husband had been fondling so lovingly half an hour earlier:

  “In that case, here! Take this!”

  “The Cardinal’s money!” D’Artagnan roared with laughter.

  “How do you know?”

  “You forget I saw everything.”

  “Ah, yes! Well, the Cardinal’s money is a tidy sum.”

  “By God! How entertaining to save the Queen with His Eminence’s money!”

  “You are a most charming and witty young man; believe me, Her Majesty will not prove ungrateful.”

  “I need no reward,” D’Artagnan protested. “I love you and you allow me to tell you so; that in itself is more happiness than ever I dared hope.”

  “Hush!”

  “What is the matter?”

  “Voices … in the street.…”

  “Voices?”

  “My husband’s voice … I recognize it.…”

  D’Artagnan rushed to the door, bolted it:

  “He shall not come in before I leave. Give me time to get away. Then you can let him in.”

  “But what of me? How can I account for Bonacieux’s money if he finds me here?”

  “You are right, we must both leave!”

  “But he will see us.”

  “Then you must come upstairs with me.”

  “You say that in a tone which frightens me.” There were tears in her eyes. D’Artagnan, deeply touched, fell to his knees.

  “In my rooms,” he assured her, “you will be as safe as in a church, I pledge my word as a gentleman.”

  “Let us go! I trust you, my friend.”

  D’Artagnan cautiously unbolted the door and, light as shadows, the pair slipped out into the alley and mounted the stairway to D’Artagnan’s apartment.