The Modern Library Children's Classics

by Kenneth Grahame

Once there, for greater safety, the young man barricaded the door. They moved to the window and through a slit in the shutter espied Monsieur Bonacieux talking to a cloaked figure. At the sight of this man, D’Artagnan leaped up and, half-drawing his sword, sprang toward the door.

  It was the man of Meung!

  “What are you doing! You will ruin us both.”

  “But I have sworn to kill that man!”

  “Your life is now devoted to a nobler cause; from this moment on, it is not yours to risk. In the Queen’s name, I forbid you to face any danger other than that of your journey.”

  “And in your own name, you order nothing?”

  “In my own name,” she replied with great emotion, “I beg you to listen. I think they are talking about me.”

  D’Artagnan returned to the window and listened carefully. Meanwhile Monsieur Bonacieux had opened the front door and, seeing his apartment empty, had rejoined the cloaked man.

  “She’s gone,” he announced. “Probably back to the Louvre.”

  “You’re sure she had no suspicions?”

  “No,” Bonacieux replied self-sufficiently. “She is too superficial a woman for that.”

  “Is the young guardsman at home?”

  “I don’t think so. His shutters are closed; I see no light.”

  “We must make sure.”

  “How?”

  “By knocking at his door.”

  “I shall ask his manservant.”

  “Go ahead!”

  Bonacieux took the same stairway the fugitives had taken, stopped at D’Artagnan’s landing, and knocked at the outer door. The lovers, within, held their breath, startled. There was no answer from the front room because Porthos had borrowed Planchet that evening in order to make a show. D’Artagnan, of course, was careful to give no sign of life.

  “There’s no one there,” Bonacieux reported.

  “Never mind, let us go to your rooms. We shall be safer there than in the doorway.”

  “Oh, Lord,” said Madame Bonacieux, “now we can’t hear them!”

  “Nonsense, we shall hear all the better.” Removing four of the floorboards, D’Artagnan spread a rug over the aperture he had made, went down on his knees, and motioned to Madame Bonacieux to stoop too. Shoulder to shoulder, they crouched listening.

  “You’re sure there is no one?” the stranger was asking.

  “I will answer for it.”

  “And you think your wife—”

  “She has gone back to the Louvre!”

  “She spoke to no one but yourself?”

  “I am sure of it.”

  “That point is important, you understand?”

  “Then the news I brought you has some value?”

  “Great value, my dear Bonacieux, great value!”

  “The Cardinal will be pleased with my efforts?”

  “I have no doubt he will be jubilant.”

  “Our great Cardinal!”

  “You are quite sure your wife mentioned no one by name?”

  “I think not.”

  “She mentioned neither Madame de Chevreuse nor Lord Buckingham nor Madame de Vernet?”

  “No. She only said she wished me to go to London to serve the interests of some illustrious person.”

  (“The traitor,” Madame Bonacieux murmured.

  “Silence!” D’Artagnan warned, taking a hand which she abandoned to him.)

  “Never mind,” the stranger went on. “You were a ninny not to pretend to accept the commission … you would now be in possession of the letter … the State which is being threatened would have been saved … and you.…”

  “And I?”

  “Well, the Cardinal would probably have given you letters of nobility.”

  “Did he tell you so?”

  “Yes, I know he meant to surprise you in some such way.”

  “All is not lost, Monsieur, my wife adores me and there is still time.”

  (“The dolt,” murmured Madame Bonacieux.

  “Silence!” D’Artagnan warned again, pressing her hand still more firmly.)

  “What do you mean: there is still time?” the stranger challenged Bonacieux.

  “I shall go to the Louvre and ask for Madame Bonacieux … I shall tell her that I have thought things over and that I accept … I shall get the letter … and I shall speed to the Cardinal.…”

  “Well, be off then, quickly. I will return soon to learn the result of your errand.”

  Whereupon the stranger left the room.

  (“The swine!” said Madame Bonacieux, overcome by her husband’s infamy.

  “Silence!” D’Artagnan repeated, crushing her hand as in a vise!)

  A sudden terrible howling interrupted the lovers. Downstairs, Monsieur Bonacieux had just discovered the disappearance of his money bag and was crying: “Help! Thieves! I’ve been robbed!”

  (“Oh my God,” Madame Bonacieux wailed, “he will rouse the whole neighborhood!”)

  Bonacieux kept howling for a long time, but as such cries were frequent in the Rue des Fossoyeurs, they attracted no attention, especially since the haberdasher’s house had lately fallen into disrepute. Seeing that no one came, Bonacieux emerged, still howling, his voice trailing off into the distance as he disappeared down the Rue du Bac.

  “Now that he’s gone, it is your turn to go!” Madame Bonacieux told D’Artagnan. “Courage, my friend, but, above all, caution! Remember you owe yourself to the Queen.”

  “To her and to you, darling Constance,” D’Artagnan said passionately. “Rest easy, my love, I shall return worthy of Her Majesty’s gratitude. And shall I return worthy of your love?”

  For only answer, the young woman blushed deeply. A few moments later, D’Artagnan left the house, hidden under a greatcoat, its skirt raised cavalierly by his rapier.

  Madame Bonacieux followed him with her eyes with that long fond look a woman lavishes upon the man she loves. When he had turned the corner she fell to her knees and, clasping her hands:

  “Dear God!” she prayed. “Protect the Queen! And protect me! Amen!”

  XIX

  PLAN OF CAMPAIGN

  D’Artagnan went straight to the Hotel de Tréville. Within a few minutes he knew the Cardinal would learn everything from that infernal stranger, obviously his agent. D’Artagnan realized he had not a moment to lose.

  His heart overflowed with joy. Here was an opportunity both to win glory and to make money, and, for primary encouragement, one which had just brought him close to the woman he adored. From the very beginning then, chance offered him more than he had dared to ask of Providence.

  Monsieur de Tréville was in his drawing-room with his usual company. D’Artagnan was shown directly to his study whence he sent word that he awaited the Captain on a matter of extreme urgency. He had not long to wait; five minutes later Monsieur de Tréville joined him. One glance at the young Gascon’s radiant expression told the Captain that something new was afoot.

  On his way to the mansion, D’Artagnan had wondered whether he should unbosom himself to Monsieur de Tréville or merely ask for a free hand in conducting an affair of utmost secrecy. But Monsieur de Tréville had always been so wonderfully kind to him, he was so completely devoted to the King and Queen, and he hated the Cardinal so cordially, that the young man decided to tell him everything.

  “You asked for me, young man?”

  “Yes, Monsieur, I did. You will forgive me for disturbing you when you learn the importance of my errand.”

  “Well?”

  “Monsieur, the Queen’s honor, perhaps her very life, are at stake.”

  “What!” Monsieur de Tréville looked about him to make sure they were quite alone. “What do you mean?”

  “I mean that chance has put me in possession of a secret—”

  “—which I hope, young man, you will guard with your very life—”

  “—but which I must confide to you, Monsieur. You alone can help me accomplish the mission I have just received from Her Majesty.�
��

  “Is this secret yours?”

  “No, Monsieur, it is the Queen’s secret.”

  “Did the Queen permit you to divulge it?”

  “No, Monsieur, I have been pledged to the deepest secrecy.”

  “Then why were you about to—?”

  “Because, I repeat, without you I can do nothing, Monsieur.”

  “Keep your secret, young man, and tell me what you wish.”

  “I beg you to ask Monsieur des Essarts to grant me a two-week furlough.”

  “When?”

  “This very night.”

  “You mean to leave Paris?”

  “On a mission.”

  “Can you tell me where?”

  “To London.”

  “Is anyone seeking to prevent you from reaching your destination?”

  “The Cardinal would, I believe, give the world to stop me.”

  “You are going alone?”

  “Quite alone.”

  “In that case you will never get beyond Bondy, I swear it on the faith of a Tréville.”

  “How so, Monsieur?”

  “You will be murdered en route.”

  “Then I shall die in the attempt!”

  “But your mission will not be accomplished.”

  “True!”

  “Believe me,” Monsieur de Tréville said earnestly, “in undertakings of this kind the chances are about four to one against. There should be four of you!”

  “Well, Monsieur, three of your musketeers are dear friends of mine: Athos, P—”

  “Yes, I know. Can you use them and pledge them to secrecy? You were on the point—”

  “We four are as blood brothers, Monsieur. You need but tell them you trust me, they will take me at my word.”

  “I can give each of them a two-week furlough, no more. Athos is bothered by his wound, let him go to the waters at Forges; Porthos and Aramis may well accompany the invalid. Their orders will serve to prove that I authorize the journey.”

  “Monsieur is a hundred times too generous!”

  “See them at once and arrange everything tonight. Oh, yes, I was forgetting about Monsieur des Essarts! Go file your request with him at once. If some Cardinalist spy is already at your heels, His Eminence knows you have visited me. You can justify this visit by reporting officially to Monsieur des Essarts.”

  D’Artagnan made out his application; Monsieur de Tréville, receiving it, assured him that his furlough and those of his friends would be in their hands by two o’clock in the morning.

  “May I ask you, Monsieur, to send mine in care of Athos?” D’Artagnan requested. “I think it highly unwise to go home.”

  “Very good. Farewell and bon voyage!” Monsier de Tréville paused. “By the by, have you any money?”

  D’Artagnan turned, tapping the Bonacieux bag which was in his pocket.

  “Enough?”

  “Three hundred pistoles.”

  “Plenty! Enough to take you to the end of the world! Proceed, young man!”

  As D’Artagnan bowed, Monsieur de Tréville offered his hand which D’Artagnan shook gratefully. Since his arrival in Paris, he had always found this great soldier a kindly, sincere and helpful friend.

  His first visit was to Aramis, whom he had not called on since that evening on the bridge when he mistook him for Buckingham. The few times they had met in the interval, Aramis had seemed profoundly depressed.

  Finding Aramis awake but gloomy and pensive, he inquired perfunctorily about this gloom and pensiveness. Aramis replied that his feeling rose from a commentary on Chapter XVIII of Saint Augustine’s Confessions.

  “I have to translate it into Latin by next week,” Aramis said, “and it’s a thorny job!”

  They continued their discussion of Saint Augustine of whom Aramis spoke at length. They discussed other matters of current interest. Suddenly there was a knock at the door; a lackey wearing the livery of Monsieur de Tréville loomed in the doorway.

  “What is this?” Aramis asked.

  “The leave of absence Monsieur requested.”

  “I requested no leave of absence, my good man. There must be some mistake!”

  “Hush, Aramis, and be thankful for small mercies,” D’Artagnan said royally. Then turning to the lackey: “As for you my friend, here is half a pistole for your pains. Pray convey to Monsieur de Tréville the sincere thanks of Monsieur Aramis. And so, away with you!”

  “Do you mind telling me what all this means?” Aramis asked meekly after the lackey had bowed himself out.

  “It means a fortnight’s leave,” D’Artagnan explained. “Fall in and follow me.”

  “How can I leave Paris now without know—?”

  “—without knowing what has become of her, eh?”

  “Who?”

  “The lady who was here … the lady of the embroidered handkerchief.…”

  Aramis turned deathly pale:

  “Who told you there was a lady here?”

  “I saw her.”

  “You know who she is?”

  “I might venture a shrewd guess.”

  “Look here, D’Artagnan, as long as you know so much, can you tell me what has happened to her?”

  “I dare say she went back to Tours.”

  “To Tours? Yes, that’s right. I realize you know her. But why did she leave town without telling me?”

  “She was afraid of being arrested.”

  “Why has she not written?”

  “For fear of compromising you.”

  “My dear D’Artagnan, here I was a dead man and lo! you revive me! I thought myself despised and betrayed … I wondered why I had not heard from her … Ah, you cannot imagine how happy I was to see her again … I could not dream she would risk her life for my sake.… Yet why else would she have returned to Paris?”

  “For the same reason that is sending us to England tonight.”

  “I don’t understand—”

  “You will later. Meanwhile, my dear Aramis, allow me to model my discretion on that of the niece of your theologian.”

  Aramis smiled as he remembered the evasive yarn he had told his inquisitive friends one evening.

  “So long as you are sure she has left Paris,” he said, “nothing keeps me here. I am ready to follow you. Where are we off to?”

  “First we must see Athos. If you want to come along, do make haste; time is short. If you are with me, tell Bazin.”

  “Bazin is going with us?”

  “Perhaps. Anyhow, he had better follow us now.”

  Aramis summoned Bazin and gave him the necessary instructions, and:

  “Off we go,” he said, picking up his cloak, his sword and his three pistols. He opened several drawers in search of cash. Convinced this was useless, he followed D’Artagnan. How, Aramis wondered, could this young cadet in the guards know about the lady he had sheltered? How again could he know what had become of her? Aramis placed his hand on D’Artagnan’s arm and asked earnestly:

  “You have spoken of this lady to no one?”

  “To no one on earth.”

  “Not even to Porthos and Athos?”

  “I have not breathed the slightest word to either.”

  “Thank heavens!”

  And, his mind at rest on this important point, Aramis breathed more easily.

  They found Athos with his orders in one hand and Monsieur de Tréville’s letter in the other.

  “Can you explain the meaning of this leave and this letter?” Athos asked in astonishment, then proceeded to read:

  My dear Athos,

  As I know your health absolutely requires it, I am perfectly willing for you to take a fortnight’s rest.

  Go to the spa at Forges, then, or to any other spa that you prefer, profit by the waters, and come back thoroughly fit.

  Cordially yours,

  De Tréville

  “That letter and that leave,” D’Artagnan explained, “mean that you must follow me, Athos.”

  “To the waters at Fo
rges?”

  “There or elsewhere.”

  “On the King’s Service?”

  “The King’s or the Queen’s. Are we not servants of both Their Majesties?”

  Just then Porthos came in:

  “Look here, friends,” he said, “here is a queer thing for you! Since when are furloughs granted to musketeers without their being requested?”

  “Since the day musketeers have friends to ask for leaves on their behalf.”

  “Aha! then something is brewing, eh?”

  “Yes we are going—” Aramis informed him.

  “To what country?” Porthos interrupted.

  “Upon my soul, I know less than nothing about it,” Athos confessed. “Ask D’Artagnan.”

  “We are leaving for London, gentlemen,” D’Artagnan announced.

  “For London? What the devil are we going to do in London?”

  “That is something I am not at liberty to tell you, gentlemen. You will have to trust me blindly.”

  “But to go to London we must have money,” Porthos objected, “and I haven’t a sou.”

  “Nor I,” said Aramis.

  “Nor I,” said Athos.

  “I have,” D’Artagnan said triumphantly as he drew his treasure from his pocket and placed it on the table. “This bag contains three hundred pistoles. Let us each take seventy-five; that is enough to take us to London and back. Besides, don’t worry, all of us will not reach London.”

  “Why, pray?”

  “Because in all probability some one or other of us will be held up on the way!”

  “Is this a campaign we are undertaking?”

  “A most dangerous one, I warn you.”

  “Well, if we’re risking our lives,” Porthos complained, “I would like to know in what cause.”

  “What on earth for?” Athos asked.

  “I agree with Porthos,” said Aramis.

  “Does the King usually give you his reasons in matters of this sort? No. He tells you gaily: ‘Gentlemen, there is fighting in Flanders, or in Gascony. Go fight there!’ And off you go! Why do you go? You do not even bother to think why?”

  “D’Artagnan is right,” Athos declared. “Here are our three furloughs from Monsieur de Tréville and here are three hundred pistoles from God knows where. So let us go get ourselves killed wherever we are told to. Is life worth the trouble of asking so many questions? D’Artagnan, I am ready to follow you.”