“I am the more grateful to Your Eminence,” she said blandly, “because I am sure these two studs have cost you as much as the other twelve cost the King.”
Then, having bowed to the King and the Cardinal, the Queen went back to her dressing-room.
And so these events took place among the most illustrious—King, Queen and Cardinal—while other important or frivolous activities occupied the flower of French nobility, the cream of the magistracy, and the choicest Parisian citizenry. Meanwhile, anonymous and unseen, a young Gascon, a guardsman, the man to whom Anne of Austria owed her extraordinary triumph over the Cardinal, was lost in a throng gathered at one of the doors. With pardonable satisfaction, he had surveyed a scene comprehensible to four people alone: the King, the Queen—the Cardinal and—himself!
The Queen made her exit and D’Artagnan was about to go home when he felt a light touch on his shoulder. Turning around he saw a young woman who beckoned him to follow her. This young woman wore a black velvet mask, but despite this precaution, taken against others rather than against him, he recognized his quondam guide, the alert, sprightly and shapely Madame Bonacieux.
The evening before, they had barely exchanged a few words in the quarters of Germain, at the gatekeeper’s lodge. So eager was the lover, with the objects and message he brought, and so eager was his lady to communicate both to the Queen, that love was neglected and Madame Bonacieux tarried but a few moments. This evening, however, D’Artagnan hoped for better, moved as he was by both love and curiosity. As he followed her on and on through corridors that became more and more deserted, he sought to stop the young woman, grasp her and look into her eyes if only for an instant. But, quick and elusive as a bird, she always slipped through his hands. Whenever he sought to speak, her finger placed over her lips, in a little imperious gesture full of charm, enjoined silence, reminding him that he must obey blindly and in every particular. Finally, after winding to left and right down various passageways, through vestibules and across landings, Madame Bonacieux opened a door and ushered him into a small antechamber that was completely dark. There again she bade him be silent, placing her finger upon his lips this time. Then she opened an inner door concealed by a tapestry, a brilliant light spread through the room, she disappeared, and all was silence and darkness again.
D’Artagnan stood motionless for a moment, wondering where he was and what was about to happen. Presently a ray of light penetrated into the chamber … he felt a current of warm perfumed air … he heard the voices of two, then three ladies conversing … he could not distinguish what they said but he noted the refinement and ceremony of their tones … the word Majesty occurred several times … so he could but conclude that he was in a chamber adjoining the Queen’s dressing-room.…
He stood there waiting in the shadows. Now the sounds from the next room came more clearly. The Queen sounded cheerful and happy, at which her ladies seemed to be somewhat astonished, for, as everyone knew, Her Majesty was usually worried and anxious. D’Artagnan actually caught a few words of the conversation. As a lady with a high, slight voice congratulated the Queen on her new-found gaiety, he heard Her Majesty reply that she was stimulated by the beauty of the fête and the pleasure the ballet had given her. Since it is never permissible to contradict a Queen, whether she smile or weep, the ladies vied with one another in hymning the praises of the Aldermen and Councilors of the good City of Paris.
Although D’Artagnan did not know the Queen, he soon distinguished her voice from the others, first by a slight foreign accent, then by that tone of domination natural to sovereigns. He heard the voice approach then withdraw from the door; then, almost imperceptibly, the knob turned and the door opened stealthily and ever so slightly. D’Artagnan even saw the shadow of a person who, walking up and down, occasionally intercepted the light.
At length a hand and arm of wondrous form and whiteness appeared through the tapestry. D’Artagnan, understanding that this was his recompense, fell to his knees, grasped the outstretched hand and respectfully pressed it to his lips. Before he realized what had happened, the hand was withdrawn and, as he looked down, blinking, at his own hand, he saw and felt an object in his palm, a hard, bright object which he recognized as a ring. Then, the door was promptly closed and D’Artagnan once again found himself in complete darkness.
Our Gascon placed the ring on his finger and again waited; obviously all was not yet over. After the reward of his devotion surely he would receive that of his love. Besides, though the ballet was done, the festivities had scarcely begun: supper was to be served at three o’clock and the clock of Saint-Jean had just struck a quarter to three.
The sound of voices in the next room gradually diminished, the echo of departing footsteps reached him, and the door to the corridor suddenly opened. Madame Bonacieux entered briskly.
“You, at last!” cried D’Artagnan.
“Hush!” she commanded, pressing her hand on his lips. “Not a sound! You must go away at once just as you came.”
“But when shall I see you again? When? And where?”
“You will find a note from me waiting at your home. Begone now, I implore you; begone and God bless you!”
Quickly she pushed D’Artagnan out of the room. He obeyed like a child, without venturing objection or resistance—which proves conclusively that he was genuinely in love with her.
XXIII
THE RENDEZVOUS
D’Artagnan ran home immediately. Though it was past three in the morning and he had to go through some of the most ill-famed and dangerous quarters of Paris, he met with no misadventure. As everybody knows, drunkards and lovers are protected by a special deity.
He found the door to his passage ajar, climbed the staircase and knocked gently, two short raps followed by three, as agreed upon between him and his lackey. He had sent Planchet home from the Hôtel de Ville two hours before and, according to instructions, Planchet was sitting up awaiting his arrival.
“Did anyone bring me a letter?” D’Artagnan asked eagerly.
“No, Monsieur.”
D’Artagnan’s face fell.
“No, Monsieur, nobody brought you a letter,” Planchet went on, “but there is a letter here which seems to have come of itself.”
“What on earth do you mean, ass?”
“I mean to say that when I came home, I had the key to your apartment in my pocket … I had that key, Monsieur, and I never let it out of my hands … and yet I found a letter for you sitting up on the green tablecover in your bedroom like a white tulip in a bunch of ferns.…”
“Where is the letter?”
“I left it where it lay, Monsieur.” Planchet drew a deep breath. “Begging your pardon, Monsieur, it is not natural for letters to come into people’s houses like that. Had the window been open or even half open, I should think nothing of it; but no, Monsieur, everything was tight shut. I beg Monsieur to beware; I vow there’s witchcraft in all this.”
While Planchet was expatiating, D’Artagnan ran to his bedroom and tore open the letter. It was from Madame Bonacieux and ran as follows:
Great thanks are due you and await your presence so that they may be given you.
Pray come this evening at about ten o’clock to Saint-Cloud and wait opposite the lodge that stands at right angles to the mansion of Monsieur d’Estrées.
C. B.
Reading this note, D’Artagnan felt his heart dilate and contract with the delicious spasms that torture and caress the hearts of all true lovers. Here was the first note he had received from a woman, the first meeting ever granted him; his heart swelled with the intoxication of joy and he felt about to faint at the very portals of that terrestial Paradise known as Love.
Planchet, worried at his master’s impetuous exit and at the long silence that ensued, stood between sitting-room and bedroom, scratching his ear. Why was his master so excited and why did he successively flush and grow pale?
“Well, Monsieur,” he opined, “was I right? Is this some dirty work or did
I guess wrong?”
“You are quite wrong, Planchet and to prove it here is a crown for you to drink to my health.”
“I am much obliged to Monsieur for the money; and I promise to follow your instructions exactly. All the same, letters which suddenly materialize in houses that are bolted and locked—”
“—fall from Heaven, obviously.”
“Then Monsieur is happy?”
“Happy as a king, Planchet, happy as the day is long, happy as a clam at high water.…”
“Begging Monsieur’s pardon, may I take advantage of his happiness by going to bed?”
“Certainly, my lad. Off with you!”
“May all the blessings of Heaven fall upon you, Monsieur. All the same, that letter.…”
Planchet withdrew, shaking his head; even D’Artagnan’s liberality had not quelled his doubts. Left alone, D’Artagnan read the note over and over; then he kissed it over and over and held it up before him, gazing avidly at the lines traced by the febrile hand of his beautiful mistress. After much ado he went to bed and fell into a deep sleep crowned with golden dreams.
Rising at seven o’clock in the morning, he summoned Planchet who at his second call opened the door, his countenance still dark with anxiety.
“Planchet, I shall probably be gone all day,” D’Artagnan announced. “Your time is your own until seven o’clock this evening. At seven be ready, with two horses.”
“So we are in for it again, Monsieur? Where will their bullets pepper us—in the head, in the back or in the bowels?”
“You will take along your musketoon and a pair of pistols.”
“I knew it … I was certain … that accursed letter.…”
“Cheer up, lad, don’t be afraid! We are off on a little jaunt!”
“Ay, Monsieur, like the jaunt we took the other day, when it rained bullets and ambushes grew underfoot.”
“Well, if you are really frightened, Monsieur Planchet, I shall go alone. Better a man by himself than with a whimpering acolyte.”
“Monsieur does me wrong; after all, Monsieur has seen me at work, I think.”
“Certainly, you were brave on one occasion. But I thought you had used all your courage up.”
“In a tight spot, Monsieur will see that I can still hold my own. I am only begging you not to squander my efforts if you care to use them for long.”
“Have you pluck enough to come along with me tonight?”
“I trust so, Monsieur.”
“Then I can count upon you.”
“I shall be ready, Monsieur, at seven sharp. But I thought Monsieur had only one horse in the stables at the Hôtel des Gardes.”
“There may be only one now; by this evening there will be four.”
“So Monsieur’s journey was by relays?”
“Precisely,” D’Artagnan said, taking his leave.
At the front door he found Monsieur Bonacieux; he intended to pass without exchanging any words but the good haberdasher greeted him with such cordial politeness that his lodger felt compelled not only to return his salutation but to pass the time of day with him. Besides, how could our Gascon fail to entertain a certain condescension for a husband whose wife he was to meet that very evening at the place appointed? D’Artagnan approached Bonacieux with the most amiable air he could assume.
The conversation quite naturally revolved upon the unhappy man’s imprisonment. Monsieur Bonacieux, unaware that D’Artagnan had overheard his conversation with the man of Meung, described all the tortures he had undergone at the hands of that monster, Monsieur de Laffémas, whom he repeatedly qualified as the Cardinal’s hangman. He lingered at great length, almost lovingly, upon the Bastille and its amenities (bolts, cranks, screws, racks, scourges, thumbscrews, and wheels) and its wickets, dungeons, loopholes and gratings.…
D’Artagnan listened with exemplary politeness and when Bonacieux was done inquired:
“What about Madame Bonacieux? Did you find out who abducted her? I recall I owe the pleasure of your acquaintance to that unhappy circumstance!”
“Ah, Monsieur, they took good care not to tell me that and my wife has sworn to me by all that’s sacred that she does not know. But you yourself, Monsieur?” he continued in the most genial tone, “What have you been up to these last few days? I haven’t laid eyes on you and your friends for over a week … and it happens I saw Planchet cleaning your boots, Monsieur … and I vow you could not have picked up all that mud and dust on the pavements of Paris.…”
“Right you are, my dear Monsieur Bonacieux. My friends and I took a little trip.”
“Did you go far from Paris?”
“Heavens, no, only forty leagues or so; we took Monsieur Athos to Forges for a cure. My friends stayed on there.”
“But you came back, eh?” the haberdasher asked in the most roguish and jocular tone. “A handsome, smart young fellow like yourself doesn’t relish furloughs away from his mistress. I dare say some pretty lady has been awaiting you here with the utmost impatience.”
D’Artagnan roared with laughter:
“Upon my faith,” he declared, “I must confess you are right and the more readily because I see there is no concealing anything from you. Yes, of course I was expected here, and yes again, I was most eagerly awaited, I assure you!”
A slight shadow passed across the nondescript brow of the haberdasher, too slight by far for D’Artagnan to notice.
“Undoubtedly Monsieur will be rewarded for his diligence,” Bonacieux hazarded with a slight change of voice which D’Artagnan noticed no more than he had noticed the change in Bonacieux’s facial expression.
D’Artagnan laughed again.
“Come, my dear landlord, what are you driving at with your apparently artless questions?”
“Monsieur misjudges me. I only wondered whether you would be coming home late?”
“Why such interest in my movements, my dear host? Do you intend to sit up waiting for me?”
“No, no, Monsieur, you do not understand. But since my arrest and the robbery committed in my house, I am frightened every time I hear a door open, especially at night. Heavens, why not? After all I am no swordsman!”
“Well, do not be alarmed if I return at one or two or even three in the morning. Indeed, do not be alarmed if I do not return at all.”
This time Bonacieux turned so pale that D’Artagnan, perceiving his discomfiture, asked him what was the matter.
“Nothing, nothing!” Bonacieux said hastily. “But ever since my misfortunes I am subject to dizzy spells which come upon me suddenly; I just felt a cold shiver. Pay no attention to it; you have but one thing to occupy your mind, and that is your own happiness!”
“Then I shall be very busy for I am ecstatically happy.”
“Already? Aren’t you somewhat previous? I thought you said it was this evening—”
“Well, this evening will come, thank God! Probably you are looking forward to it as impatiently as I am. Are you expecting Madame Bonacieux to visit the conjugal domicile tonight?”
“Madame Bonacieux is not at liberty this evening,” the haberdasher said gravely. “Her duties detain her at the Louvre.”
“So much the worse for you, my dear host, so much the worse for you. As for me, when I am happy, I wish the whole world to be so. But apparently that is impossible!”
And D’Artagnan strode off, roaring with laughter over a joke he thought he alone could appreciate.
“Have a good time!” Bonacieux growled in a sepulchral tone. But D’Artagnan was out of earshot and anyhow, in his present mood, would have noted nothing amiss even if he had heard. He was bound for Monsieur de Tréville’s in order to substantiate the vague report he had submitted on his fleeting visit the night before.
D’Artagnan found the Captain of Musketeers highly elated. The King and Queen had been charming to him at the ball. It is true the Cardinal was particularly sullen and at one o’clock, pleading illness, left the Hôtel de Ville. But their Majesties stayed on making
merry until six o’clock in the morning.
“And now, my young friend,” Monsieur de Tréville lowered his voice and glanced carefully around, making sure they were quite alone, “now let us talk about you. Obviously your happy return has something to do with the King’s joy, the Queen’s triumph and the Cardinal’s confusion. You will have to be very cautious indeed.”
“What have I to fear, Monsieur, so long as I enjoy the favor of Their Majesties?”
“You have everything to fear, believe me! The Cardinal is not the man to have a joke played on him without settling accounts with the jokester. And I venture to think that the jokester in question is a certain young Gascon of my acquaintance.”
“Do you think the Cardinal knows as much as you, Monsieur? Do you think he suspects I have been to London?”
“My God, were you in London? Was that where you found that beautiful diamond I see on your finger? Take care my dear D’Artagnan, a gift from an enemy is not particularly profitable. There is some Latin verse to this effect … let me think …?”
D’Artagnan had never succeeded in cramming the barest rudiments of Latin into his head; his ignorance had been the despair of his tutor. And so he hemmed and hawed, mumbling: “Yes, Monsieur, I seem to recall some such line … it goes.…”
“Of course there is,” Monsieur de Tréville broke in, for he had at least a smattering of letters, “in fact Monsieur de Benserade, the poet, was quoting that very line just the other day. Wait! Here it is:
Timeo Danaos et dona ferentes.
“Ah, yes, Monsieur,” D’Artagnan agreed, quite nonplussed.
“It means,” Tréville went on:
“Beware the foe bringing gifts.”
“This diamond does not come from an enemy, Monsieur,” D’Artagnan explained. “It comes from the Queen.”
“From the Queen, eh? It is indeed a truly royal jewel; it must be worth a thousand pistoles if it’s worth a sou. And through whom did the Queen send you this gift?”
“Her Majesty gave it to me personally.”
The Modern Library Children's Classics Page 84
