The Modern Library Children's Classics

by Kenneth Grahame

  “My idea is for me to ask Monsieur de Tréville for leave on any excuse you care to invent, for I confess I’m not very inventive myself. Milady doesn’t know me from Adam. I can approach her without arousing her suspicions. Then, when I catch my beauty, I simply strangle her.”

  “Not a bad idea!” Athos conceded.

  “Come now, you can’t kill a woman! Shame on you! I—but wait, listen to me, I have the right idea!”

  “Let’s hear it, Aramis!” Athos replied eagerly, for he entertained a high regard for the young man’s intelligence.

  “We must warn the Queen.”

  “Right you are!” Porthos exclaimed, and “By Heaven,” D’Artagnan added, “I really think we are getting somewhere.”

  “Warn the Queen? How? Have we connections at Court? Could we dispatch anyone to Paris without the whole camp knowing about it? One hundred and forty leagues separate us from Paris; our letter could not even reach Angers before we were clapped in jail.”

  Aramis, blushing, suggested timidly: “If it is a question of getting a letter safely into Her Majesty’s hands, I know a very clever person in Tours,” and stopped as he saw Athos smile.

  “Well, Athos, what about it?” D’Artagnan challenged.

  “I do not altogether reject the idea,” Athos replied. “But I do wish to point out that Aramis cannot leave camp … that none save ourselves is to be trusted … that, two hours after the messenger left, every capuchin, every policeman and every bailiff of the Cardinal’s would know your letter by heart … and that you and your very clever person would be safe behind bars.…”

  “Not to mention the fact,” Porthos concurred, “that the Queen would save Lord Buckingham but would certainly not bother about us.”

  “What Porthos says makes excellent sense,” D’Artagnan agreed.

  “Look, gentlemen!” Athos pointed toward La Rochelle. “What can be going on in the city?”

  “It’s a general alarm!”

  The four friends, listening, could distinguish the drums calling out the garrison for assembly.

  “You watch,” said Athos. “They will send a whole regiment against us.”

  “You don’t propose holding out against an entire regiment, do you?” Porthos asked.

  “Why not?” Athos answered. “I feel in fine fettle and if we had only been intelligent enough to bring a dozen more bottles along, I could face a whole army.”

  “The drums seem to be drawing near,” D’Artagnan said.

  “Let them come with their drummers!” Athos flicked the dust off his sleeve. “It takes a quarter of an hour to go from here to town; ergo it takes a quarter of an hour to come from town out here. This allows us ample time to establish a plan of battle. If we leave this place we shall never find another one as suitable; besides, I’m getting rather attached to our bastion. What is more important, gentlemen, the right idea has suddenly occurred to me!”

  “Let’s have it, Athos.”

  “First, let us give Grimaud some indispensable instructions.”

  Athos motioned his lackey to approach.

  “Grimaud!” He pointed to the dead lying under the wall of the bastion. “Pick up these gentlemen, prop them against the wall, put their hats on their heads and their muskets in their hands.”

  “Oh, Athos, what a genius you are!” D’Artagnan enthused. “Now I understand what you are planning.”

  “You understand?” Porthos asked incredulously.

  “Do you understand, Grimaud?” Aramis inquired. The lackey nodded affirmatively.

  “So long as Grimaud understands, that is all we need,” Athos declared. “Now, back to my idea.”

  “I still should like to know what you are driving at,” said Porthos.

  “Never mind, Porthos, you will, in good time.”

  “Come, Athos, your idea!” cried D’Artagnan, and “We are listening,” said Aramis.

  “Here it is. This Milady, this woman, this creature, this demon has a brother-in-law, you said, eh, D’Artagnan?”

  “Yes, I know him fairly well. I also know there is very little love lost between them.”

  “Capital! The more he hates her, the better for us.”

  “You can be sure he hates her, Athos.”

  “I should still like to know what Grimaud is up to,” Porthos interrupted.

  “Quiet, Porthos!” Aramis enjoined.

  “What is her brother-in-law’s name?”

  “Lord Winter.”

  “Where is he now?”

  “He went back to London at the first rumor of war.”

  “He is just the man we want,” Athos said. “It is he we must warn. We will let him know that his sister-in-law is planning to assassinate someone and we will ask him to keep his eye on her. Surely they have some institution for wayward women in London like our Madelonnettes or Filles Repenties—in a word some sort of reformatory. He can have his sister-in-law put away in such a place and we will all breathe more easily.”

  “Ay, until she breaks loose!”

  “Confound it, D’Artagnan, you require too much. I have given you all I had; I assure you I have come to the end of my tether.”

  “Athos has a good idea, I think,” said Aramis. “We must warn both the Queen and Lord Winter.”

  “Yes, but who will take our messages to Tours and to London?”

  “I can vouch for Bazin,” said Aramis.

  “And I for Planchet,” said D’Artagnan.

  “Of course,” said Porthos. “We cannot leave camp, but certainly our lackeys can.”

  “Splendid!” Aramis said blithely. “This very day we shall write the letters, give our lackeys money and send them off.”

  “Money!” Athos broke in. “So you are in funds, Aramis?”

  The four friends looked at one another. A cloud passed over their brows which, for a moment, had been so serene.

  “To arms, friends!” cried D’Artagnan, “I see some black and red specks moving across the plain, yonder. Did you say a regiment, Athos? This is a veritable army!”

  “Well, well, here they come!” Athos said coolly. “But what sneaks they are to creep up without a beating of drums or a flourish of trumpets! Ho there, Grimaud, have you finished?”

  Grimaud nodded affirmatively, pointing to a dozen corpses which he had placed in the most picturesque and lifelike attitudes: some were porting arms, others seemed to be taking aim, still others stood as though ready, sword in hand.

  “Bravo, Grimaud, this does honor to your imagination.”

  “I still should like to know what it all means,” Porthos complained.

  “Let us beat a retreat first,” cried D’Artagnan. “You’ll understand later.”

  “One moment, gentlemen, one moment: give Grimaud a chance to clear away our dishes.”

  “These black specks and red specks are growing larger and larger,” Aramis observed. “I agree with D’Artagnan; we have no time to lose if we want to get back to camp.”

  “Bless my soul, I have no objection now to an orderly retreat. We wagered would stay here an hour and we have been here an hour and a half!” Athos seemed highly pleased. “That’s all there is to it, gentlemen. Let us away!”

  Grimaud had already started off, basket in hand, bearing the dishes and remnants of food back to camp. The four friends followed him out. But they had gone only a dozen yards when Athos exclaimed:

  “What the devil are we up to, gentlemen?” he asked, turning back to look anxiously at the bastion.

  “Have you forgotten something?” Aramis asked.

  “The flag, morbleu! We cannot leave a flag in enemy hands even though that flag is but a napkin.”

  Whereupon Athos rushed back into the bastion, mounted the platform and seized the flag. Just then, the enemy, having come within range, opened a murderous fire upon him. Far from being perturbed, Athos seemed to delight in exposing himself to danger. He seemed to bear a charmed life; the bullets whizzed all around him but not one of them so much as grazed him. Athos wav
ed his flag proudly, turned his back on the enemy and calmly saluted the men in the camp. Cries of anger rose from the rebel ranks, cries of enthusiasm from the French.

  A second volley followed the first and three bullets piercing the napkin made of it a real battle-stand. From all parts of the camp shouts rose: “Come down, man!”—“For God’s sake—”—“Don’t stay there, idiot!”—and the like. Athos complied in leisurely fashion and rejoined his friends in his own good time. Their anxiety turned to joy as he reached them.

  “Come, Athos, hurry up!” D’Artagnan begged him. “Now we have settled every problem except the money problem, it would be foolish to get ourselves killed.”

  But Athos continued to walk at a slow, stately pace despite all urgings of his comrades, who seeing their pleas were vain, adjusted their step to his. Grimaud and his basket, far ahead, were both already out of range. Suddenly a furious fusillade thundered across the air.

  “What in God’s name is that? What are they firing at now?” Porthos asked. “No one is in the bastion.”

  “They are firing on our dear departed enemies,” said Athos.

  “But corpses cannot return fire.”

  “Perhaps. But the rebels will imagine an ambush, they will pause to take counsel, they will send someone forward to parley and by the time they have found out how we duped them, we shall be well out of range. That is why it is useless to catch cold by running—an exercise I have always considered to be highly diaphoretic.”

  “Now I understand!” Porthos gasped, marveling.

  “It’s about time!” said Athos with a shrug.

  Cries of relief and cheers of approval kept rising from the camp as the French observed the four friends returning at a walk. For a moment all was silence, then a fresh volley of bullets spattered among the stones about our friends and whistled past their ears. The rebels had at last occupied the bastion.

  “Bunglers, those rebels!” Athos remarked. “How many did we shoot down?”

  “Fifteen!”

  “And how many did we crush?”

  “Eight or ten.”

  “And not a scratch in return. But no! Look at D’Artagnan’s hand. You’re bleeding, lad.”

  “I’m all right!”

  “A spent bullet?”

  “Not even that.”

  “What is it, then?” Athos loved the young Gascon like a child. Gloomy and imperturbable though he was, at times Athos felt all the anxiety and solicitude of a father for his son.

  “A mere scratch!” D’Artagnan smiled. “I caught my fingers between two stones—one from the wall, one on my ring—and it tore the skin.”

  “That is what you get for wearing diamonds, my master,” Athos observed contemptuously.

  “I have an idea!” cried Porthos triumphantly.

  “Silence, all,” said Aramis. “Porthos has an idea.”

  “Let us hear it!”

  “Well,” said Porthos deliberately, “we have a diamond, haven’t we? And, having a diamond, why the devil are we complaining about a lack of funds?”

  “Quite so!” said Aramis.

  “Good man, Porthos!” Athos approved. “That really is a fine idea!”

  “We have a diamond,” Porthos repeated, preening himself on the compliment Athos had paid him. “Therefore, let us sell it!”

  “But it is the Queen’s—”

  “All the more reason to sell it, D’Artagnan,” Athos interrupted. “Her Majesty is saving the life of her lover, Lord Buckingham, which is as it should be. But by the same reasoning, Her Majesty is morally bound to save us, her friends. Sell the diamond, I say. Porthos has already expressed himself cogently on the subject; what says Monsieur l’Abbé?”

  Aramis blushed.

  “My own feeling,” he said slowly and deliberately, “is that since the ring is not the gift of a mistress, and hence not a talisman of love, D’Artagnan would be justified in selling it!”

  “My friend, you speak like theology incarnate. So your advice is—”

  “—to sell the diamond.”

  “Sell it we shall,” cried D’Artagnan gaily, “and let us drop the matter.”

  The rebels continued to fire from the bastion but our friends were out of reach; the shooting was but a token gesture by disappointed marksmen seeking to ease their consciences.

  “God’s truth, it was high time Porthos conceived this idea,” Athos concluded, “for here we are at camp again. Accordingly, gentlemen, not one word of this matter to anyone. Remember, we are being observed. Here come our friends to meet us. They will probably bear us back in triumph shoulder-high.”

  And so it was. The entire camp was agog; more than two thousand spectators had been watching every move in this exploit as avidly as though it were a rousing drama produced for their entertainment. How indeed could they suspect that this bravado offered the only means whereby our friends could hold a council of war which turned into a battle royal? Cheers of “Vivent les Mousquetaires!” and huzzahs of “Vivent les Gardes!” rose on every side.

  Monsieur de Busigny was the first to reach Athos and wring his hand. Jubilantly he admitted he had lost the wager. Close on his heels, the dragoon and the Swiss guardsman offered their awed congratulations, followed by a host of soldiery who did likewise, amid embraces, handclasps, felicitations, benedictions and endless laughter at the expense of the men of La Rochelle. So great was the uproar that the Cardinal, imagining a mutiny was afoot, dispatched La Houdinière, Captain of his Guards, to ascertain what was happening. Soldiers crowded about the Cardinal’s orderly officer to explain their various versions of the heroic exploit.

  “Well?” asked the Cardinal as La Houdinière reappeared.

  “A curious story, Monseigneur,” the captain replied. “It seems that the three musketeers and one Royal Guardsman wagered with Monsieur de Busigny that they would go to breakfast at the Bastion Saint-Gervais. While breakfasting they held out for two hours against the rebels, killing an untold number of them.”

  “Did you inquire who the three musketeers were?”

  “Yes, Monseigneur.”

  “Their names?”

  “Athos, Porthos and Aramis.”

  “Always the same three heroes—” the Cardinal murmured. “And the guardsman?”

  “Monsieur d’Artagnan.”

  “—always flanked by the same young scapegrace! I must positively enlist these four men in my service.”

  The same evening His Eminence spoke to Monsieur de Tréville of the day’s exploit which was still the sole topic of conversation throughout the camp. Tréville, who had received an account of it from the mouths of the actors themselves, repeated it in full to His Eminence, not omitting the episode of the napkin.

  “Splendid, Monsieur de Tréville. Pray have that napkin sent me. I will have three lilies embroidered upon it in gold and I will give it to your company as a standard.”

  “Monseigneur, I fear that would be doing the Royal Guards an injustice. Monsieur d’Artagnan is not one of my men, he serves under Monsieur des Essarts.”

  “Well then, take him!” said the Cardinal. “When four brave men are so attached to one another, they should not serve in different companies.”

  That evening Monsieur de Tréville bore the good news to the three musketeers and to D’Artagnan, inviting all four to lunch with him on the morrow. They were overjoyed.

  “God bless us, Athos, that was a triumphant idea of yours. As you promised, we have acquired glory and we were enabled to carry on a most important conversation.”

  “A conversation we can now continue without fear of suspicion, for, God help us, we shall henceforth be considered cardinalists.”

  That evening D’Artagnan called to pay his respects to Monsieur des Essarts and to inform him of the promotion he had just received. The Captain, who was very fond of D’Artagnan, offered him his good offices, for this change of corps would involve heavy additional expenses for equipment. D’Artagnan declined gratefully but, using the opportunity to advant
age, asked Monsieur des Essarts to have the diamond valued, appraised and sold.

  Next morning at eight o’clock Monsieur des Essarts’ valet called on D’Artagnan and handed him a bag containing seven thousand gold livres, the price of the Queen’s diamond.

  XLVIII

  A FAMILY AFFAIR

  It was Athos who first used the term “family affair.” A family affair was not subject to investigation by the Cardinal; it concerned nobody; anyone might conduct a family affair in broad daylight while all the world looked on.

  Athos thus discovered the phrase (family affair); Aramis discovered the idea (the lackeys); Porthos discovered the means (the diamond); D’Artagnan alone discovered nothing at all. This was surprising, for he was usually the most inventive of the quartet; alas! in the present juncture the mere name of Milady paralyzed him. But no! he did discover something, after all; he discovered a purchaser for his diamond.

  The luncheon at Monsieur de Tréville’s was very gay and enjoyable. D’Artagnan already wore his uniform, thanks to Aramis. Having been so handsomely paid by the bookseller who purchased his poem Aramis had bought double of everything. As D’Artagnan and he were of the same size, Aramis cheerfully yielded his friend a complete outfit. D’Artagnan would have been overjoyed had he not constantly seen Milady, hovering like a dark cloud on the horizon.

  After luncheon Athos and his friends agreed to meet at his billet that night to complete their deliberations. Only three things remained to be decided upon: first, what they should write to Milady’s brother … next, what they should write to the adroit person in Tours … and finally which two valets were to carry the letters.…

  Each musketeer offered his own. Athos praised the discreet Grimaud who never spoke a word save when his master unlocked his mouth. Porthos boasted of the powerful Mousqueton, able single-handed to thrash four men of ordinary size. Aramis, confident in Bazin, launched into a pompous eulogy of his infinite resourcefulness. And D’Artagnan, championing Planchet’s bravery, reminded them how he had behaved in the ticklish affair at Boulogne. For a long time the virtues of discretion, strength, ingenuity and valor disputed the prize, inspiring magnificent speeches somewhat too long to reproduce here. Athos summed up the situation: