Ten Years Later

by Alexandre Dumas

  For a man who had seen so many much more dangerous ones, the positionof D'Artagnan with respect to M. Colbert was only comic. D'Artagnan,therefore, did not deny himself the satisfaction of laughing at theexpense of monsieur l'intendant, from the Rue des Petits-Champs to theRue des Lombards. It was a great while since D'Artagnan had laughed solong together. He was still laughing when Planchet appeared, laughinglikewise, at the door of his house; for Planchet, since the returnof his patron, since the entrance of the English guineas, passed thegreater part of his life in doing what D'Artagnan had only done fromRue-Neuve des Petits-Champs to the Rue des Lombards.

  "You are home, then, my dear master?" said Planchet.

  "No, my friend," replied the musketeer, "I am off and that quickly. Iwill sup with you, go to bed, sleep five hours, and at break of day leapinto my saddle. Has my horse had an extra feed?"

  "Eh! my dear master," replied Planchet, "you know very well that yourhorse is the jewel of the family; that my lads are caressing it all day,and cramming it with sugar, nuts, and biscuits. You ask me if he has hadan extra feed of oats; you should ask if he has not had enough to bursthim."

  "Very well, Planchet, that is all right. Now, then, I pass to whatconcerns me--my supper?"

  "Ready. A smoking roast joint, white wine, crayfish and fresh-gatheredcherries. All ready, my master."

  "You are a capital fellow, Planchet; come on, then, let us sup, and Iwill go to bed."

  During supper D'Artagnan observed that Planchet kept rubbing hisforehead, as if to facilitate the issue of some idea closely pent withinhis brain. He looked with an air of kindness at this worthy companion offormer adventures and misadventures, and, clinking glass against glass,"Come, Planchet," said he, "let us see what it is that gives you so muchtrouble to bring forth. Mordioux! Speak freely, and quickly."

  "Well, this is it," replied Planchet: "you appear to me to be going onsome expedition or other."

  "I don't say that I am not."

  "Then you have some new idea?"

  "That is possible, too, Planchet."

  "Then there will be fresh capital to be ventured? I will lay downfifty thousand livres upon the idea you are about to carry out." And sosaying, Planchet rubbed his hands one against the other with a rapidityevincing great delight.

  "Planchet," said D'Artagnan, "there is but one misfortune in it."

  "And what is that?"

  "That the idea is not mine. I can risk nothing upon it."

  These words drew a deep sigh from the heart of Planchet. That Avariceis an ardent counselor; she carries away her man, as Satan did Jesus,to the mountain, and when once she has shown to an unfortunate all thekingdoms of the earth, she is able to repose herself, knowing full wellthat she has left her companion, Envy, to gnaw his heart. Planchet hadtasted of riches easily acquired, and was never afterwards likelyto stop in his desires; but, as he had a good heart in spite of hiscovetousness, as he adored D'Artagnan, he could not refrain from makinghim a thousand recommendations, each more affectionate than the others.He would not have been sorry, nevertheless, to have caught a little hintof the secret his master concealed so well; tricks, turns, counsels andtraps were all useless, D'Artagnan let nothing confidential escapehim. The evening passed thus. After supper the portmanteau occupiedD'Artagnan, he took a turn to the stable, patted his horse, and examinedhis shoes and legs, then, having counted over his money, he went tobed, sleeping as if only twenty, because he had neither inquietude norremorse; he closed his eyes five minutes after he had blown out hislamp. Many events might, however, have kept him awake. Thought boiledin his brain, conjectures abounded, and D'Artagnan was a great drawerof horoscopes; but, with that imperturbable phlegm which does morethan genius for the fortune and happiness of men of action, he put offreflection till the next day, for fear, he said, not to be fresh when hewanted to be so.

  The day came. The Rue des Lombards had its share of the caresses ofAurora with the rosy fingers, and D'Artagnan arose like Aurora. He didnot awaken anybody, he placed his portmanteau under his arm, descendedthe stairs without making one of them creak and without disturbing oneof the sonorous snorings in every story from the garret to the cellar,then, having saddled his horse, shut the stable and house doors, he setoff, at a foot-pace, on his expedition to Bretagne. He had done quiteright not to trouble himself with all the political and diplomaticaffairs which solicited his attention; for, in the morning, in freshnessand mild twilight, his ideas developed themselves in purity andabundance. In the first place, he passed before the house of Fouquet,and threw in a large gaping box the fortunate order which, the eveningbefore, he had had so much trouble to recover from the hooked fingers ofthe intendant. Placed in an envelope, and addressed to Fouquet, ithad not even been divined by Planchet, who in divination was equal toCalchas or the Pythian Apollo. D'Artagnan thus sent back the order toFouquet, without compromising himself, and without having thenceforwardany reproaches to make himself. When he had effected this properrestitution, "Now," said he to himself, "let us inhale much maternalair, much freedom from cares, much health, let us allow the horseZephyr, whose flanks puff as if he had to respire an atmosphere tobreathe, and let us be very ingenious in our little calculations. It istime," said D'Artagnan, "to form a plan of the campaign, and, accordingto the method of M. Turenne, who has a large head full of all sorts ofgood counsels, before the plan of the campaign it is advisable to drawa striking portrait of the generals to whom we are opposed. In the firstplace, M. Fouquet presents himself. What is M. Fouquet? M. Fouquet,"replied D'Artagnan to himself, "is a handsome man, very much beloved bythe women, a generous man very much beloved by the poets; a man of wit,much execrated by pretenders. Well, now I am neither woman, poet, norpretender: I neither love nor hate monsieur le surintendant. I findmyself, therefore, in the same position in which M. de Turenne foundhimself when opposed to the Prince de Conde at Jargeau, Gien and theFaubourg Saint-Antoine. He did not execrate monsieur le prince, it istrue, but he obeyed the king. Monsieur le prince is an agreeable man,but the king is king. Turenne heaved a deep sigh, called Conde 'Mycousin,' and swept away his army. Now what does the king wish? Thatdoes not concern me. Now, what does M. Colbert wish? Oh, that's anotherthing. M. Colbert wishes all that M. Fouquet does not wish. Then whatdoes M. Fouquet wish? Oh, that is serious. M. Fouquet wishes preciselyfor all which the king wishes."

  This monologue ended, D'Artagnan began to laugh, whilst making his whipwhistle in the air. He was already on the high road, frightening thebirds in the hedges, listening to the livres chinking and dancing in hisleather pocket, at every step; and, let us confess it, every time thatD'Artagnan found himself in such conditions tenderness was not hisdominant vice. "Come," said he, "I cannot think the expedition a verydangerous one; and it will fall out with my voyage as with that pieceM. Monk took me to see in London, which was called, I think, 'Much Adoabout Nothing.'"

  CHAPTER 66. The Journey