Ten Years Later

by Alexandre Dumas

  Before taking his place at table, D'Artagnan acquired, as was hiscustom, all the information he could; but it is an axiom of curiosity,that every man who wishes to question well and fruitfully ought in thefirst place to lay himself open to questions. D'Artagnan sought, then,with his usual skill, a promising questioner in the hostelry of LaRoche-Bernard. At the moment, there were in the house, on the firststory, two travelers either preparing for supper, or at supper itself.D'Artagnan had seen their nags in the stable, and their equipages inthe salle. One traveled with a lackey, undoubtedly a person ofconsideration;--two Perche mares, sleek, sound beasts, were suitablemeans of locomotion. The other, a little fellow, a traveler of meagreappearance, wearing a dusty surtout, dirty linen, and boots more worn bythe pavement than the stirrup, had come from Nantes with a cart drawnby a horse so like Furet in color, that D'Artagnan might have gone ahundred miles without finding a better match. This cart contained diverslarge packets wrapped in pieces of old stuff.

  "That traveler yonder," said D'Artagnan to himself, "is the man formy money. He will do, he suits me; I ought to do for and suit him; M.Agnan, with the gray doublet and the rusty calotte, is not unworthy ofsupping with the gentleman of the old boots and still older horse."

  This said, D'Artagnan called the host, and desired him to send histeal, tourteau, and cider up to the chamber of the gentleman of modestexterior. He himself climbed, a plate in his hand, the wooden staircasewhich led to the chamber, and began to knock at the door.

  "Come in!" said the unknown. D'Artagnan entered, with a simper on hislips, his plate under his arm, his hat in one hand, his candle in theother.

  "Excuse me, monsieur," said he, "I am, as you are, a traveler; I know noone in the hotel, and I have the bad habit of losing my spirits whenI eat alone, so that my repast appears a bad one to me, and does notnourish me. Your face, which I saw just now, when you came down tohave some oysters opened,--your face pleased me much. Besides, I haveobserved you have a horse just like mine, and that the host, no doubt onaccount of that resemblance, has placed them side by side in thestable, where they appear to agree amazingly well together. I therefore,monsieur, do not see any reason why the masters should be separated whenthe horses are united. Accordingly, I am come to request the pleasureof being admitted to your table. My name is Agnan, at your service,monsieur, the unworthy steward of a rich seigneur, who wishes topurchase some salt-mines in this country, and sends me to examine hisfuture acquisitions. In truth, monsieur, I should be well pleased ifmy countenance were as agreeable to you as yours is to me; for, upon myhonor, I am quite at your service."

  The stranger, whom D'Artagnan saw for the first time--for before hehad only caught a glimpse of him,--the stranger had black and brillianteyes, a yellow complexion, a brow a little wrinkled by the weight offifty years, bonhomie in his features collectively, but some cunning inhis look.

  "One would say," thought D'Artagnan, "that this merry fellow has neverexercised more than the upper part of his head, his eyes, and hisbrain. He must be a man of science: his mouth, nose, and chin signifyabsolutely nothing."

  "Monsieur," replied the latter, with whose mind and person we have beenmaking so free, "you do me much honor; not that I am ever ennuye, for Ihave," added he, smiling, "a company which amuses me always; but nevermind that, I am very happy to receive you." But when saying this, theman with the worn boots cast an uneasy look at his table, from whichthe oysters had disappeared, and upon which there was nothing left but amorsel of salt bacon.

  "Monsieur," D'Artagnan hastened to say, "the host is bringing me up apretty piece of roasted poultry and a superb tourteau." D'Artagnan hadread in the look of his companion, however rapid it disappeared, thefear of an attack by a parasite: he divined justly. At this opening,the features of the man of modest exterior relaxed; and, as if he hadwatched the moment for his entrance, as D'Artagnan spoke, the hostappeared, bearing the announced dishes. The tourteau and the teal wereadded to the morsel of broiled bacon; D'Artagnan and his guest bowed,sat down opposite to each other, and, like two brothers, shared thebacon and the other dishes.

  "Monsieur," said D'Artagnan, "you must confess that association is awonderful thing."

  "How so?" replied the stranger, with his mouth full.

  "Well, I will tell you," replied D'Artagnan.

  The stranger gave a short truce to the movement of his jaws, in order tohear the better.

  "In the first place," continued D'Artagnan, "instead of one candle,which each of us had, we have two."

  "That is true!" said the stranger, struck with the extreme lucidity ofthe observation.

  "Then I see that you eat my tourteau in preference, whilst I, inpreference, eat your bacon."

  "That is true again."

  "And then, in addition to being better lighted and eating what weprefer, I place the pleasure of your company."

  "Truly, monsieur, you are very jovial," said the unknown, cheerfully.

  "Yes, monsieur; jovial, as all people are who carry nothing on theirminds, or, for that matter, in their heads. Oh! I can see it is quiteanother sort of thing with you," continued D'Artagnan; "I can read inyour eyes all sorts of genius."

  "Oh, monsieur!"

  "Come, confess one thing."

  "What is that?"

  "That you are a learned man."

  "Ma foi! monsieur."

  "Hein?"

  "Almost."

  "Come, then!"

  "I am an author."

  "There!" cried D'Artagnan, clapping his hands, "I knew I could not bedeceived! It is a miracle!"

  "Monsieur----"

  "What, shall I have the honor of passing the evening in the society ofan author, of a celebrated author perhaps?"

  "Oh!" said the unknown, blushing, "celebrated, monsieur, celebrated isnot the word."

  "Modest!" cried D'Artagnan, transported, "he is modest!" Then, turningtowards the stranger, with a character of blunt bonhomie: "But tellme at least the name of your works, monsieur; for you will please toobserve you have not told me your name, and I have been forced to divineyour genius."

  "My name is Jupenet, monsieur," said the author.

  "A fine name! a grand name! upon my honor; and I do not know why--pardonme the mistake, if it be one--but surely I have heard that namesomewhere."

  "I have made verses," said the poet modestly.

  "Ah! that is it, then, I have heard them read."

  "A tragedy."

  "I must have seen it played."

  The poet blushed again, and said: "I do not think that can be the case,for my verses have never been printed."

  "Well, then, it must have been the tragedy which informed me of yourname."

  "You are again mistaken, for MM. the comedians of the Hotel deBourgogne, would have nothing to do with it," said the poet, with asmile, the receipt for which certain sorts of pride alone knew thesecret. D'Artagnan bit his lips. "Thus, then, you see, monsieur,"continued the poet, "you are in error on my account, and that not beingat all known to you, you have never heard tell of me."

  "Ah! that confounds me. That name, Jupenet, appears to me, nevertheless,a fine name, and quite as worthy of being known as those of MM.Corneille, or Rotrou, or Garnier. I hope, monsieur, you will have thegoodness to repeat to me a part of your tragedy presently, by way ofdessert, for instance. That will be sugared roast meat,--mordioux! Ah!pardon me, monsieur, that was a little oath which escaped me, becauseit is a habit with my lord and master. I sometimes allow myself to usurpthat little oath, as it seems in pretty good taste. I take this libertyonly in his absence, please to observe, for you may understand that inhis presence--but, in truth, monsieur, this cider is abominable; do younot think so? And besides, the pot is of such an irregular shape it willnot stand on the table."

  "Suppose we were to make it level?"

  "To be sure; but with what?"

  "With this knife."

  "And the teal, with what shall we cut that up? Do you not, by chance,mean to touch the teal?"

  "Certainly."


  "Well, then----"

  "Wait."

  And the poet rummaged in his pocket, and drew out a piece of brass,oblong, quadrangular, about a line in thickness, and an inch and a halfin length. But scarcely had this little piece of brass seen the light,than the poet appeared to have committed an imprudence, and made amovement to put it back again in his pocket. D'Artagnan perceived this,for he was a man that nothing escaped. He stretched forth his handtowards the piece of brass: "Humph! that which you hold in your hand ispretty; will you allow me to look at it?"

  "Certainly," said the poet, who appeared to have yielded too soon to afirst impulse. "Certainly, you may look at it: but it will be in vainfor you to look at it," added he, with a satisfied air; "if I were notto tell you its use, you would never guess it."

  D'Artagnan had seized as an avowal the hesitation of the poet, andhis eagerness to conceal the piece of brass which a first movement hadinduced him to take out of his pocket. His attention, therefore, onceawakened on this point, he surrounded himself with a circumspectionwhich gave him a superiority on all occasions. Besides, whatever M.Jupenet might say about it, by a simple inspection of the object, heperfectly well knew what it was. It was a character in printing.

  "Can you guess, now, what this is?" continued the poet.

  "No," said D'Artagnan, "no, ma foi!"

  "Well, monsieur," said M. Jupenet, "this little piece of metal is aprinting letter."

  "Bah!

  "A capital."

  "Stop, stop, stop;" said D'Artagnan, opening his eyes very innocently.

  "Yes, monsieur, a capital; the first letter of my name."

  "And this is a letter, is it?"

  "Yes, monsieur."

  "Well, I will confess one thing to you.

  "And what is that?"

  "No, I will not, I was going to say something stupid."

  "No, no," said Master Jupenet, with a patronizing air.

  "Well then, I cannot comprehend, if that is a letter, how you can make aword."

  "A word?"

  "Yes, a printed word."

  "Oh, that's very easy."

  "Let me see."

  "Does it interest you?"

  "Enormously."

  "Well, I will explain the thing to you. Attend."

  "I am attending."

  "That is it."

  "Good."

  "Look attentively."

  "I am looking." D'Artagnan, in fact, appeared absorbed in observations.Jupenet drew from his pocket seven or eight other pieces of brasssmaller than the first.

  "Ah, ah," said D'Artagnan.

  "What!"

  "You have, then, a whole printing-office in your pocket. Peste! that iscurious, indeed."

  "Is it not?"

  "Good God, what a number of things we learn by traveling."

  "To your health!" said Jupenet, quite enchanted.

  "To yours, mordioux, to yours. But--an instant--not in this cider. Itis an abominable drink, unworthy of a man who quenches his thirst at theHippocrene fountain--is not it so you call your fountain, you poets?"

  "Yes, monsieur, our fountain is so called. That comes from two Greekwords--hippos, which means a horse, and----"

  "Monsieur," interrupted D'Artagnan, "you shall drink of a liquor whichcomes from one single French word, and is none the worse for that--fromthe word grape; this cider gives me the heartburn. Allow me to inquireof your host if there is not a good bottle of Beaugency, or of the Cerangrowth, at the back of the large bins in his cellar."

  The host, being sent for, immediately attended.

  "Monsieur," interrupted the poet, "take care, we shall not have time todrink the wine, unless we make great haste, for I must take advantage ofthe tide to secure the boat."

  "What boat?" asked D'Artagnan.

  "Why the boat which sets out for Belle-Isle!"

  "Ah--for Belle-Isle," said the musketeer, "that is good."

  "Bah! you will have plenty of time, monsieur," replied the hotelier,uncorking the bottle, "the boat will not leave this hour."

  "But who will give me notice?" said the poet.

  "Your fellow-traveler," replied the host.

  "But I scarcely know him."

  "When you hear him departing, it will be time for you to go."

  "Is he going to Belle-Isle, likewise, then?"

  "The traveler who has a lackey?" asked D'Artagnan. "He is somegentleman, no doubt?"

  "I know nothing of him."

  "What!--know nothing of him?"

  "No, all I know is, that he is drinking the same wine as you."

  "Peste!--that is a great honor for us," said D'Artagnan, filling hiscompanion's glass, whilst the host went out.

  "So," resumed the poet, returning to his dominant ideas, "you never sawany printing done?"

  "Never."

  "Well, then, take the letters thus, which compose the word, you see:A B; ma foi! here is an R, two E E, then a G." And he assembled theletters with a swiftness and skill which did not escape the eye ofD'Artagnan.

  "Abrege," said he, as he ended.

  "Good!" said D'Artagnan; "here are plenty of letters got together; buthow are they kept so?" And he poured out a second glass for the poet.M. Jupenet smiled like a man who has an answer for everything; then hepulled out--still from his pocket--a little metal ruler, composed of twoparts, like a carpenter's rule, against which he put together, and in aline, the characters, holding them under his left thumb.

  "And what do you call that little metal ruler?" said D'Artagnan, "for, Isuppose, all these things have names."

  "This is called a composing-stick," said Jupenet; "it is by the aid ofthis stick that the lines are formed."

  "Come, then, I was not mistaken in what I said; you have a press in yourpocket," said D'Artagnan, laughing with an air of simplicity so stupid,that the poet was completely his dupe.

  "No," replied he; "but I am too lazy to write, and when I have a versein my head, I print it immediately. That is a labor spared."

  "Mordioux!" thought D'Artagnan to himself, "this must be cleared up."And under a pretext, which did not embarrass the musketeer, who wasfertile in expedients, he left the table, went downstairs, ran to theshed under which stood the poet's little cart, poked the point of hisponiard into the stuff which enveloped one of the packages, which hefound full of types, like those which the poet had in his pocket.

  "Humph!" said D'Artagnan, "I do not yet know whether M. Fouquet wishesto fortify Belle-Isle; but, at all events, here are some spiritualmunitions for the castle." Then, enchanted with his rich discovery heran upstairs again, and resumed his place at the table.

  D'Artagnan had learnt what he wished to know. He, however, remained,none the less, face to face with his partner, to the moment when theyheard from the next room symptoms of a person's being about to go out.The printer was immediately on foot; he had given orders for his horseto be got ready. His carriage was waiting at the door. The secondtraveler got into his saddle, in the courtyard, with his lackey.D'Artagnan followed Jupenet to the door; he embarked his cart and horseon board the boat. As to the opulent traveler, he did the same withhis two horses and servant. But all the wit D'Artagnan employed inendeavoring to find out his name was lost--he could learn nothing. Onlyhe took such notice of his countenance, that it was impressed upon hismind forever. D'Artagnan had a great inclination to embark with thetwo travelers, but an interest more powerful than curiosity--that ofsuccess--repelled him from the shore, and brought him back again to thehostelry. He entered with a sigh and went to bed directly in order tobe ready early in the morning with fresh ideas and the sage counsel ofsufficing sleep.

  CHAPTER 68. D'Artagnan continues his Investigations