red to your lackey,
monsieur."

"A moment," said Athos; "with your permission, monsieur, I wish
to speak a word with my friend."

"Say on."

Athos drew D'Artagnan aside.

"Well, Tempter, what more do you want with me?" said D'Artagnan.
"You want me to throw again, do you not?"

"No, I would wish you to reflect."

"On what?"

"You mean to take your horse?"

"Without doubt."

"You are wrong, then.  I would take the hundred pistoles.  You
know you have staked the harnesses against the horse or a hundred
pistoles, at your choice."

"Yes."

"Well, then, I repeat, you are wrong.  What is the use of one
horse for us two?  I could not ride behind.  We should look like
the two sons of Anmon, who had lost their brother.  You cannot
think of humiliating me by prancing along by my side on that
magnificent charger.  For my part, I should not hesitate a
moment; I should take the hundred pistoles.  We want money for
our return to Paris."

"I am much attached to that horse, Athos."

"And there again you are wrong.  A horse slips and injures a
joint; a horse stumbles and breaks his knees to the bone; a horse
eats out of a manger in which a glandered horse has eaten.  There
is a horse, while on the contrary, the hundred pistoles feed
their master."

"But how shall we get back?"

"Upon our lackey's horses, PARDIEU.  Anybody may see by our
bearing that we are people of condition."

"Pretty figures we shall cut on ponies while Aramis and Porthos
caracole on their steeds."

"Aramis!  Porthos!" cried Athos, and laughed aloud.

"What is it?" asked D'Artagnan, who did not at all comprehend the
hilarity of his friend.

"Nothing, nothing!  Go on!"

"Your advice, then?"

"To take the hundred pistoles, D'Artagnan.  With the hundred
pistoles we can live well to the end of the month.  We have
undergone a great deal of fatigue, remember, and a little rest
will do no harm."

"I rest?  Oh, no, Athos.  Once in Paris, I shall prosecute my
search for that unfortunate woman!"

"Well, you may be assured that your horse will not be half so
serviceable to you for that purpose as good golden louis.  Take
the hundred pistoles, my friend; take the hundred pistoles!"

D'Artagnan only required one reason to be satisfied.  This last
reason appeared convincing.  Besides, he feared that by resisting
longer he should appear selfish in the eyes of Athos.  He
acquiesced, therefore, and chose the hundred pistoles, which the
Englishman paid down on the spot.

They then determined to depart.  Peace with the landlord, in
addition to Athos's old horse, cost six pistoles.  D'Artagnan and
Athos took the nags of Planchet and Grimaud, and the two lackeys
started on foot, carrying the saddles on their heads.

However ill our two friends were mounted, they were soon far in
advance of their servants, and arrived at Creveccoeur.  From a
distance they perceived Aramis, seated in a melancholy manner at
his window, looking out, like Sister Anne, at the dust in the
horizon.

"HOLA, Aramis!  What the devil are you doing there?" cried the
two friends.

"Ah, is that you, D'Artagnan, and you, Athos?" said the young
man.  "I was reflecting upon the rapidity with which the
blessings of this world leave us.  My English horse, which has
just disappeared amid a cloud of dust, has furnished me with a
living image of the fragility of the things of the earth.  Life
itself may be resolved into three words:  ERAT, EST, FUIT."

"Which means--" said D'Artagnan, who began to suspect the truth.

"Which means that I have just been duped-sixty louis for a horse
which by the manner of his gait can do at least five leagues an
hour."

D'Artagnan and Athos laughed aloud.

"My dear D'Artagnan," said Aramis, "don't be too angry with me, I
beg.  Necessity has no law; besides, I am the person punished, as
that rascally horsedealer has robbed me of fifty louis, at least.
Ah, you fellows are good managers!  You ride on our lackey's
horses, and have your own gallant steeds led along carefully by
hand, at short stages."

At the same instant a market cart, which some minutes before had
appeared upon the Amiens road, pulled up at the inn, and Planchet
and Grimaud came out of it with the saddles on their heads.  The
cart was returning empty to Paris, and the two lackeys had
agreed, for their transport, to slake the wagoner's thirst along
the route.

"What is this?" said Aramis, on seeing them arrive.  "Nothing but
saddles?"

"Now do you understand?" said Athos.

"My friends, that's exactly like me!  I retained my harness by
instinct.  HOLA, Bazin! Bring my new saddle and carry it along
with those of these gentlemen."

"And what have you done with your ecclesiastics?" asked
D'Artagnan.

"My dear fellow, I invited them to a dinner the next day,"
replied Aramis.  "They have some capital wine here-please to
observe that in passing.  I did my best to make them drunk.  Then
the curate forbade me to quit my uniform, and the Jesuit
entreated me to get him made a Musketeer."

"Without a thesis?" cried D'Artagnan, "without a thesis?  I
demand the suppression of the thesis."

"Since then," continued Aramis, "I have lived very agreeably.  I
have begun a poem in verses of one syllable.  That is rather
difficult, but the merit in all things consists in the
difficulty.  The matter is gallant.  I will read you the first
canto.  It has four hundred lines, and lasts a minute."

"My faith, my dear Aramis," said D'Artagnan, who detested verses
almost as much as he did Latin, "add to the merit of the
difficulty that of the brevity, and you are sure that your poem
will at least have two merits."

"You will see," continued Aramis, "that it breathes
irreproachable passion.  And so, my friends, we return to Paris?
Bravo!  I am ready.  We are going to rejoin that good fellow,
Porthos.  So much the better.  You can't think how I have missed
him, the great simpleton.  To see him so self-satisfied
reconciles me with myself.  He would not sell his horse; not for
a kingdom!  I think I can see him now, mounted upon his superb
animal and seated in his handsome saddle.  I am sure he will look
like the Great Mogul!"

They made a halt for an hour to refresh their horses.  Aramis
discharged his bill, placed Bazin in the cart with his comrades,
and they set forward to join Porthos.

They found him up, less pale than when D'Artagnan left him after
his first visit, and seated at a table on which, though he was
alone, was spread enough for four persons.  This dinner consisted
of meats nicely dressed, choice wines, and superb fruit.

"Ah, PARDIEU!" said he, rising, "you come in the nick of time,
gentlemen.  I was just beginning the soup, and you will dine with
me."

"Oh, oh!" said D'Artagnan, "Mousqueton has not caught these
bottles with his lasso.  Besides, here is a piquant FRICANDEAU
and a fillet of beef."

"I am recruiting myself," said Porthos, "I am recruiting myself.
Nothing weakens a man more than these devilish strains.  Did you
ever suffer from a strain, Athos?"

"Never!  Though I remember, in our affair of the Rue Ferou, I
received a sword wound which at the end of fifteen or eighteen
days produced the same effect."

"But this dinner was not intended for you alone, Porthos?" said
Aramis.

"No," said Porthos, "I expected some gentlemen of the
neighborhood, who have just sent me word they could not come.
You will take their places and I shall not lose by the exchange.
HOLA, Mousqueton, seats, and order double the bottles!"

"Do you know what we are eating here?" said Athos, at the end of
ten minutes.

"PARDIEU!" replied D'Artagnan, "for my part, I am eating veal
garnished with shrimps and vegetables."

"And I some lamb chops," said Porthos.

"And I a plain chicken," said Aramis.

"You are all mistaken, gentlemen," answered Athos, gravely; "you
are eating horse."

"Eating what?" said D'Artagnan.

"Horse!" said Aramis, with a grimace of disgust.

Porthos alone made no reply.

"Yes, horse.  Are we not eating a horse, Porthos?  And perhaps
his saddle, therewith."

"No, gentlemen, I have kept the harness," said Porthos.

"My faith," said Aramis, "we are all alike.  One would think we
had tipped the wink."

"What could I do?" said Porthos.  "This horse made my visitors
ashamed of theirs, and I don't like to humiliate people."

"Then your duchess is still at the waters?" asked D'Artagnan.

"Still," replied Porthos.  "And, my faith, the governor of the
province--one of the gentlemen I expected today--seemed to have
such a wish for him, that I gave him to him."

"Gave him?" cried D'Artagnan.

"My God, yes, GAVE, that is the word," said Porthos; "for the
animal was worth at least a hundred and fifty louis, and the
stingy fellow would only give me eighty."

"Without the saddle?" said Aramis.

"Yes, without the saddle."

"You will observe, gentlemen," said Athos, "that Porthos has made
the best bargain of any of us."

And then commenced a roar of laughter in which they all joined,
to the astonishment of poor Porthos; but when he was informed of
the cause of their hilarity, he shared it vociferously according
to his custom.

"There is one comfort, we are all in cash," said D'Artagnan.

"Well, for my part," said Athos, "I found Aramis's Spanish wine
so good that I sent on a hamper of sixty bottles of it in the
wagon with the lackeys.  That has weakened my purse."

"And I," said Aramis, "imagined that I had given almost my last
sou to the church of Montdidier and the Jesuits of Amiens, with
whom I had made engagements which I ought to have kept.  I have
ordered Masses for myself, and for you, gentlemen, which will be
said, gentlemen, for which I have not the least doubt you will be
marvelously benefited."

"And I," said Porthos, "do you think my strain cost me nothing?--
without reckoning Mousqueton's wound, for which I had to have the
surgeon twice a day, and who charged me double on account of that
foolish Mousqueton having allowed himself a ball in a part which
people generally only show to an apothecary; so I advised him to
try never to get wounded there any more."

"Ay, ay!" said Athos, exchanging a smile with D'Artagnan and
Aramis, "it is very clear you acted nobly with regard to the poor
lad; that is like a good master."

"In short," said Porthos, "when all my expenses are paid, I shall
have, at most, thirty crowns left."

"And I about ten pistoles," said Aramis.

"Well, then it appears that we are the Croesuses of the society.
How much have you left of your hundred pistoles, D'Artagnan.?"

"Of my hundred pistoles?  Why, in the first place I gave you
fifty."

"You think so?"

"PARDIEU!"

"Ah, that is true.  I recollect."

"Then I paid the host six."

"What a brute of a host!  Why did you give him six pistoles?"

"You told me to give them to him."

"It is true; I am too good-natured.  In brief, how much remains?"

"Twenty-five pistoles," said D'Artagnan.

"And I," said Athos, taking some small change from his pocket,
I--"

"You?  Nothing!"

"My faith!  So little that it is not worth reckoning with the
general stock."

"Now, then, let us calculate how much we posses in all."

"Porthos?"

"Thirty crowns."

"Aramis?"

"Ten pistoles."

"And you, D'Artagnan?"

"Twenty-five."

"That makes in all?" said Athos.

"Four hundred and seventy-five livres," said D'Artagnan, who
reckoned like Archimedes.

"On our arrival in Paris, we shall still have four hundred,
besides the harnesses," said Porthos.

"But our troop horses?" said Aramis.

"Well, of the four horses of our lackeys we will make two for the
masters, for which we will draw lots.  With the four hundred
livres we will make the half of one for one of the unmounted, and
then we will give the turnings out of our pockets to D'Artagnan,
who has a steady hand, and will go and play in the first gaming
house we come to.  There!"

"Let us dine, then," said Porthos; "it is getting cold."

The friends, at ease with regard to the future, did honor to the
repast, the remains of which were abandoned to Mousqueton, Bazin,
Planchet, and Grimaud.

On arriving in Paris, D'Artagnan found a letter from M. de
Treville, which informed him that, at his request, the king had
promised that he should enter the company of the Musketeers.

As this was the height of D'Artagnan's worldly ambition--apart,
be it well understood, from his desire of finding Mme.
Bonacieux--he ran, full of joy, to seek his comrades, whom he had
left only half an hour before, but whom he found very sad and
deeply preoccupied.  They were assembled in council at the
residence of Athos, which always indicated an event of some
gravity.  M. de Treville had intimated to them his Majesty's
fixed intention to open the campaign on the first of May, and
they must immediately prepare their outfits.


The four philosophers looked at one another in a state of
bewilderment.  M. de Treville never jested in matters relating to
discipline.

"And what do you reckon your outfit will cost?" said D'Artagnan.

"Oh, we can scarcely say.  We have made our calculations with
Spartan economy, and we each require fifteen hundred livres."

"Four times fifteen makes sixty--six thousand livres," said
Athos.

"It seems to me," said D'Artagnan, "with a thousand livres each--
I do not speak as a Spartan, but as a procurator--"

This word PROCURATOR roused Porthos.  "Stop," said he, "I have an
idea."

"Well, that's something, for I have not the shadow of one," said
Athos cooly; "but as to D'Artagnan, gentlemen, the idea of
belonging to OURS has driven him out of his senses.  A thousand
livres!  For my part, I declare I want two thousand."

"Four times two makes eight," then said Aramis; "it is eight
thousand that we want to complete our outfits, toward which, it
is true, we have already the saddles."

"Besides," said Athos, waiting till D'Artagnan, who went to thank
Monsieur de Treville, had shut the door, "besides, there is that
beautiful ring which beams from the finger of our friend.  What
the devil!  D'Artagnan is too good a comrade to leave his
brothers in embarrassment while he wears the ransom of a king on
his finger."



29  HUNTING FOR THE EQUIPMENTS

The most preoccupied of the four friends was certainly
D'Artagnan, although he, in his quality of Guardsman, would be
much more easily equipped than Messieurs the Musketeers, who were
all of high rank; but our Gascon cadet was, as may have been
observed, of a provident and almost avaricious character, and
with that (explain the contradiction) so vain as almost to rival
Porthos.  To this preoccupation of his vanity, D'Artagnan at this
moment joined an uneasiness much less selfish.  Notwithstanding
all his inquiries respecting Mme. Bonacieux, he could obtain no
intelligence of her.  M. de Treville had spoken of her to the
queen.  The queen was ignorant where the mercer's young wife was,
but had promised to have her sought for; but this promise was
very vague and did not at all reassure D'Artagnan.

Athos did not leave his chamber; he made up his mind not to take
a single step to equip himself.

"We have still fifteen days before us," said he to his friends.
"well, if at the end of a fortnight I have found nothing, or
rather if nothing has come to find me, as I a, too good a
Catholic to kill myself with a pistol bullet, I will seek a good
quarrel with four of his Eminence's Guards or with eight
Englishmen, and I will fight until one of them has killed me,
which, considering the number, cannot fail to happen.  It will
then be said of me that I died for the king; so that I shall have
performed my duty without the expense of an outfit."

Porthos continued to walk about with his hands behind him,
tossing his head and repeating, "I shall follow up on my idea."

Aramis, anxious and negligently dressed, said nothing.

It may be seen by these disastrous details that desolation
reigned in the community.

The lackeys on their part, like the coursers of Hippolytus,
shared the sadness of their masters.  Mousqueton collected a
store of crusts; Bazin, who had always been inclined to devotion,
never quit the churches; Planchet watched the flight of flies;
and Grimaud, whom the general distress could not induce to break
the silence imposed by his master, heaved sighs enough to soften
the stones.

The three friends--for, as we have said, Athos had sworn not to
stir a foot to equip himself--went out early in the morning, and
returned late at night.  They wandered about the streets, looking
at the pavement a if to see whether the passengers had not left a
purse behind them.  They might have been supposed to be following
tracks, so observant were they wherever they went.  When they met
they looked desolately at one another, as much as to say, "Have
you found anything?"

However, as Porthos had first found an idea, and had thought of
it earnestly afterward, he was the first to act.  He was a man of
execution, this worthy Porthos.  D'Artagnan perceived him one day
walking toward the church of St. Leu, and followed him
instinctively.  He entered, after having twisted his mustache and
elongated his imperial, which always announced on his part the
most triumphant resolutions.  As D'Artagnan took some precautions
to conceal himself, Porthos believed he had not been seen.
D'Artagnan entered behind him.  Porthos went and leaned against
the side of a pillar.  D'Artagnan, still unperceived, supported
himself against the other side.

There happened to be a sermon, which made the church very full of
people.  Porthos took advantage of this circumstance to ogle the
women.  Thanks to the cares of Mousqueton, the exterior was for
from announcing the distress of the interior.  His hat was a
little napless, his feather was a little faded, his gold lace was
a little tarnished, his laces were a trifle frayed; but in the
obscurity of the church these things were not seen, and Porthos
was still the handsome Porthos.

D'Artagnan observed, on the bench nearest to the pillar against
which Porthos leaned, sort of ripe beauty, rather yellow and
rather dry, but erect and haughty under her black hood.  The eyes
of Porthos were furtively cast upon this lady, and then roved
about at large over the nave.

On her side the lady, who from time to time blushed, darted with
the rapidity of lightning a glance toward the inconstant Porthos;
and then immediately the eyes of Porthos wandered anxiously.  It
was plain that this mode of proceeding piqued the lady in the
black hood, for she bit her lips till they bled, scratched the
end of her nose, and could not sit still in her seat.

Porthos, seeing this, retwisted his mustache, elongated his
imperial a second time, and began to make signals to a beautiful
lady who was near the choir, and who not only was a beautiful
lady, but still further, no doubt, a great lady--for she had
behind her a Negro boy who had brought the cushion on which she
knelt, and a female servant who held the emblazoned bag in which
was placed the book from which she read the Mass.

The lady with the black hood followed through all their
wanderings the looks of Porthos, and perceived that they rested
upon the lady with the velvet cushion, the little Negro, and the
maid-servant.

During this time Porthos played close.  It was almost
imperceptible motions of his eyes, fingers placed upon the lips,
little assassinating smiles, which really did assassinate the
disdained beauty.

Then she cried, "Ahem!" under cover of the MEA CULPA, striking
her breast so vigorously that everybody, even the lady with the
red cushion, turned round toward her.  Porthos paid no attention.
Nevertheless, he understood it all, but was deaf.

The lady with the red cushion produced a great effect--for she
was very handsome--upon the lady with he black hood, who saw in
her a rival really to be dreaded; a great effect upon Porthos,
who thought her much prettier than the lady with the black hood;
a great effect upon D'Artagnan, who recognized in her the lady of
Meung, of Calais, and of Dover, whom his persecutor, the man with
the scar, had saluted by the name of Milady.

D'Artagnan, without losing sight of the lady of the red cushion,
continued to watch the proceedings of Porthos, which amused him
greatly.  He guessed that the lady of the black hood was the
procurator's wife of the Rue aux Ours, which was the more
probable from the church of St. Leu being not far from that
locality.

He guessed, likewise, by induction, that Porthos was taking his
revenge for the defeat of Chantilly, when the procurator's wife
had proved so refractory with respect to her purse.

Amid all this, D'Artagnan remarked also that not one countenance
responded to the gallantries of Porthos.  There were only
chimeras and illusions; but for real love, for true jealousy, is
there any reality except illusions and chimeras?

The sermon over, the procurator's wife advanced toward the holy
font.  Porthos went before her, and instead of a finger, dipped
his whole hand in.  The procurator's wife smiled, thinking that
it was for her Porthos had put himself to this trouble; but she
was cruelly and promptly undeceived.  When she was only about
three steps from him, he turned his head round, fixing his eyes
steadfastly upon the lady with the red cushion, who had risen and
was approaching, followed by her black boy and her woman.

When the lady of the red cushion came close to Porthos, Porthos
drew his dripping hand from the font.  The fair worshipper
touched the great hand of Porthos with her delicate fingers,
smiled, made the sign of the cross, and left the church.

This was too much for the procurator's wife; she doubted not
there was an intrigue between this lady and Porthos.  If she had
been a great lady she would have fainted; but as she was only a
procurator's wife, she contented herself saying to the Musketeer
with concentrated fury, "Eh, Monsieur Porthos, you don't offer me
any holy water?"

Porthos, at the sound of that voice, started like a man awakened
from a sleep of a hundred years.

"Ma-madame!" cried he; "is that you?  How is your husband, our
dear Monsieur Coquenard?  Is he still as stingy as ever?  Where
can my eyes have been not to have seen you during the two hours
of the sermon?"

"I was within two paces of you, monsieur," replied the
procurator's wife; "but you did not perceive me because you had
no eyes but for the pretty lady to whom you just now gave the
holy water."

Porthos pretended to be confused.  "Ah," said he, "you have
remarked--"

"I must have been blind not to have seen."

"Yes," said Porthos, "that is a duchess of my acquaintance whim I
have great trouble to meet on account of the jealousy of her
husband, and who sent me word that she should come today to this
poor church, buried in this vile quarter, solely for the sake of
seeing me."

"Monsieur Porthos," said the procurator's wife, "will you have
the kindness to offer me your arm for five minutes?  I have
something to say to you."

"Certainly, madame," said Porthos, winking to himself, as a
gambler does who laughs at the dupe he is about to pluck.

At that moment D'Artagnan passed in pursuit of Milady; he cast a
passing glance at Porthos, and beheld this triumphant look.

"Eh, eh!" said he, reasoning to himself according to the
strangely easy morality of that gallant period, "there is one who
will be equipped in good time!"

Porthos, yielding to the pressure of the arm of the procurator's
wife, as a bark yields to the rudder, arrived at the cloister St.
Magloire--a little-frequented passage, enclosed with a turnstile
at each end.  In the daytime nobody was seen there but mendicants
devouring their crusts, and children at play.

"Ah, Monsieur Porthos," cried the procurator's wife, when she was
assured that no one who was a stranger to the population of the
locality could either see or hear her, "ah, Monsieur Porthos, you
are a great conqueror, as it appears!"

"I, madame?" said Porthos, drawing himself up proudly; "how so?"

"The signs just now, and the holy water!  But that must be a
princess, at least--that lady with her Negro boy and her maid!"

"My God!  Madame, you are deceived," said Porthos; "she is simply
a duchess."

"And that running footman who waited at the door, and that
carriage with a coachman in grand livery who sat waiting on his
seat?"

Porthos had seen neither the footman nor the carriage, but with
he eye of a jealous woman, Mme. Coquenard had seen everything.

Porthos regretted that he had not at once made the lady of the
red cushion a princess.

"Ah, you are quite the pet of the ladies, Monsieur Porthos!"
resumed the procurator's wife, with a sigh.

"Well," responded Porthos, "you may imagine, with the physique
with which nature has endowed me, I am not in want of good luck."

"Good Lord, how quickly men forget!" cried the procurator's wife,
raising her eyes toward heaven.

"Less quickly than the women, it seems to me," replied Porthos;
"for I, madame, I may say I was your victim, when wounded, dying,
I was abandoned by the surgeons.  I, the offspring of a noble
family, who placed reliance upon your friendship--I was near
dying of my wounds at first, and of hunger afterward, in a
beggarly inn at Chantilly, without you ever deigning once to
reply to the burning letters I addressed to you."

"But, Monsieur Porthos," murmured the procurator's wife, who
began to feel that, to judge by the conduct of the great ladies
of the time, she was wrong.

"I, who had sacrificed for you the Baronne de--"

"I know it well."

"The Comtesse de--"

"Monsieur Porthos, be generous!"

"You are right, madame, and I will not finish."

"But it was my husband who would not hear of lending."

"Madame Coquenard," said Porthos, "remember the first letter you
wrote me, and which I preserve engraved in my memory."

The procurator's wife uttered a groan.

"Besides," said she, "the sum you required me to borrow was
rather large."

"Madame Coquenard, I gave you the preference.  I had but to write
to the Duchesse--but I won't repeat her name, for I am incapable
of compromising a woman; but this I know, that I had but to write
to her and she would have sent me fifteen hundred."

The procurator's wife shed a tear.

"Monsieur Porthos," said she, "I can assure you that you have
severely punished me; and if in the time to come you should find
yourself in a similar situation, you have but to apply to me."

"Fie, madame, fie!" said Porthos, as if disgusted.  "Let us not
talk about money, if you please; it is humiliating."

"Then you no longer love me!" said the procurator's wife, slowly
and sadly.

Porthos maintained a majestic silence.

"And that is the only reply you make?  Alas, I understand."

"Think of the offense you have committed toward me, madame!  It
remains HERE!" said Porthos, placing his hand on his heart, and
pressing it strongly.

"I will repair it, indeed I will, my dear Porthos."

"Besides, what did I ask of you?" resumed Porthos, with a
movement of the shoulders full of good fellowship.  "A loan,
nothing more!  After all, I am not an unreasonable man.  I know
you are not rich, Madame Coquenard, and that your husband is
obliged to bleed his poor clients to squeeze a few paltry crowns
from them.  Oh!  If you were a duchess, a marchioness, or a
countess, it would be quite a different thing; it would be
unpardonable."

The procurator's wife was piqued.

"Please to know, Monsieur Porthos," said she, "that my strongbox,
the strongbox of a procurator's wife though if may be, is better
filled than those of your affected minxes."

"The doubles the offense," said Porthos, disengaging his arm from
that of the procurator's wife; "for if you are rich, Madame
Coquenard, then there is no excuse for your refusal."

"When I said rich," replied the procurator's wife, who saw that
she had gone too far, "you must not take the word literally.  I
am not precisely rich, though I am pretty well off."

"Hold, madame," said Porthos, "let us say no more upon the
subject, I beg of you.  You have misunderstood me, all sympathy
is extinct between us."

"Ingrate that you are!"

"Ah!  I advise you to complain!" said Porthos.

"Begone, then, to your beautiful duchess; I will detain you no
longer."

"And she is not to be despised, in my opinion."

"Now, Monsieur Porthos, once more, and this is the last!  Do you
love me still?"

"Ah, madame," said Porthos, in the most melancholy tone he could
assume, "when we are about to enter upon a campaign--a campaign,
in which my presentiments tell me I shall be killed--"

"Oh, don't talk of such things!" cried the procurator's wife,
bursting into tears.

"Something whispers me so," continued Porthos, becoming more and
more melancholy.

"Rather say that you have a new love."

"Not so; I speak frankly to you.  No object affects me; and I
even feel here, at the bottom of my heart, something which speaks
for you.  But in fifteen days, as you know, or as you do not
know, this fatal campaign is to open.  I shall be fearfully
preoccupied with my outfit.  Then I must make a journey to see my
family, in the lower part of Brittany, to obtain the sum
necessary for my departure."

Porthos observed a last struggle between love and avarice.

"And as," continued he, "the duchess whom you saw at the church
has estates near to those of my family, we mean to make the
journey together.  Journeys, you know, appear much shorter when
we travel two in company."

"Have you no friends in Paris, then, Monsieur Porthos?" said the
procurator's wife.

"I thought I had," said Porthos, resuming his melancholy air;
"but I have been taught my mistake."

"You have some!" cried the procurator's wife, in a transport that
surprised even herself.  "Come to our house tomorrow.  You are
the son of my aunt, consequently my cousin; you come from Noyon,
in Picardy; you have several lawsuits and no attorney.  Can you
recollect all that?"

"Perfectly, madame."

"Cone at dinnertime."

"Very well."

"And be upon your guard before my husband, who is rather shrewd,
notwithstanding his seventy-six years."

"Seventy-six years!  PESTE!  That's a fine age!" replied Porthos.

"A great age, you mean, Monsieur Porthos.  Yes, the poor man may
be expected to leave me a widow, any hour," continued she,
throwing a significant glance at Porthos.  "Fortunately, by our
marriage contract, the survivor takes everything."

"All?"

"Yes, all."

"You are a woman of precaution, I see, my dear Madame Coquenard,"
said Porthos, squeezing the hand of the procurator's wife
tenderly.

"We are then reconciled, dear Monsieur Porthos?" said she,
simpering.

"For life," replied Porthos, in the same manner.

"Till we meet again, then, dear traitor!"

"Till we meet again, my forgetful charmer!"

"Tomorrow, my angel!"

"Tomorrow, flame of my life!"




30  D'ARTAGNAN AND THE ENGLISHMAN

D'Artagnan followed Milady without being perceived by her.
He saw her get into her carriage, and heard her order the
coachman to drive to St. Germain.

It was useless to try to keep pace on foot with a carriage
drawn by two powerful horses. D'Artagnan therefore returned
to the Rue Ferou.

In the Rue de Seine he met Planchet, who had stopped before
the house of a pastry cook, and was contemplating with
ecstasy a cake of the most appetizing appearance.

He ordered him to go and saddle two horses in M. de
Treville's stables--one for himself, D'Artagnan, and one for
Planchet--and bring them to Athens's place.  Once for all,
Treville had placed his stable at D'Artagnan's service.

Planchet proceeded toward the Rue du Colombier, and
D'Artagnan toward the Rue Ferou.  Athos was at home,
emptying sadly a bottle of the famous Spanish wine he had
brought back with him from his journey into Picardy.  He
made a sign for Grimaud to bring a glass for D'Artagnan, and
Grimaud obeyed as usual.

D'Artagnan related to Athos all that had passed at the
church between Porthos and the procurator's wife, and how
their comrade was probably by that time in a fair way to be
equipped.

"As for me," replied Athos to this recital, "I am quite at
my ease; it will not be women that will defray the expense
of my outfit."

"Handsome, well-bred, noble lord as you are, my dear Athos,
neither princesses nor queens would be secure from your
amorous solicitations."

"How young this D'Artagnan is!" said Athos, shrugging his
shoulders; and he made a sign to Grimaud to bring another
bottle.

At that moment Planchet put his head modestly in at the
half-open door, and told his master that the horses were
ready.

"What horses?" asked Athos.

"Two horses that Monsieur de Treville lends me at my
pleasure, and with which I am now going to take a ride to
St. Germain."

"Well, and what are you going to do at St. Germain?" then
demanded Athos.

Then D'Artagnan described the meeting which he had at the
church, and how he had found that lady who, with the
seigneur in the black cloak and with the scar near his
temple, filled his mind constantly.

"That is to say, you are in love with this lady as you were
with Madame Bonacieux," said Athos, shrugging his shoulders
contemptuously, as if he pitied human weakness.

"I? not at all!" said D'Artagnan.  "I am only curious to
unravel the mystery to which she is attached.  I do not know
why, but I imagine that this woman, wholly unknown to me as
she is, and wholly unknown to her as I am, has an influence
over my life."

"Well, perhaps you are right," said Athos.  "I do not know a
woman that is worth the trouble of being sought for when she
is once lost.  Madame Bonacieux is lost; so much the worse
for her if she is found."

"No, Athos, no, you are mistaken," said D'Artagnan; "I love
my poor Constance more than ever, and if I knew the place in
which she is, were it at the end of the world, I would go to
free her from the hands of her enemies; but I am ignorant.
All my researches have been useless.  What is to be said?  I
must divert my attention!"

"Amuse yourself with Milady, my dear D'Artagnan; I wish you
may with all my heart, if that will amuse you."

"Hear me, Athos," said D'Artagnan.  "Instead of shutting
yourself up here as if you were under arrest, get on
horseback and come and take a ride with me to St. Germain."

"My dear fellow," said Athos, "I ride horses when I have
any; when I have none, I go afoot."

"Well," said D'Artagnan, smiling at the misanthropy of
Athos, which from any other person would have offended him,
"I ride what I can get; I am not so proud as you.  So AU
REVOIR, dear Athos."

"AU REVOIR," said the Musketeer, making a sign to Grimaud to
uncork the bottle he had just brought.

D'Artagnan and Planchet mounted, and took the road to St.
Germain.

All along the road, what Athos had said respecting Mme.
Bonacieux recurred to the mind of the young man.  Although
D'Artagnan was not of a very sentimental character, the
mercer's pretty wife had made a real impression upon his
heart.  As he said, he was ready to go to the end of the
world to seek her; but the world, being round, has many
ends, so that he did not know which way to turn. Meantime,
he was going to try to find out Milady.  Milady had spoken
to the man in the black cloak; therefore she knew him. Now,
in the opinion of D'Artagnan, it was certainly the man in
the black cloak who had carried off Mme. Bonacieux the
second time, as he had carried her off the first.
D'Artagnan then only half-lied, which is lying but little,
when he said that by going in search of Milady he at the
same time went in search of Constance.

Thinking of all this, and from time to time giving a touch
of the spur to his horse, D'Artagnan completed his short
journey, and arrived at St. Germain.  He had just passed by
the pavilion in which ten years later Louis XIV was born.
He rode up a very quiet street, looking to the right and the
left to see if he could catch any vestige of his beautiful
Englishwoman, when from the ground floor of a pretty house,
which, according to the fashion of the time, had no window
toward the street, he saw a face peep out with which he
thought he was acquainted.  This person walked along the
terrace, which was ornamented with flowers.  Planchet
recognized him first.

"Eh, monsieur!" said he, addressing D'Artagnan, "don't you
remember that face which is blinking yonder?"

"No," said D'Artagnan, "and yet I am certain it is not the
first time I have seen that visage."

"PARBLEU, I believe it is not," said Planchet.  "Why, it is
poor Lubin, the lackey of the Comte de Wardes--he whom you
took such good care of a month ago at Calais, on the road to
the governor's country house!"

"So it is!" said D'Artagnan; "I know him now.  Do you think
he would recollect you?"

"My faith, monsieur, he was in such trouble that I doubt if
he can have retained a very clear recollection of me."

"Well, go and talk with the boy," said D'Artagnan, "and make
out if you can from his conversation whether his master is
dead."

Planchet dismounted and went straight up to Lubin, who did
not at all remember him, and the two lackeys began to chat
with the best understanding possible; while D'Artagnan
turned the two horses into a lane, went round the house, and
came back to watch the conference from behind a hedge of
filberts.

At the end of an instant's observation he heard the noise of
a vehicle, and saw Milady's carriage stop opposite to him.
He could not be mistaken; Milady was in it.  D'Artagnan
leaned upon the neck of his horse, in order that he might
see without being seen.

Milady put her charming blond head out at the window, and
gave her orders to her maid.

The latter--a pretty girl of about twenty or twenty-two
years, active and lively, the true SOUBRETTE of a great
lady--jumped from the step upon which, according to the
custom of the time, she was seated, and took her way toward
the terrace upon which D'Artagnan had perceived Lubin.

D'Artagnan followed the soubrette with his eyes, and saw her
go toward the terrace; but it happened that someone in the
house called Lubin, so that Planchet remained alone, looking
in all directions for the road where D'Artagnan had disappeared.

The maid approached Planchet, whom she took for Lubin, and
holding out a little billet to him said, "For your master."

"For my master?" replied Planchet, astonished.

"Yes, and important.  Take it quickly."

Thereupon she ran toward the carriage, which had turned
round toward the way it came, jumped upon the step, and the
carriage drove off.

Planchet turned and returned the billet.  Then, accustomed
to passive obedience, he jumped down from the terrace, ran
toward the lane, and at the end of twenty paces met
D'Artagnan, who, having seen all, was coming to him.

"For you, monsieur," said Planchet, presenting the billet to
the young man.

"For me?" said D'Artagnan; "are you sure of that?"

"PARDIEU, monsieur, I can't be more sure.  The SOUBRETTE said,
'For your master.' I have no other master but you; so-
a pretty little lass, my faith, is that SOUBRETTE!"

D'Artagnan opened the letter, and read these words:


"A person who takes more interest in you than she is willing
to confess wishes to know on what day it will suit you to
walk in the forest?  Tomorrow, at the Hotel Field of the
Cloth of Gold, a lackey in black and red will wait for your
reply."


"Oh!" said D'Artagnan, "this is rather warm; it appears that
Milady and I are anxious about the health of the same
person. Well, Planchet, how is the good Monsieur de Wardes?
He is not dead, then?"

"No, monsieur, he is as well as a man can be with four sword
wounds in his body; for you, without question, inflicted
four upon the dear gentleman, and he is still very weak,
having lost almost all his blood.  As I said, monsieur,
Lubin did not know me, and told me our adventure from one
end to the other."

"Well done, Planchet! you are the king of lackeys.  Now jump
onto your horse, and let us overtake the carriage."

This did not take long.  At the end of five minutes they
perceived the carriage drawn up by the roadside; a cavalier,
richly dressed, was close to the door.

The conversation between Milady and the cavalier was so
animated that D'Artagnan stopped on the other side of the
carriage without anyone but the pretty SOUBRETTE perceiving
his presence.

The conversation took place in English--a language which
D'Artagnan could not understand; but by the accent the young
man plainly saw that the beautiful Englishwoman was in a
great rage.  She terminated it by an action which left no
doubt as to the nature of this conversation; this was a blow
with her fan, applied with such force that the little
feminine weapon flew into a thousand pieces.

The cavalier laughed aloud, which appeared to exasperate
Milady still more.

D'Artagnan thought this was the moment to interfere.  He
approached the other door, and taking off his hat
respectfully, said, "Madame, will you permit me to offer you
my services?  It appears to me that this cavalier has made
you very angry.  Speak one word, madame, and I take upon
myself to punish him for his want of courtesy."

At the first word Milady turned, looking at the young man
with astonishment; and when he had finished, she said in
very good French, "Monsieur, I should with great confidence
place myself under your protection if the person with whom I
quarrel were not my brother."

"Ah, excuse me, then," said D'Artagnan.  "You must be aware
that I was ignorant of that, madame."

"What is that stupid fellow troubling himself about?" cried
the cavalier whom Milady had designated as her brother,
stooping down to the height of the coach window.  "Why does
not he go about his business?"

"Stupid fellow yourself!" said D'Artagnan, stooping in his
turn on the neck of his horse, and answering on his side
through the carriage window.  "I do not go on because it
pleases me to stop here."

The cavalier addressed some words in English to his sister.

"I speak to you in French," said D'Artagnan; "be kind
enough, then, to reply to me in the same language.  You are
Madame's brother, I learn--be it so; but fortunately you are
not mine."

It might be thought that Milady, timid as women are in
general, would have interposed in this commencement of
mutual provocations in order to prevent the quarrel from
going too far; but on the contrary, she threw herself back
in her carriage, and called out coolly to the coachman,
"Go on--home!"

The pretty SOUBRETTE cast an anxious glance at D'Artagnan,
whose good looks seemed to have made an impression on her.

The carriage went on, and left the two men facing each
other; no material obstacle separated them.

The cavalier made a movement as if to follow the carriage;
but D'Artagnan, whose anger, already excited, was much
increased by recognizing in him the Englishman of Amiens who
had won his horse and had been very near winning his diamond
of Athos, caught at his bridle and stopped him.

"Well, monsieur," said he, "you appear to be more stupid
than I am, for you forget there is a little quarrel to
arrange between us two."

"Ah," said the Englishman, "is it you, my master?  It seems
you must always be playing some game or other."

"Yes; and that reminds me that I have a revenge to take.  We
will see, my dear monsieur, if you can handle a sword as
skillfully as you can a dice box."

"You see plainly that I have no sword," said the Englishman.
"Do you wish to play the braggart with an unarmed man?"

"I hope you have a sword at home; but at all events, I have
two, and if you like, I will throw with you for one of
them."

"Needless," said the Englishman; "I am well furnished with
such playthings."

"Very well, my worthy gentleman," replied D'Artagnan, "pick
out the longest, and come and show it to me this evening."

"Where, if you please?"

"Behind the Luxembourg; that's a charming spot for such
amusements as the one I propose to you."

"That will do; I will be there."

"Your hour?"

"Six o'clock."

"A PROPOS, you have probably one or two friends?"

"I have three, who would be honored by joining in the sport
with me."

"Three?  Marvelous!  That falls out oddly! Three is just my
number!"

"Now, then, who are you?" asked the Englishman.

"I am Monsieur D'Artagnan, a Gascon gentleman, serving in
the king's Musketeers.  And you?"

"I am Lord de Winter, Baron Sheffield."

"Well, then, I am your servant, Monsieur Baron," said
D'Artagnan, "though you have names rather difficult to
recollect."  And touching his horse with the spur, he
cantered back to Paris.  As he was accustomed to do in all
cases of any consequence, D'Artagnan went straight to the
residence of Athos.

He found Athos reclining upon a large sofa, where he was
waiting, as he said, for his outfit to come and find him.
He related to Athos all that had passed, except the letter
to M. de Wardes.

Athos was delighted to find he was going to fight an
Englishman. We might say that was his dream.

They immediately sent their lackeys for Porthos and Aramis,
and on their arrival made them acquainted with the
situation.

Porthos drew his sword from the scabbard, and made passes at
the wall, springing back from time to time, and making
contortions like a dancer.

Aramis, who was constantly at work at his poem, shut himself
up in Athos's closet, and begged not to be disturbed before
the moment of drawing swords.

Athos, by signs, desired Grimaud to bring another bottle of
wine.

D'Artagnan employed himself in arranging a little plan, of
which we shall hereafter see the execution, and which
promised him some agreeable adventure, as might be seen by
the smiles which from time to time passed over his
countenance, whose thoughtfulness they animated.




31  ENGLISH AND FRENCH

The hour having come, they went with their four lackeys to a
spot behind the Luxembourg given up to the feeding of goats.
Athos threw a piece of money to the goalkeeper to withdraw.
The lackeys were ordered to act as sentinels.

A silent party soon drew near to the same enclosure,
entered, and joined the Musketeers.  Then, according to
foreign custom, the presentations took place.

The Englishmen were all men of rank; consequently the odd
names of their adversaries were for them not only a matter
of surprise, but of annoyance.

"But after all," said Lord de Winter, when the three friends
had been named, "we do not know who you are.  We cannot
fight with such names; they are names of shepherds."

"Therefore your lordship may suppose they are only assumed
names," said Athos.

"Which only gives us a greater desire to know the real
ones," replied the Englishman.

"You played very willingly with us without knowing our
names," said Athos, "by the same token that you won our
horses."

"That is true, but we then only risked our pistoles; this
time we risk our blood.  One plays with anybody; but one
fights only with equals."

"And that is but just," said Athos, and he took aside the
one of the four Englishmen with whom he was to fight, and
communicated his name in a low voice.

Porthos and Aramis did the same.

"Does that satisfy you?" said Athos to his adversary.  "Do
you find me of sufficient rank to do me the honor of
crossing swords with me?"

"Yes, monsieur," said the Englishman, bowing.

"Well! now tell I tell you something?" added Athos, coolly.

"What?" replied the Englishman.

"Why, that is that you would have acted much more wisely if
you had not required me to make myself known."

"Why so?"

"Because I am believed to be dead, and have reasons for
wishing nobody to know I am living; so that I shall be
obliged to kill you to prevent my secret from roaming over
the fields."

The Englishman looked at Athos, believing that he jested,
but Athos did not jest the least in the world.

"Gentlemen," said Athos, addressing at the same time his
companions and their adversaries, "are we ready?"

"Yes!" answered the Englishmen and the Frenchmen, as with
one voice.

"On guard, then!" cried Athos.

Immediately eight swords glittered in the rays of the
setting sun, and the combat began with an animosity very
natural between men twice enemies.

Athos fenced with as much calmness and method as if he had
been practicing in a fencing school.

Porthos, abated, no doubt, of his too-great confidence by
his adventure of Chantilly, played with skill and prudence.
Aramis, who had the third canto of his poem to finish,
behaved like a man in haste.

Athos killed his adversary first.  He hit him but once, but
as he had foretold, that hit was a mortal one; the sword
pierced his heart.

Second, Porthos stretched his upon the grass with a wound
through his thigh, As the Englishman, without making any
further resistance, then surrendered his sword, Porthos took
him up in his arms and bore him to his carriage.

Aramis pushed his so vigorously that after going back fifty
paces, the man ended by fairly taking to his heels, and
disappeared amid the hooting of the lackeys.

As to D'Artagnan, he fought purely and simply on the
defensive