r guard.  The cardinal has a
tenacious memory and a long arm; you may depend upon it, he will
repay you by some ill turn."

"But of what sort?"

"Eh!  How can I tell?  Has he not all the tricks of a demon at
his command?  The least that can be expected is that you will be
arrested."

"What!  Will they dare to arrest a man in his Majesty's service?"

"PARDIEU!  They did not scruple much in the case of Athos.  At
all events, young man, rely upon one who has been thirty years at
court.  Do not lull yourself in security, or you will be lost;
but, on the contrary--and it is I who say it--see enemies in all
directions.  If anyone seeks a quarrel with you, shun it, were it
with a child of ten years old.  If you are attacked by day or by
night, fight, but retreat, without shame; if you cross a bridge,
feel every plank of it with your foot, lest one should give way
beneath you; if you pass before a house which is being built,
look up, for fear a stone should fall upon your head; if you stay
out late, be always followed by your lackey, and let your lackey
be armed--if, by the by, you can be sure of your lackey.
Mistrust everybody, your friend, your brother, your mistress--
your mistress above all."

D'Artagnan blushed.

"My mistress above all," repeated he, mechanically; "and why her
rather than another?"

"Because a mistress is one of the cardinal's favorite means; he
has not one that is more expeditious.  A woman will sell you for
ten pistoles, witness Delilah.  You are acquainted with the
Scriptures?"

D'Artagnan thought of the appointment Mme. Bonacieux had made
with him for that very evening; but we are bound to say, to the
credit of our hero, that the bad opinion entertained by M. de
Treville of women in general, did not inspire him with the least
suspicion of his pretty hostess.

"But, A PROPOS," resumed M. de Treville, "what has become of your
three companions?"

"I was about to ask you if you had heard any news of them?"

"None, monsieur."

"Well, I left them on my road--Porthos at Chantilly, with a duel
on his hands; Aramis at Crevecoeur, with a ball in his shoulder;
and Athos at Amiens, detained by an accusation of coining."

"See there, now!" said M. de Treville; "and how the devil did you
escape?"

"By a miracle, monsieur, I must acknowledge, with a sword thrust
in my breast, and by nailing the Comte de Wardes on the byroad to
Calais, like a butterfly on a tapestry."

"There again!  De Wardes, one of the cardinal's men, a cousin of
Rochefort!  Stop, my friend, I have an idea."

"Speak, monsieur."

"In your place, I would do one thing."

"What?"

"While his Eminence was seeking for me in Paris, I would take,
without sound of drum or trumpet, the road to Picardy, and would
go and make some inquiries concerning my three companions.  What
the devil!  They merit richly that piece of attention on your
part."

"The advice is good, monsieur, and tomorrow I will set out."

"Tomorrow!  Any why not this evening?"

"This evening, monsieur, I am detained in Paris by indispensable
business."

"Ah, young man, young man, some flirtation or other.  Take care,
I repeat to you, take care.  It is woman who has ruined us, still
ruins us, and will ruin us, as long as the world stands.  Take my
advice and set out this evening."

"Impossible, monsieur."

"You have given your word, then?"

"Yes, monsieur."

"Ah, that's quite another thing; but promise me, if you should
not be killed tonight, that you will go tomorrow."

"I promise it."

"Do you need money?"

"I have still fifty pistoles.  That, I think, is as much as I
shall want."

"But your companions?"

"I don't think they can be in need of any.  We left Paris, each
with seventy-five pistoles in his pocket."

"Shall I see you again before your departure?"

"I think not, monsieur, unless something new should happen."

"Well, a pleasant journey."

"Thanks, monsieur."

D'Artagnan left M. de Treville, touched more than ever by his
paternal solicitude for his Musketeers.

He called successively at the abodes of Athos, Porthos, and
Aramis.  Neither of them had returned.  Their lackeys likewise
were absent, and nothing had been heard of either the one or the
other.  He would have inquired after them of their mistresses,
but he was neither acquainted with Porthos's nor Aramis's, and as
to Athos, he had none.

As he passed the Hotel des Gardes, he took a glance in to the
stables.  Three of the four horses had already arrived.
Planchet, all astonishment, was busy grooming them, and had
already finished two.

"Ah, monsieur," said Planchet, on perceiving D'Artagnan, "how
glad I am to see you."

"Why so, Planchet?" asked the young man.

"Do you place confidence in our landlord--Monsieur Bonacieux?"

"I?  Not the least in the world."

"Oh, you do quite right, monsieur."

"But why this question?"

"Because, while you were talking with him, I watched you without
listening to you; and, monsieur, his countenance changed color
two or three times!"

"Bah!"

"Preoccupied as Monsieur was with the letter he had received, he
did not observe that; but I, whom the strange fashion in which
that letter came into the house had placed on my guard--I did not
lose a movement of his features."

"And you found it?"

"Traitorous, monsieur."

"Indeed!"

"Still more; as soon as Monsieur had left and disappeared round
the corner of the street, Monsieur Bonacieux took his hat, shut
his door, and set off at a quick pace in an opposite direction."

"It seems you are right, Planchet; all this appears to be a
little mysterious; and be assured that we will not pay him our
rent until the matter shall be categorically explained to us."

"Monsieur jests, but Monsieur will see."

"What would you have, Planchet?  What must come is written."

"Monsieur does not then renounce his excursion for this evening?"

"Quite the contrary, Planchet; the more ill will I have toward
Monsieur Bonacieux, the more punctual I shall be in keeping the
appointment made by that letter which makes you so uneasy."

"Then that is Monsieur's determination?"

"Undeniably, my friend.  At nine o'clock, then, be ready here at
the hotel, I will come and take you."

Planchet seeing there was no longer any hope of making his master
renounce his project, heaved a profound sigh and set to work to
groom the third horse.

As to D'Artagnan, being at bottom a prudent youth, instead of
returning him he went and dined with the Gascon priest, who, at
the time of the distress of the four friends, had given them a
breakfast of chocolate.



24 THE PAVILION

At nine o'clock D'Artagnan was at the Hotel des Gardes; he found
Planchet all ready.  The fourth horse had arrived.

Planchet was armed with his musketoon and a pistol.  D'Artagnan
had his sword and placed two pistols in his belt; then both
mounted and departed quietly.  It was quite dark, and no one saw
them go out.  Planchet took place behind his master, and kept at
a distance of ten paces from him.

D'Artagnan crossed the quays, went out by the gate of La
Conference and followed the road, much more beautiful then than
it is now, which leads to St. Cloud.

As long as he was in the city, Planchet kept at the respectful
distance he had imposed upon himself; but as soon as the road
began to be more lonely and dark, he drew softly nearer, so that
when they entered the Bois de Boulogne he found himself riding
quite naturally side by side with his master.  In fact, we must
not dissemble that the oscillation of the tall trees and the
reflection of the moon in the dark underwood gave him serious
uneasiness.  D'Artagnan could not help perceiving that something
more than usual was passing in the mind of his lackey and said,
"Well, Monsieur Planchet, what is the matter with us now?"

"Don't you think, monsieur, that woods are like churches?"

"How so, Planchet?"

"Because we dare not speak aloud in one or the other."

"But why did you not dare to speak aloud, Planchet--because you
are afraid?"

"Afraid of being heard?  Yes, monsieur."

"Afraid of being heard!  Why, there is nothing improper in our
conversation, my dear Planchet, and no one could find fault with
it."

"Ah, monsieur!" replied Planchet, recurring to his besetting
idea, "that Monsieur Bonacieux has something vicious in his
eyebrows, and something very unpleasant in the play of his lips."

"What the devil makes you think of Bonacieux?"

"Monsieur, we think of what we can, and not of what we will."

"Because you are a coward, Planchet."

"Monsieur, we must not confound prudence with cowardice; prudence
is a virtue."

"And you are very virtuous, are you not, Planchet?"

"Monsieur, is not that the barrel of a musket which glitters
yonder?  Had we not better lower our heads?"

"In truth," murmured D'Artagnan, to whom M. de Treville's
recommendation recurred, "this animal will end by making me
afraid."  And he put his horse into a trot.

Planchet followed the movements of his master as if he had been
his shadow, and was soon trotting by his side.

"Are we going to continue this pace all night?" asked Planchet.

"No; you are at your journey's end."

"How, monsieur!  And you?"

"I am going a few steps farther."

"And Monsieur leaves me here alone?"

"You are afraid, Planchet?"

"No; I only beg leave to observe to Monsieur that the night will
be very cold, that chills bring on rheumatism, and that a lackey
who has the rheumatism makes but a poor servant, particularly to
a master as active as Monsieur."

"Well, if you are cold, Planchet, you can go into one of those
cabarets that you see yonder, and be in waiting for me at the
door by six o'clock in the morning."

"Monsieur, I have eaten and drunk respectfully the crown you gave
me this morning, so that I have not a sou left in case I should
be cold."

"Here's half a pistole.  Tomorrow morning."

D'Artagnan sprang from his horse, threw the bridle to Planchet,
and departed at a quick pace, folding his cloak around him.

"Good Lord, how cold I am!" cried Planchet, as soon as he had
lost sight of his master; and in such haste was he to warm
himself that he went straight to a house set out with all the
attributes of a suburban tavern, and knocked at the door.

In the meantime D'Artagnan, who had plunged into a bypath,
continued his route and reached St. Cloud; but instead of
following the main street he turned behind the chateau, reached a
sort of retired lane, and found himself soon in front of the
pavilion named.  It was situated in a very private spot.  A high
wall, at the angle of which was the pavilion, ran along one side
of this lane, and on the other was a little garden connected with
a poor cottage which was protected by a hedge from passers-by.

He gained the place appointed, and as no signal had been given
him by which to announce his presence, he waited.

Not the least noise was to be heard; it might be imagined that he
was a hundred miles from the capital.  D'Artagnan leaned against
the hedge, after having cast a glance behind it.  Beyond that
hedge, that garden, and that cottage, a dark mist enveloped with
its folds that immensity where Paris slept--a vast void from
which glittered a few luminous points, the funeral stars of that
hell!

But for D'Artagnan all aspects were clothed happily, all ideas
wore a smile, all shades were diaphanous.  The appointed hour was
about to strike.  In fact, at the end of a few minutes the belfry
of St. Cloud let fall slowly then strokes from its sonorous jaws.
There was something melancholy in this brazen voice pouring out
its lamentations in the middle of the night; but each of those
strokes, which made up the expected hour, vibrated harmoniously
to the heart of the young man.

His eyes were fixed upon the little pavilion situated at the
angle of the wall, of which all the windows were closed with
shutters, except one on the first story.  Through this window
shone a mild light which silvered the foliage of two or three
linden trees which formed a group outside the park.  There could
be no doubt that behind this little window, which threw forth
such friendly beams, the pretty Mme. Bonacieux expected him.

Wrapped in this sweet idea, D'Artagnan waited half an hour
without the least impatience, his eyes fixed upon that charming
little abode of which he could perceive a part of the ceiling
with its gilded moldings, attesting the elegance of the rest of
the apartment.

The belfry of St. Cloud sounded half past ten.

This time, without knowing why, D'Artagnan felt a cold shiver run
through his veins.  Perhaps the cold began to affect him, and he
took a perfectly physical sensation for a moral impression.

Then the idea seized him that he had read incorrectly, and that
the appointment was for eleven o'clock.  He drew near to the
window, and placing himself so that a ray of light should fall
upon the letter as he held it, he drew it from his pocket and
read it again; but he had not been mistaken, the appointment was
for ten o'clock.  He went and resumed his post, beginning to be
rather uneasy at this silence and this solitude.

Eleven o'clock sounded.

D'Artagnan began now really to fear that something had happened
to Mme. Bonacieux.  He clapped his hands three times--the
ordinary signal of lovers; but nobody replied to him, not even an
echo.

He then thought, with a touch of vexation, that perhaps the young
woman had fallen asleep while waiting for him.  He approached the
wall, and tried to climb it; but the wall had been recently
pointed, and D'Artagnan could get no hold.

At that moment he thought of the trees, upon whose leaves the
light still shone; and as one of them drooped over the road, he
thought that from its branches he might get a glimpse of the
interior of the pavilion.

The tree was easy to climb.  Besides, D'Artagnan was but twenty
years old, and consequently had not yet forgotten his schoolboy
habits.  In an instant he was among the branches, and his keen
eyes plunged through the transparent panes into the interior of
the pavilion.

It was a strange thing, and one which made D'Artagnan tremble
from the sole of his foot to the roots of his hair, to find that
this soft light, this calm lamp, enlightened a scene of fearful
disorder.  One of the windows was broken, the door of the chamber
had been beaten in and hung, split in two, on its hinges.  A
table, which had been covered with an elegant supper, was
overturned.  The decanters broken in pieces, and the fruits
crushed, strewed the floor.  Everything in the apartment gave
evidence of a violent and desperate struggle.  D'Artagnan even
fancied he could recognize amid this strange disorder, fragments
of garments, and some bloody spots staining the cloth and the
curtains.  He hastened to descend into the street, with a
frightful beating at his heart; he wished to see if he could find
other traces of violence.

The little soft light shone on in the calmness of the night.
D'Artagnan then perceived a thing that he had not before
remarked--for nothing had led him to the examination--that the
ground, trampled here and hoofmarked there, presented confused
traces of men and horses.  Besides, the wheels of a carriage,
which appeared to have come from Paris, had made a deep
impression in the soft earth, which did not extend beyond the
pavilion, but turned again toward Paris.

At length D'Artagnan, in pursuing his researches, found near the
wall a woman's torn glove.  This glove, wherever it had not
touched the muddy ground, was of irreproachable odor.  It was one
of those perfumed gloves that lovers like to snatch from a pretty
hand.

As D'Artagnan pursued his investigations, a more abundant and
more icy sweat rolled in large drops from his forehead; his heart
was oppressed by a horrible anguish; his respiration was broken
and short.  And yet he said, to reassure himself, that this
pavilion perhaps had nothing in common with Mme. Bonacieux; that
the young woman had made an appointment with him before the
pavilion, and not in the pavilion; that she might have been
detained in Paris by her duties, or perhaps by the jealousy of
her husband.

But all these reasons were combated, destroyed, overthrown, by
that feeling of intimate pain which, on certain occasions, takes
possession of our being, and cries to us so as to be understood
unmistakably that some great misfortune is hanging over us.

Then D'Artagnan became almost wild.  He ran along the high road,
took the path he had before taken, and reaching the ferry,
interrogated the boatman.

About seven o'clock in the evening, the boatman had taken over a
young woman, wrapped in a black mantle, who appeared to be very
anxious not to be recognized; but entirely on account of her
precautions, the boatman had paid more attention to her and
discovered that she was young and pretty.

There were then, as now, a crowd of young and pretty women who
came to St. Cloud, and who had reasons for not being seen, and
yet D'Artagnan did not for an instant doubt that it was Mme.
Bonacieux whom the boatman had noticed.

D'Artagnan took advantage of the lamp which burned in the cabin
of the ferryman to read the billet of Mme. Bonacieux once again,
and satisfy himself that he had not been mistaken, that the
appointment was at St. Cloud and not elsewhere, before the
D'Estrees's pavilion and not in another street.  Everything
conspired to prove to D'Artagnan that his presentiments had not
deceived him, and that a great misfortune had happened.

He again ran back to the chateau.  It appeared to him that
something might have happened at the pavilion in his absence, and
that fresh information awaited him.  The lane was still deserted,
and the same calm soft light shone through the window.

D'Artagnan then thought of that cottage, silent and obscure,
which had no doubt seen all, and could tell its tale.  The gate
of the enclosure was shut; but he leaped over the hedge, and in
spite of the barking of a chained-up dog, went up to the cabin.

No one answered to his first knocking.  A silence of death
reigned in the cabin as in the pavilion; but as the cabin was his
last resource, he knocked again.

It soon appeared to him that he heard a slight noise within--a
timid noise which seemed to tremble lest it should be heard.

Then D'Artagnan ceased knocking, and prayed with an accent so
full of anxiety and promises, terror and cajolery, that his voice
was of a nature to reassure the most fearful.  At length an old,
worm-eaten shutter was opened, or rather pushed ajar, but closed
again as soon as the light from a miserable lamp which burned in
the corner had shone upon the baldric, sword belt, and pistol
pommels of D'Artagnan.  Nevertheless, rapid as the movement had
been, D'Artagnan had had time to get a glimpse of the head of an
old man.

"In the name of heaven!" cried he, "listen to me; I have been
waiting for someone who has not come.  I am dying with anxiety.
Has anything particular happened in the neighborhood?  Speak!"

The window was again opened slowly, and the same face appeared,
only it was now still more pale than before.

D'Artagnan related his story simply, with the omission of names.
He told how he had a rendezvous with a young woman before that
pavilion, and how, not seeing her come, he had climbed the linden
tree, and by the light of the lamp had seen the disorder of the
chamber.

The old man listened attentively, making a sign only that it was
all so; and then, when D'Artagnan had ended, he shook his head
with an air that announced nothing good.

"What do you mean?" cried D'Artagnan.  "In the name of heaven,
explain yourself!"

"Oh!  Monsieur," said the old man, "ask me nothing; for if I
dared tell you what I have seen, certainly no good would befall
me."

"You have, then, seen something?" replied D'Artagnan.  "In that
case, in the name of heaven," continued he, throwing him a
pistole, "tell me what you have seen, and I will pledge you the
word of a gentleman that not one of your words shall escape from
my heart."

The old man read so much truth and so much grief in the face of
the young man that he made him a sign to listen, and repeated in
a low voice: "It was scarcely nine o'clock when I heard a noise
in the street, and was wondering what it could be, when on coming
to my door, I found that somebody was endeavoring to open it.  As
I am very poor and am not afraid of being robbed, I went and
opened the gate and saw three men at a few paces from it.  In the
shadow was a carriage with two horses, and some saddlehorses.
These horses evidently belonged to the three men, who wee dressed
as cavaliers.  'Ah, my worthy gentlemen,' cried I, 'what do you
want?'  'You must have a ladder?' said he who appeared to be the
leader of the party.  'Yes, monsieur, the one with which I gather
my fruit.'  'Lend it to us, and go into your house again; there
is a crown for the annoyance we have caused you.  Only remember
this--if you speak a word of what you may see or what you may
hear (for you will look and you will listen, I am quite sure,
however we may threaten you), you are lost.'  At these words he
threw me a crown, which I picked up, and he took the ladder.
After shutting the gate behind them, I pretended to return to the
house, but I immediately went out a back door, and stealing along
in the shade of the hedge, I gained yonder clump of elder, from
which I could hear and see everything.  The three men brought the
carriage up quietly, and took out of it a little man, stout,
short, elderly, and commonly dressed in clothes of a dark color,
who ascended the ladder very carefully, looked suspiciously in at
the window of the pavilion, came down as quietly as he had gone
up, and whispered, 'It is she!'  Immediately, he who had spoken
to me approached the door of the pavilion, opened it with a key
he had in his hand, closed the door and disappeared, while at the
same time the other two men ascended the ladder.  The little old
man remained at the coach door; the coachman took care of his
horses, the lackey held the saddlehorses.  All at once great
cried resounded in the pavilion, and a woman came to the window,
and opened it, as if to throw herself out of it; but as soon as
she perceived the other two men, she fell back and they went into
the chamber.  Then I saw no more; but I heard the noise of
breaking furniture.  The woman screamed, and cried for help; but
her cries were soon stifled.  Two of the men appeared, bearing
the woman in their arms, and carried her to the carriage, into
which the little old man got after her.  The leader closed the
window, came out an instant after by the door, and satisfied
himself that the woman was in the carriage.  His two companions
were already on horseback.  He sprang into his saddle; the lackey
took his place by the coachman; the carriage went off at a quick
pace, escorted by the three horsemen, and all was over.  From
that moment I have neither seen nor heard anything."

D'Artagnan, entirely overcome by this terrible story, remained
motionless and mute, while all the demons of anger and jealousy
were howling in his heart.

"But, my good gentleman," resumed the old man, upon whom this
mute despair certainly produced a greater effect than cries and
tears would have done, "do not take on so; they did not kill her,
and that's a comfort."

"Can you guess," said D'Artagnan, "who was the man who headed
this infernal expedition?"

"I don't know him."

"But as you spoke to him you must have seen him."

"Oh, it's a description you want?"

"Exactly so."

"A tall, dark man, with black mustaches, dark eyes, and the air
of a gentleman."

"That's the man!" cried D'Artagnan, "again he, forever he!  He is
my demon, apparently.  And the other?"

"Which?"

"The short one."

"Oh, he was not a gentleman, I'll answer for it; besides, he did
not wear a sword, and the others treated him with small
consideration."

"Some lackey," murmured D'Artagnan.  "Poor woman, poor woman,
what have they done with you?"

"You have promised to be secret, my good monsieur?" said the old
man.

"And I renew my promise.  Be easy, I am a gentleman.  A gentleman
has but his word, and I have given you mine."

With a heavy heart, D'Artagnan again bent his way toward the
ferry.  Sometimes he hoped it could not be Mme. Bonacieux, and
that he should find her next day at the Louvre; sometimes he
feared she had had an intrigue with another, who, in a jealous
fit, had surprised her and carried her off.  His mind was torn by
doubt, grief, and despair.

"Oh, if I had my three friends here," cried he, "I should have,
at least, some hopes of finding her; but who knows what has
become of them?"

It was past midnight; the next thing was to find Planchet.
D'Artagnan went successively into all the cabarets in which there
was a light, but could not find Planchet in any of them.

At the sixth he began to reflect that the search was rather
dubious.  D'Artagnan had appointed six o'clock in the morning for
his lackey, and wherever he might be, he was right.

Besides, it came into the young man's mind that by remaining in
the environs of the spot on which this sad event had passed, he
would, perhaps, have some light thrown upon the mysterious
affair.  At the sixth cabaret, then, as we said, D'Artagnan
stopped, asked for a bottle of wine of the best quality, and
placing himself in the darkest corner of the room, determined
thus to wait till daylight; but this time again his hopes were
disappointed, and although he listened with all his ears, he
heard nothing, amid the oaths, coarse jokes, and abuse which
passed between the laborers, servants, and carters who comprised
the honorable society of which he formed a part, which could put
him upon the least track of her who had been stolen from him.  He
was compelled, them, after having swallowed the contents of his
bottle, to pass the time as well as to evade suspicion, to fall
into the easiest position in his corner and to sleep, whether
well or ill.  D'Artagnan, be it remembered, was only twenty years
old, and at that age sleep has its imprescriptible rights which
it imperiously insists upon, even with the saddest hearts.

Toward six o'clock D'Artagnan awoke with that uncomfortable
feeling which generally accompanies the break of day after a bad
night.  He was not long in making his toilet.  He examined
himself to see if advantage had been taken of his sleep, and
having found his diamond ring on his finger, his purse in his
pocket, and his pistols in his belt, he rose, paid for his
bottle, and went out to try if he could have any better luck in
his search after his lackey than he had had the night before.
The first thing he perceived through the damp gray mist was
honest Planchet, who, with the two horses in hand, awaited him at
the door of a little blind cabaret, before which D'Artagnan had
passed without even a suspicion of its existence.



25  PORTHOS

Instead of returning directly home, D'Artagnan alighted at the
door of M. de Treville, and ran quickly up the stairs.  This time
he had decided to relate all that had passed.  M. de Treville
would doubtless give him good advice as to the whole affair.
Besides, as M. de Treville saw the queen almost daily, he might
be able to draw from her Majesty some intelligence of the poor
young woman, whom they were doubtless making pay very dearly for
her devotedness to her mistress.

M. de Treville listened to the young man's account with a
seriousness which proved that he saw something else in this
adventure besides a love affair.  When D'Artagnan had finished,
he said, "Hum!  All this savors of his Eminence, a league off."

"But what is to be done?" said D'Artagnan.

"Nothing, absolutely nothing, at present, but quitting at Paris,
as I told you, as soon as possible.  I will see the queen; I will
relate to her the details of the disappearance of this poor
woman, of which she is no doubt ignorant.  These details will
guide her on her part, and on your return, I shall perhaps have
some good news to tell you.  Rely on me."

D'Artagnan knew that, although a Gascon, M. de Treville was not
in the habit of making promises, and that when by chance he did
promise, he more than kept his word.  He bowed to him, then, full
of gratitude for the past and for the future; and the worthy
captain, who on his side felt a lively interest in this young
man, so brave and so resolute, pressed his hand kindly, wishing
him a pleasant journey.

Determined to put the advice of M. de Treville in practice
instantly, D'Artagnan directed his course toward the Rue des
Fossoyeurs, in order to superintend the packing of his valise.
On approaching the house, he perceived M. Bonacieux in morning
costume, standing at his threshold.  All that the prudent
Planchet had said to him the preceding evening about the sinister
character of the old man recurred to the mind of D'Artagnan, who
looked at him with more attention than he had done before.  In
fact, in addition to that yellow, sickly paleness which indicates
the insinuation of the bile in the blood, and which might,
besides, be accidental, D'Artagnan remarked something
perfidiously significant in the play of the wrinkled features of
his countenance.  A rogue does not laugh in the same way that an
honest man does; a hypocrite does not shed the tears of a man of
good faith.  All falsehood is a mask; and however well made the
mask may be, with a little attention we may always succeed in
distinguishing it from the true face.

It appeared, then, to D'Artagnan that M. Bonacieux wore a mask,
and likewise that that mask was most disagreeable to look upon.
In consequence of this feeling of repugnance, he was about to
pass without speaking to him, but, as he had done the day before,
M. Bonacieux accosted him.

"Well, young man," said he, "we appear to pass rather gay nights!
Seven o'clock in the morning!  PESTE!  You seem to reverse
ordinary customs, and come home at the hour when other people are
going out."

"No one can reproach you for anything of the kind, Monsieur
Bonacieux," said the young man; "you are a model for regular
people.  It is true that when a man possesses a young and pretty
wife, he has no need to seek happiness elsewhere.  Happiness
comes to meet him, does it not, Monsieur Bonacieux?"

Bonacieux became as pale as death, and grinned a ghastly smile.

"Ah, ah!" said Bonacieux, "you are a jocular companion!  But
where the devil were you gladding last night, my young master?
It does not appear to be very clean in the crossroads."

D'Artagnan glanced down at his boots, all covered with mud; but
that same glance fell upon the shoes and stockings of the mercer,
and it might have been said they had been dipped in the same mud
heap.  Both were stained with splashes of mud of the same
appearance.

Then a sudden idea crossed the mind of D'Artagnan.  That little
stout man, short and elderly, that sort of lackey, dressed in
dark clothes, treated without ceremony by the men wearing swords
who composed the escort, was Bonacieux himself.  The husband had
presided at the abduction of his wife.

A terrible inclination seized D'Artagnan to grasp the mercer by
the throat and strangle him; but, as we have said, he was a very
prudent youth, and he restrained himself.  However, the
revolution which appeared upon his countenance was so visible
that Bonacieux was terrified at it, and he endeavored to draw
back a step or two; but as he was standing before the half of the
door which was shut, the obstacle compelled him to keep his
place.

"Ah, but you are joking, my worthy man!" said D'Artagnan.  It
appears to me that if my boots need a sponge, your stockings and
shoes stand in equal need of a brush.  May you not have been
philandering a little also, Monsieur Bonacieux?  Oh, the devil!
That's unpardonable in a man of your age, and who besides, has
such a pretty wife as yours."

"Oh, Lord! no," said Bonacieux, "but yesterday I went to St.
Mande to make some inquiries after a servant, as I cannot
possibly do without one; and the roads were so bad that I brought
back all this mud, which I have not yet had time to remove."

The place named by Bonacieux as that which had been the object of
his journey was a fresh proof in support of the suspicions
D'Artagnan had conceived.  Bonacieux had named Mande because
Mande was in an exactly opposite direction from St. Cloud.  This
probability afforded him his first consolation.  If Bonacieux
knew where his wife was, one might, by extreme means, force the
mercer to open his teeth and let his secret escape.  The
question, then, was how to change this probability into a
certainty.

"Pardon, my dear Monsieur Bonacieux, if I don't stand upon
ceremony," said D'Artagnan, "but nothing makes one so thirsty as
want of sleep.  I am parched with thirst.  Allow me to take a
glass of water in your apartment; you know that is never refused
among neighbors."

Without waiting for the permission of his host, D'Artagnan went
quickly into the house, and cast a rapid glance at the bed.  It
had not been used.  Bonacieux had not been abed.  He had only
been back an hour or two; he had accompanied his wife to the
place of her confinement, or else at least to the first relay.

"Thanks, Monsieur Bonacieux," said D'Artagnan, emptying his
glass, "that is all I wanted of you.  I will now go up into my
apartment.  I will make Planchet brush my boots; and when he has
done, I will, if you like, send him to you to brush your shoes."

He left the mercer quite astonished at his singular farewell, and
asking himself if he had not been a little inconsiderate.

At the top of the stairs he found Planchet in a great fright.

"Ah, monsieur!" cried Planchet, as soon as he perceived his
master, "here is more trouble.  I thought you would never come
in."

"What's the matter now, Planchet?" demanded D'Artagnan.

"Oh!  I give you a hundred, I give you a thousand times to guess,
monsieur, the visit I received in your absence."

"When?"

"About half an hour ago, while you were at Monsieur de
Treville's."

"Who has been here?  Come, speak."

"Monsieur de Cavois."

"Monsieur de Cavois?"

"In person."

"The captain of the cardinal's Guards?"

"Himself."

"Did he come to arrest me?"

"I have no doubt that he did, monsieur, for all his wheedling
manner."

"Was he so sweet, then?"

"Indeed, he was all honey, monsieur."

"Indeed!"

"He came, he said, on the part of his Eminence, who wished you
well, and to beg you to follow him to the Palais-Royal."*

*It was called the Palais-Cardinal before Richelieu gave it to
the King.

"What did you answer him?"

"That the thing was impossible, seeing that you were not at home,
as he could see."

"Well, what did he say then?"

"That you must not fail to call upon him in the course of the
day; and then he added in a low voice, 'Tell your master that his
Eminence is very well disposed toward him, and that his fortune
perhaps depends upon this interview.'"

"The snare is rather MALADROIT for the cardinal," replied the
young man, smiling.

"Oh, I saw the snare, and I answered you would be quite in
despair on your return.

"'Where has he gone?' asked Monsieur de Cavois.

"'To Troyes, in Champagne,' I answered.

"'And when did he set out?'

"'Yesterday evening.'"

"Planchet, my friend," interrupted D'Artagnan, "you are really a
precious fellow."

"You will understand, monsieur, I thought there would be still
time, if you wish, to see Monsieur de Cavois to contradict me by
saying you were not yet gone.  The falsehood would then lie at my
door, and as I am not a gentleman, I may be allowed to lie."

"Be of good heart, Planchet, you shall preserve your reputation
as a veracious man.  In a quarter of an hour we set off."

"That's the advice I was about to give Monsieur; and where are we
going, may I ask, without being too curious?"

"PARDIEU!  In the opposite direction to that which you said I was
gone.  Besides, are you not as anxious to learn news of Grimaud,
Mousqueton, and Bazin as I am to know what has become of Athos,
Porthos, and Aramis?"

"Yes, monsieur," said Planchet, "and I will go as soon as you
please.  Indeed, I think provincial air will suit us much better
just now than the air of Paris.  So then--"

"So then, pack up our luggage, Planchet, and let us be off.  On
my part, I will go out with my hands in my pockets, that nothing
may be suspected.  You may join me at the Hotel des Gardes.  By
the way, Planchet, I think you are right with respect to our
host, and that he is decidedly a frightfully low wretch."

"Ah, monsieur, you may take my word when I tell you anything.  I
am a physiognomist, I assure you."

D'Artagnan went out first, as had been agreed upon.  Then, in
order that he might have nothing to reproach himself with, he
directed his steps, for the last time, toward the residences of
his three friends.  No news had been received of them; only a
letter, all perfumed and of an elegant writing in small
characters, had come for Aramis.  D'Artagnan took charge of it.
Ten minutes afterward Planchet joined him at the stables of the
Hotel des Gardes.  D'Artagnan, in order that there might be no
time lost, had saddled his horse himself.

"That's well," said he to Planchet, when the latter added the
portmanteau to the equipment.  "Now saddle the other three
horses."

"Do you think, then, monsieur, that we shall travel faster with
two horses apiece?" said Planchet, with his shrewd air.

"No, Monsieur Jester," replied D'Artagnan; "but with our four
horses we may bring back our three friends, if we should have the
good fortune to find them living."

"Which is a great chance," replied Planchet, "but we must not
despair of the mercy of God."

"Amen!" said D'Artagnan, getting into his saddle.

As they went from the Hotel des Gardes, they separated, leaving
the street at opposite ends,  one having to quit Paris by the
Barriere de la Villette and the other by the Barriere Montmartre,
to meet again beyond St. Denis--a strategic maneuver which,
having been executed with equal punctuality, was crowned with the
most fortunate results.  D'Artagnan and Planchet entered
Pierrefitte together.

Planchet was more courageous, it must be admitted, by day than by
night.  His natural prudence, however, never forsook him for a
single instant.  He had forgotten not one of the incidents of the
first journey, and he looked upon everybody he met on the road as
an enemy.  It followed that his hat was forever in his hand,
which procured him some severe reprimands from D'Artagnan, who
feared that his excess of politeness would lead people to think
he was the lackey of a man of no consequence.

Nevertheless, whether the passengers were really touched by the
urbanity of Planchet or whether this time nobody was posted on
the young man's road, our two travelers arrived at Chantilly
without any accident, and alighted at the tavern of Great St.
Martin, the same at which they had stopped on their first
journey.

The host, on seeing a young man followed by a lackey with two
extra horses, advanced respectfully to the door.  Now, as they
had already traveled eleven leagues, D'Artagnan thought it time
to stop, whether Porthos were or were not in the inn.  Perhaps it
would not be prudent to ask at once what had become of the
Musketeer.  The result of these reflections was that D'Artagnan,
without asking information of any kind, alighted, commended the
horses to the care of his lackey, entered a small room destined
to receive those who wished to be alone, and desired the host to
bring him a bottle of his best wine and as good a breakfast as
possible--a desire which further corroborated the high opinion
the innkeeper had formed of the traveler at first sight.

D'Artagnan was therefore served with miraculous celerity.  The
regiment of the Guards was recruited among the first gentlemen of
the kingdom; and D'Artagnan, followed by a lackey, and traveling
with four magnificent horses, despite the simplicity of his
uniform, could not fail to make a sensation.  The host desired
himself to serve him; which D'Artagnan perceiving, ordered two
glasses to be brought, and commenced the following conversation.

"My faith, my good host," said D'Artagnan, filling the two
glasses, "I asked for a bottle of your best wine, and if you have
deceived me, you will be punished in what you have sinned; for
seeing that I hate drinking my myself, you shall drink with me.
Take your glass, then, and let us drink.  But what shall we drink
to, so as to avoid wounding any susceptibility?  Let us drink to
the prosperity of your establishment."

"Your Lordship does me much honor," said the host, "and I thank
you sincerely for your kind wish."

"But don't mistake," said D'Artagnan, "there is more selfishness
in my toast than perhaps you may think--for it is only in
prosperous establishments that one is well received.  In hotels
that do not flourish, everything is in confusion, and the
traveler is a victim to the embarrassments of his host.  Now, I
travel a great deal, particularly on this road, and I wish to see
all innkeepers making a fortune."

"It seems to me," said the host, "that this is not the first time
I have had the honor of seeing Monsieur."

"Bah, I have passed perhaps ten times through Chantilly, and out
of the ten times I have stopped three or four times at your house
at least.  Why I was here only ten or twelve days ago.  I was
conducting some friends, Musketeers, one of whom, by the by, had
a dispute with a stranger--a man who sought a quarrel with him,
for I don't know what."

"Exactly so," said the host; "I remember it perfectly.  It is not
Monsieur Porthos that your Lordship means?"

"Yes, that is my companion's name.  My God, my dear host, tell me
if anything has happened to him?"

"Your Lordship must have observed that he could not continue his
journey."

"Why, to be sure, he promised to rejoin us, and we have seen
nothing of him."

"He has done us the honor to remain here."

"What, he had done you the honor to remain here?"

"Yes, monsieur, in this house; and we are even a little uneasy--"

"On what account?"

"Of certain expenses he has contracted."

"Well, but whatever expenses he may have incurred, I am sure he
is in a condition to pay them."

"Ah, monsieur, you infuse genuine balm into my blood.  We have
made considerable advances; and this very morning the surgeon
declared that if Monsieur Porthos did not pay him, he should look
to me, as it was I who had sent for him."

"Porthos is wounded, then?"

"I cannot tell you, monsieur."

"What!  You cannot tell me?  Surely you ought to be able to tell
me better than any other person."

"Yes; but in our situation we must not say all we know--
particularly as we have been warned that our ears should answer
for our tongues."

"Well, can I see Porthos?"

"Certainly, monsieur.  Take the stairs on your right; go up the
first flight and knock at Number One.  Only warn him that it is
you."

"Why should I do that?"

"Because, monsieur, some mischief might happen to you."

"Of what kind, in the name of wonder?"

"Monsieur Porthos may imagine you belong to the house, and in a
fit of passion might run his sword through you or blow out your
brains."

"What have you done to him, then?"

"We have asked him for money."

"The devil!  Ah, I can understand that.  It is a demand that
Porthos takes very ill when he is not in funds; but I know he
must be so at present."

"We thought so, too, monsieur.  As our house is carried on very
regularly, and we make out our bills every week, at the end of
eight days we presented our account; but it appeared we had
chosen an unlucky moment, for at the first word on the subject,
he sent us to all the devils.  It is true he had been playing the
day before."

"Playing the day before!  And with whom?"

"Lord, who can say, monsieur?  With some gentleman who was
traveling this way, to whom he proposed a game of LANSQUENET."

"That's it, then, and the foolish fellow lost all he had?"

"Even to his horse, monsieur; for when the gentleman was about to
set out, we perceived that his lackey was saddling Monsieur
Porthos's horse, as well as his master's.  When we observed this
to him, he told us all to trouble ourselves about our own
business, as this horse belonged to him.  We also informed
Monsieur Porthos of what was going on; but he told us we were
scoundrels to doubt a gentleman's word, and that as he had said
the horse was his, it must be so."

"That's Porthos all over," murmured D'Artagnan.

"Then," continued the host, "I replied that as from the moment we
seemed not likely to come to a good understanding with respect to
payment, I hoped that he would have at least the kindness to
grant the favor of his custom to my brother host of the Golden
Eagle; but Monsieur Porthos replied that, my house being the
best, he should remain where he was.  This reply was too
flattering to allow me to insist on his departure.  I confined
myself then to begging him to give up his chamber, which is the
handsomest in the hotel, and to be satisfied with a pretty little
room on the third floor; but to this Monsieur Porthos  replied
that as he every moment expected his mistress, who was one of the
greatest ladies in the court, I might easily comprehend that the
chamber he did me the honor to occupy in my house was itself very
mean for the visit of such a personage.  Nevertheless, while
acknowledging the truth of what he said, I thought proper to
insist; but without even giving himself the trouble to enter into
any discussion with me, he took one of his pistols, laid it on
his table, day and night, and said that at the first word that
should be spoken to him about removing, either within the house
or our of it, he would blow out the brains of the person who
should be so imprudent as to meddle with a matter which only
concerned himself.  Since that time, monsieur, nobody enter his
chamber but his servant."

"What!  Mousqueton is here, then?"

"Oh, yes, monsieur.  Five days after your departure, he came
back, and in a very bad condition, too.  It appears that he had
met with disagreeables, likewise, on his journey.  Unfortunately,
he is more nimble than his master; so that for the sake of his
master, he puts us all under his feet, and as he thinks we might
refuse what he asked for, he takes all he wants without asking at
all."

"The fact is," said D'Artagnan, "I have always observed a great
degree of intelligence and devotedness in Mousqueton."

"That is possible, monsieur; but suppose I should happen to be
brought in contact, even four times a year, with such
intelligence and devotedness--why, I should be a ruined man!"

"No, for Porthos will pay you."

"Hum!" said the host, in a doubtful tone.

"The favorite of a great lady will not be allowed to be
inconvenienced for such a paltry sum as he owes you."

"If I durst say what I believe on that head--"

"What you believe?"

"I ought rather to say, what I know."

"What you know?"

"And even what I am sure of."

"And of what are you so sure?"

"I would say that I know this great lady."

"You?"

"Yes; I."

"And how do you know her?"

"Oh, monsieur, if I could believe I might trust in your
discretion."

"Speak!  By the word of a gentleman, you shall have no cause to
repent of your confidence."

"Well, monsieur, you understand that uneasiness makes us do many
things."

"What have you done?"

"Oh, nothing which was not right in the character of a creditor."

"Well?"

"Monsieur Porthos gave us a note for his duchess, ordering us to
put it in the post.  This was before his servant came.  As he
could not leave his chamber, it was necessary to charge us with
this commission."

"And then?"

"Instead of putting the letter in the post, which is never safe,
I took advantage of the journey of one of my lads to Paris, and
ordered him to convey the letter to this duchess himself.  This
was fulfilling the intentions of Monsieur Porthos, who had
desired us to be so careful of this letter, was it not?"

"Nearly so."

"Well, monsieur, do you know who this great lady is?"

"No; I have heard Porthos speak of her, that's all."

"Do you know who this pretended duchess is?

"I repeat to you, I don't know her."

"Why, she is the old wife of a procurator* of the Chatelet,
monsieur, named Madame Coquenard, who, although she is at least
fifty, still gives herself jealous airs.  It struck me as very
odd that a princess should live in the Rue aux Ours."

*Attorney

"But how do you know all this?"

"Because she flew into a great passion on receiving the letter,
saying that Monsieur Porthos was a weathercock, and that she was
sure it was for some woman he had received this wound."

"Has he been wounded, then?"

"Oh, good Lord!  What have I said?"

"You said that Porthos had received a sword cut."

"Yes, but he has forbidden me so strictly to say so."

"And why so."

"Zounds, monsieur!  Because he had boasted that he would
perforate the stranger with whom you left him in dispute; whereas
th