"I don't say exactly," answered the Gascon, confused.
"Come, D'Artagnan, don't let us play a sidelong game; your hesitation, your evasion, tells me at once on whose side you are; for that
party no one dares openly to recruit, and when people recruit for it, it is with averted eyes and humble voice." "Ah! my dear Athos!"
"You know that I am not alluding to you; you are the pearl of brave, bold men. I speak of that spiteful and intriguing Italian--of the pedant who has tried to put on his own head a crown which he stole from under a pillow--of the scoundrel who calls his party the party of the king--who wants to send the princes of the blood to prison, not daring to kill them, as our great cardinal--our cardinal did--of the miser, who weighs his gold pieces and keeps the clipped ones for fear, though he is rich, of losing them at play next morning--of the impudent fellow who insults the queen, as they say--so much the worse for her--and who is going in three months to make war upon us, in order that he may retain his pensions; is that the master whom you propose to me? I thank you, D'Artagnan."
"You are more impetuous than you were," returned D'Artagnan. "Age has warmed, not chilled your blood. Who informed you this was the master I propose to you? Devil take it," he muttered to himself, "don't let me betray my secrets to a man not inclined to entertain them."
"Well, then," said Athos, "what are your schemes? what do you propose?"
"Zounds! nothing more than natural. You live on your estate, happy in golden mediocrity. Porthos has, perhaps, sixty thousand francs income. Aramis has always fifty duchesses quarreling over the priest, as they quarreled formerly over the musketeer; but I-- what have I in the world? I have worn my cuirass these twenty years, kept down in this inferior rank, without going forward or backward, hardly half living. In fact, I am dead. Well! when there is some idea of being resuscitated, you say he's a scoundrel, an impudent fellow, a miser, a bad master! By Jove! I am of your opinion, but find me a better one or give me the means of living."
Athos was for a few moments thoughtful.
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"Good! D'Artagnan is for Mazarin," he said to himself. From that moment he grew very guarded.
On his side D'Artagnan became more cautious also.
"You spoke to me," Athos resumed, "of Porthos; have you persuaded him to seek his fortune? But he has wealth, I believe, already."
"Doubtless he has. But such is man, we always want something more than we already have." "What does Porthos wish for?"
"To be a baron."
"Ah, true! I forgot," said Athos, laughing.
"'Tis true!" thought the Gascon, "where has he heard it? Does he correspond with Aramis? Ah! if I knew that he did I should know all."
The conversation was interrupted by the entrance of Raoul.
"Is our little neighbor worse?" asked D'Artagnan, seeing a look of vexation on the face of the youth.
"Ah, sir!" replied Raoul, "her fall is a very serious one, and without any ostensible injury, the physician fears she will be lame for life." "This is terrible," said Athos.
"And what makes me all the more wretched, sir, is, that I was the cause of this misfortune." "How so?" asked Athos.
"It was to run to meet me that she leaped from that pile of wood."
"There's only one remedy, dear Raoul--that is, to marry her as a compensation." remarked D'Artagnan.
"Ah, sir!" answered Raoul, "you joke about a real misfortune; that is cruel, indeed."
The good understanding between the two friends was not in the least altered by the morning's skirmish. They breakfasted with a good appetite, looking now and then at poor Raoul, who with moist eyes and a full heart, scarcely ate at all.
After breakfast two letters arrived for Athos, who read them with profound attention, whilst D'Artagnan could not restrain himself from jumping up several times on seeing him read these epistles, in one of which, there being at the time a very strong light, he perceived the fine writing of Aramis. The other was in a feminine hand, long, and crossed.
"Come," said D'Artagnan to Raoul, seeing that Athos wished to be alone, "come, let us take a turn in the fencing gallery; that will
amuse you."
And they both went into a low room where there were foils, gloves, masks, breastplates, and all the accessories for a fencing match. In a quarter of an hour Athos joined them and at the same moment Charles brought in a letter for D'Artagnan, which a messenger
had just desired might be instantly delivered. It was now Athos's turn to take a sly look.
D'Artagnan read the letter with apparent calmness and said, shaking his head:
"See, dear friend, what it is to belong to the army. Faith, you are indeed right not to return to it. Monsieur de Treville is ill, so my
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company can't do without me; there! my leave is at an end!"
"Do you return to Paris?" asked Athos, quickly. "Egad! yes; but why don't you come there also?" Athos colored a little and answered:
"Should I go, I shall be delighted to see you there."
"Halloo, Planchet!" cried the Gascon from the door, "we must set out in ten minutes; give the horses some hay."
Then turning to Athos he added:
"I seem to miss something here. I am really sorry to go away without having seen Grimaud."
"Grimaud!" replied Athos. "I'm surprised you have never so much as asked after him. I have lent him to a friend----" "Who will understand the signs he makes?" returned D'Artagnan.
"I hope so."
The friends embraced cordially; D'Artagnan pressed Raoul's hand. "Will you not come with me?" he said; "I shall pass by Blois."
Raoul turned toward Athos, who showed him by a secret sign that he did not wish him to go.
"No, monsieur," replied the young man; "I will remain with monsieur le comte."
"Adieu, then, to both, my good friends," said D'Artagnan; "may God preserve you! as we used to say when we said good-bye to each
other in the late cardinal's time."
Athos waved his hand, Raoul bowed, and D'Artagnan and Planchet set out.
The count followed them with his eyes, his hands resting on the shoulders of the youth, whose height was almost equal to his own;
but as soon as they were out of sight he said: "Raoul, we set out to-night for Paris."
"Eh?" cried the young man, turning pale.
"You may go and offer your adieux and mine to Madame de Saint-Remy. I shall wait for you here till seven."
The young man bent low, with an expression of sorrow and gratitude mingled, and retired in order to saddle his horse.
As to D'Artagnan, scarcely, on his side, was he out of sight when he drew from his pocket a letter, which he read over again: "Return immediately to Paris.--J. M----."
"The epistle is laconic," said D'Artagnan; "and if there had not been a postscript, probably I should not have understood it; but happily there is a postscript."
And he read that welcome postscript, which made him forget the abruptness of the letter.
"P. S.--Go to the king's treasurer, at Blois; tell him your name and show him this letter; you will receive two hundred pistoles."
"Assuredly," said D'Artagnan, "I admire this piece of prose. The cardinal writes better than I thought. Come, Planchet, let us pay a
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visit to the king's treasurer and then set off." "Toward Paris, sir?"
"Toward Paris."
And they set out at as hard a canter as their horses