“A letter!” exclaimed the young man.
“Which I received this morning.”
D’Artagnan opened it, and, as the light commenced to wane, he approached the window, followed by Bonancieux.
“Do not seek for your wife,” read d’Artagnan: “she will be returned to you when she is no longer required. If you make a single attempt to discover her, you are lost!”
“Well, this is pretty positive!” continued d’Artagnan; “but, after all, it is only a threat.”
“Yes, but this threat frightens me, sir: I am not at all warlike, and I fear the Bastile.”
“Humph!” said d’Artagnan, “I do not like the Bastile any more than you do; if it was only a sword thrust, now, it would be of no consequence!”
“And yet I had depended much on your assistance.”
“Quite right!”
“Seeing you always surrounded by musketeers of haughty carriage, and perceiving that those musketeers belonged to M. de Treville, and, consequently, were the enemies of the cardinal, I thought that you and your friends, whilst gaining justice for our poor queen, would be enchanted at doing his eminence an ill turn.”
“Unquestionably!”
“And then I thought, that, owing me three months’ rent, which I never demanded———”
“Yes, yes, you have already mentioned that reason, and I consider it excellent.”
“Reckoning, moreover, that as long as you will do me the honour of remaining in my house, I should make no reference to rent———”
“Good, again!” said d’Artagnan.
“And, added to that, calculating upon offering you fifty pistoles, should you be at all distressed at this time, which I don’t say for a moment———”
“Wonderfully good! You are rich, then, my dear M. Bonancieux!”
“Say, rather, in easy circumstances, sir. I have amassed something like two or three thousand crowns a year in the linen-drapery line; and more particularly, by investing something in the last voyage of the celebrated navigator, Jean Mocquet; so that you understand, sir———Ah! but———”exclaimed the citizen.
“What?” demanded d’Artagnan.
“What do I see there?”
“Where?”
“In the street, opposite your windows; in the opening of that entry—a man wrapped in a cloak!”
“It is he!” cried d’Artagnan and the citizen in one breath; each having at the same moment recognised his man.
“Ah!” this time he shall not escape me!” exclaimed d’Artagnan, rushing out, sword in hand.
On the staircase he met Athos and Porthos, who were coming to see him. They stood apart, and he passed between them like a meteor.
“Ah, where are you running to?” cried the two musketeers.
“The man of Meung!” ejaculated d’Artagnan, as he disappeared.
D’Artagnan had more than once related to his friends his adventure with the stranger, and also the apparition of the fair traveller, to whom this man appeared to confide such an important missive. Athos was of opinion that d’Artagnan had lost the letter during the quarrel, since a gentleman, such as he had described the unknown to be, must have been incapable of theft: Porthos only saw in the affair an amorous appointment, which d’Artagnan and his yellow horse had disturbed; and Aramis had said, these kind of things being mysterious, had better not be searched into. From the few words which escaped d’Artagnan, they understood, therefore, what was his object; and concluding that he would return, after he had found his man, they proceeded to his apartment.
When they entered the room which d’Artagnan had just quitted, they found it empty; for the landlord, fearing the consequences of the meeting and duel which he doubted not was about to take place between the young man and the stranger, had judged it most prudent to decamp.
9 D’Artagnan Begins to Show Himself
AS ATHOS AND Porthos had anticipated, d’Artagnan returned in half an hour. He had again missed his man, who had disappeared as if by enchantment. The young Gascon had run through all the neighbouring streets, sword in hand, but found no one resembling him. Whilst d’Artagnan was engaged in this pursuit, Aramis had joined his companions, so that on his return he found the re-union complete.
“Well!” exclaimed they, when they saw him enter, covered with perspiration, and furious.
“Well!” said he, throwing his sword on the bed; “this man must be the devil himself: he disappeared like a phantom, a shadow, a spectre!”
“Do you believe in apparitions?” demanded Athos and Porthos.
“I only believe in what I see; and as I have never seen an apparition, I do not believe in them.”
“The Bible declares that one appeared to Saul!” said Aramis.
“Be it how it may,” said d’Artagnan, “man or devil, body or shadow, illusion or reality, this man is born to be my bane; for his escape has caused us to lose a fine opportunity—one, gentlemen, by which an hundred pistoles, or more, were to be gained!”
“How is that?” asked Aramis and Porthos; but Athos, true to his principle of silence, merely interrogated d’Artagnan by a look.
“Planchet,” said d’Artagnan, “go to my landlord, M. Bonancieux, and tell him to send me half a dozen bottles of Beaugency, which is my favourite wine.”
“Ah! then you have credit with your landlord?” demanded Porthos.
“Yes, from this day,” said d’Artagnan; “and be assured that if the wine is bad, we will send to him for better.”
“You should use, and not abuse,” sententiously remarked Aramis.
“I always said that d’Artagnan had the best head of the four,” said Athos; who, having delivered himself of this opinion, which d’Artagnan acknowledged by a bow, relapsed into his usual silence.
“But now let us hear what is the scheme,” demanded Porthos.
“Yes,” said Aramis, “confide in us, my dear friend; at least, if the honour of some lady be not compromised.”
“Be easy,” replied d’Artagnan, “the honour of no one shall be in danger from what I have to tell you.” He then related, word for word, his intercourse with his landlord; and how the man who had carried off the worthy mercer’s wife was the same with whom he had quarrelled at the Jolly Miller, at Meung.
“The thing looks well,” said Athos, after he had tasted the wine like a connoisseur, and testified by an approving nod of the head that it was good; and had calculated also whether it was worth while to risk four heads for sixty or seventy pistoles.
“But, observe,” said d’Artagnan, “that there is a woman in the case; a woman who is carried off, and no doubt threatened, perhaps tortured, merely on account of her fidelity to her royal mistress.”
“Take care, d’Artagnan—take care,” said Aramis; “in my opinion you are too interested in Madame Bonancieux. Woman was created for our destruction; and from her all our miseries arise.”
Athos frowned, and bit his lip, whilst he listened to this profound opinion.
“It is not for Madame Bonancieux that I distress myself,” said d’Artagnan, “but for