Three Musketeers (Barnes & Noble Classics Series) (41 page)

The king made his way through the crowd without a mask, and the ribbons of his doublet scarcely tied. He went straight to the queen, and in an altered voice said, “Why, madame, have you not thought proper to wear your diamond studs, when you know it would give me so much gratification?”

The queen cast a glance around her, and saw the cardinal behind, with a diabolical smile on his countenance.

“Sire,” replied the queen, with a faltering voice, “because, in the midst of such a crowd as this, I feared some accident might happen to them.”

“And you were wrong, madame. If I made you that present it was that you might adorn yourself therewith. I tell you that you were wrong.”

The voice of the king was tremulous with anger. Everybody looked and listened with astonishment, comprehending nothing of what passed.

“Sire,” said the queen, “I can send for them to the Louvre, where they are, and thus your Majesty’s wishes will be complied with.”

“Do so, madame, do so, and that at once; for within an hour the ballet will commence.”

The queen bent in token of submission, and followed the ladies who were to conduct her to her room. On his part the king returned to his apartment.

There was a moment of trouble and confusion in the assembly. Everybody had remarked that something had passed between the king and queen; but both of them had spoken so low that everybody, out of respect, withdrew several steps, so that nobody had heard anything. The violins began to sound with all their might, but nobody listened to them.

The king came out first from his room. He was in a most elegant hunting costume; and Monsieur and the other nobles were dressed like him. This was the costume that best became the king. So dressed, he really appeared the first gentleman of his kingdom.

The cardinal drew near to the king, and placed in his hand a small casket. The king opened it, and found in it two diamond studs.

“What does this mean?” demanded he of the cardinal.

“Nothing,” replied the latter; “only, if the queen has the studs, which I very much doubt, count them, sire, and if you only find ten, ask her Majesty who can have stolen from her the two studs that are here.”

The king looked at the cardinal as if to interrogate him; but he had not time to address any question to him—a cry of admiration burst from every mouth. If the king appeared to be the first gentleman of his kingdom, the queen was without doubt the most beautiful woman in France.

It is true that the habit of a huntress became her admirably. She wore a beaver hat with blue feathers, a surtout of gray-pearl velvet, fastened with diamond clasps, and a petticoat of blue satin, embroidered with silver. On her left shoulder sparkled the diamond studs, on a bow of the same color as the plumes and the petticoat.

The king trembled with joy and the cardinal with vexation; although, distant as they were from the queen, they could not count the studs. The queen had them. The only question was, had she ten or twelve?

At that moment the violins sounded the signal for the ballet. The king advanced toward Madame the President, with whom he was to dance, and his Highness Monsieur with the queen. They took their places, and the ballet began.

The king danced facing the queen, and every time he passed by her, he devoured with his eyes those studs of which he could not ascertain the number. A cold sweat covered the brow of the cardinal.

The ballet lasted an hour, and had sixteen
entrées.
The ballet ended amid the applause of the whole assemblage, and everyone reconducted his lady to her place; but the king took advantage of the privilege he had of leaving his lady, to advance eagerly toward the queen.

“I thank you, madame,” said he, “for the deference you have shown to my wishes, but I think you want two of the studs, and I bring them back to you.”

With these words he held out to the queen the two studs the cardinal had given him.

“How, sire?” cried the young queen, affecting surprise, “you are giving me, then, two more: I shall have fourteen.”

In fact the king counted them, and the twelve studs were all on her Majesty’s shoulder.

The king called the cardinal.

“What does this mean, Monsieur Cardinal?” asked the king in a severe tone.

“This means; sire,” replied the cardinal, “that I was desirous of presenting her Majesty with these two studs, and that not daring to offer them myself, I adopted this means of inducing her to accept them.”

“And I am the more grateful to your Eminence,” replied Anne of Austria, with a smile that proved she was not the dupe of this ingenious gallantry, “from being certain that these two studs alone have cost you as much as all the others cost his Majesty.”

Then saluting the king and the cardinal, the queen resumed her way to the chamber in which she had dressed, and where she was to take off her costume.

The attention which we have been obliged to give, during the commencement of the chapter, to the illustrious personages we have introduced into it, has diverted us for an instant from him to whom Anne of Austria owed the extraordinary triumph she had obtained over the cardinal; and who, confounded, unknown, lost in the crowd gathered at one of the doors, looked on at this scene, comprehensible only to four persons—the king, the queen, his Eminence, and himself.

The queen had just regained her chamber, and D’Artagnan was about to retire, when he felt his shoulder lightly touched. He turned and saw a young woman, who made him a sign to follow her. The face of this young woman was covered with a black velvet mask; but notwithstanding this precaution, which was in fact taken rather against others than against him, he at once recognized his usual guide, the light and intelligent Mme. Bonacieux.

On the evening before, they had scarcely seen each other for a moment at the apartment of the Swiss guard, Germain, whither D‘Artagnan had sent for her. The haste which the young woman was in to convey to the queen the excellent news of the happy return of her messenger prevented the two lovers from exchanging more than a few words. D’Artagnan therefore followed Mme. Bonacieux moved by a double sentiment—love and curiosity. All the way, and in proportion as the corridors became more deserted, D‘Artagnan wished to stop the young woman, seize her and gaze upon her, were it only for a minute; but quick as a bird she glided between his hands, and when he wished to speak to her, her finger placed upon her mouth, with a little imperative gesture full of grace, reminded him that he was under the command of a power which he must blindly obey, and which forbade him even to make the slightest complaint. At length, after winding about for a minute or two, Mme. Bonacieux opened the door of a closet, which was entirely dark, and led D’Artagnan into it. There she made a fresh sign of silence, and opened a second door concealed by tapestry. The opening of this door disclosed a brilliant light, and she disappeared.

D’Artagnan remained for a moment motionless, asking himself where he could be; but soon a ray of light which penetrated through the chamber, together with the warm and perfumed air which reached him from the same aperture, the conversation of two or three ladies in language at once respectful and refined, and the word “Majesty” several times repeated, indicated clearly that he was in a closet attached to the queen’s apartment. The young man waited in comparative darkness and listened.

The queen appeared cheerful and happy, which seemed to astonish the persons who surrounded her, and who were accustomed to see her almost always sad and full of care. The queen attributed this joyous feeling to the beauty of the fête, to the pleasure she had experienced in the ballet; and as it is not permissible to contradict a queen, whether she smile or weep, everybody expatiated on the gallantry of the aldermen of the city of Paris.

Although D’Artagnan did not at all know the queen, he soon distinguished her voice from the others, at first by a slightly foreign accent, and next by that tone of domination naturally impressed upon all royal words. He heard her approach and withdraw from the partially open door; and twice or three times he even saw the shadow of a person intercept the light.

At length a hand and an arm, surpassingly beautiful in their form and whiteness, glided through the tapestry. D‘Artagnan at once comprehended that this was his recompense. He cast himself on his knees, seized the hand, and touched it respectfully with his lips. Then the hand was withdrawn, leaving in his an object which he perceived to be a ring. The door immediately closed, and D’Artagnan found himself again in complete obscurity.

D’Artagnan placed the ring on his finger, and again waited; it was evident that all was not yet over. After the reward of his devotion, that of his love was to come. Besides, although the ballet was danced, the evening had scarcely begun. Supper was to be served at three, and the clock of St. Jean had struck three quarters past two.

The sound of voices diminished by degrees in the adjoining chamber. The company was then heard departing; then the door of the closet in which D’Artagnan was, was opened, and Mme. Bonacieux entered.

“You at last?” cried D’Artagnan.

“Silence!” said the young woman, placing her hand upon his lips; “silence, and go the same way you came!”

“But where and when shall I see you again?” cried D’Artagnan.

“A note which you will find at home will tell you. Begone, begone!”

At these words she opened the door of the corridor, and pushed D‘Artagnan out of the room. D’Artagnan obeyed like a child, without the least resistance or objection, which proved that he was really in love.

D
‘Artagnan ran home immediately, and although it was three o’clock in the morning and he had some of the worst quarters of Paris to traverse, he met with no misadventure. Everyone knows that drunkards and lovers have a protecting deity.

He found the door of his passage open, sprang up the stairs and knocked softly in a manner agreed upon between him and his lackey. Planchet,
^s
whom he had sent home two hours before from the Hotel de Ville, telling him to sit up for him, opened the door to him.

“Has anyone brought a letter for me?” asked D’Artagnan, eagerly.

“No one has
brought
a letter, monsieur,” replied Planchet; “but one has come of itself.”

“What do you mean, blockhead?”

“I mean to say that when I came in, although I had the key of your apartment in my pocket, and that key had never quit me, I found a letter on the green table cover in your bedroom.”

“And where is that letter?”

“I left it where I found it, monsieur. It is not natural for letters to enter people’s houses in this manner. If the window had been open or even ajar, I should think nothing of it; but, no—all was hermetically sealed. Beware, monsieur; there is certainly some magic underneath.”

Meanwhile, the young man had darted into his chamber, and opened the letter. It was from Mme. Bonacieux, and was expressed in these terms:

While reading this letter, D’Artagnan felt his heart dilated and compressed by that delicious spasm which tortures and caresses the hearts of lovers.

It was the first billet he had received; it was the first rendezvous that had been granted him. His heart, swelled by the intoxication of joy, felt ready to dissolve away at the very gate of that terrestrial paradise called Love!

“Well, monsieur,” said Planchet, who had observed his master grow red and pale successively, “did I not guess truly? Is it not some bad affair?”

“You are mistaken, Planchet,” replied D’Artagnan; “and as a proof, there is a crown to drink my health.”

“I am much obliged to Monsieur for the crown he has given me, and I promise him to follow his instructions exactly; but it is not the less true that letters which come in this way into shut-up houses—”

“Fall from heaven, my friend, fall from heaven.”

“Then Monsieur is satisfied?” asked Planchet.

“My dear Planchet, I am the happiest of men!”

“And I may profit by Monsieur’s happiness, and go to bed?”

“Yes, go.”

“May the blessings of heaven fall upon Monsieur! but it is not the less true that that letter—”

And Planchet retired, shaking his head with an air of doubt, which the liberality of D’Artagnan had not entirely effaced.

Left alone, D’Artagnan read and reread his billet. Then he kissed and rekissed twenty times the lines traced by the hand of his beautiful mistress. At length he went to bed, fell asleep, and had golden dreams.

At seven o’clock in the morning he arose and called Planchet, who at the second summons opened the door, his countenance not yet quite freed from the anxiety of the preceding night.