Three Musketeers (Barnes & Noble Classics Series) (79 page)

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Authors: Alexandre Dumas

“That’s well, Monsieur de Tréville,” said the cardinal; “pray let that napkin be sent to me. I will have three
fleur-de-lis
embroidered on it in gold, and will give it to your company as a standard.”
“Monseigneur,” said M. de Tréville, “that will be unjust to the Guardsmen. Monsieur d’Artagnan is not with me; he serves under Monsieur Dessessart.”
“Well, then, take him,” said the cardinal; “when four men are so much attached to one another, it is only fair that they should serve in the same company.”
That same evening M. de Tréville announced this good news to the three Musketeers and D’Artagnan, inviting all four to breakfast with him next morning.
D’Artagnan was beside himself with joy. We know that the dream of his life had been to become a Musketeer. The three friends were likewise greatly delighted.
“My faith,” said D’Artagnan to Athos, “you had a triumphant idea! As you said, we have acquired glory, and were enabled to carry on a conversation of the highest importance.”
“Which we can resume now without anybody suspecting us, for, with the help of God, we shall henceforth pass for cardinalists.”
That evening D’Artagnan went to present his respects to M. Dessessart, and inform him of his promotion.
M. Dessessart, who esteemed D’Artagnan, made him offers of help, as this change would entail expenses for equipment.
D’Artagnan refused, but finding the opportunity a good one, he begged him to have the diamond he put into his hand valued, as he wished to turn it into money.
The next day, at eight in the morning, M. Dessessart’s valet came to D’Artagnan’s lodging, and gave him a bag containing seven thousand livres.
This was the price of the queen’s diamond.
48
A FAMILY AFFAIR
A
thos had invented the phrase,
family affair.
A family affair was not subject to the investigation of the cardinal; a family affair concerned nobody. People might employ themselves in a family affair before all the world. Therefore Athos had invented the phrase,
family affair.
Aramis had discovered the idea,
the lackeys.
Porthos had discovered the means,
the diamond.
D’Artagnan alone had discovered nothing—he, ordinarily the most inventive of the four; but it must be also said that the very name of Milady paralyzed him.
Ah! no, we were mistaken; he had discovered a purchaser for his diamond.
The breakfast at M. de Tréville’s was as gay and cheerful as possible. D’Artagnan already wore his uniform—for being nearly of the same size as Aramis, and as Aramis was so liberally paid by the publisher who purchased his poem as to allow him to buy everything double, he sold his friend a complete outfit.
D’Artagnan would have been at the height of his wishes if he had not constantly seen Milady like a dark cloud hovering in the horizon.
After breakfast, it was agreed that they should meet again in the evening at Athos’s lodging, and there finish their plans.
D’Artagnan passed the day in exhibiting his Musketeer’s uniform in every street of the camp.
In the evening, at the appointed hour, the four friends met. There only remained three things to decide—what they should write to Milady’s brother; what they should write to the clever person at Tours; and which should be the lackeys to carry the letters.
Everyone offered his own. Athos talked of the discretion of Grimaud, who never spoke a word but when his master unlocked his mouth. Porthos boasted of the strength of Mousqueton, who was big enough to thrash four men of ordinary size. Aramis, confiding in the address of Bazin, made a pompous eulogium on his candidate. Finally, D’Artagnan had entire faith in the bravery of Planchet, and reminded them of the manner in which he had conducted himself in the ticklish affair of Boulogne.
These four virtues disputed the prize for a length of time, and gave birth to magnificent speeches which we do not repeat here for fear they should be deemed too long.
“Unfortunately,” said Athos, “he whom we send must possess in himself alone the four qualities united.”
“But where is such a lackey to be found?”
“Not to be found!” cried Athos. “I know it well; so take Grimaud.”
“Take Mousqueton.”
“Take Bazin.”
“Take Planchet. Planchet is brave and shrewd; they are two qualities out of the four.”
“Gentlemen,” said Aramis, “the principal question is not to know which of our four lackeys is the most discreet, the most strong, the most clever, or the most brave; the principal thing is to know which loves money the best.”
“What Aramis says is very sensible,” replied Athos; “we must speculate upon the faults of people, and not upon their virtues. Monsieur Abbé, you are a great moralist.”
“Doubtless,” said Aramis, “for we not only require to be well served in order to succeed, but moreover, not to fail; for in case of failure, heads are in question, not for our lackeys—”
“Speak lower, Aramis,” said Athos.
“That’s wise—not for the lackeys,” resumed Aramis, “but for the master—for the
masters,
we may say. Are our lackeys sufficiently devoted to us to risk their lives for us? No.”
“My faith,” said D’Artagnan, “I would almost answer for Planchet.”
“Well, my dear friend, add to his natural devotedness a good sum of money, and then, instead of answering for him once, answer for him twice.”
“Why, good God! you will be deceived just the same,” said Athos, who was an optimist when things were concerned, and a pessimist when men were in question. “They will promise everything for the sake of the money, and on the road fear will prevent them from acting. Once taken, they will be pressed; when pressed, they will confess everything. What the devil! we are not children. To reach England”—Athos lowered his voice—“all France, covered with the spies and creatures of the cardinal, must be crossed. A passport for embarkation must be obtained; and the party must be acquainted with English in order to ask the way to London. Really, I think the thing very difficult.”
“Not at all,” cried D’Artagnan, who was anxious the matter should be accomplished; “on the contrary, I think it very easy. It would be, no doubt,
parbleu,
if we write to Lord de Winter about affairs of vast importance, of the horrors of the cardinal—”
“Speak lower!” said Athos. “—of intrigues and secrets of state,” continued D’Artagnan, complying with the recommendation. “There can be no doubt we would all be broken on the wheel; but for God’s sake, do not forget, as you yourself said, Athos, that we only write to him concerning a family affair; that we only write to him to entreat that as soon as Milady arrives in London he will put it out of her power to injure us. I will write to him, then, nearly in these terms.”
“Let us see,” said Athos, assuming in advance a critical look.
“Monsieur and dear friend—
”
“Ah, yes!
Dear friend
to an Englishman,” interrupted Athos; well commenced! Bravo, D’Artagnan! Only with that word you would be quartered instead of being broken on the wheel.”
“Well, perhaps. I will say, then,
Monsieur,
quite short.”
“You may even say, My Lord,” replied Athos, who stickled for propriety.
“My Lord, do you remember the little goat pasture of the Luxembourg?
”
“Good, the Luxembourg!
au
One might believe this an allusion to the queen-mother! That’s ingenious,” said Athos.
“Well, then, we will put simply, My Lord,
do you remember a certain little enclosure where your life was spared?”
“My dear D’Artagnan, you will never make anything but a very bad secretary.
Where your life
was
spared!
For shame! that’s unworthy. A man of spirit is not to be reminded of such services. A benefit reproached is an offense committed.”
“The devil!” said D’Artagnan, “you are insupportable. If the letter must be written under your censure, my faith, I renounce the task.”
“And you will do right. Handle the musket and the sword, my dear fellow. You will come off splendidly at those two exercises; but pass the pen over to Monsier Abbé. That’s his province.”
“Ay, ay!” said Porthos; “pass the pen to Aramis, who writes theses in Latin.”
“Well, so be it,” said D’Artagnan. “Draw up this note for us, Aramis; but by our Holy Father the Pope, cut it short, for I shall prune you in my turn, I warn you.”
“I ask no better,” said Aramis, with that ingenuous air of confidence which every poet has in himself; “but let me be properly acquainted with the subject. I have heard here and there that this sister-in-law was a hussy. I have obtained a proof of it by listening to her conversation with the cardinal.”
“Lower!
sacré bleu!”
said Athos.
“But,” continued Aramis, “the details escape me.”
“And me also,” said Porthos.
D‘Artagnan and Athos looked at each other for some time in silence. At length Athos, after serious reflection and becoming more pale than usual, made a sign of assent to D’Artagnan, who by it understood he was at liberty to speak.
“Well, this is what you have to say,” said D’Artagnan:
“My Lord, your sister-in-law is an infamous woman, who wished to have you killed that she might inherit your wealth; but she could not marry your brother, being already married in France, and having been—”
D’Artagnan stopped, as if seeking for the word, and looked at Athos.
“Repudiated by her husband,” said Athos.
“Because she had been branded,” continued D’Artagnan.
“Bah!” cried Porthos. “Impossible! What do you say—that she wanted to have her brother-in-law killed?”
“Yes.”
“She was married?” asked Aramis.
“Yes.”
“And her husband found out that she had a
fleur-de-lis
on her shoulder?” cried Porthos.
“Yes.”
These three
yeses
had been pronounced by Athos, each with a sadder intonation.
“And who has seen this
fleur-de-lis?”
inquired Aramis.
“D‘Artagnan and I. Or rather, to observe the chronological order, I and D’Artagnan,” replied Athos.
“And does the husband of this frightful creature still live?” said Aramis.
“He still lives.”
“Are you quite sure of it?”
“I am he.”
There was a moment of cold silence, during which everyone was affected according to his nature.
“This time,” said Athos, first breaking the silence, “D’Artagnan has given us an excellent program, and the letter must be written at once.”
“The devil! You are right, Athos,” said Aramis; “and it is a rather difficult matter. The chancellor himself would be puzzled how to write such a letter, and yet the chancellor draws up an official report very readily. Never mind! Be silent, I will write.”
Aramis accordingly took the quill, reflected for a few moments, wrote eight or ten lines in a charming little female hand, and then with a voice soft and slow, as if each word had been scrupulously weighed, he read the following:
“My Lord, The person who writes these few lines had the honor of crossing swords with you in the little enclosure of the Rue d’Enfer. As you have several times since declared yourself the friend of that person, he thinks it his duty to respond to that friendship by sending you important information. Twice you have nearly been the victim of a near relative whom you believe to be your heir because you are ignorant that before she contracted a marriage in England she was already married in France. But the third time, which is the present, you may succumb. Your relative left La Rochelle for England during the night. Watch her arrival, for she has great and terrible projects. If you require to know positively what she is capable of, read her past history on her left shoulder.
“Well, now that will do wonderfully well,” said Athos. “My dear Aramis, you have the pen of a secretary of state. Lord de Winter will now be upon his guard if the letter should reach him; and even if it should fall into the hands of the cardinal, we shall not be compromised. But as the lackey who goes may make us believe he has been to London and may stop at Châtellerault, let us give him only half the sum promised him, with the letter, with an agreement that he shall have the other half in exchange for the reply. Have you the diamond?” continued Athos.
“I have what is still better. I have the price”; and D’Artagnan threw the bag upon the table. At the sound of the gold Aramis raised his eyes and Porthos started. As to Athos, he remained unmoved.
“How much in that little bag?”
“Seven thousand livres, in louis of twelve francs.”
“Seven thousand livres!” cried Porthos. “That poor little diamond was worth seven thousand livres?”
“It appears so,” said Athos, “since here they are. I don’t suppose that our friend D’Artagnan has added any of his own to the amount.”

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