15
Athos as a Diplomatist.
D'Artagnan retired to bed -- not to sleep, but to think over
all he had heard that evening. Being naturally goodhearted,
and having had once a liking for Athos, which had grown into
a sincere friendship, he was delighted at thus meeting a man
full of intelligence and moral strength, instead of a
drunkard. He admitted without annoyance the continued
superiority of Athos over himself, devoid as he was of that
jealousy which might have saddened a less generous
disposition; he was delighted also that the high qualities
of Athos appeared to promise favorably for his mission.
Nevertheless, it seemed to him that Athos was not in all
respects sincere and frank. Who was the youth he had adopted
and who bore so striking a resemblance to him? What could
explain Athos's having re-entered the world and the extreme
sobriety he had observed at table? The absence of Grimaud,
whose name had never once been uttered by Athos, gave
D'Artagnan uneasiness. It was evident either that he no
longer possessed the confidence of his friend, or that Athos
was bound by some invisible chain, or that he had been
forewarned of the lieutenant's visit.
He could not help thinking of M. Rochefort, whom he had seen
in Notre Dame; could De Rochefort have forestalled him with
Athos? Again, the moderate fortune which Athos possessed,
concealed as it was, so skillfully, seemed to show a regard
for appearances and to betray a latent ambition which might
be easily aroused. The clear and vigorous intellect of Athos
would render him more open to conviction than a less able
man would be. He would enter into the minister's schemes
with the more ardor, because his natural activity would be
doubled by necessity.
Resolved to seek an explanation on all these points on the
following day, D'Artagnan, in spite of his fatigue, prepared
for an attack and determined that it should take place after
breakfast. He determined to cultivate the good-will of the
youth Raoul and, either whilst fencing with him or when out
shooting, to extract from his simplicity some information
which would connect the Athos of old times with the Athos of
the present. But D'Artagnan at the same time, being a man of
extreme caution, was quite aware what injury he should do
himself, if by any indiscretion or awkwardness he should
betray has manoeuvering to the experienced eye of Athos.
Besides, to tell truth, whilst D'Artagnan was quite disposed
to adopt a subtle course against the cunning of Aramis or
the vanity of Porthos, he was ashamed to equivocate with
Athos, true-hearted, open Athos. It seemed to him that if
Porthos and Aramis deemed him superior to them in the arts
of diplomacy, they would like him all the better for it; but
that Athos, on the contrary, would despise him.
"Ah! why is not Grimaud, the taciturn Grimaud, here?"
thought D'Artagnan, "there are so many things his silence
would have told me; with Grimaud silence was another form of
eloquence!"
There reigned a perfect stillness in the house. D'Artagnan
had heard the door shut and the shutters barred; the dogs
became in their turn silent. At last a nightingale, lost in
a thicket of shrubs, in the midst of its most melodious
cadences had fluted low and lower into stillness and fallen
asleep. Not a sound was heard in the castle, except of a
footstep up and down, in the chamber above -- as he
supposed, the bedroom of Athos.
"He is walking about and thinking," thought D'Artagnan; "but
of what? It is impossible to know; everything else might be
guessed, but not that."
At length Athos went to bed, apparently, for the noise
ceased.
Silence and fatigue together overcame D'Artagnan and sleep
overtook him also. He was not, however, a good sleeper.
Scarcely had dawn gilded his window curtains when he sprang
out of bed and opened the windows. Somebody, he perceived,
was in the courtyard, moving stealthily. True to his custom
of never passing anything over that it was within his power
to know, D'Artagnan looked out of the window and perceived
the close red coat and brown hair of Raoul.
The young man was opening the door of the stable. He then,
with noiseless haste, took out the horse that he had ridden
on the previous evening, saddled and bridled it himself and
led the animal into the alley to the right of the
kitchen-garden, opened a side door which conducted him to a
bridle road, shut it after him, and D'Artagnan saw him pass
by like a dart, bending, as he went, beneath the pendent
flowery branches of maple and acacia. The road, as
D'Artagnan had observed, was the way to Blois.
"So!" thought the Gascon "here's a young blade who has
already his love affair, who doesn't at all agree with Athos
in his hatred to the fair sex. He's not going to hunt, for
he has neither dogs nor arms; he's not going on a message,
for he goes secretly. Why does he go in secret? Is he afraid
of me or of his father? for I am sure the count is his
father. By Jove! I shall know about that soon, for I shall
soon speak out to Athos."
Day was now advanced; all the noises that had ceased the
night before reawakened, one after the other. The bird on
the branch, the dog in his kennel, the sheep in the field,
the boats moored in the Loire, even, became alive and vocal.
The latter, leaving the shore, abandoned themselves gaily to
the current. The Gascon gave a last twirl to his mustache, a
last turn to his hair, brushed, from habit, the brim of his
hat with the sleeve of his doublet, and went downstairs.
Scarcely had he descended the last step of the threshold
when he saw Athos bent down toward the ground, as if he were
looking for a crown-piece in the dust.
"Good-morning, my dear host," cried D'Artagnan.
"Good-day to you; have you slept well?"
"Excellently, Athos, but what are you looking for? You are
perhaps a tulip fancier?"
"My dear friend, if I am, you must not laugh at me for being
so. In the country people alter; one gets to like, without
knowing it, all those beautiful objects that God causes to
spring from the earth, which are despised in cities. I was
looking anxiously for some iris roots I planted here, close
to this reservoir, and which some one has trampled upon this
morning. These gardeners are the most careless people in the
world; in bringing the horse out to the water they've
allowed him to walk over the border."
D'Artagnan began to smile.
"Ah! you think so, do you?"
And he took his friend along the alley, where a number of
tracks like those which had trampled down the flowerbeds,
were visible.
"Here are the horse's hoofs again, it seems, Athos," he said
carelessly.
"Yes, indeed, the marks are recent."
"Quite so," replied the lieutenant.
"Who went out this morning?" Athos asked, uneasily. "Has any
horse got loose?"
"Not likely," answered the Gascon; "these marks are
regular."
"Where is Raoul?" asked Athos; "how is it that I have not
seen him?"
"Hush!" exclaimed D'Artagnan, putting his finger on his
lips; and he related what he had seen, watching Athos all
the while.
"Ah, he's gone to Blois; the poor boy ---- "
"Wherefore?"
"Ah, to inquire after the little La Valliere; she has
sprained her foot, you know."
"You think he has?"
"I am sure of it," said Athos; "don't you see that Raoul is
in love?"
"Indeed! with whom -- with a child seven years old?"
"Dear friend, at Raoul's age the heart is so expansive that
it must encircle one object or another, fancied or real.
Well, his love is half real, half fanciful. She is the
prettiest little creature in the world, with flaxen hair,
blue eyes, -- at once saucy and languishing."
"But what say you to Raoul's fancy?"
"Nothing -- I laugh at Raoul; but this first desire of the
heart is imperious. I remember, just at his age, how deep in
love I was with a Grecian statue which our good king, then
Henry IV., gave my father, insomuch that I was mad with
grief when they told me that the story of Pygmalion was
nothing but a fable."
"It is mere want of occupation. You do not make Raoul work,
so he takes his own way of employing himself."
"Exactly; therefore I think of sending him away from here."
"You will be wise to do so."
"No doubt of it; but it will break his heart. So long as
three or four years ago he used to adorn and adore his
little idol, whom he will some day fall in love with in
right earnest if he remains here. The parents of little La
Valliere have for a long time perceived and been amused at
it; now they begin to look concerned."
"Nonsense! However, Raoul must be diverted from this fancy.
Send him away or you will never make a man of him."
"I think I shall send him to Paris."
"So!" thought D'Artagnan, and it seemed to him that the
moment for attack had arrived.
"Suppose," he said, "we roughly chalk out a career for this
young man. I wish to consult you about some thing."
"Do so."
"Do you think it is time for us to enter the service?"
"But are you not still in the service -- you, D'Artagnan?"
"I mean active service. Our former life, has it still no
attractions for you? would you not be happy to begin anew in
my society and in that of Porthos, the exploits of our
youth?"
"Do you propose to me to do so, D'Artagnan?"
"Decidedly and honestly."
"On whose side?" asked Athos, fixing his clear, benevolent
glance on the countenance of the Gascon.
"Ah, devil take it, you speak in earnest ---- "
"And must have a definite answer. Listen, D'Artagnan. There
is but one person, or rather, one cause, to whom a man like
me can be useful -- that of the king."
"Exactly," answered the musketeer.
"Yes, but let us understand each other," returned Athos,
seriously. "If by the cause of the king you mean that of
Monsieur de Mazarin, we do not understand each other."
"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.
"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 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 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 could
maintain.
