Александр Дюма
Ten Years Later
CHAPTER 17. In which Aramis is sought and only Bazin is found
Two hours had scarcely elapsed since the departure of the master of the house, who, in Blaisois's sight, had taken the road to Paris, when a horseman, mounted on a good pied horse, stopped before the gate, and with a sonorous "hola!" called the stable-boys who, with the gardeners, had formed a circle round Blaisois, the historian-in-ordinary to the household of the chateau. This "hola," doubtless well known to Master Blaisois, made him turn his head and exclaim – "Monsieur d'Artagnan! run quickly, you chaps, and open the gate."
A swarm of eight brisk lads flew to the gate, which was opened as if it had been made of feathers; and every one loaded him with attentions, for they knew the welcome this friend was accustomed to receive from their master; and for such remarks the eye of the valet may always be depended upon.
"Ah!" said M. d'Artagnan, with an agreeable smile, balancing himself upon his stirrup to jump to the ground, "where is that dear count?"
"Ah! how unfortunate you are, monsieur!" said Blaisois: "and how unfortunate will monsieur le comte our master, think himself when he hears of your coming! As ill luck will have it, monsieur le comte left home two hours ago."
D'Artagnan did not trouble himself about such trifles. "Very good!" said he. "You always speak the best French in the world; you shall give me a lesson in grammar and correct language, whilst I wait the return of your master."
"That is impossible, monsieur," said Blaisois; "you would have to wait too long."
"Will he not come back to-day, then?"
"No, nor to-morrow, nor the day after to-morrow. Monsieur le comte has gone on a journey."
"A journey!" said D'Artagnan, surprised; "that's a fable, Master Blaisois."
"Monsieur, it is no more than the truth. Monsieur has done me the honor to give me the house in charge; and he added, with his voice so full of authority and kindness – that is all one to me: 'You will say I have gone to Paris.'"
"Well!" cried D'Artagnan, "since he is gone towards Paris, that is all I wanted to know! you should have told me so at first, booby! He is then two hours in advance?"
"Yes, monsieur."
"I shall soon overtake him. Is he alone?"
"No, monsieur."
"Who is with him, then?"
"A gentleman whom I don't know, an old man, and M. Grimaud."
"Such a party cannot travel as fast as I can – I will start."
"Will monsieur listen to me an instant?" said Blaisois, laying his hand gently on the reins of the horse.
"Yes, if you don't favor me with fine speeches, and make haste."
"Well, then, monsieur, that word Paris appears to me to be only an excuse."
"Oh, oh!" said D'Artagnan, seriously, "an excuse, eh?"
"Yes, monsieur; and monsieur le comte is not going to Paris, I will swear."
"What makes you think so?"
"This – M. Grimaud always knows where our master is going; and he had promised me that the first time he went to Paris, he would take a little money for me to my wife."
"What, have you a wife, then?"
"I had one – she was of this country; but monsieur thought her a noisy scold, and I sent her to Paris; it is sometimes inconvenient, but very agreeable at others."
"I understand; but go on. You do not believe the count gone to Paris?"
"No, monsieur; for then M. Grimaud would have broken his word; he would have perjured himself, and that is impossible."
"That is impossible," repeated D'Artagnan, quite in a study, because he was quite convinced. "Well, my brave Blaisois, many thanks to you."
Blaisois bowed.
"Come, you know I am not curious – I have serious business with your master. Could you not, by a little bit of a word – you who speak so well – give me to understand – one syllable, only – I will guess the rest."
"Upon my word, monsieur, I cannot. I am quite ignorant where monsieur le comte is gone. As to listening at doors, that is contrary to my nature; and besides it is forbidden here."
"My dear fellow," said D'Artagnan, "this is a very bad beginning for me. Never mind, you know when monsieur le comte will return, at least?"
"As little, monsieur, as the place of his destination."
"Come, Blaisois, come, search."
"Monsieur doubts my sincerity? Ah, monsieur, that grieves me much."
"The devil take his gilded tongue!" grumbled D'Artagnan. "A clown with a word would be worth a dozen of him. Adieu!"
"Monsieur, I have the honor to present you my respects."
"Cuistre!" said D'Artagnan to himself, "the fellow is unbearable." He gave another look up to the house, turned his horse's head, and set off like a man who has nothing either annoying or embarrassing in his mind. When he was at the end of the wall, and out of sight, – "Well, now, I wonder," said he, breathing quickly, "whether Athos was at home. No; all those idlers, standing with their arms crossed, would have been at work if the eye of the master was near. Athos gone a journey? – that is incomprehensible. Bah! it is all devilish mysterious! And then – no – he is not the man I want. I want one of a cunning, patient mind. My business is at Melun, in a certain presbytery I am acquainted with. Forty-five leagues – four days and a half! Well, it is fine weather, and I am free. Never mind the distance!"
And he put his horse into a trot, directing his course towards Paris. On the fourth day he alighted at Melun as he had intended.
D'Artagnan was never in the habit of asking any one on the road for any common information. For these sorts of details, unless in very serious circumstances, he confided in his perspicacity, which was so seldom at fault, in his experience of thirty years, and in a great habit of reading the physiognomies of houses, as well as those of men. At Melun, D'Artagnan immediately found the presbytery – a charming house, plastered over red brick, with vines climbing along the gutters, and a cross, in carved stone, surmounting the ridge of the roof. From the ground-floor of this house came a noise, or rather a confusion of voices, like the chirping of young birds when the brood is just hatched under the down. One of these voices was spelling the alphabet distinctly. A voice, thick, yet pleasant, at the same time scolded the talkers and corrected the faults of the reader. D'Artagnan recognized that voice, and as the window of the ground-floor was open, he leant down from his horse under the branches and red fibers of the vine and cried "Bazin, my dear Bazin! good-day to you."
A short, fat man, with a flat face, a craniun ornamented with a crown of gray hairs, cut short, in imitation of a tonsure, and covered with an old black velvet cap, arose as soon as he heard D'Artagnan – we ought not to say arose, but bounded up. In fact, Bazin bounded up, carrying with him his little low chair, which the children tried to take away, with battles more fierce than those of the Greeks endeavoring to recover the body of Patroclus from the hands of the Trojans. Bazin did more than bound; he let fall both his alphabet and his ferule. "You!" said he, "you, Monsieur d'Artagnan?"
"Yes, myself! Where is Aramis – no, M. le Chevalier d'Herblay – no, I am still mistaken – Monsieur le Vicaire-General?"
"Ah, monsieur," said Bazin, with dignity, "monseigneur is at his diocese."
"What did you say?" said D'Artagnan. Bazin repeated the sentence.
"Ah, ah! but has Aramis a diocese?"
"Yes, monsieur. Why not?"
"Is he a bishop, then?"
"Why, where can you come from," said Bazin, rather irreverently, "that you don't know that?"
"My dear Bazin, we pagans, we men of the sword, know very well when a man is made a colonel, or maitre-de-camp, or marshal of France; but if he be made a bishop, archbishop, or pope – devil take me if the news reaches us before the three quarters of the earth have had the advantage of it!"
"Hush! hush!" said Bazin, opening his eyes: "do not spoil these poor children, in whom I am endeavoring to inculcate such good principles." In fact, the children had surrounded D'Artagnan, whose horse, long sword, spurs, and martial air they very much admired. But above all, they admired his strong voice; so that, when he uttered his oath, the whole school cried out, "The devil take me!" with fearful bursts of laughter, shouts, and bounds, which delighted the musketeer, and bewildered the old pedagogue.
"There!" said he, "hold your tongues, you brats! You have come, M. d'Artagnan, and all my good principles fly away. With you, as usual, comes disorder. Babel is revived. Ah! Good Lord! Ah! the wild little wretches!" And the worthy Bazin distributed right and left blows which increased the cries of his scholars by changing the nature of them.
"At least," said he, "you will no longer decoy any one here."
"Do you think so?" said D'Artagnan, with a smile which made a shudder creep over the shoulders of Bazin.
"He is capable of it," murmured he.
"Where is your master's diocese?"
"Monseigneur Rene is bishop of Vannes."
"Who had him nominated?"
"Why, monsieur le surintendant, our neighbor."
"What! Monsieur Fouquet?"
"To be sure he did."
"Is Aramis on good terms with him, then?"
"Monseigneur preached every Sunday at the house of monsieur le surintendant at Vaux; then they hunted together."
"Ah!"
"And monseigneur composed his homilies – no, I mean his sermons – with monsieur le surintendant."
"Bah! he preached in verse, then, this worthy bishop?"
"Monsieur, for the love of heaven, do not jest with sacred things."
"There, Bazin, there! So, then, Aramis is at Vannes?"
"At Vannes, in Bretagne."
"You are a deceitful old hunks, Bazin; that is not true."
"See, monsieur, if you please; the apartments of the presbytery are empty."
"He is right there," said D'Artagnan, looking attentively at the house, the aspect of which announced solitude.
"But monseigneur must have written you an account of his promotion."
"When did it take place?"
"A month back."
"Oh! then there is no time lost. Aramis cannot yet have wanted me. But how is it, Bazin, you do not follow your master?"
"Monsieur, I cannot; I have occupations."
"Your alphabet?"
"And my penitents."
"What, do you confess, then? Are you a priest?"
"The same as one. I have such a call."
"But the orders?"
"Oh," said Bazin, without hesitation, "now that monseigneur is a bishop, I shall soon have my orders, or at least my dispensations." And he rubbed his hands.
"Decidedly," said D'Artagnan to himself, "there will be no means of uprooting these people. Get me some supper Bazin."
"With pleasure, monsieur."
"A fowl, a bouillon, and a bottle of wine."
"This is Saturday, monsieur – it is a day of abstinence."
"I have a dispensation," said D'Artagnan.
Bazin looked at him suspiciously.
"Ah, ah, master hypocrite!" said the musketeer, "for whom do you take me? If you, who are the valet, hope for dispensation to commit a crime, shall not I, the friend of your bishop, have dispensation for eating meat at the call of my stomach? Make yourself agreeable with me, Bazin, or, by heavens! I will complain to the king, and you shall never confess. Now you know that the nomination of bishops rests with the king – I have the king, I am the stronger."
Bazin smiled hypocritically. "Ah, but we have monsieur le surintendant," said he.
"And you laugh at the king, then?"
Bazin made no reply; his smile was sufficiently eloquent.
"My supper," said D'Artagnan, "it is getting towards seven o'clock."
Bazin turned round and ordered the eldest of the pupils to inform the cook. In the meantime, D'Artagnan surveyed the presbytery.
"Phew!" said he, disdainfully, "monseigneur lodged his grandeur very meanly here."
"We have the Chateau de Vaux," said Bazin.
"Which is perhaps equal to the Louvre?" said D'Artagnan, jeeringly.
"Which is better," replied Bazin, with the greatest coolness imaginable.
"Ah, ah!" said D'Artagnan.
He would perhaps have prolonged the discussion, and maintained the superiority of the Louvre, but the lieutenant perceived that his horse remained fastened to the bars of a gate.
"The devil!" said he. "Get my horse looked after; your master the bishop has none like him in his stables."
Bazin cast a sidelong glance at the horse, and replied, "Monsieur le surintendant gave him four from his own stables; and each of the four is worth four of yours."
The blood mounted to the face of D'Artagnan. His hand itched and his eye glanced over the head of Bazin, to select the place upon which he should discharge his anger. But it passed away; reflection came, and D'Artagnan contented himself with saying, —
"The devil! the devil! I have done well to quit the service of the king. Tell me, worthy Master Bazin," added he, "how many musketeers does monsieur le surintendant retain in his service?"
"He could have all there are in the kingdom with his money," replied Bazin, closing his book, and dismissing the boys with some kindly blows of his cane.
"The devil! the devil!" repeated D'Artagnan, once more, as if to annoy the pedagogue. But as supper was now announced, he followed the cook, who introduced him into the refectory, where it awaited him. D'Artagnan placed himself at the table, and began a hearty attack upon his fowl.
"It appears to me," said D'Artagnan, biting with all his might at the tough fowl they had served up to him, and which they had evidently forgotten to fatten, – "it appears that I have done wrong in not seeking service with that master yonder. A powerful noble this intendant, seemingly! In good truth, we poor fellows know nothing at the court, and the rays of the sun prevent our seeing the large stars, which are also suns, at a little greater distance from our earth, – that is all."
As D'Artagnan delighted, both from pleasure and system, in making people talk about things which interested him, he fenced in his best style with Master Bazin, but it was pure loss of time; beyond the tiresome and hyperbolical praises of monsieur le surintendant of the finances, Bazin, who, on his side, was on his guard, afforded nothing but platitudes to the curiosity of D'Artagnan, so that our musketeer, in a tolerably bad humor, desired to go to bed as soon as he had supped. D'Artagnan was introduced by Bazin into a mean chamber, in which there was a poor bed; but D'Artagnan was not fastidious in that respect. He had been told that Aramis had taken away the key of his own private apartment, and as he knew Aramis was a very particular man, and had generally many things to conceal in his apartment, he had not been surprised. He, therefore, although it appeared comparatively even harder, attacked the bed as bravely as he had done the fowl; and, as he had as good an inclination to sleep as he had had to eat, he took scarcely longer time to be snoring harmoniously than he had employed in picking the last bones of the bird.
Since he was no longer in the service of any one, D'Artagnan had promised himself to indulge in sleeping as soundly as he had formerly slept lightly; but with whatever good faith D'Artagnan had made himself this promise, and whatever desire he might have to keep it religiously, he was awakened in the middle of the night by a loud noise of carriages, and servants on horseback. A sudden illumination flashed over the walls of his chamber; he jumped out of bed and ran to the window in his shirt. "Can the king be coming this way?" he thought, rubbing his eyes; "in truth, such a suite can only be attached to royalty."
"Vive monsieur le surintendant!" cried, or rather vociferated, from a window on the ground-floor, a voice which he recognized as Bazin's, who at the same time waved a handkerchief with one hand, and held a large candle in the other. D'Artagnan then saw something like a brilliant human form leaning out of the principal carriage; at the same time loud bursts of laughter, caused, no doubt, by the strange figure of Bazin, and issuing from the same carriage, left, as it were, a train of joy upon the passage of the rapid cortege.
"I might easily see it was not the king," said D'Artagnan; "people don't laugh so heartily when the king passes. Hola, Bazin!" cried he to his neighbor, three-quarters of whose body still hung out of the window, to follow the carriage with his eyes as long as he could. "What is all that about?"
"It is M. Fouquet," said Bazin, in a patronizing tone.
"And all those people?"
"That is the court of M. Fouquet."
"Oh, oh!" said D'Artagnan; "what would M. de Mazarin say to that if he heard it?" And he returned to his bed, asking himself how Aramis always contrived to be protected by the most powerful personages in the kingdom. "Is it that he has more luck than I, or that I am a greater fool than he? Bah!" that was the concluding word by the aid of which D'Artagnan, having become wise, now terminated every thought and every period of his style. Formerly he said, "Mordioux!" which was a prick of the spur, but now he had become older, and he murmured that philosophical "Bah!" which served as a bridle to all the passions.
CHAPTER 18. In which D'Artagnan seeks Porthos, and only finds Mousqueton
When D'Artagnan had perfectly convinced himself that the absence of the Vicar-General d'Herblay was real, and that his friend was not to be found at Melun or in its vicinity, he left Bazin without regret, cast an ill-natured glance at the magnificent Chateau de Vaux which was beginning to shine with that splendor which brought on its ruin, and, compressing his lips like a man full of mistrust and suspicion, he put spurs to his pied horse, saying, "Well, well! I have still Pierrefonds left, and there I shall find the best man and the best filled coffer. And that is all I want, for I have an idea of my own."
We will spare our readers the prosaic incidents of D'Artagnan's journey, which terminated on the morning of the third day within sight of Pierrefonds. D'Artagnan came by the way of Nanteuil-le-Hardouin and Crepy. At a distance he perceived the Castle of Louis of Orleans, which, having become part of the crown domain, was kept by an old concierge. This was one of those marvelous manors of the middle ages, with walls twenty feet in thickness, and a hundred in height.
D'Artagnan rode slowly past its walls, measured its towers with his eye and descended into the valley. From afar he looked down upon the chateau of Porthos, situated on the shores of a small lake, and contiguous to a magnificent forest. It was the same place we have already had the honor of describing to our readers; we shall therefore satisfy ourselves with naming it. The first thing D'Artagnan perceived after the fine trees, the May sun gilding the sides of the green hills, the long rows of feather-topped trees which stretched out towards Compiegne, was a large rolling box, pushed forward by two servants and dragged by two others. In this box there was an enormous green-and-gold thing, which went along the smiling glades of the park, thus dragged and pushed. This thing, at a distance, could not be distinguished, and signified absolutely nothing; nearer, it was a hogshead muffled in gold-bound green cloth; when close, it was a man, or rather a poussa, the interior extremity of whom, spreading over the interior of the box, entirely filled it, when still closer, the man was Mousqueton – Mousqueton, with gray hair and a face as red as Punchinello's.
"Pardieu!" cried D'Artagnan; "why, that's my dear Monsieur Mousqueton!"
"Ah!" cried the fat man – "ah! what happiness! what joy! There's M. d'Artagnan. Stop, you rascals!" These last words were addressed to the lackeys who pushed and dragged him. The box stopped, and the four lackeys, with a precision quite military, took off their laced hats and ranged themselves behind it.
"Oh, Monsieur d'Artagnan!" said Mousqueton, "why can I not embrace your knees? But I have become impotent, as you see."
"Dame! my dear Mousqueton, it is age."
"No, monsieur, it is not age; it is infirmities – troubles."
"Troubles! you, Mousqueton?" said D'Artagnan making the tour of the box; "are you out of your mind, my dear friend? Thank God! you are as hearty as a three-hundred-year-old oak."
"Ah! but my legs, monsieur, my legs!" groaned the faithful servant.
"What's the matter with your legs?"
"Oh, they will no longer bear me!"
"Ah, the ungrateful things! And yet you feed them well, Mousqueton, apparently."
"Alas, yes! They can reproach me with nothing in that respect," said Mousqueton, with a sigh; "I have always done what I could for my poor body; I am not selfish." And Mousqueton sighed afresh.
"I wonder whether Mousqueton wants to be a baron, too, as he sighs after that fashion?" thought D'Artagnan.
"Mon Dieu, monsieur!" said Mousqueton, as if rousing himself from a painful reverie; "how happy monseigneur will be that you have thought of him!"
"Kind Porthos!" cried D'Artagnan, "I am anxious to embrace him."
"Oh!" said Mousqueton, much affected, "I shall certainly write to him."
"What!" cried D'Artagnan, "you will write to him?"
"This very day; I shall not delay it an hour."
"Is he not here, then?"
"No, monsieur."
"But is he near at hand? – is he far off?"
"Oh, can I tell, monsieur, can I tell?"
"Mordioux!" cried the musketeer, stamping with his foot, "I am unfortunate. Porthos such a stay-at-home!"
"Monsieur, there is not a more sedentary man than monseigneur, but – "
"But what?"
"When a friend presses you – "
"A friend?"
"Doubtless – the worthy M. d'Herblay."
"What, has Aramis pressed Porthos?"
"This is how the thing happened, Monsieur d'Artagnan. M. d'Herblay wrote to monseigneur – "
"Indeed!"
"A letter, monsieur, such a pressing letter that it threw us all into a bustle."
"Tell me all about it, my dear friend." said D'Artagnan; "but remove these people a little further off first."
Mousqueton shouted, "Fall back, you fellows," with such powerful lungs that the breath, without the words, would have been sufficient to disperse the four lackeys. D'Artagnan seated himself on the shaft of the box and opened his ears. "Monsieur," said Mousqueton, "monseigneur, then, received a letter from M. le Vicaire-General d'Herblay, eight or nine days ago; it was the day of the rustic pleasures, yes, it must have been Wednesday."
"What do you mean?" said D'Artagnan. "The day of rustic pleasures?"
"Yes, monsieur; we have so many pleasures to take in this delightful country, that we were encumbered by them; so much so, that we have been forced to regulate the distribution of them."
"How easily do I recognize Porthos's love of order in that! Now, that idea would never have occurred to me; but then I am not encumbered with pleasures."
"We were, though," said Mousqueton.
"And how did you regulate the matter, let me know?" said D'Artagnan.
"It is rather long, monsieur."
"Never mind, we have plenty of time; and you speak so well, my dear Mousqueton, that it is really a pleasure to hear you."
"It is true," said Mousqueton, with a sigh of satisfaction, which emanated evidently from the justice which had been rendered him, "it is true I have made great progress in the company of monseigneur."
"I am waiting for the distribution of the pleasures, Mousqueton, and with impatience. I want to know if I have arrived on a lucky day."
"Oh, Monsieur d'Artagnan," said Mousqueton in a melancholy tone, "since monseigneur's departure all the pleasures have gone too!"
"Well, my dear Mousqueton, refresh your memory."
"With what day shall I begin?"
"Eh, pardieux! begin with Sunday; that is the Lord's day."
"Sunday, monsieur?"
"Yes."
"Sunday pleasures are religious: monseigneur goes to mass, makes the bread-offering, and has discourses and instructions made to him by his almoner-in-ordinary. That is not very amusing, but we expect a Carmelite from Paris who will do the duty of our almonry, and who, we are assured, speaks very well, which will keep us awake, whereas our present almoner always sends us to sleep. These are Sunday religious pleasures. On Monday, worldly pleasures."
"Ah, ah!" said D'Artagnan, "what do you mean by that? Let us have a glimpse at your worldly pleasures."
"Monsieur, on Monday we go into the world; we pay and receive visits, we play on the lute, we dance, we make verses, and burn a little incense in honor of the ladies."
"Peste! that is the height of gallantry," said the musketeer, who was obliged to call to his aid all the strength of his facial muscles to suppress an enormous inclination to laugh.
"Tuesday, learned pleasures."
"Good!" cried D'Artagnan. "What are they? Detail them, my dear Mousqueton."
"Monseigneur has bought a sphere or globe, which I shall show you; it fills all the perimeter of the great tower, except a gallery which he has had built over the sphere: there are little strings and brass wires to which the sun and moon are hooked. It all turns; and that is very beautiful. Monseigneur points out to me seas and distant countries. We don't intend to visit them, but it is very interesting."
"Interesting! yes, that's the word," repeated D'Artagnan. "And Wednesday?"
"Rustic pleasures, as I have had the honor to tell you, monsieur le chevalier. We look over monseigneur's sheep and goats; we make the shepherds dance to pipes and reeds, as is written in a book monseigneur has in his library, which is called 'Bergeries.' The author died about a month ago."
"Monsieur Racan, perhaps," said D'Artagnan.
"Yes, that was his name – M. Racan. But that is not all: we angle in the little canal, after which we dine, crowned with flowers. That is Wednesday."
"Peste!" said D'Artagnan, "you don't divide your pleasures badly. And Thursday? – what can be left for poor Thursday?"
"It is not very unfortunate, monsieur," said Mousqueton, smiling. "Thursday, Olympian pleasures. Ah, monsieur, that is superb! We get together all monseigneur's young vassals, and we make them throw the disc, wrestle, and run races. Monseigneur can't run now, no more can I; but monseigneur throws the disc as nobody else can throw it. And when he does deal a blow, oh, that proves a misfortune!"
"How so?"
"Yes, monsieur, we were obliged to renounce the cestus. He cracked heads; he broke jaws – beat in ribs. It was charming sport; but nobody was willing to play with him."
"Then his wrist – "
"Oh, monsieur, firmer than ever. Monseigneur gets a trifle weaker in his legs, – he confesses that himself; but his strength has all taken refuge in his arms, so that – "
"So that he can knock down bullocks, as he used formerly."
"Monsieur, better than that – he beats in walls. Lately, after having supped with one of our farmers – you know how popular and kind monseigneur is – after supper as a joke, he struck the wall a blow. The wall crumbled away beneath his hand, the roof fell in, and three men and an old woman were stifled."
"Good God, Mousqueton! And your master?"
"Oh, monseigneur, a little skin was rubbed off his head. We bathed the wounds with some water which the monks gave us. But there was nothing the matter with his hand."
"Nothing?"
"No, nothing, monsieur."
"Deuce take the Olympic pleasures! They must cost your master too dear, for widows and orphans – "
"They all had pensions, monsieur; a tenth of monseigneur's revenue was spent in that way."
"Then pass on to Friday," said D'Artagnan.
"Friday, noble and warlike pleasures. We hunt, we fence, we dress falcons and break horses. Then, Saturday is the day for intellectual pleasures: we adorn our minds; we look at monseigneur's pictures and statues; we write, even, and trace plans: and then we fire monseigneur's cannon."
"You draw plans, and fire cannon?"
"Yes, monsieur."
"Why, my friend," said D'Artagnan, "M. du Vallon, in truth, possesses the most subtle and amiable mind that I know. But there is one kind of pleasure you have forgotten, it appears to me."
"What is that, monsieur?" asked Mousqueton, with anxiety.
"The material pleasures."
Mousqueton colored. "What do you mean by that, monsieur?" said he, casting down his eyes.
"I mean the table – good wine – evenings occupied in passing the bottle."
"Ah, monsieur, we don't reckon those pleasures, – we practice them every day."
"My brave Mousqueton," resumed D'Artagnan, "pardon me, but I was so absorbed in your charming recital that I have forgotten the principal object of our conversation, which was to learn what M. le Vicaire-General d'Herblay could have to write to your master about."
"That is true, monsieur," said Mousqueton; "the pleasures have misled us. Well, monsieur, this is the whole affair."
"I am all attention, Mousqueton."
"On Wednesday – "
"The day of the rustic pleasures?"
"Yes – a letter arrived; he received it from my hands. I had recognized the writing."
"Well?"
"Monseigneur read it and cried out, 'Quick, my horses! my arms!'"
"Oh, good Lord! then it was for some duel?" said D'Artagnan.
"No, monsieur, there were only these words: 'Dear Porthos, set out, if you would wish to arrive before the Equinox. I expect you.'"
"Mordioux!" said D'Artagnan, thoughtfully, "that was pressing, apparently."
"I think so; therefore," continued Mousqueton, "monseigneur set out the very same day with his secretary, in order to endeavor to arrive in time."
"And did he arrive in time?"
"I hope so. Monseigneur, who is hasty, as you know, monsieur, repeated incessantly, 'Tonno Dieu! What can this mean? The Equinox? Never mind, a fellow must be well mounted to arrive before I do.'"
"And you think Porthos will have arrived first, do you?" asked D'Artagnan.
"I am sure of it. This Equinox, however rich he may be, has certainly no horses so good as monseigneur's."
D'Artagnan repressed his inclination to laugh, because the brevity of Aramis's letter gave rise to reflection. He followed Mousqueton, or rather Mousqueton's chariot, to the castle. He sat down to a sumptuous table, of which they did him the honors as to a king. But he could draw nothing from Mousqueton, – the faithful servant seemed to shed tears at will, but that was all.
D'Artagnan, after a night passed in an excellent bed, reflected much upon the meaning of Aramis's letter; puzzled himself as to the relation of the Equinox with the affairs of Porthos; and being unable to make anything out unless it concerned some amour of the bishop's, for which it was necessary that the days and nights should be equal, D'Artagnan left Pierrefonds as he had left Melun, as he had left the chateau of the Comte de la Fere. It was not, however, without a melancholy, which might in good sooth pass for one of the most dismal of D'Artagnan's moods. His head cast down, his eyes fixed, he suffered his legs to hang on each side of his horse, and said to himself, in that vague sort of reverie which ascends sometimes to the sublimest eloquence:
