Александр Дюма
The Three Musketeers
“Well, do you not adopt this means, Athos?” said d’Artagnan.
“I do not reject it altogether,” said Athos; “but I wish to remind Aramis that he cannot quit the camp, and that nobody but one of ourselves is trustworthy; that two hours after the messenger has set out, all the Capuchins, all the police, all the black caps of the cardinal, will know your letter by heart, and you and your clever person will be arrested.”
“Without reckoning,” objected Porthos, “that the queen would save Monsieur de Buckingham, but would take no heed of us.”
“Gentlemen,” said d’Artagnan, “what Porthos says is full of sense.”
“Ah, ah! but what’s going on in the city yonder?” said Athos.
“They are beating the general alarm.”
The four friends listened, and the sound of the drum plainly reached them.
“You see, they are going to send a whole regiment against us,” said Athos.
“You don’t think of holding out against a whole regiment, do you?” said Porthos.
“Why not?” said the Musketeer. “I feel myself quite in a humor for it; and I would hold out before an army if we had taken the precaution to bring a dozen more bottles of wine.”
“Upon my word, the drum draws near,” said d’Artagnan.
“Let it come,” said Athos. “It is a quarter of an hour’s journey from here to the city, consequently a quarter of an hour’s journey from the city to hither. That is more than time enough for us to devise a plan. If we go from this place we shall never find another so suitable. Ah, stop! I have it, gentlemen; the right idea has just occurred to me.”
“Tell us.”
“Allow me to give Grimaud some indispensable orders.”
Athos made a sign for his lackey to approach.
“Grimaud,” said Athos, pointing to the bodies which lay under the wall of the bastion, “take those gentlemen, set them up against the wall, put their hats upon their heads, and their guns in their hands.”
“Oh, the great man!” cried d’Artagnan. “I comprehend now.”
“You comprehend?” said Porthos.
“And do you comprehend, Grimaud?” said Aramis.
Grimaud made a sign in the affirmative.
“That’s all that is necessary,” said Athos; “now for my idea.”
“I should like, however, to comprehend,” said Porthos.
“That is useless.”
“Yes, yes! Athos’s idea!” cried Aramis and d’Artagnan, at the same time.
“This Milady, this woman, this creature, this demon, has a brother-in-law, as I think you told me, d’Artagnan?”
“Yes, I know him very well; and I also believe that he has not a very warm affection for his sister-in-law.”
“There is no harm in that. If he detested her, it would be all the better,” replied Athos.
“In that case we are as well off as we wish.”
“And yet,” said Porthos, “I would like to know what Grimaud is about.”
“Silence, Porthos!” said Aramis.
“What is her brother-in-law’s name?”
“Lord de Winter.”
“Where is he now?”
“He returned to London at the first sound of war.”
“Well, there’s just the man we want,” said Athos. “It is he whom we must warn. We will have him informed that his sister-in-law is on the point of having someone assassinated, and beg him not to lose sight of her. There is in London, I hope, some establishment like that of the Magdalens, or of the Repentant Daughters. He must place his sister in one of these, and we shall be in peace.”
“Yes,” said d’Artagnan, “till she comes out.”
“Ah, my faith!” said Athos, “you require too much, d’Artagnan. I have given you all I have, and I beg leave to tell you that this is the bottom of my sack.”
“But I think it would be still better,” said Aramis, “to inform the queen and Lord de Winter at the same time.”
“Yes; but who is to carry the letter to Tours, and who to London?”
“I answer for Bazin,” said Aramis.
“And I for Planchet,” said d’Artagnan.
“Ay,” said Porthos, “if we cannot leave the camp, our lackeys may.”
“To be sure they may; and this very day we will write the letters,” said Aramis. “Give the lackeys money, and they will start.”
“We will give them money?” replied Athos. “Have you any money?”
The four friends looked at one another, and a cloud came over the brows which but lately had been so cheerful.
“Look out!” cried d’Artagnan, “I see black points and red points moving yonder. Why did you talk of a regiment, Athos? It is a veritable army!”
“My faith, yes,” said Athos; “there they are. See the sneaks come, without drum or trumpet. Ah, ah! have you finished, Grimaud?”
Grimaud made a sign in the affirmative, and pointed to a dozen bodies which he had set up in the most picturesque attitudes. Some carried arms, others seemed to be taking aim, and the remainder appeared merely to be sword in hand.
“Bravo!” said Athos; “that does honor to your imagination.”
“All very well,” said Porthos, “but I should like to understand.”
“Let us decamp first, and you will understand afterward.”
“A moment, gentlemen, a moment; give Grimaud time to clear away the breakfast.”
“Ah, ah!” said Aramis, “the black points and the red points are visibly enlarging. I am of d’Artagnan’s opinion; we have no time to lose in regaining our camp.”
“My faith,” said Athos, “I have nothing to say against a retreat. We bet upon one hour, and we have stayed an hour and a half. Nothing can be said; let us be off, gentlemen, let us be off!”
Grimaud was already ahead, with the basket and the dessert. The four friends followed, ten paces behind him.
“What the devil shall we do now, gentlemen?” cried Athos.
“Have you forgotten anything?” said Aramis.
“The white flag, morbleu! We must not leave a flag in the hands of the enemy, even if that flag be but a napkin.”
And Athos ran back to the bastion, mounted the platform, and bore off the flag; but as the Rochellais had arrived within musket range, they opened a terrible fire upon this man, who appeared to expose himself for pleasure’s sake.
But Athos might be said to bear a charmed life. The balls passed and whistled all around him; not one struck him.
Athos waved his flag, turning his back on the guards of the city, and saluting those of the camp. On both sides loud cries arose-on the one side cries of anger, on the other cries of enthusiasm.
A second discharge followed the first, and three balls, by passing through it, made the napkin really a flag. Cries were heard from the camp, “Come down! come down!”
Athos came down; his friends, who anxiously awaited him, saw him returned with joy.
“Come along, Athos, come along!” cried d’Artagnan; “now we have found everything except money, it would be stupid to be killed.”
But Athos continued to march majestically, whatever remarks his companions made; and they, finding their remarks useless, regulated their pace by his.
Grimaud and his basket were far in advance, out of the range of the balls.
At the end of an instant they heard a furious fusillade.
“What’s that?” asked Porthos, “what are they firing at now? I hear no balls whistle, and I see nobody!”
“They are firing at the corpses,” replied Athos.
“But the dead cannot return their fire.”
“Certainly not! They will then fancy it is an ambuscade, they will deliberate; and by the time they have found out the pleasantry, we shall be out of the range of their balls. That renders it useless to get a pleurisy by too much haste.”
“Oh, I comprehend now,” said the astonished Porthos.
“That’s lucky,” said Athos, shrugging his shoulders.
On their part, the French, on seeing the four friends return at such a step, uttered cries of enthusiasm.
At length a fresh discharge was heard, and this time the balls came rattling among the stones around the four friends, and whistling sharply in their ears. The Rochellais had at last taken possession of the bastion.
“These Rochellais are bungling fellows,” said Athos; “how many have we killed of them-a dozen?”
“Or fifteen.”
“How many did we crush under the wall?”
“Eight or ten.”
“And in exchange for all that not even a scratch! Ah, but what is the matter with your hand, d’Artagnan? It bleeds, seemingly.”
“Oh, it’s nothing,” said d’Artagnan.
“A spent ball?”
“Not even that.”
“What is it, then?”
We have said that Athos loved d’Artagnan like a child, and this somber and inflexible personage felt the anxiety of a parent for the young man.
“Only grazed a little,” replied d’Artagnan; “my fingers were caught between two stones-that of the wall and that of my ring-and the skin was broken.”
“That comes of wearing diamonds, my master,” said Athos, disdainfully.
“Ah, to be sure,” cried Porthos, “there is a diamond. Why the devil, then, do we plague ourselves about money, when there is a diamond?”
“Stop a bit!” said Aramis.
“Well thought of, Porthos; this time you have an idea.”
“Undoubtedly,” said Porthos, drawing himself up at Athos’s compliment; “as there is a diamond, let us sell it.”
“But,” said d’Artagnan, “it is the queen’s diamond.”
“The stronger reason why it should be sold,” replied Athos. “The queen saving Monsieur de Buckingham, her lover; nothing more just. The queen saving us, her friends; nothing more moral. Let us sell the diamond. What says Monsieur the Abbe? I don’t ask Porthos; his opinion has been given.”
“Why, I think,” said Aramis, blushing as usual, “that his ring not coming from a mistress, and consequently not being a love token, d’Artagnan may sell it.”
“My dear Aramis, you speak like theology personified. Your advice, then, is-”
“To sell the diamond,” replied Aramis.
“Well, then,” said d’Artagnan, gaily, “let us sell the diamond, and say no more about it.”
The fusillade continued; but the four friends were out of reach, and the Rochellais only fired to appease their consciences.
“My faith, it was time that idea came into Porthos’s head. Here we are at the camp; therefore, gentlemen, not a word more of this affair. We are observed; they are coming to meet us. We shall be carried in triumph.”
In fact, as we have said, the whole camp was in motion. More than two thousand persons had assisted, as at a spectacle, in this fortunate but wild undertaking of the four friends-an undertaking of which they were far from suspecting the real motive. Nothing was heard but cries of “Live the Musketeers! Live the Guards!” M. de Busigny was the first to come and shake Athos by the hand, and acknowledge that the wager was lost. The dragoon and the Swiss followed him, and all their comrades followed the dragoon and the Swiss. There was nothing but felicitations, pressures of the hand, and embraces; there was no end to the inextinguishable laughter at the Rochellais. The tumult at length became so great that the cardinal fancied there must be some riot, and sent La Houdiniere, his captain of the Guards, to inquire what was going on.
The affair was described to the messenger with all the effervescence of enthusiasm.
“Well?” asked the cardinal, on seeing La Houdiniere return.
“Well, monseigneur,” replied the latter, “three Musketeers and a Guardsman laid a wager with Monsieur de Busigny that they would go and breakfast in the bastion St. Gervais; and while breakfasting they held it for two hours against the enemy, and have killed I don’t know how many Rochellais.”
“Did you inquire the names of those three Musketeers?”
“Yes, monseigneur.”
“What are their names?”
“Messieurs Athos, Porthos, and Aramis.”
“Still my three brave fellows!” murmured the cardinal. “And the Guardsman?”
“d’Artagnan.”
“Still my young scapegrace. Positively, these four men must be on my side.”
The same evening the cardinal spoke to M. de Treville of the exploit of the morning, which was the talk of the whole camp. M. de Treville, who had received the account of the adventure from the mouths of the heroes of it, related it in all its details to his Eminence, not forgetting the episode of the napkin.
“That’s well, Monsieur de Treville,” 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 Treville, “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 Treville 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 thinking 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, 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
Athos 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 Treville’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 Abbe, 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 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! One might believe this is 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 Monsieur Abbe. 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 ingenious 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 proof of it by listening to her conversation with the cardinal.”
“Lower! SACRE 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 Chatellerault, 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.”
“But, gentlemen, in all this,” said d’Artagnan, “we do not think of the queen. Let us take some heed of the welfare of her dear Buckingham. That is the least we owe her.”
“That’s true,” said Athos; “but that concerns Aramis.”
“Well,” replied the latter, blushing, “what must I say?”
“Oh, that’s simple enough!” replied Athos. “Write a second letter for that clever personage who lives at Tours.”
Aramis resumed his pen, reflected a little, and wrote the following lines, which he immediately submitted to the approbation of his friends.
“My dear cousin.”
“Ah, ah!” said Athos. “This clever person is your relative, then?”
“Cousin-german.”
“Go on, to your cousin, then!”
Aramis continued:
“My dear Cousin, His Eminence, the cardinal, whom God preserve for the happiness of France and the confusion of the enemies of the kingdom, is on the point of putting an end to the hectic rebellion of La Rochelle. It is probable that the succor of the English fleet will never even arrive in sight of the place. I will even venture to say that I am certain M. de Buckingham will be prevented from setting out by some great event. His Eminence is the most illustrious politician of times past, of times present, and probably of times to come. He would extinguish the sun if the sun incommoded him. Give these happy tidings to your sister, my dear cousin. I have dreamed that the unlucky Englishman was dead. I cannot recollect whether it was by steel or by poison; only of this I am sure, I have dreamed he was dead, and you know my dreams never deceive me. Be assured, then, of seeing me soon return.”
“Capital!” cried Athos; “you are the king of poets, my dear Aramis. You speak like the Apocalypse, and you are as true as the Gospel. There is nothing now to do but to put the address to this letter.”
“That is easily done,” said Aramis.
He folded the letter fancifully, and took up his pen and wrote:
“To Mlle. Michon, seamstress, Tours.”
The three friends looked at one another and laughed; they were caught.
“Now,” said Aramis, “you will please to understand, gentlemen, that Bazin alone can carry this letter to Tours. My cousin knows nobody but Bazin, and places confidence in nobody but him; any other person would fail. Besides, Bazin is ambitious and learned; Bazin has read history, gentlemen, he knows that Sixtus the Fifth became Pope after having kept pigs. Well, as he means to enter the Church at the same time as myself, he does not despair of becoming Pope in his turn, or at least a cardinal. You can understand that a man who has such views will never allow himself to be taken, or if taken, will undergo martyrdom rather than speak.”
“Very well,” said d’Artagnan, “I consent to Bazin with all my heart, but grant me Planchet. Milady had him one day turned out of doors, with sundry blows of a good stick to accelerate his motions. Now, Planchet has an excellent memory; and I will be bound that sooner than relinquish any possible means of vengeance, he will allow himself to be beaten to death. If your arrangements at Tours are your arrangements, Aramis, those of London are mine. I request, then, that Planchet may be chosen, more particularly as he has already been to London with me, and knows how to speak correctly: London, sir, if you please, and my master, Lord d’Artagnan. With that you may be satisfied he can make his way, both going and returning.”
“In that case,” said Athos, “Planchet must receive seven hundred livres for going, and seven hundred livres for coming back; and Bazin, three hundred livres for going, and three hundred livres for returning-that will reduce the sum to five thousand livres. We will each take a thousand livres to be employed as seems good, and we will leave a fund of a thousand livres under the guardianship of Monsieur Abbe here, for extraordinary occasions or common wants. Will that do?”
“My dear Athos,” said Aramis, “you speak like Nestor, who was, as everyone knows, the wisest among the Greeks.”
“Well, then,” said Athos, “it is agreed. Planchet and Bazin shall go. Everything considered, I am not sorry to retain Grimaud; he is accustomed to my ways, and I am particular. Yesterday’s affair must have shaken him a little; his voyage would upset him quite.”
Planchet was sent for, and instructions were given him. The matter had been named to him by d’Artagnan, who in the first place pointed out the money to him, then the glory, and then the danger.
“I will carry the letter in the lining of my coat,” said Planchet; “and if I am taken I will swallow it.”
“Well, but then you will not be able to fulfill your commission,” said d’Artagnan.
“You will give me a copy this evening, which I shall know by heart tomorrow.”
D’Artagnan looked at his friends, as if to say, “Well, what did I tell you?”
“Now,” continued he, addressing Planchet, “you have eight days to get an interview with Lord de Winter; you have eight days to return-in all sixteen days. If, on the sixteenth day after your departure, at eight o’clock in the evening you are not here, no money-even if it be but five minutes past eight.”
“Then, monsieur,” said Planchet, “you must buy me a watch.”
“Take this,” said Athos, with his usual careless generosity, giving him his own, “and be a good lad. Remember, if you talk, if you babble, if you get drunk, you risk your master’s head, who has so much confidence in your fidelity, and who answers for you. But remember, also, that if by your fault any evil happens to d’Artagnan, I will find you, wherever you may be, for the purpose of ripping up your belly.”
“Oh, monsieur!” said Planchet, humiliated by the suspicion, and moreover, terrified at the calm air of the Musketeer.
“And I,” said Porthos, rolling his large eyes, “remember, I will skin you alive.”
“Ah, monsieur!”
“And I,” said Aramis, with his soft, melodius voice, “remember that I will roast you at a slow fire, like a savage.”
“Ah, monsieur!”
Planchet began to weep. We will not venture to say whether it was from terror created by the threats or from tenderness at seeing four friends so closely united.
D’Artagnan took his hand. “See, Planchet,” said he, “these gentlemen only say this out of affection for me, but at bottom they all like you.”
