The prince turned round at the moment when Raoul, in order to leave him alone with Athos, was shutting the door, and preparing to go with the other officers into an adjoining apartment.
"Is that the young man I have heard M. le Prince speak so highly of?" asked M. de Beaufort.
"It is, monseigneur."
"He is quite the soldier; let him stay, comte, we cannot spare him."
"Remain, Raoul, since monseigneur permits it," said Athos.
"Ma foi! he is tall and handsome!" continued the duke. "Will you give him to me, monseigneur, if I ask him of you?"
"How am I to understand you, monseigneur?" said Athos.
"Why, I call upon you to bid you farewell."
"Farewell!"
"Yes, in good truth. Have you no idea of what I am about to become?"
"Why, I suppose, what you have always been, monseigneur—a valiant prince and an excellent gentleman."
"I am going to become an African prince—a Bedouin gentleman. The kingis sending me to make conquests among the Arabs."
"What do you tell me, monseigneur?"
"Strange, is it not? I, the Parisianpar essence—I, who have reigned in the faubourgs, and have been called King of the Halles—I am going to pass from the Place Maubert to the minarets of Gigelli: I become from a Frondeur an adventurer!"
"Oh, monseigneur, if you did not yourself tell me that—"
"It would not be credible, would it? Believe me, nevertheless, and we have but to bid each other farewell. This is what comes of getting into favor again."
"Into favor?"
"Yes. You smile. Ah, my dear comte, do you know why I have accepted this enterprise; can you guess?"
"Because your highness loves glory above everything."
"Oh! no; there is no glory in firing muskets at savages. I see no glory in that, for my part, and it is more probable that I shall there meet with something else. But I have wished, and still wish earnestly, my dear comte, that my life should have that lastfacet, after all the whimsical exhibitions I have seen myself make during fifty years. For, in short, you must admit that it is sufficiently strange to be born the grandson of a king, to have made war against kings, to have been reckoned among the powers of the age, to have maintained my rank, to feel Henry IV. within me, to be great admiral of France—and then to go and get killed at Gigelli, among all those Turks, Saracens, and Moors."
"Monseigneur, you dwell strangely upon that subject," said Athos in an agitated voice. "How can you suppose that so brilliant a destiny will be extinguished in that remote and miserable scene?"
"And can you believe, just and simple man as you are, that if I go into Africa for this ridiculous motive, I will not endeavor to come out of it without ridicule? Will I not give the world cause to speak of me? And to be spoken of nowadays, when there are Monsieur le Prince, M. deTurenne, and many others, my contemporaries, I, admiral of France, grandson of Henry IV., king of Paris, have I anything left but to get myself killed! Cordieu! I will be talked of, I tell you; I shall be killed whether or not; if not there, somewhere else."
"Why, monseigneur, this is only exaggeration; and hitherto you have demonstrated nothing of that kind but in bravery."
"Peste! my dear friend, there is bravery in facing scurvy, dysentery, locusts, and poisoned arrows, as my ancestor St. Louis did. Do you know those fellows still use poisoned arrows? And then, you know me of old, I fancy, and you know that when I once make up my mind to a thing, I do it in earnest."
"Yes; you made up your mind to escape from Vincennes."
"Ay, but you aided me in that, my master; and, apropos, I turn this way and turn that, without seeing my old friend, M. Vaugrimaud. How is he?"
"M. Vaugrimaud is still your highness's most respectful servant," said Athos, smiling.
"I have a hundred pistoles here for him, which I bring as a legacy. My will is made, comte."
"Ah! monseigneur! monseigneur!"
"And you may understand that if Grimaud's name were to appear in my will—" The duc began to laugh; then addressing Raoul, who, from the commencement of this conversation, had sunk into a profound reverie, "Young man," said he, "I know there is to be found here a certain De Vouvray wine, and I believe—" Raoul left the room precipitately, to order the wine. In the meantime M. de Beaufort took the hand of Athos.
"What do you mean to do with him?" asked he.
"Nothing at present, monseigneur."
"Ah! yes, I know; since the passion of the king for La Valliere."
"Yes, monseigneur."
"That is all true, then, is it? I think I know her, that little La Valliere. She is not particularly handsome, if I remember right?"
"No, monseigneur," said Athos.
"Do you know whom she reminds me of?"
"Does she remind your highness of any one?"
"She reminds me of a very agreeable girl, whose mother lived in the Halles."
"Ah! ah!" said Athos, smiling.
"Oh! the good old times," added M. de Beaufort. "Yes; La Valliere reminds me of that girl."
"Who had a son, had she not?"
"I believe she had," replied the duc, with careless naïveté, and a complaisant forgetfulness, of which no words could translate the tone and the vocal expression. "Now, here is poor Raoul, who is your son, I believe."
"Yes; he is my son, monseigneur."
"And the poor lad has been cut out by the king, and he frets."
"Better than that, monseigneur, he abstains."
"You are going to let the boy rust in idleness; you are wrong. Come, give him to me."
"My wish is to keep him at home, monseigneur. I have no longer anything in the world but him, and as long as he likes to remain—"
"Well, well," replied the duc. "I could, nevertheless, have soon put matters to rights again. I assure you, I think he has in him the stuff of which maréchals of France are made; I have seen more than one produced from such."
"That is very possible, monseigneur; but it is the king who makes maréchals of France, and Raoul will never accept anything of the king."
Raoul interrupted this conversation by his return. He preceded Grimaud, whose still steady hands carried the plateau with one glass and a bottle of the duc's favorite wine. On seeing his old protégé, the duc uttered an exclamation of pleasure.
"Grimaud! Good-evening, Grimaud!" said he; "how goes it?"
The servant bowed profoundly, as much gratified as his noble interlocutor was.
"Two old friends!" said the duc, shaking honest Grimaud's shoulder after a vigorous fashion; which was followed by another still more profound and delighted bow from Grimaud.
"But what is this, comte, only one glass?"
"I should not think of drinking with your highness, unless your highness permitted me," replied Athos, with noble humility.
"Cordieu! you were right to bring only one glass, we will both drink out of it, like two brothers in arms. Begin, comte."
"Do me the honor," said Athos, gently putting back the glass.
"You are a charming friend," replied the Duc de Beaufort, who drank, and passed the goblet to his companion. "But that is not all," continued he, "I am still thirsty, and I wish to do honor to this handsome young man, who stands here. I carry good luck with me, vicomte," said he to Raoul; "wish for something while drinking out of my glass, and the plague stifle me if what you wish does not come to pass!" He held the goblet to Raoul, who hastily moistened his lips, and replied with the same promptitude.
"I have wished for something, monseigneur." His eyes sparkled with a gloomy fire, and the blood mounted to his cheeks; he terrified Athos, if only with his smile.
"And what have you wished for?" replied the duke, sinking back into his fauteuil, while with one hand he returned the bottle to Grimaud, and with the other gave him a purse.
"Will you promise me, monseigneur, to grant me what I wish for?"
"Pardieu! That is agreed upon?"
"I wished, Monsieur le Duc, to go with you to Gigelli."
Athos became pale, and was unable to conceal his agitation. The duc looked at his friend, as if desirous to assist him to parry this unexpected blow.
"That is difficult, my dear vicomte, very difficult," added he, in a lower tone of voice.
"Pardon me, monseigneur, I have been indiscreet," replied Raoul, in a firm voice; "but as you yourself invited me to wish—"
"To wish to leave me?" said Athos.
"Oh! monsieur—can you imagine—"
"Well! mordieu!" cried the duc, "the young vicomte is right! What can he do here? He will rot with grief."
Raoul blushed, and the excitable prince continued: "War is a distraction; we gain everything by it; we can only lose one thing by it—life—then so much the worse!"
"That is to say memory," said Raoul, eagerly; "and that is to say, so much the better!"
He repented of having spoken so warmly when he saw Athos rise and open the window; which was, doubtless, to conceal his emotion. Raoul sprang toward the comte, but the latter had already overcome his emotion, and turned to the lights with a serene and impassible countenance. "Well, come," said the duc, "let us see! Shall he go, or shall he not? If he goes, comte, he shall be my aid-de-camp, my son."
"Monseigneur!" cried Raoul, bending his knee.
"Monseigneur!" cried Athos, taking the hand of the duc; "Raoul shall do just as he likes."
"Oh! no, monsieur, just as you like," interrupted the young man.
"By la Corbleu!" said the prince in his turn, "it is neither the comte nor the vicomte that shall have his way, it is I. I will take him away. The marine offers a superb future, my friend."
Raoul smiled again so sadly, that this time Athos felt his heart penetrated by it, and replied to him by a severe look. Raoul comprehended it all; he recovered his calmness, and was so guarded that not another word escaped him. The duc at length rose, on observing the advanced hour, and said with much animation, "I am in great haste, but if I am told I have lost time in talking with a friend, I will reply I have gained a good recruit."
"Pardon me, Monsieur le Duc," interrupted Raoul, "do not tell the king so, for it is not the king I will serve."
"Eh! My friend, whom then will you serve? The times are past when you might have said, 'I belong to M. de Beaufort.' No, nowadays, we all belong tothe king, great or small. Therefore, if you serve on board my vessels, there can be nothing equivocal in it, my dear vicomte; it will be the king you will serve."
Athos waited with a kind of impatient joy for the reply about to be made to this embarrassing question by Raoul, the intractable enemy of the king, his rival. The father hoped that the obstacle would overcome the desire. He was thankful to M. de Beaufort, whose lightness or generous reflection had thrown an impediment in the way of the departure of a son now his only joy. But Raoul, still firm and tranquil: "Monsieur le Duc," replied he, "the objection you make I have already considered in my mind. I will serve on board your vessels, because you do me the honor to take me with you; but I shall there serve a more powerful master than the king, I shall serve God!"
"God! how so?" said the duc and Athos together.
"My intention is to make profession, and become a Knight of Malta," added Bragelonne, letting fall, one by one, words more icy than the drops which fall from the bare trees after the tempests of winter.
Under this blow Athos staggered and the prince himself was moved. Grimaud uttered a heavy groan, and let fall the bottle, which was broken without anybody paying attention to it. M. de Beaufort looked the young man in the face, and read plainly, though his eyes were cast down, the fire of resolution before which everything must give way. As to Athos, he was too well acquainted with that tender, but inflexible, soul; he could not hope to make it deviate from the fatal road it had just chosen. He could only press the hand of the duc held out to him. "Comte, I shall set off in two days for Toulon," said M. de Beaufort. "Will you meet me at Paris, in order that I may know your determination?"
"I will have the honor of thanking you there,mon prince, for all your kindnesses," replied the comte.
"And be sure to bring the vicomte with you, whether he follows me or does not follow me," added the duc: "he has my word, and I only ask yours."
Having thrown a little balm upon the wound of the paternal heart, he pulled the ear of Grimaud, whose eyes sparkled more than usual, and regained his escort in theparterre. The horses, rested and refreshed, set off with spirit through this beautiful night, and soon placed a considerable distance between their master and the chateau.
Athos and Bragelonne were again face to face. Eleven o'clock was striking. The father and son preserved a profound silence toward each other, where an intelligent observer would have expected cries and tears. But these two men were of such a nature that all emotion plunged itself where it was lost forever when they had resolved to confine it to their own hearts. They passed, then, silently and almost breathlessly the hour which preceded midnight. The clock, by striking, alone pointed out to them how many minutes had lasted the painful journey made by their souls in the immensity of the remembrances of the past and of the fears of the future. Athos rose first, saying, "It is late—till to-morrow."
Raoul rose, and in his turn embraced his father. The latter held him clasped to his breast, and said in a tremulous voice, "In two days you will have left me, then—left me forever, Raoul!"
"Monsieur," replied the young man, "I had formed a determination, that of piercing my heart with my sword: but you would have thought that cowardly. I have renounced that determination, and therefore we must part."
"You leave me by going, Raoul."
"Listen to me again, monsieur, I implore you. If I do not go, I shall die here of grief and love. I know how long a time I have to live thus. Send me away quickly, monsieur, or you will see me basely die before your eyes—in your house—this is stronger than my will—stronger than my strength—you may plainly see that within one month I have lived thirty years, and that I approach the end of my life."
"Then," said Athos, coldly, "you go with the intention of getting killed in Africa? Oh! tell me! do not lie!"
Raoul grew deadly pale, and remained silent for two seconds, which were to his father two hours of agony. Then, all at once: "Monsieur," said he, "I have promised to devote myself to God. In exchange for this sacrifice which I make of my youth and my liberty, I will only ask of Him one thing, and that is, to preserve me for you, because you are the only tie which attaches me to this world. God alone can give me the strength not to forget that I owe you everything, and that nothing ought to be with me before, you."
Athos embraced his son tenderly, and said:
"You have just replied to me on the word of honor of an honest man; in two days we shall be with M. de Beaufort at Paris, and you will then do what will be proper for you to do. You are free. Raoul: adieu."
And he slowly gained his bedroom. Raoul went down into the garden, and passed the night in the alley of limes.
Athos lost no more time in combating this immutable resolution. He gave all his attention to preparing, during the two days the duc had granted him, the proper appointments for Raoul. This labor chiefly concerned Grimaud, who immediately applied himself to it with the good will and intelligence we know he possessed. Athos gave this worthy servant orders to take the route to Paris when the equipments should be ready, and not to expose himself to keeping the duc waiting, or to delay Raoul, so that the duc should perceive his absence, he himself, the day after the visit of M. de Beaufort, set off for Paris with his son.
For the poor young man it was an emotion easily to be understood, thus to return to Paris among all the people whohad known and loved him. Every face recalled a suffering to him who had suffered so much, to him who had loved so much, some circumstance of his love. Raoul, on approaching Paris, felt as if he were dying. Once in Paris, he really existed no longer. When he reached Guiche's residence, he was informed that Guiche was with Monsieur. Raoul took the road to the Luxembourg, and when arrived, without suspecting that he was going to the place where La Valliere had lived, he heard so much music and respired so many perfumes, he heard so much joyous laughter, and saw so many dancing shadows, that, if it had not been for a charitable woman, who perceived him so dejected and pale beneath a doorway, he would have remained there a few minutes, and then would have gone away never to return. But, as we have said, in the first antechambers he had stopped, solely for the sake of not mixing himself with all those happy existences which he felt were moving around him in the adjacent salons. And as one of Monsieur's servants, recognizing him, had asked him if he wished to see Monsieur or Madame, Raoul had scarcely answered him, but had sunk down upon a bench near the velvet doorway, looking at a clock, which had stood for nearly an hour.
The servant had passed on, and another, better acquainted with him, had come up and interrogated Raoul as to whether he should inform M. Guiche of his being there. This name even did not rouse the recollections of poor Raoul. The persistent servant went on to relate that Guiche had just invented a new game of lottery, and was teaching it to the ladies. Raoul, opening his large eyes, like the absent man in Theophrastus, had made no answer, but his sadness had increased by it two shades. With his head hanging down, his limbs relaxed, his mouth half open for the escape of his sighs, Raoul remained, thus forgotten, in the antechamber, when all at once a lady's robe passed, rubbing against the doors of a lateral salon which opened upon the gallery. A lady, young, pretty, and gay, scolding an officer of the household, entered by that way, and expressed herself with much vivacity. The officer replied in calm but firm sentences; it was rather a little love pet than a quarrel of courtiers, and was terminated by a kiss on the fingers of the lady. Suddenly, on perceiving Raoul, the lady became silent, and pushing away the officer:
"Make your escape, Malicorne," said she; "I did not think there was any one here. I shall curse you, if they have either heard or seen us!"
Malicorne hastened away. The young lady advanced behind Raoul, and stretching her joyous face oven him as he lay:
"Monsieur is a gallant man," said she, "and no doubt—"
She here interrupted herself by uttering a cry: "Raoul!" said she, blushing.
"Mademoiselle de Montalais!" said Raoul, more pale than death.
He rose unsteadily and tried to make his way across the slippery mosaic of the floor; but she had comprehended that savage and cruel grief; she felt that in the flight of Raoul there was an accusation, or at least a suspicion against herself. A woman, ever vigilant, she did not think she ought to let the opportunity slip of making a justification; but Raoul, though stopped by her in the middle of the gallery, did not seem disposed to surrender without a combat. He took it up in a tone so cold and embarrassed that if they had been thus surprised, the whole court would have had no doubt about the proceedings of Mademoiselle de Montalais.
"Ah! monsieur," said she with disdain, "what you are doing is very unworthy of a gentleman. My heart inclines me to speak to you; you compromise me by a reception almost uncivil, you are wrong, monsieur; and you confound your friends with your enemies. Farewell!"
Raoul had sworn never to speak of Louise, never even to look at those who might have seen Louise; he was going into another world, that he might never meet with anything Louise had seen, or anything she had touched. But after the first shock of his pride, after having had a glimpse of Montalais, the companion of Louise—Montalais, who reminded him of the turret of Blois and the joys of youth, all his reason faded away.
"Pardon me, mademoiselle; it enters not, it cannot enter into my thoughts to be uncivil."
"Do you wish to speak to me?" said she, with the smile of former days. "Well! come somewhere else; for here we may be surprised."
"Oh!" said he.
She looked at the clock, doubtingly, then having reflected:
"In my apartment," said she, "we shall have an hour to ourselves." And, taking her course, lighter than a fairy, she ran up to her chamber, followed by Raoul. Shutting the door, and placing in the hands of hercamériste, the mantle she had held upon her arm.
"You were seeking M. de Guiche, were you not?" said she to Raoul.
"Yes, mademoiselle."
"I will go and ask him to come up here, presently, after I have spoken to you."
"Do so, mademoiselle."
"Are you angry with me?"
Raoul looked at her for a moment, then, casting down his eyes, "Yes," said he.
"You think I was concerned in the plot which brought about your rupture, do you not?"
"Rupture!" said he, with bitterness. "Oh! mademoiselle, there can be no rupture where there has been no love."
"An error," replied Montalais; "Louise did love you."
Raoul started.
"Not with love, I know; but she liked you, and you ought to have married her before you set out for London."
Raoul broke into a sinister laugh, which made Montalais shudder.
"You tell me that very much at your ease, mademoiselle. Do people marry whom they like? You forget that the king kept for himself as his mistress her of whom we are speaking."
"Listen," said the young woman, pressing the cold hands of Raoul in her own, "you were wrong in every way; a man of your age ought never to leave a woman of hers alone."
"There is no longer any faith in the world, then," said Raoul.
"No, vicomte," said Montalais, quietly. "Nevertheless, let me tell you, that if instead of loving Louise coldly and philosophically, you had endeavored to awaken her to love—"
"Enough, I pray you, mademoiselle," said Raoul. "I feel that you are all, of both sexes, of a different age from me. You can laugh, and you can banter agreeably. I, mademoiselle, I loved mademoiselle de—" Raoul could not pronounce her name—"I loved her; well! I put faith in her—now I am quits by loving her no longer."
"Oh, vicomte!" said Montalais, pointing to his reflection in a mirror.
"I know what you mean, mademoiselle; I am much altered, am I not? Well! do you know why? Because my face is the mirror of my heart, the inside has changed as you see the outside has."
"You are consoled, then?" said Montalais, sharply.
"No, I shall never be consoled."
"I don't understand you, M. de Bragelonne."
"I care but little for that. I do not too well understand myself."
"You have not even tried to speak to Louise?"
"Who! I?" exclaimed the young man, with eyes flashing fire; "I!—why do you not advise me to marry her? Perhaps the king would consent now." And he rose from his chair full of anger.
"I see," said Montalais, "that you are not cured, and that Louise has one enemy the more."
"One enemy the more!"
"Yes; favorites are but little beloved at the court of France."
"Oh! while she has her lover to protect her, is not that enough? She has chosen him of such a quality that her enemies cannot prevail against her." But, stopping all at once, "And then she has you for a friend, mademoiselle," added he, with a shade of irony which did not glide off the cuirass.
"Who! I?—Oh, no! I am no longer one of those whom Mademoiselle de la Valliere deigns to look upon; but—"
Thisbut, so big with menaces and storm; thisbut, which made the heart of Raoul beat, such griefs did it presage for her whom lately he loved so dearly; this terriblebut, so significant in a woman like Montalais, was interrupted by a moderately loud noise heard by the speakers, proceeding from the alcove behind the wainscoting. Montalais turned to listen, and Raoul was already rising, when a lady entered the room quietly by the secret door, which she closed after her.
"Madame!" exclaimed Raoul, on recognizing the sister-in-law of the king.
"Stupid wretch!" murmured Montalais, throwing herself, but too late, before the princess, "I have been mistaken in an hour!" She had, however, time to warn the princess, who was walking toward Raoul.
"M. de Bragelonne, madame." And at these words the princess drew back, uttering a cry in her turn.
"Your royal highness," said Montalais, with volubility, "is kind enough to think of this lottery, and—"
The princess began to lose countenance. Raoul hastened his departure without yet divining all; but he felt that he was in the way. Madame was preparing a word of transition to recover herself, when a closet opened in front of the alcove, and M. de Guiche issued, all radiant, also from that closet. The most pale of the four, we must admit, was still Raoul. The princess, however, was near fainting, and was obliged to lean upon the foot of the bed for support. No one ventured to support her. This scene occupied several minutes of terrible silence. But Raoul broke it. He went up to the comte, whose inexpressible emotion made his knees tremble, and taking his hand, "Dear comte," said he, "tell Madame I am too unhappy not to merit my pardon; tell her also that I have loved in the course of my life, and that the horror of the treachery that has been practiced on me renders me inexorable for all other treachery that may be committed around me. This iswhy, mademoiselle," said he, smiling, to Montalais, "I never would divulge the secret of the visits of my friend to your apartment. Obtain from Madame—from Madame, who is so clement and so generous—obtain her pardon for you whom she has just surprised also. You are both free, love each other, be happy!"
The princess felt for a moment the despair which cannot be described; it was repugnant to her, notwithstanding the exquisite delicacy which Raoul had exhibited, to feel herself at the mercy of an indiscretion. It was equally repugnant to her to accept the evasion offered by this delicate deception. Agitated, nervous, she struggled against the double stings of the two troubles. Raoul comprehended her position, and came once more to her aid. Bending his knee before her, "Madame!" said he, in a low voice, "in two days I shall be far from Paris; in a fortnight I shall be far from France, where I shall never be seen again."
"Are you going away, then?" said she, with great delight.
"With M. de Beaufort."
"Into Africa!" cried Guiche, in his turn. "You, Raoul—oh! my friend—into Africa, where everybody dies!"
And forgetting everything, forgetting that that forgetfulness itself compromised the princess more eloquently than his presence, "Ingrate!" said he, "and you have not even consulted me!" And he embraced him; during which time Montalais had led away Madame, and disappeared herself.
Raoul passed his hand over his brow, and said with a smile, "I have been dreaming!" Then warmly to Guiche, who, by degrees, absorbed him, "My friend," said he, "I conceal nothing from you, who are the elected of my heart. I am going to seek death in yonder country; your secret will not remain in my breast more than a year."
"Oh, Raoul! a man!"
"Do you know what is my thought, Guiche? This is it—'I shall live more, being buried beneath the earth, than I have lived for this month past.' We are Christians, my friend, and if such suffering were to continue, I would not be answerable for the safety of my soul."
Guiche was anxious to raise objections.
"Not one word more on my account," said Raoul; "but advice to you, dear friend; what I am going to say to you is of much greater importance."
"What is that?"
"Without doubt, you risk much more than I do, because you love."
"Oh!"
"It is a joy so sweet to me to be able to speak to you thus! Well, then, Guiche, beware of Montalais."
"What! of that kind friend?"
"She was the friend of—her you know of. She ruined her by pride."
"You are mistaken."
"And now, when she has ruined her, she would ravish from her the only thing that renders that woman excusable in my eyes."
"What is that?"
"Her love."
"What do you mean by that?"
"I mean that there is a plot formed against her who is the mistress of the king—a plot formed in the very house of Madame."
"Can you think so?"
"I am certain of it."
"By Montalais?"
"Take her as the least dangerous of the enemies I dread for—the other."
"Explain yourself clearly, my friend; and, if I can understand you—"
"In two words. Madame has been jealous of the king."
"I know she has—"
"Oh! fear nothing—you are beloved—you are beloved, Guiche; do you feel the value of these three words? They signify that you can raise your head, that you can sleep tranquilly, that you can thank God every minute of your life. You are beloved; that signifies that you may hear everything, even the counsel of a friend who wishes to preserve your happiness. You are beloved, Guiche—you are beloved! You do not endure those atrocious nights, those nights without end, which, with arid eye and devoured heart, others pass through who are destined to die. You will live long, if you act like the miser who, bit by bit, crumb by crumb, collects and heaps up diamonds and gold. You are beloved!—allow me to tell you what you must do that you may be beloved forever."
Guiche contemplated for sometime this unfortunate young man, half mad with despair, till there passed through his heart something like remorse at his own happiness. Raoul suppressed his feverish excitement, to assume the voice and countenance of an impassible man. "They will make her, whose name I should wish still to be able to pronounce—they will make her suffer. Swear to me that you will not second them in anything—but that you will defend her, when possible, as I would have done myself."
"I swear I will," replied Guiche.
"And," continued Raoul, "some day when you shall have rendered her a great service—some day when she shall thank you, promise me to say these words to her—'I have done you this kindness, madame, by the warm desire of M. de Bragelonne, whom you so deeply injured.'"
"I swear I will," murmured Guiche.
"That is all. Adieu! I set out to-morrow, or the day after, for Toulon. If you have a few hours to spare, give them to me."
"All! all!" cried the young man.
"Thank you!"
"And what are you going to do now?"
"I am going to meet M. le Comte at the house of Planchet, where we hope to find M. d'Artagnan."
"M. d'Artagnan?"
"Yes, I wish to embrace him before my departure. He is a brave man, who loves me dearly. Farewell, my friend: you are expected, no doubt; you will find me, when you wish, at the lodgings of the comte. Farewell!"
The two young men embraced. They who might have seen them both thus, would not have hesitated to say, pointing to Raoul: "That is the happy man!"
Athos, during the visit made to the Luxembourg by Raoul, had gone to Planchet's residence to inquire after D'Artagnan. The gentleman, on arriving at the Rue des Lombards, found the shop of the grocer in great confusion; but it was not the encumberment of a lucky sale, or that of an arrival of goods. Planchet was not throned, as usual, upon sacks and barrels. No. A young man with a pen behind his ear, and another with an account book in his hand, were setting down a number of figures, while a third counted and weighed. An inventory was being taken. Athos, who had no knowledge of commercial matters, felt himself a little embarrassed by the material obstacles and the majesty of those who were thus employed. He saw several customers sent away, and asked himself whether he, who came to buy nothing, would not be more properly deemed importunate. He therefore asked very politely if he could see M. Planchet. The reply, pretty carelessly given, was that M. Planchet was packing his trunks. These words surprised Athos. "How! his trunks!" said he, "is M. Planchet going away?"
"Yes, monsieur, directly."
"Then, if you please, inform him that M. le Comte de la Fere desires to speak to him for a moment."
At the mention of the comte's name, one of the young men, no doubt accustomed to hear it pronounced with respect, immediately went to inform Planchet. It was at this moment that Raoul, after his painful scene with Montalais and Guiche, arrived at the grocer's house. Planchet left his job directly he received the comte's message.
"Ah! Monsieur le Comte!" exclaimed he, "how glad I am to see you! What good star brings you here?"
"My dear Planchet," said Athos, pressing the hand of his son, whose sad look he silently observed—"we are come to learn of you—But in what confusion do I find you! You are as white as a miller; where have you been rummaging?"
"Ah, diable! take care, monsieur: don't come near me till I have well shaken myself."
"What for? Flour or dust only whitens."
"No, no; what you see on my arms is arsenic."
"Arsenic?"
"Yes; I am making my provision for the rats."
"Aye, I suppose in an establishment like this the rats play a conspicuous part."
"It is not with this establishment I concern myself, M. le Comte. The rats have robbed me of more here than they will ever rob me of again."
"What do you mean?"
"Why, you may have observed, monsieur, my inventory is being taken."
"Are you leaving trade, then?"
"Eh! mon Dieu! yes. I have disposed of my business to one of my young men."
"Bah! you are rich, then. I suppose."
"Monsieur, I have taken a dislike to the city; I don't know whether it is because I am growing old, and, as M. d'Artagnan one day said, when we grow old we more often think of the things of our youth; but for some time past I have felt myself attracted toward the country and gardening; I was a countryman formerly." And Planchet marked this confession with a little rather pretentious laugh for a man making profession of humility.
Athos made a gesture of approval, and then added: "You are going to buy an estate then?"
"I have bought one, monsieur."
"Ah! that is still better."
"A little house at Fontainebleau, with something like twenty acres of land round it."
"Very well, Planchet! Accept my compliments on your acquisition."
"But, monsieur, we are not comfortable here; the cursed dust makes you cough. Corbleu! I should not wish to poison the most worthy gentleman in the kingdom."
Athos did not smile at this little pleasantry which Planchet had aimed at him, in order to try his strength in mundane facetiousness.
"Yes," said he, "let us have a little talk by ourselves—in your own room, for example. You have a room, have you not?"
"Certainly, Monsieur le Comte."
"Upstairs, perhaps?" And Athos, seeing Planchet a little embarrassed, wished to relieve him by going first.
"It is—but—" said Planchet, hesitating.
Athos was mistaken in the cause of this hesitation, and, attributing it to a fear the grocer might have of offering humble hospitality—"Never mind, never mind," said he, still going up, "the dwelling of a tradesman in this quarter is not expected to be a palace. Come on!"
Raoul nimbly preceded him, and entered first. Two cries were heard simultaneously—we may say three. One of these cries dominated over the others; it was uttered by a woman. The other proceeded from the mouth of Raoul; it was an exclamation of surprise. He had no sooner made it than he shut the door sharply. The third was from fright; Planchet had proffered it.
"I ask your pardon!" added he, "Madame is dressing."
Raoul had, no doubt, seen that what Planchet said was true, for he turned round to go downstairs again.
"Madame—" said Athos; "Oh! pardon me, Planchet, I did not know that you had upstairs—"
"It is Trüchen," added Planchet, blushing a little.
"It is whom you please, my good Planchet; but pardon my rudeness."
"No, no; go up now, gentlemen."
"We will do no such thing," said Athos.
"Oh! madame having notice, has had time—"
"No, Planchet; farewell!"
"Eh, gentlemen! you would not disoblige me; thus standing on the staircase, or by going away without having sat down."
"If we had known you had a lady upstairs," replied Athos, with his customary coolness, "we would have asked permission to pay our respects to her."
Planchet was so disconcerted by this little extravagance, that he forced the passage, and himself opened the door to admit the comte and his son. Trüchen was quite dressed: costume of the shopkeeper's wife, rich and coquettish; German eyes attacking French eyes. She ceded the apartment after two curtseys, and went down into the shop—but not without having listened at the door, to know what Planchet's gentlemen visitors would say of her. Athos suspected that, and therefore turned the conversation accordingly. Planchet, on his part, was burning to give explanations, which Athos avoided. But, as certain tenacities are stronger than all others, Athos was forced to hear Planchet recite his idols of felicity, translated into a language more chaste than that of Longus. So Planchet related how Trüchen had charmed his ripe age, and brought good luck to his business, as Ruth did to Boaz.
"You want nothing now, then, but heirs to your property."
"If I had one, he would have three hundred thousand livres," said Planchet.
"Humph! you must have one then," said Athos, phlegmatically; "if only to prevent your little fortune being lost."
This wordlittle fortuneplaced Planchet in his rank, like the voice of the sergeant when Planchet was but apiqueurin the regiment of Piedmont, in which Rochefort had placed him. Athos perceived that the grocer would marry Trüchen, and, in spite of fate, establish a family. This appeared the more evident to him when he learned that the young man to whom Planchet was selling his business was her cousin. Having heard all that was necessary of the happy prospects of the retiring grocer, "What is M. d'Artagnan about," said he, "he is not at the Louvre?"
"Ah! Monsieur le Comte, Monsieur d'Artagnan has disappeared."
"Disappeared!" said Athos, with surprise.
"Oh! monsieur, we know what that means."
"But I do not know."
"Whenever M. d'Artagnan disappears it is always for some mission or some great affair."
"Has he said anything to you about it?"
"Never."
"You were acquainted with his departure for England formerly, were you not?"
"On account of the speculation," said Planchet, heedlessly.
"The speculation!"
"I mean—" interrupted Planchet, quite confused.
"Well, well; neither your affairs nor those of your master are in question: the interest we take in him alone has induced me to apply to you. Since the captain of the musketeers is not here, and as we cannot learn from you where we are likely to find M. d'Artagnan, we will take our leave of you. Au revoir, Planchet, au revoir. Let us begone, Raoul."
"Monsieur le Comte, I wish I were able to tell you—"
"Oh, not at all; I am not the man to reproach a servant with discretion."
This word "servant" struck rudely on the ears of the demi-millionaire, Planchet, but natural respect and bonhomie prevailed over pride. "There is nothing indiscreet in telling you. Monsieur le Comte, M. d'Artagnan came here the other day—"
"Ah, ah!"
"And remained several hours consulting a geographical chart."
"You are right, then, my friend; say no more about it."
"And the chart is there as a proof," added Planchet, who went to fetch from the neighboring wall, where it was suspended by a twist, forming a triangle with the bar of the window to which it was fastened—the plan consulted by the captain on his last visit to Planchet. This plan, which he brought to the comte, was a map of France, upon which the practiced eye of that gentleman discovered an itinerary, marked out with small pins; where-ever a pin was missing, a hole denoted its having been there. Athos, by followingwith his eye the pins and holes, saw that D'Artagnan had taken the direction of the south, and gone as far as the Mediterranean, toward Toulon. It was near Cannes that the marks and the punctured places ceased. The Comte de la Fere puzzled his brains for some time, to divine what the musketeer could be going to do at Cannes, and what motive could have led him to examine the banks of the Var. The reflections of Athos suggested nothing. His accustomed perspicacity was at fault. Raoul's researches were not more successful than his father's.
"Never mind," said the young man to the comte, who silently, and with his finger, had made him understand the route of D'Artagnan; "we must confess that there is a Providence always occupied in connecting our destiny with that of D'Artagnan. There he is on the coast of Cannes, and you, monsieur, will, at least, conduct me as far as Toulon. Be assured that we shall meet with him more easily upon our route than upon this map."
Then, taking leave of Planchet, who was scolding his shopmen, even the cousin of Trüchen, his successor, the gentlemen set out to pay a visit to M. de Beaufort. On leaving the grocer's shop, they saw a coach, the future depositary of the charms of Mademoiselle Trüchen and the bags of crowns of Planchet.
"Every one journeys toward happiness by the route he chooses," said Raoul, in a melancholy tone.
"Road to Fontainebleau!" cried Planchet to his coachman.
To have talked of D'Artagnan with Planchet, to have seen Planchet quit Paris to bury himself in his county retreat, had been for Athos and his son like a last farewell to the noise of the capital—to their life of former days. What, in fact, did these men leave behind them—one of whom had exhausted the past age in glory, and the other the present age in misfortune? Evidently, neither of them had anything to ask of his contemporaries. They had only to pay a visit to M. de Beaufort, and arrange with him the particulars of the departure. The duc was lodged magnificently in Paris. He had one of those superb establishments pertaining to great fortunes, which certain old men remembered to have seen flourish in the times of wasteful liberality in Henry III.'s reign. Then, really, several great nobles were richer than the king. They knew it, used it, and never deprived themselves of the pleasure of humiliating his royal majesty when they had an opportunity. It was this egotistical aristocracy which Richelieu had constrained to contribute, with its blood, its purse, and its duties, to what was from his time styled the king's service. From Louis XI.—that terrible mower down of the great—to Richelieu, how many families had raised their heads! How many from Richelieu to Louis XIV. had bowed their heads never to raise them again. But M. de Beaufort was born a prince, and of a blood which is not shed upon scaffolds, unless by the decree of peoples. This prince had kept up a grand style of living. How did he maintain his horses, his people, and his table? Nobody knew; himself less than others. Only there were then privileges for the sons of kings, to whom nobody refused to become a creditor, whether from respect, devotedness, or a persuasion that they would some day be paid.
Athos and Raoul found the mansion of the duc in as much confusion as that of Planchet. The duc, likewise, was making his inventory; that is to say, he was distributing to his friends everything of value he had in his house. Owing nearly two millions—an enormous amount in those days—M. de Beaufort had calculated that he could not set out for Africa without a good round sum; and, in order to find that sum, he was distributing to his old creditors plate, arms, jewels and furniture, which was more magnificent than selling it, and brought him back double. In fact, how could a man to whom ten thousand livres were owing, refuse to carry away a present of six thousand, enhanced in merit from having belonged to a descendant of Henry IV.? And how, after having carried away that present, could he refuse ten thousand livres more to this generous noble? This, then, was what had happened. The duc had no longer a dwelling-house—that had become useless to an admiral, whose place of residence is his ship; he had no longer need of superfluous arms, when he was placed amid his cannons; no more jewels, which the sea might rob him of; but he had three or four hundred thousand crowns fresh in his coffers. And throughout the house there was a joyous movement of people who believed they were plundering monseigneur. The prince had, in a supreme degree, the art of making happy the creditors the most to be pitied. Every distressed man, every empty purse, found with him patience and intelligence of his position. To some he said, "I wish I had what you have, I would give it you." And to others, "I have but this silver ewer, it is worth at least five hundred livres—take it."
The effect of which was—so truly is courtesy a current payment—that the prince constantly found means to renew his creditors. This time he used no ceremony; it might be called a general pillage. He gave up everything. The oriental fable of the poor Arab, who carried away from the pillage of a palace a kettle at the bottom of which was concealed a bag of gold, and whom everybody allowed to pass without jealousy—this fable had become a truth in the prince's mansion. Many contractors paid themselves upon the offices of the duc. Thus, the provision department, who plundered the clothes-presses and the harness-rooms, attached very little value to things which tailors and saddlers set great store by. Anxious to carry home to their wives preserves given them by monseigneur, many were seen bounding joyously along, under the weight of earthen jars and bottles, gloriously stamped with the arms of the prince. M. de Beaufort finished by giving away his horses and the hay fromhis lofts. He made more than thirty happy with kitchen utensils; and thirty more, with the contents of his cellar. Still further; all these people went away with the conviction that M. de Beaufort only acted in this manner to prepare for a new fortune concealed beneath the Arab tents. They repeated to each other, while devastating his hotel, that he was sent to Gigelli by the king, to reconstruct his lost fortunes; that the treasures of Africa would be equally divided between the admiral and the king of France; that these treasures consisted in mines of diamonds, or other fabulous stones; the gold and silver mines of Mount Atlas did not even obtain the honor of being named. In addition to the mines to be worked—which could not be begun till after the campaign—there would be the booty made by the army. M. de Beaufort would lay his hands upon all the riches pirates had robbed Christendom of since the battle of Lepanto. The number of millions from these sources defied calculation. Why, then, should he who was going in quest of such treasures set any store by the poor utensils of his past life? And, reciprocally, why should they spare the property of him who spared it so little himself?
Such was the position of affairs. Athos, with his investigating glance, saw what was going on at once. He found the admiral of France a little exalted, for he was rising from a table of fifty covers, at which the guests had drunk long and deeply to the prosperity of the expedition; at which, with the dessert, the remains of the meal had been given to the servants, and the empty dishes and plates to the curious. The prince was intoxicated with his ruin and his popularity at the same time. He had drunk his old wine to the health of his future wine. When he saw Athos and Raoul—
"There is my aid-de-camp being brought to me!" he cried. "Come hither, comte; come hither, vicomte." Athos tried to find a passage through the heaps of linen and plate.
"Ah! step over, step over!" said the duc, offering a full glass to Athos. Thelatter took it; Raoul scarcely moistened his lips.
"Here is your commission," said the prince to Raoul. "I had prepared it, reckoning upon you. You will go on before me as far as Antibes."
"Yes, monseigneur."
"Here is the order." And De Beaufort gave Raoul the order. "Do you know anything of the sea?"
"Yes, monseigneur; I have traveled with M. le Prince."
"That is well. All these barges and lighters must be in attendance to form an escort, and carry my provisions. The army must be prepared to embark in a fortnight at the latest."
"That shall be done, monseigneur."
"The present order gives you the right to visit and search all the isles along the coast; you will there make the enrollments and levies you may want for me."
"Yes, Monsieur le Duc."
"And as you are an active man, and will work freely, you will spend much money."
"I hope not, monseigneur."
"But I reckon you will. My intendant has prepared orders of a thousand livres, drawn upon the cities of the south; he will give you a hundred of them. Now, dear vicomte, begone."
Athos interrupted the prince. "Keep your money, monseigneur; war is to be made among the Arabs with gold as well as lead."
"I wish to try the contrary," replied the duc; "and then, you are acquainted with my ideas upon the expedition—plenty of noise, plenty of fire, and, if so it must be, I shall disappear in the smoke." Having spoken thus, M. de Beaufort began to laugh; but his mirth was not reciprocated by Athos and Raoul. He perceived this at once. "Ah," said he, with the courteous egotism of his rank and his age, "you are such people as a man should not see after dinner; you are cold, stiff, and dry, when I am all fire, all suppleness, and all wine. No, devil take me! I should always see you fasting, vicomte, and you, comte, if you wear such a face as that, you will see me no more."
He said this, pressing the hand of Athos, who replied with a smile—"Monseigneur, do not talk so grandly because you happen to have plenty of money. I predict that within a month you will be dry, stiff, and cold, in presence of your strong box, and that then, having Raoul at your elbow, quite fasting, you will be surprised to see him gay, animated, and generous, because he will have some new crowns to offer you."
"God grant it may be so!" cried the delighted duc. "Comte, stay with me."
"No, I shall go with Raoul; the mission with which you charge him is a troublesome and a difficult one. Alone, it would be too much for him to execute. You do not observe, monseigneur, you have given him a command of the first order."
"Bah!"
"And in the marine."
"That may be true. But when people resemble him, do they not do all that is required of them?"
"Monseigneur, I believe you will find nowhere so much zeal and intelligence, so much real bravery, as in Raoul; but if he failed in your embarkation, you would only meet with what you deserve."
"Humph! you are scolding me, then."
"Monseigneur, to provision a fleet, to assemble a flotilla, to enroll your maritime force, would take an admiral a year. Raoul is a cavalry officer, and you allow him a fortnight!"
"I tell you he will get through."
"He may; but I will help him."
"To be sure you will; I reckoned upon you, and still further believe that when we are once at Toulon you will not let him depart alone."
"Oh!" said Athos, shaking his head.
"Patience! patience!"
"Monseigneur, permit us to take our leave."
"Begone, then, and my good fortune attend you."
"Adieu! monseigneur; and may your good fortune attend you likewise."
"Here is an expedition admirably commenced!" said Athos to his son. "No provisions—no store flotilla! What can be done, thus?"
"Humph!" murmured Raoul; "if all are going to do as I am, provisions will not be wanted."
"Monsieur," replied Athos, sternly, "do not be unjust and senseless in your egotism, or your grief, whichever you please to call it. If you set out for this war solely with the intention of getting killed in it, you stand in need of nobody, and it was scarcely worth while to recommend you to M. de Beaufort. But when you have been introduced to the prince commandant—when you have accepted the responsibility of a post in his army, the question is no longer about you, but about all those poor soldiers, who, as well as you, have hearts and bodies, who will weep for their country and endure all the necessities of their human condition. Remember, Raoul, that an officer is a minister as useful as a priest and that he ought to have more charity than a priest."
"Monsieur, I know it, and have practiced it; I would have continued to do so still, but—"
"You forget also that you are of a country which is proud of its military glory; go and die if you like, but do not die without honor and without advantage to France. Cheer up, Raoul! do not let my words grieve you; I love you, and wish to see you perfect."
"I love your reproaches, monsieur," said the young man, mildly; "they alone may cure me, because they prove to me that some one loves me still."
"And now, Raoul, let us be off; the weather is so fine, the heavens are so pure, those heavens which we shall always find above our heads, which you will see more pure still at Gigelli, and which will speak to you of me there, as they speak to me here of God."
The two gentlemen, after having agreed on this point, talked over the wild freaks of the duke, convinced that France would be served in a very incomplete manner, as regarded both spirit and practice, in the ensuing expedition; and having summed up his policy under the word vanity, they set forward, in obedience totheir will rather than to their destiny. The sacrifice was accomplished.
The journey passed off pretty well. Athos and his son traversed France at the rate of fifteen leagues per day; sometimes more, sometimes less, according to the intensity of Raoul's grief. It took them a fortnight to reach Toulon, and they lost all traces of D'Artagnan at Antibes. They were forced to believe that the captain of the musketeers was desirous of preserving an incognito on his route, for Athos derived from his inquiries an assurance that such a cavalier as he described had exchanged his horse for a well-closed carriage on quitting Avignon. Raoul was much affected at not meeting with D'Artagnan. His affectionate heart longed to take a farewell and receive consolation from that heart of steel. Athos knew from experience that D'Artagnan became impenetrable when engaged in any serious affair, whether on his own account or in the service of the king. He even feared to offend his friend, or thwart him by too pressing inquiries. And yet when Raoul commenced his labor of classing the flotilla, and got together the chalands and lighters to send them to Toulon, one of the fishermen told the comte that his boat had been laid up to refit since a trip he had made on account of a gentleman who was in great haste to embark. Athos, believing that this man was telling a falsehood in order to be left at liberty to fish, and so gain more money when all his companions were gone, insisted upon having the details. The fisherman informed him that six days previously, a man had come in the night to hire his boat, for the purpose of visiting the island of St. Honorat. The price was agreed upon, but the gentleman had arrived with an immense carriage case, which he insisted upon embarking, in spite of all the difficulties which opposed themselves tothat operation. The fisherman had wished to retract. He had even threatened, but his threats had procured him nothing but a shower of blows from the gentleman's cane, which fell upon his shoulders sharp and long. Swearing and grumbling, he had recourse to the syndic of his brotherhood at Antibes, who administer justice among themselves and protect each other; but the gentleman had exhibited a certain paper, at the sight of which the syndic, bowing to the very ground, had enjoined obedience from the fisherman, and abused him for having been refractory. They then departed with the freight.
"But all this does not tell us," said Athos, "how you have injured your boat."
"This is the way. I was steering toward St. Honorat as the gentleman had desired me; but he changed his mind, and pretended that I could not pass to the south of the abbey."
"And why not?"
"Because, monsieur, there is in front of the square tower of the Benedictines, toward the southern point, the bank of the Moines."
"A rock?" asked Athos.
"Level with the water, and below the water; a dangerous passage, but one I have cleared a thousand times; the gentleman required me to land him at St. Marguerite's."
"Well?"
"Well, monsieur!" cried the fisherman, with his Provencal accent, "a man is a sailor, or he is not; he knows his course, or he is nothing but a fresh-water lubber. I was obstinate, and wished to try the channel. The gentleman took me by the collar, and told me quietly he would strangle me. My mate armed himself with a hatchet, and so did I. We had the affront of the night before to pay him out for. But the gentleman drew his sword, and used it in such an astonishingly rapid manner, that we neither of us could get near him. I was about to hurl my hatchet at his head, and I had a right to do so, hadn't I, monsieur? for a sailor aboard is master, as a citizen is in his chamber; I then, in self-defense, to cut the gentleman in two, when all at once—believe me or not, monsieur—the great carriage case opened of itself, I don't know how, and there came out of it a sort of a phantom, his head covered with a black helmet and a black mask, something terrible to look upon, which came toward me threatening with its fist."
"And that was—?" said Athos.
"That was the devil, monsieur; for the gentleman, with great glee, cried out on seeing him: 'Ah! thank you, monseigneur!'"
"A strange story!" murmured the comte, looking at Raoul.
"And what did you do?" asked the latter of the fisherman.
"You must know, monsieur, that two poor men, such as we are, could be no match for two gentlemen; but when one of them is the devil we had no chance! My companion and I did not stop to consult one another; we made but one jump into the sea, for we were within seven or eight hundred feet of the shore."
"Well, and then?"
"Why, and then, monseigneur, as there was a little wind from the southwest, the boat drifted into the sands of Sainte-Marguerite's."
"Oh!—but the two travelers?"
"Bah! you need not be uneasy about them! It was pretty plain that one was the devil, and protected the other; for when we recovered the boat, after she got afloat again, instead of finding these two creatures injured by the shock, we found nothing, not even the carriage or the case."
"Very strange! very strange!" repeated the comte. "But since that, what have you done, my friend?"
"I made my complaint to the governor of Sainte-Marguerite's, who brought my finger under my nose by telling me if I plagued him with such silly stories he would have me flogged."
"What! did the governor say so?"
"Yes, monsieur; and yet my boat was injured, seriously injured, for the prow is left upon the point of Sainte-Marguerite's, and the carpenter asks a hundred and twenty livres to repair it."
"Very well," replied Raoul; "you will be exempted from the service. Go."
"We will go to Sainte-Marguerite's, shall we?" said the comte to Bragelonne, as the man walked away.
"Yes, monsieur, for there is something to be cleared up; that man does not seem to me to have told the truth."
"Nor to me neither, Raoul. The story of the masked man and the carriage having disappeared, may be told to conceal some violence these fellows have committed upon their passenger in the open sea, to punish him for his persistence in embarking."
"I formed the same suspicion; the carriage was more likely to contain property than a man."
"We shall see to that, Raoul. This gentleman very much resembles D'Artagnan; I recognize his mode of proceeding. Alas! we are no longer the young invincibles of former days. Who knows whether the hatchet or the iron bar of this miserable coaster has not succeeded in doing that which the best blades of Europe, balls, and bullets, have not been able to do in forty years?"
That same day they set out for Sainte-Marguerite's, on board a chasse-marée come from Toulon under orders. The impression they felt on landing was a singularly pleasing one. The isle was full of flowers and fruits. In its cultivated part it served as a garden for the governor. Orange, pomegranate, and fig trees bent beneath the weight of their golden or purple fruits. All around this garden, in the uncultivated parts, the red partridges ran about in coveys among the brambles and tufts of junipers, and at every step of the comte and Raoul a terrified rabbit quitted his thyme and heath to scuttle away to his burrow. In fact, this fortunate isle was uninhabited. Flat, offering nothing but a tiny bay for the convenience of embarkation, and under the protection of the governor, who went shares with them, smugglers made use of it as a provisional entrepôt, at the expense of not killing the game or devastating the garden. With this compromise, the governor was in a situation to be satisfiedwith a garrison of eight men to guard his fortress, in which twelve cannons accumulated their coats of mouldy green. The governor was a sort of happy farmer, harvesting wines, figs, oil, and oranges, preserving his citrons and cédrats in the sun of his casemates. The fortress, encircled by a deep ditch, its only guardian, arose like three heads upon turrets connected with each other by terraces covered with moss.
Athos and Raoul wandered for some time round the fences of the garden without finding any one to introduce them to the governor. They ended by making their own way into the garden. It was at the hottest time of the day. Everything sought shelter beneath grass or stone. The heavens spread their fiery veils as if to stifle all noises, to envelop all existences; the rabbit under the broom, the fly under the leaf, slept as the wave did beneath the heavens. Athos saw nothing living but a soldier, upon the terrace beneath the second and third court, who was carrying a basket of provisions on his head. This man returned almost immediately without his basket, and disappeared in the shade of his sentry-box. Athos supposed this man must have been carrying dinner to some one, and, after having done so, returned to dine himself. All at once, they heard some one call out, and raising their heads, perceived in the frame of the bars of the window something of a white color, like a hand that was waved backward and forward—something shining, like a polished weapon struck by the rays of the sun. And before they were able to ascertain what it was they saw, a luminous train, accompanied by a hissing sound in the air, called their attention from the donjon to the ground. A second dull noise was heard from the ditch, and Raoul ran to pick up a silver plate which was rolling along the dry sand. The hand which had thrown this plate made a sign to the two gentlemen and then disappeared. Athos and Raoul, approaching each other, commenced an attentive examination of the dusty plate, and they discovered, in characters traced upon thebottom of it with the point of a knife, this inscription:
"I am the brother of the king of France—a prisoner to-day—a madman to-morrow. French gentlemen and Christians, pray to God for the soul and the reason of the son of your masters."
The plate fell from the hands of Athos while Raoul was endeavoring to make out the meaning of these dismal words. At the same instant they heard a cry from the top of the donjon. As quick as lightning Raoul bent down his head, and forced down that of his father likewise. A musket barrel glittered from the crest of the wall. A white smoke floated like a plume from the mouth of the musket, and a ball was flattened against a stone within six inches of the two gentlemen.
"Cordieu!" cried Athos. "What, are people assassinated here? Come down, cowards as you are!"
"Yes, come down!" cried Raoul, furiously shaking his fist at the castle.
One of the assailants—he who was about to fire—replied to these cries by an exclamation of surprise; and, as his companion, who wished to continue the attack, had re-seized his loaded musket, he who had cried out threw up the weapon, and the ball flew into the air. Athos and Raoul, seeing them disappear from the platform, expected they would come to them, and waited with a firm demeanor. Five minutes had not elapsed, when a stroke upon a drum called the eight soldiers of the garrison to arms, and they showed themselves on the other side of the ditch with their muskets in hand. At the head of these men was an officer, whom Athos and Raoul recognized as the one who had fired the first musket. The man ordered the soldiers to "make ready."