"It will last about ten minutes," said Aramis. "To work!"
And with a resolute air he took up amusket, and placed his hunting-knife between his teeth.
"Yves, Goenne, and his son," continued Aramis, "will pass the muskets to us. You, Porthos, will fire when they are close. We shall have brought down eight before the others are aware of anything—that is certain; then all, there are five of us, we will dispatch the other eight, knife in hand."
"And poor Biscarrat?" said Porthos.
Aramis reflected a moment. "Biscarrat the first," replied he, coolly; "he knows us."
In spite of the sort of divination which was the remarkable side of the character of Aramis, the event, subject to the chances of things over which uncertainty presides, did not fall out exactly as the bishop of Vannes had foreseen. Biscarrat, better mounted than his companions, arrived the first at the opening of the grotto, and comprehended that the fox and the dogs were all engulfed in it. Only struck by that superstitious terror which every dark and subterraneous way naturally impresses upon the mind of man, he stopped at the outside of the grotto, and waited till his companions should have assembled round him.
"Well!" asked the young men, coming up out of breath, and unable to understand the meaning of his inaction.
"Well! I cannot hear the dogs; they and the fox must be all engulfed in this cavern."
"They were too close up," said one of the guards, "to have lost scent all at once. Besides, we should hear them from one side or another. They must, as Biscarrat says, be in this grotto."
"But then," said one of the young men, "why don't they give tongue?"
"It is strange!" said another.
"Well, but," said a fourth, "let us go into this grotto. Does it happen to be forbidden that we should enter it?"
"No," replied Biscarrat. "Only as itlooks as dark as a wolf's mouth, we might break our necks in it."
"Witness the dogs," said a guard, "who seem to have broken theirs."
"What the devil can have become of them?" asked the young men in chorus. And every master called his dog by his name, whistled to him in his favorite note, without a single one replying to either the call or the whistle.
"It is perhaps an enchanted grotto," said Biscarrat; "let us see." And jumping from his horse, he made a step into the grotto.
"Stop! stop! I will accompany you," said one of the guards, on seeing Biscarrat disappear in the shade of the cavern's mouth.
"No," replied Biscarrat, "there must be something extraordinary in the place—don't let us risk ourselves all at once. If in ten minutes you do not hear of me, you can come in, but not all at once."
"Be it so," said the young men, who, besides, did not see that Biscarrat ran much risk in the enterprise, "we will wait for you." And without dismounting from their horses, they formed a circle round the grotto.
Biscarrat entered then alone, and advanced through the darkness till he came in contact with the muzzle of Porthos' musket. The resistance which his chest met with astonished him; he naturally raised his hand and laid hold of the icy barrel. At the same instant Yves lifted a knife against the young man, which was about to fall upon him with all the force of a Breton's arm, when the iron wrist of Porthos stopped it half way. Then, like low muttering thunder, his voice growled in the darkness, "I will not have him killed!"
Biscarrat found himself between a protection and a threat, the one almost as terrible as the other. However brave the young man might be, he could not prevent a cry escaping him, which Aramis immediately suppressed by placing a handkerchief over his mouth. "Monsieur de Biscarrat," said he in a low voice, "we mean you no harm, and you must know that, if you have recognized us; but, at the first word, the first sigh, or the first breath, we shall be forced to kill you as we have killed your dogs."
"Yes, I recognize you, gentlemen," said the officer, in a low voice. "But why are you here—what are you doing here? Unfortunate men! I thought you were in the fort."
"And you, monsieur, you were to obtain conditions for us, I think?"
"I did all I was able, messieurs, but—"
"But what?"
"But there are positive orders."
"To kill us?" Biscarrat made no reply. It would have cost him too much to speak of the cord to gentlemen. Aramis understood the silence of his prisoner.
"M. Biscarrat," said he, "you would be already dead if we had not had regard for your youth and our ancient association with your father; but you may yet escape from the place by swearing that you will not tell your companions what you have seen."
"I will not only swear that I will not speak of it," said Biscarrat, "but I still further swear that I will do everything in the world to prevent my companions from setting foot in the grotto."
"Biscarrat! Biscarrat!" cried several voices from the outside, coming like a whirlwind into the cave.
"Reply," said Aramis.
"Here am I!" cried Biscarrat.
"Now, begone; we depend upon your loyalty." And he left his hold of the young man, who hastily returned toward the light.
"Biscarrat! Biscarrat!" cried the voices, still nearer. And the shadows of several human forms projected into the interior of the grotto.
Biscarrat rushed to meet his friends in order to stop them, and met them just as they were adventuring into the cave. Aramis and Porthos listened with the intense attention of men whose life depends upon a breath of air.
"Oh! oh!" exclaimed one of the guards, as he came to the light, "how pale you are!"
"Pale!" cried another, "you ought to say livid."
"I!" said the young man, endeavoring to collect his faculties.
"In the name of Heaven! what has happened to you?" exclaimed all voices.
"You have not a drop of blood in your veins, my poor friend," said one of them, laughing.
"Messieurs, it is serious," said another, "he is going to faint; does any one of you happen to have any salts?" And they all laughed.
All these interpellations, all these jokes crossed each other round Biscarrat as the balls cross each other in the fire of amélée. He recovered himself amid a deluge of interrogations.
"What do you suppose I have seen?" asked he. "I was too hot when I entered the grotto, and I have been struck with the cold; that is all."
"But the dogs, the dogs, have you seen them again—did you see anything of them—do you know anything about them?"
"I suppose they have gone out by another way."
"Messieurs," said one of the young men, "there is in that which is going on, in the paleness and silence of our friend, a mystery which Biscarrat will not, or cannot reveal. Only, and that is a certainty, Biscarrat has seen something in the grotto.
"Well, for my part, I am very curious to see what it is, even if it were the devil! To the grotto! messieurs, to the grotto!"
"To the grotto!" repeated all the voices. And the echo of the cavern carried like a menace to Porthos and Aramis. "To the grotto! to the grotto!"
Biscarrat threw himself before his companions. "Messieurs! messieurs!" cried he, "in the name of Heaven! do not go in!"
"Why, what is there so terrific in the cavern?" asked several at once. "Come, speak, Biscarrat."
"Decidedly, it is the devil he has seen," repeated he who had before advanced that hypothesis.
"Well!" said another; "if he has seen him, he need not be selfish: he may as well let us have a look at him in our turns."
"Messieurs! messieurs! I beseech you," urged Biscarrat.
"Nonsense!—Let us pass!"
"Messieurs, I implore you not to enter!"
"Why, you went in yourself."
Then one of the officers who—of a riper age than the others—had, till this time, remained behind, and had said nothing, advanced, "Messieurs," said he, with a calmness which contrasted with the animation of the young men, "there is in this some person, or something, that is not the devil; but which, whatever it may be, has had sufficient power to silence our dogs. We must know who this some one is, or what this something is."
Biscarrat made a last effort to stop his friends, but it was useless. In vain he threw himself before the most rash; in vain he clung to the rocks to bar the passage; the crowd of young men rushed into the cave, in the steps of the officer who had spoken last, but who had sprung in first, sword in hand, to face the unknown danger. Biscarrat, repulsed by his friends, not able to accompany them, without passing in the eyes of Porthos and Aramis for a traitor and a perjurer, with painfully attentive ear and still supplicating hands leaned against the rough side of a rock which he thought must be exposed to the fire of the musketeers. As to the guards, they penetrated further and further, with cries that grew weaker as they advanced. All at once, a discharge of musketry, growling like thunder, exploded beneath the vault. Two or three balls were flattened against the rock where Biscarrat was leaning. At the same instant cries, howlings, and imprecations burst forth, and the little troop of gentlemen reappeared—some pale, some bleeding—all enveloped in a cloud of smoke, which the outward air seemed to draw from the depths of the cavern. "Biscarrat! Biscarrat!" cried the fugitives, "you knew there was an ambuscade in that cavern, and you have not warned us! Biscarrat, you are the cause that four of us have been killed! Woe be to you, Biscarrat!"
"You are the cause of my being wounded to death," said one of the young men, gathering his blood in his hand, and casting it into the face of Biscarrat. "My blood be upon your head!" And he rolled in agony at the feet of the young man.
"But, at least, tell us who is there?" cried several furious voices.
Biscarrat remained silent. "Tell us, or die!" cried the wounded man, raising himself upon one knee, and lifting toward his companion an arm bearing a useless sword. Biscarrat rushed toward him, opening his breast for the blow, but the wounded man fell back not to rise again—uttering a groan which was his last. Biscarrat, with hair on end, haggard eyes, and bewildered head, advanced toward the interior of the cavern, saying, "You are right. Death to me, who have allowed my companions to be assassinated. I am a base wretch!" And throwing away his sword, for he wished to die without defending himself, he rushed head foremost into the cavern. The others followed him. The eleven who remained out of sixteen imitated his example; but they did not go farther than the first. A second discharge laid five upon the icy sand; and, as it was impossible to see whence this murderous thunder issued, the others fell back with a terror that can be better imagined than expressed. But, far from flying, as the others had done, Biscarrat remained safe and sound, seated on a fragment of rock, and waited. There were only six gentlemen left.
"Seriously," said one of the survivors, "is it the devil?"
"Ma foi! it is much worse," said another.
"Ask Biscarrat, he knows."
"Where is Biscarrat?" The young men looked round them and saw that Biscarrat did not answer.
"He is dead!" said two or three voices.
"Oh! no," replied another; "I saw him through the smoke, sitting quietly on a rock. He is in the cavern; he is waiting for us."
"He must know who is there."
"And how should he know them?"
"He was taken prisoner by the rebels."
"That is true. Well! let us call him, and learn from him whom we have to deal with." And all voices shouted, "Biscarrat! Biscarrat!" But Biscarrat did not answer.
"Good!" said the officer who had shown so much coolness in the affair. "We have no longer any need of him; here are re-enforcements coming."
In fact, a company of the guards, left in the rear by their officers, whom the ardor of the chase had carried away—from seventy-five to eighty men—arrived in good order, led by their captain and the first lieutenant. The five officers hastened to meet their soldiers; and, in a language, the eloquence of which may be easily imagined, they related the adventure, and asked for aid. The captain interrupted them. "Where are your companions?" demanded he.
"Dead!"
"But there were sixteen of you!"
"Ten are dead. Biscarrat is in the cavern, and we are five."
"Biscarrat is then a prisoner?"
"Probably."
"No; for here he is—look." In fact, Biscarrat appeared at the opening of the grotto.
"He makes us a sign to come on," said the officer. "Come on!"
"Come on!" cried all the troop. And they advanced to meet Biscarrat.
"Monsieur," said the captain, addressing Biscarrat, "I am assured that you know who the men are in that grotto, and who make such a desperate defense. In the king's name I command you to declare what you know."
"Captain," said Biscarrat, "you have no need to command me; my word has been restored to me this very instant; and I come in the name of these men."
"To tell me who they are?"
"To tell you they are determined to defend themselves to the death, unless you grant them good terms."
"How many are there of them, then?"
"There are two," said Biscarrat.
"There are two—and want to impose conditions upon us?"
"There are two, and they have already killed ten of our men."
"What sort of people are they—giants?"
"Better than that. Do you remember the history of the bastion Saint Gervais, captain?"
"Yes; where four musketeers held out against an army."
"Well, these two men were of those musketeers."
"And their names?"
"At that period they were called Porthos and Aramis. Now, they are styled M. d'Herblay and M. de Valon."
"And what interest have they in all this?"
"It is they who held Belle-Isle for M. Fouquet!"
A murmur ran through the ranks of the soldiers on hearing the two words "Porthos and Aramis." "The musketeers! the musketeers!" repeated they. And among all these brave men, the idea that they were going to have a struggle against two of the oldest glories of the French army, made a shiver, half enthusiasm, half terror, run through them. In fact, those four names—D'Artagnan, Athos, Porthos, and Aramis—were venerated among all who wore a sword: as, in antiquity, the names of Hercules, Theseus, Castor, and Pollux, were venerated.
"Two men—and they have killed ten in two discharges! That is impossible, Monsieur Biscarrat!"
"Eh! captain," replied the latter, "I do not tell you that they have not with them two or three men, as the musketeers of the bastion Saint-Gervais had two or three lackeys; but, believe me, captain, I have seen these men, I have been taken prisoner by them—I know they themselves alone could suffice to destroy an army."
"That we shall see," said the captain, "and that in a moment too. Gentlemen, attention!"
At this reply, no one stirred, and all prepared to obey. Biscarrat alone risked a last attempt. "Monsieur," said he, in a low voice, "believe me; let us pass on our way. Those two men, those two lions you are going to attack, will defend themselves to the death. They have already killed ten of our men; they will kill double the number, and end by killing themselves rather than surrender. What shall we gain by fighting them?"
"We shall gain the consciousness, monsieur, of not having made eighty of the king's guards retire before two rebels. If I listened to your advice, monsieur, I should be a dishonored man; and by dishonoring myself I should dishonor the army. Forward, men!"
And he marched first as far as the opening of the grotto. There he halted. The object of this halt was to give to Biscarrat and his companions time to describe to him the interior of the grotto. Then, when he believed he had a sufficient acquaintance with the places, he divided his company into three bodies, which were to enter successively, keeping up a sustained fire in all directions. No doubt, in this attack they should lose five more men, perhaps ten; but, certainly, they must end by taking the rebels, since there was no issue; and, at any rate, two men could not kill eighty.
"Captain," said Biscarrat, "I beg to be allowed to march at the head of the first platoon."
"So be it," replied the captain; "you have all the honor of it. That is a present I make you."
"Thanks!" replied the young man, with all the firmness of his race.
"Take your sword, then."
"I shall go as I am, captain," said Biscarrat, "for I do not go to kill. I go to be killed."
And placing himself at the head of the first platoon, with his head uncovered and his arms crossed—"March, gentlemen!" said he.
It is time to pass into the other camp, and to describe at once the combatants and the field of battle. Aramis and Porthos had gone to the grotto of Locmaria with the expectation of finding there their canoe ready armed, as well as the three Bretons, their assistants; and they at first hoped to make the bark pass through the little issue of the cavern, concealing, in that fashion, both their labors and their flight. The arrival of the fox and the dogs had obliged them to remain concealed. The grotto extended the space of about a hundred toises, to that little slope dominating a creek. Formerly, a temple of the Celtic divinities, when Belle-Isle was still called Colonèse, this grotto had seen more than one human sacrifice accomplished in its mysterious depths. The first entrance to the cavern was by a moderate descent, above which heaped-up rocks formed a low arcade; the interior, very unequal as to the ground, dangerous from the rocky inequalities of the vault, was subdivided into several compartments which commanded each other and joined each other by means of several rough broken steps, fixed right and left, in enormous natural pillars. At the third compartment, the vault was so low, the passage so narrow, that the bark would scarcely have passed without touching the two sides; nevertheless, in a moment of despair, wood softens and stone becomes compliant under the breath of human will. Such was the thought of Aramis, when, after having fought the fight, he decided upon flight—a flight certainly dangerous, since all the assailants were not dead; and that, admitting the possibility of putting the bark to sea, they would have to fly in open day, before the conquered, so interested on recognizing their small number, in pursuing their conquerors. When the two discharges had killed ten men, Aramis, habituated to the windings of the cavern, went to reconnoiter them one by one—counted them, for the smoke prevented seeing outside; and he immediately commanded that the canoe should be rolled as far as the great stone, the closure of the liberating issue. Porthos collected all his strength, took the canoe up in his arms, and raised it up, while the Bretons made it run rapidly along the rollers. They had descended into the third compartment; they had arrived at the stone which walled up the outlet. Porthos seized this gigantic stone at its base, applied to it his robust shoulder, and gave a heave which made this wall crack.
A cloud of dust fell from the vault with the ashes of ten thousand generations of sea birds, whose nests stuck like cement to the rock. At the third shock the stone gave way; it oscillated for a minute. Porthos, placing his back against the neighboring rock, made an arch with his foot, which drove the block out of the calcareous masses which served for hinges and cramps. The stone fell, and daylight was visible, brilliant, radiant, which rushed into the cavern by the opening, and the blue sea appeared to the delighted Bretons. They then began to lift the bark over the barricade. Twenty more toises, and it might glide into the ocean. It was during this time that the company arrived, was drawn up by the captain, and disposed for either an escalade or an assault. Aramis watched over everything, to favor the labors of his friends. He saw the re-enforcements, he counted the men, he convinced himself at a single glance of the insurmountable peril to which a fresh combat would expose them. To escape by sea, at the moment the cavern was about to be invaded, was impossible. In fact, the daylight which had just been admitted to the two last compartments had exposed to the soldiers the bark being rolled toward the sea, the two rebels within musket shot, and one of their discharges would riddle the boat if it did not kill the five navigators. Besides, supposing everything—if the bark escaped with the men on board of it, how could the alarm be suppressed—how could notice to the royal lighters be prevented? What could hinder the poor canoe, followed by sea, and watched from the shore, from succumbing before the end of the day? Aramis, digging his hands into his gray hair with rage, invoked the assistance of God, and the assistance of the demon. Calling to Porthos, who was working alone more than all the rollers—whether of flesh or of wood—"My friend," said he, "our adversaries have just received a re-enforcement."
"Ah! ah!" said Porthos, quietly, "what is to be done, then?"
"To recommence the combat," said Aramis, "is hazardous."
"Yes," said Porthos, "for it is difficult to suppose that out of two one should not be killed, and certainly, if one of us were killed, the other would get himself killed also." Porthos spoke these words with that heroic nature, which, with him, grew greater with all the phases of matter.
Aramis felt it like a spur to his heart. "We shall neither of us be killed if you do what I tell you, friend Porthos."
"Tell me what?"
"These people are coming down into the grotto."
"Yes."
"We could kill about fifteen of them, but not more."
"How many are there in all?" asked Porthos.
"They have received a re-enforcement of seventy-five men."
"Seventy-five and five, eighty. Ah! ah!" said Porthos.
"If they fire all at once they will riddle us with balls."
"Certainly they will."
"Without reckoning," added Aramis, "that the detonations might occasion fallings in of the cavern."
"Aye," said Porthos, "a piece of falling rock just now grazed my shoulder a little."
"You see, then!"
"Oh! it is nothing."
"We must determine upon something quickly. Our Bretons are going to continue to roll the canoe toward the sea."
"Very well."
"We two will keep the powder, the balls, and muskets here."
"But only two, my dear Aramis—we shall never fire three shots together," said Porthos, innocently, "the defense by musketry is a bad one."
"Find a better, then."
"I have found one," said the giant, eagerly; "I will place myself in ambuscade behind the pillar with this iron bar,and invisible, unattackable, if they come in in floods, I can let my bar fall upon their skulls, thirty times in a minute. Hein! what do you think of the project? You smile."
"Excellent, dear friend, perfect! I approve it greatly; only you will frighten them, and half of them will remain outside to take us by famine. What we want, my good friend, is the entire destruction of the troop; a single man left standing ruins us."
"You are right, my friend, but how can we attract them, pray?"
"By not stirring, my good Porthos."
"Well! we won't stir, then; but when they shall be all together—"
"Then leave it to me, I have an idea."
"If it is thus, and your idea be a good one—and your idea is most likely to be good—I am satisfied."
"To your ambuscade, Porthos, and count how many enter."
"But you, what will you do?"
"Don't trouble yourself about me; I have a task to perform."
"I think I can hear cries."
"It is they! To your post. Keep within reach of my voice and hand."
Porthos took refuge in the second compartment, which was absolutely black with darkness. Aramis glided into the third; the giant held in his hand an iron bar of about fifty pounds' weight. Porthos handled this lever, which had been used in rolling the bark, with marvelous facility. During this time, the Bretons had pushed the bark to the beach. In the enlightened compartment, Aramis, stooping and concealed, was busied in some mysterious maneuver. A command was given in a loud voice. It was the last order of the captain commandant. Twenty-five men jumped from the upper rocks into the first compartment of the grotto, and having taken their ground, began to fire. The echoes growled, the hissing of the balls cut the air, an opaque smoke filled the vault.
"To the left! to the left!" cried Biscarrat, who, in his first assault, had seen the passage to the second chamber, and who, animated by the smell of powder,wished to guide his soldiers in that direction. The troop accordingly precipitated themselves to the left—the passage gradually growing narrower. Biscarrat, with his hands stretched forward, devoted to death, marched in advance of the muskets. "Come on! come on!" exclaimed he, "I see daylight!"
"Strike, Porthos!" cried the sepulchral voice of Aramis.
Porthos breathed a heavy sigh—but he obeyed. The iron bar fell full and direct upon the head of Biscarrat, who was dead before he had ended his cry. Then the formidable lever rose ten times in ten seconds, and made ten corpses. The soldiers could see nothing; they heard sighs and groans; they stumbled over dead bodies, but as they had no conception of the cause of all this, they came forward jostling each other. The implacable bar, still falling, annihilated the first platoon, without a single sound having warned the second, which was quietly advancing, only this second platoon, commanded by the captain, had broken a thin fir, growing on the shore, and, with its resinous branches twisted together, the captain had made a flambeau. On arriving at the compartment where Porthos, like the exterminating angel, had destroyed all he touched, the first rank drew back in terror. No firing had replied to that of the guards, and yet their way was stopped by a heap of dead bodies—they literally walked in blood. Porthos was still behind his pillar. The captain, on enlightening with the trembling flame of the fir this frightful carnage, of which he in vain sought the cause, drew back toward the pillar, behind which Porthos was concealed. Then a gigantic hand issued from the shade, and fastened on the throat of the captain, who uttered a stifled rattle; his stretched out arms beating the air, the torch fell and was extinguished in blood. A second after, the corpse of the captain fell close to the extinguished torch, and added another body to the heap of dead which blocked up the passage. All this was effected as mysteriously as if by magic. At hearing the rattling in the throat of the captain, the soldiers who accompanied him had turned round: they had caught a glimpse of his extended arms, his eyes starting from their sockets, and then the torch fell and they were left in darkness. From an unreflective, instinctive, mechanical feeling, the lieutenant cried—"Fire!"
Immediately a volley of musketry flamed, thundered, roared in the cavern, bringing down enormous fragments from the vaults. The cavern was lighted for an instant by this discharge, and then immediately returned to a darkness rendered still thicker by the smoke. To this succeeded a profound silence, broken only by the steps of the third brigade, now entering the cavern.
At the moment when Porthos, more accustomed to the darkness than all these men coming from open daylight, was looking round him to see if in this night Aramis were not making him some signal, he felt his arm gently touched, and a voice low as a breath murmured in his ear, "Come."
"Oh!" said Porthos.
"Hush!" said Aramis, if possible, still more softly.
And amid the noise of the third brigade, which continued to advance, amid the imprecations of the guards left alive, of the dying, rattling their last sigh, Aramis and Porthos glided imperceptibly along the granite walls of the cavern. Aramis led Porthos into the last but one compartment, and showed him, in a hollow of the rocky wall, a barrel of powder weighing from seventy to eighty pounds, to which he had just attached a match. "My friend," said he to Porthos, "you will take this barrel, the match of which I am going to set fire to, and throw it amid our enemies; can you do so?"
"Parbleu!" replied Porthos; and he lifted the barrel with one hand. "Light it!"
"Stop," said Aramis, "till they are all massed together, and then, my Jupiter, hurl your thunderbolt among-them."
"Light it," repeated Porthos.
"On my part," continued Aramis, "I will join our Bretons, and help them to get the canoe to the sea. I will wait for you on the shore; launch it strongly, and hasten to us."
"Light it," said Porthos a third time.
"But do you understand me?"
"Parbleu!" said Porthos again, with laughter that he did not even attempt to restrain; "when a thing is explained to me I understand it; begone, and give me the light."
Aramis gave the burning match to Porthos, who held out his arm to him, his hands being engaged. Aramis pressed the arm of Porthos with both his hands, and fell back to the outlet of the cavern where the three rowers awaited him.
Porthos, left alone, applied the spark bravely to the match. The spark—a feeble spark, first principle of a conflagration—shone in the darkness like a fire-fly, then was deadened against the match which it inflamed. Porthos enlivened the flame with his breath. The smoke was a little dispersed, and by the light of the sparkling match objects might, for two seconds, be distinguished. It was a short but a splendid spectacle, that of this giant, pale, bloody, his countenance lighted by the fire of the match burning in surrounding darkness! The soldiers saw him—they saw the barrel he held in his hand—they at once understood what was going to happen. Then, these men, already filled with terror at the sight of what had been accomplished—filled with terror at thinking of what was going to be accomplished—threw forth together one shriek of agony. Some endeavored to fly, but they encountered the third brigade which barred their passage; others mechanically took aim and attempted to fire their discharged muskets; others fell upon their knees. Two or three officers cried out to Porthos to promise him his liberty if he would spare their lives. The lieutenant of the third brigade commanded his men to fire; but the guards had before them their terrified companions, who served asa living rampart for Porthos. We have said that the light produced by the spark and the match did not last more than two seconds; but during these two seconds this is what it illumined—in the first place, the giant, enlarged in the darkness; then, at ten paces from him, a heap of bleeding bodies, crushed, mutilated, in the midst of whom still lived some last struggle of agony, which lifted the mass as a last respiration raises the sides of a shapeless monster expiring in the night. Every breath of Porthos, while enlivening the match, sent toward this heap of bodies a sulphureous hue mingled with streaks of purple. In addition to this principal group, scattered about the grotto, as the chance of death or the surprise of the blow had stretched them, some isolated bodies seemed to threaten by their gaping wounds. Above the ground, soaked by pools of blood, rose, heavy and sparkling, the short, thick pillars of the cavern, of which the strongly marked shades threw out the luminous particles. And all this was seen by the tremulous light of a match attached to a barrel of powder, that is to say, a torch which, while throwing a light upon the dead past, showed the death to come.
As I have said, this spectacle did not last above two seconds. During this short space of time, an officer of the third brigade got together eight men armed with muskets, and, through an opening, ordered them to fire upon Porthos. But they who received the order to fire trembled so that three guards fell by the discharge, and the five other balls went hissing to splinter the vault, plow the ground, or indent the sides of the cavern.
A burst of laughter replied to this volley; then the arm of the giant swung round; then was seen to pass through the air, like a falling star, the train of fire. The barrel, hurled a distance of thirty feet, cleared the barricade of the dead bodies, and fell amid a group of shrieking soldiers, who threw themselves on their faces. The officer had followed the brilliant train in the air; he endeavored to precipitate himself upon the barrel and tear out the match before itreached the powder it contained. Useless devotedness! The air had made the flame attached to the conductor more active; the match, which at rest might have burned five minutes, was consumed in thirty seconds, and the infernal work exploded. Furious vortices, hissings of sulphur and niter, devouring ravages of the fire which caught to objects, the terrible thunder of the explosion, this is what the second which followed the two seconds we have described, disclosed in that cavern, equal in horrors to a cavern of demons. The rock split like planks of deal under the ax. A jet of fire, smoke, and débris sprang up from the middle of the grotto, enlarging as it mounted. The large walls of silex tottered and fell upon the sand, and the sand itself, an instrument of pain when launched from its hardened bed, riddled the face with its myriads of cutting atoms. Cries, howlings, imprecations, and existences—all were extinguished in one immense crash.
The three first compartments became a gulf into which fell back again, according to its weight, every vegetable, mineral, or human fragment. Then the lighter sand and ashes fell in their turns, stretching like a gray winding-sheet and smoking over these dismal funerals. And now seek in this burning tomb, in this subterraneous volcano, seek for the king's guards with their blue coats laced with silver. Seek for the officers brilliant in gold; seek for the arms upon which they depended for their defense; seek for the stones that have killed them, the ground that has borne them. One single man has made of all this a chaos more confused, more shapeless, more terrible than the chaos which existed an hour before God had created the world. There remained nothing of the three compartments—nothing by which God could have known His own work. As to Porthos, after having hurled the barrel of powder amid his enemies, he had fled as Aramis had directed him to do, and had gained the last apartment, into which air, light, and sunshine penetrated through the opening. Therefore, scarcely had he turned the angle which separated the third compartment from the fourth, than he perceived at a hundred paces from him the bark dancing on the waves; there were his friends, there was liberty, there was life after victory. Six more of his formidable strides, and he would be out of the vault; out of the vault! two or three vigorous springs, and he would reach the canoe. Suddenly he felt his knees give way; his knees appeared powerless, his legs to yield under him.
"Oh! oh!" murmured he, "there is my fatigue seizing me again! I can walk no further! What is this!"
Aramis perceived him through the opening, and unable to conceive what could induce him to stop thus, "Come on, Porthos! come on," cried he; "come quickly!"
"Oh!" replied the giant, making an effort which acted upon every muscle of his body, "oh! but I cannot!" While saying these words he fell upon his knees, but with his robust hands he clung to the rocks, and raised himself up again.
"Quick! quick!" repeated Aramis, bending forward toward the shore, as if to draw Porthos toward him with his arms.
"Here I am," stammered Porthos, collecting all his strength to make one step more.
"In the name of Heaven, Porthos, make haste! the barrel will blow up!"
"Make haste, monseigneur!" shouted the Bretons to Porthos, who was floundering as in a dream.
But there was no longer time; the explosion resounded, the earth gaped, the smoke which rushed through the large fissures obscured the sky; the sea flowed back as if driven by the blast of fire which darted from the grotto as if from the jaws of a gigantic chimera; the reflux carried the bark out twenty toises; the rocks cracked to their base, and separated like blocks beneath the operation of wedges; a portion of the vault was carried up toward heaven, as if by rapid currents; the rose-colored and green fire of the sulphur, the black lava of the argillaceous liquefactions clashed and combated for an instant beneath a majestic dome of smoke; then, at first oscillated, then declined, then fell successively the long angles of rock which the violence of the explosion had not been able to uproot from their bed of ages; they bowed to each other like grave and slow old men, then prostrating themselves, embedded forever in their dusty tomb.
This frightful shock seemed to restore to Porthos the strength he had lost: he arose, himself a giant among these giants. But at the moment he was flying between the double hedge of granite phantoms, these latter, which were no longer supported by the corresponding links, began to roll with a crash around this Titan, who looked as if precipitated from heaven amid rocks which he had just been launching at it. Porthos felt the earth beneath his feet shaken by this long rending. He extended his vast hands to the right and left to repulse the falling rocks. A gigantic block was held back by each of his extended hands; he bent his head, and a third granite mass sank between his two shoulders. For an instant the arms of Porthos had given way, but the Hercules united all his forces, and the two walls of the prison in which he was buried fell back slowly and gave him place. For an instant he appeared in this frame of granite like the ancient angel of chaos, but in pushing back the lateral rocks, he lost his point of support for the monolith which weighed upon his strong shoulders, and the monolith, lying upon him with all its weight, brought the giant down upon his knees. The lateral rocks, for an instant pushed back, drew together again, and added their weight to the primitive weight which would have been sufficient to crush ten men. The giant fell without crying for help; he fell while answering Aramis with words of encouragement and hope, for, thanks to the powerful arch of his hands, for an instant, he might believe that, like Enceladus, he should shake off the triple load. But, by degrees, Aramis saw the block sink: the hands strung for an instant, the arms stiffened for a last effort, gave way, the extended shoulders sank wounded and torn, and the rock continued to lower gradually.
"Porthos! Porthos!" cried Aramis, tearing his hair. "Porthos! where are you? Speak!"
"There, there!" murmured Porthos, with a voice growing evidently weaker, "patience! patience!"
Scarcely had he pronounced these words, when the impulse of the fall augmented the weight; the enormous rock sank down, pressed by the two others which sank in from the sides, and, as it were, swallowed up Porthos in a sepulcher of broken stones. On hearing the dying voice of his friend, Aramis had sprung to land. Two of the Bretons followed him, with each a lever in his hand—one being sufficient to take care of the bark. The last rattles of the valiant struggler guided them amid the ruins. Aramis, animated, active, and young as at twenty, sprang toward the triple mass, and with his hands, delicate as those of a woman, raised by a miracle of vigor a corner of the immense sepulcher of granite. Then he caught a glimpse, in the darkness of that grave, of the still brilliant eye of his friend, to whom the momentary lifting of the mass restored that moment of respiration. The two men came rushing up, grasped their iron levers, united their triple strength, not merely to raise it, but to sustain it. All was useless. The three men slowly gave way with cries of grief, and the rough voice of Porthos, seeing them exhaust themselves in a useless struggle, murmured in a jeering tone those supreme words which came to his lips with the last respiration, "Too heavy!"
After which the eye darkened and closed, the face became pale, the hand whitened, and the Titan sank quite down, breathing his last sigh. With him sank the rock, which, even in his agony, he had still held up. The three men dropped the levers, which rolled upon the tumulary stone. Then, breathless, pale, his brow covered with sweat, Aramis listened, his breast oppressed, his heart ready to break.
Nothing more! The giant slept the eternal sleep, in the sepulcher which God had made to his measure.
Aramis, silent, icy, trembling like a timid child, arose shivering from the stone. A Christian does not walk upon tombs. But though capable of standing, he was not capable of walking. It might be said that something of dead Porthos had just died within him. His Bretons surrounded him: Aramis yielded to their kind exertions, and the three sailors, lifting him up, carried him into the canoe. Then, having laid him down upon the bench near the rudder, they took to their oars, preferring to get off by rowing to hoisting a sail, which might betray them.
Of all that leveled surface of the ancient grotto of Locmaria, of all that flattened shore, one single little hillock attracted their eyes. Aramis never removed his from it; and, at a distance out in the sea, in proportion as the shore receded, the menacing and proud mass of rock seemed to draw itself up, as formerly Porthos used to draw himself up, and raise a smiling and invincible head toward heaven, like that of the honest and valiant friend, the strongest of the four, and yet the first dead. Strange destiny of these men of brass! The most simple of heart allied to the most crafty; strength of body guided by subtlety of mind; and in the decisive moment, when vigor alone could save mind and body, a stone, a rock, a vile and material weight, triumphed over vigor, and falling upon the body, drove out the mind.
Worthy Porthos! born to help other men, always ready to sacrifice himself for the safety of the weak, as if God had only given him strength for that purpose: when dying he only thought he was carrying out the conditions of his compact with Aramis, a compact, however, which Aramis alone had drawn up, and which Porthos had only known to suffer by its terrible solidarity. Noble Porthos! of what good are the chateaux overflowing with sumptuous furniture, the forests overflowing with game, the lakes overflowing with fish, the cellars overflowing with wealth! Of what good are the lackeys in brilliant liveries, and in the midst of them Mousqueton, proud of the power delegated by thee! Oh! noble Porthos! careful heaper up of treasures, was it worth while to labor to sweeten and gild life, to come upon a desert shore, to the cries of sea birds, and lay thyself, with broken bones, beneath a cold stone! Was it worth while, in short, noble Porthos, to heap so much gold, and not have even the distich of a poor poet engraven upon thy monument! Valiant Porthos! He still, without doubt, sleeps, lost, forgotten, beneath the rock which the shepherds of the heath take for the gigantic abode of a dolmen. And so many twining branches, so many mosses, caressed by the bitter wind of the ocean, so many vivacious lichens have soldered the sepulcher to the earth, that the passenger will never imagine that such a block of granite can ever have been supported by the shoulders of one man.
Aramis, still pale, still icy, his heart upon his lips, Aramis looked, even till, with the last ray of daylight, the shore faded on the horizon. Not a word escaped his lips, not a sigh rose from his deep breast. The superstitious Bretons looked at him trembling. The silence was not of a man, it was of a statue. In the meantime, with the first gray lines that descended from the heavens, the canoe had hoisted its little sail, which swelling with the kisses of the breeze, and carrying them rapidly from the coast, made brave way with its head toward Spain, across the terrible gulf of Gascony, so rife with tempests. But scarcely half an hour after the sail had been hoisted, the rowers became inactive, reclining upon their benches, and making an eye-shade with their hands, pointed out to each other a white spot which appeared on the horizon, as motionless as is in appearance a gull rocked by the insensible respiration of the waves. But that which might have appeared motionless to the ordinary eyes was moving at a quick rate to the experienced eye of the sailor; that which appeared stationary on the ocean was cutting a rapid way through it. For some time, seeing the profound torpor in which their master was plunged, they did not dare to rouse him, and satisfied themselves with exchanging their conjectures in a low, disturbed voice. Aramis, in fact, so vigilant, so active—Aramis, whose eye, like that of a lynx, watched without ceasing, and saw better by night than by day—Aramis seemed to sleep in the despair of his soul. An hour passed thus, during which daylight gradually disappeared, but during which also the sail in view gained so swiftly on the bark that Goenne, one of the three sailors, ventured to say aloud:
"Monseigneur, we are being chased!"
Aramis made no reply; the ship still gained upon them. Then, of their own accord, two of the sailors, by the direction of the patron Yves, lowered the sail, in order that that single point, which appeared above the surface of the waters, should cease to be a guide to the eye of the enemy who was pursuing them. On the part of the ship in sight, on the contrary, two more small sails were run up at the extremities of the masts. Unfortunately, it was the time of the finest and longest days of the year, and the moon, in all her brilliancy, succeeded to this inauspicious daylight. The balancelle, which was pursuing the little bark before the wind, had then still half an hour of twilight, and a whole night almost as light as day.
"Monseigneur! monseigneur! we are lost!" said the patron; "look! they see us although we have lowered our sail."
"That is not to be wondered at," murmured one of the sailors, "since they say that, by the aid of the devil, the people of the cities have fabricated instruments with which they see as well at a distance as near, by night as well as by day."
Aramis took a telescope from the bottom of the boat, arranged it silently, and passing it to the sailor: "Here," said he, "look!" The sailor hesitated.
"Don't be alarmed," said the bishop, "there is no sin in it; and if there is any sin, I will take it upon myself."
The sailor lifted the glass to his eye and uttered a cry. He believed that the vessel, which appeared to be distant aboutcannon-shot, had suddenly and at a single bound cleared the distance. But, on withdrawing the instrument from his eye, he saw that, except the way which the balancelle had been able to make during that short instant, it was still at the same distance.
"So," murmured the sailor, "they can see us as we see them."
"They see us," said Aramis, and sank again into his impassibility.
"How—they see us!" said the patron Yves, "impossible!"
"Well, patron, look yourself," said the sailor. And he passed to him the glass.
"Monseigneur assures me that the devil has nothing to do with this?" asked the patron.
Aramis shrugged his shoulders.
The patron lifted the glass to his eye. "Oh! monseigneur," said he, "it is a miracle—they are there; it seems as if I were going to touch them. Twenty-five men at least! Ah! I see the captain forward. He holds a glass like this, and is looking at us. Ah! he turns round, and gives an order; they are rolling a piece of cannon forward—they are charging it—they are pointing it.—Miséricorde! they are firing at us!"
And by a mechanical movement, the patron took the glass off, and the objects, sent back to the horizon, appeared again in their true aspect. The vessel was still at the distance of nearly a league, but the maneuver announced by the patron was not less real. A light cloud of smoke appeared under the sails, more blue than they, and spreading like a flower opening; then, at about a mile from the little canoe, they saw the ball take the crown off two or three waves, dig a white furrow in the sea, and disappear at the end of that furrow, as inoffensive as the stone with which, at play, a boy makes ducks and drakes. That was at once a menace and a warning.
"What is to be done?" asked the patron.
"They will sink us!" said Goenne, "give us absolution, monseigneur!" And the sailors fell on their knees before him.
"You forget that they can see you," said he.
"That is true!" said the sailors, ashamed of their weakness. "Give us your orders, monseigneur, we are ready to die for you."
"Let us wait," said Aramis.
"How—let us wait?"
"Yes; do you not see, as you just now said, that if we endeavor to fly they will sink us?"
"But, perhaps," the patron ventured to say, "perhaps, by the favor of the night we could escape them."
"Oh!" said Aramis, "they have, little doubt, some Greek fire to lighten their own course and ours likewise."
At the same moment, as if the little vessel wished to reply to the appeal of Aramis, a second cloud of smoke mounted slowly to the heavens, and from the bosom of that cloud sparkled an arrow of flame, which described its parabola like a rainbow, and fell into the sea, where it continued to burn, illuminating a space of a quarter of a league in diameter.
The Bretons looked at each other in terror. "You see plainly," said Aramis, "it will be better to wait for them."
The oars dropped from the hands of the sailors, and the bark, ceasing to make way, rocked motionless on the summits of the waves. Night came on, but the vessel still approached nearer. It might be said it redoubled its speed with the darkness. From time to time, as a bloody-necked vulture rears its head out of its nest, the formidable Greek fire darted from its sides, and cast its flame into the ocean like an incandescent snow. At last it came within musket-shot. All the men were on deck, arms in hand; the cannoneers were at their guns, the matches were burning. It might be thought they were about to board a frigate and to combat a crew superior in number to their own, and not to take a canoe manned by four people.
"Surrender!" cried the commander of the balancelle, with the aid of his speaking trumpet.
The sailors looked at Aramis. Aramis made a sign with his head. The patron Yves waved a white cloth at the end of a gaff. This was like striking their flag. The vessel came on like a racehorse. It launched a fresh Greek fire which fell within twenty paces of the little canoe, and threw a stronger light upon them than the most ardent ray of the sun could have done.
"At the first sign of resistance," cried the commander of the balancelle, "fire!" And the soldiers brought their muskets to the present.
"Did not we say we surrendered?" said the patron Yves.
"Living! living! captain!" cried some highly exalted soldiers, "they must be taken living!"
"Well, yes—living," said the captain. Then turning toward the Bretons, "Your lives are all safe, my friends!" cried he, "except the Chevalier d'Herblay."
Aramis started imperceptibly. For an instant his eye was fixed upon the depths of the ocean enlightened by the last flashes of the Greek fire, flashes which ran along the sides of the waves, played upon their crests like plumes, and rendered still more dark, more mysterious and more terrible the abysses they covered.
"Do you hear, monseigneur?" said the sailors.
"Yes."
"What are your orders?"
"Accept!"
"But you, monseigneur?"
Aramis leaned still more forward, and played with the ends of his long white fingers with the green water of the sea, to which he turned smiling as to a friend.
"Accept!" repeated he.
"We accept," repeated the sailors; "but what security have we?"
"The word of a gentleman," said the officer. "By my rank and by my name I swear, that all but M. le Chevalier d'Herblay shall have their lives spared. I am lieutenant of the king's frigate thePomona, and my name is Louis Constant de Pressigny."
With a rapid gesture, Aramis—already bent over the side of the bark toward the sea—with a rapid gesture, Aramis raised his head, drew himself up, and with a flashing eye, and a smile upon his lips—"Throw out the ladder, messieurs," said he, as if the command had belonged to him. He was obeyed. Then Aramis, seizing the rope-ladder, instead of the terror which was expected to be displayed upon his countenance, the surprise of the sailors of the balancelle was great, when they saw him walk straight up to the commander, with a firm step, look at him earnestly, make a sign to him with his hand, a mysterious and unknown sign, at the sight of which the officer turned pale, trembled, and bowed his head. Without saving a word, Aramis then raised his hand close to the eyes of the commander, and showed him the collet of a ring which he wore on the ring-finger of his left hand. And while making this sign, Aramis, draped in cold, silent, and haughty majesty, had the air of an emperor giving his hand to be kissed. The commandant, who for a moment had raised his head, bowed a second time with marks of the most profound respect. Then stretching his hand out, in his turn toward the poop, that is to say, toward his own cabin, he drew back to allow Aramis to go first. The three Bretons, who had come on board after their bishop, looked at each other, stupefied. The crew were struck with silence. Five minutes after, the commander called the second lieutenant, who returned immediately, ordering the head to be put toward Corunna. While the given order was being executed, Aramis reappeared upon the deck, and took a seat near thebastingage. The night had fallen, the moon had not yet risen, and yet Aramis looked incessantly toward Belle-Isle. Yves then approached the captain, who had returned to take his post in the stern, and said, in a low and humble voice, "What course are we to follow, captain?"
"We take what course monseigneur pleases," replied the officer.
Aramis passed the night leaning upon thebastingage. Yves, on approaching him the next morning, remarked, that "the night must have been very humid, for the wood upon which the bishop's headhad rested was soaked with dew." Who knows!—that dew was, perhaps, the first tears that had ever fallen from the eyes of Aramis!
What epitaph would have been worth that? Good Porthos!
D'Artagnan was not accustomed to resistances like that he had just experienced. He returned, profoundly irritated, to Nantes. Irritation with this vigorous man vented itself in an impetuous attack, which, few people, hitherto, were they king, were they giants, had been able to resist. D'Artagnan, trembling with rage, went straight to the castle, and asked to speak to the king. It might be about seven o'clock in the morning, and, since his arrival at Nantes, the king had been an early riser. But, on arriving at the little corridor with which we are acquainted, D'Artagnan found M. de Gesvres, who stopped him very politely, telling him not to speak too loud and disturb the king. "Is the king asleep?" said D'Artagnan—"well, I will let him sleep. But about what o'clock do you suppose he will rise?"
"Oh! in about two hours; the king has been up all night."
D'Artagnan took his hat again, bowed to M. de Gesvres, and returned to his own apartments. He came back at half-past nine, and was told that the king was at breakfast. "That will just suit me," said D'Artagnan, "I will talk to the king while he is eating."
M. de Brienne reminded D'Artagnan that the king would not receive any one during his repasts.
"But," said D'Artagnan, looking askant at Brienne, "you do not know perhaps, monsieur, that I have the privilege of entrée anywhere, and at any hour."
Brienne took the hand of the captain kindly, and said, "Not at Nantes, dear Monsieur d'Artagnan. The king in this journey has changed everything."
D'Artagnan, a little softened, asked about what o'clock the king would have finished his breakfast.
"We don't know."
"How!—don't know! What does that mean? You don't know how much time the king devotes to eating? It is generally an hour; and, if we admit that the air of the Loire gives an additional appetite, we will extend it to an hour and a half; that is enough, I think. I will wait where I am."
"Oh! dear Monsieur d'Artagnan, the order is, not to allow any person to remain in this corridor; I am on guard for that purpose."
D'Artagnan felt his anger mounting a second time to his brain. He went out quickly, for fear of complicating the affair by a display of ill-humor. As soon as he was out he began to reflect. "The king," said he, "will not receive me, that is evident. The young man is angry; he is afraid of the words I may speak to him. Yes; but in the meantime, Belle-Isle is besieged, and my two friends are taken or killed. Poor Porthos! As to Master Aramis, he is always full of resources, and I am quite easy on his account. But, no, no; Porthos is not yet an invalid, and Aramis is not yet in his dotage. The one with his arm, the other with his imagination, will find work for his majesty's soldiers. Who knows if these brave men may not get up for the edification of his Most Christian Majesty a little bastion of Saint-Gervais! I don't despair of it. They have cannon and a garrison. And yet," continued D'Artagnan, "I don't know whether it would not be better to stop the combat. For myself alone, I will not put up with either surly looks, or treason, on the part of the king; but for my friends, rebuffs, insults, I have a right to receive everything. Shall I go to M. Colbert? Now there is a man, whom I must acquire the habit of terrifying. I will go to M. Colbert." And D'Artagnan set forward bravely to find M. Colbert, but he was told he was working with the king, at the castle of Nantes. "Good!" cried he, "the times are returned in which I measured my steps from M. de Treville to the cardinal, from the cardinal to the queen, from the queen to Louis XIII. Truly is it said that men, in growing old, become children again!—To the castle, then!" He returned thither. M. de Lyonne was coming out. He gave D'Artagnan both hands, but told him that the king had been busy all the preceding evening and all night, and that orders had been given that no one should be admitted.
"Not even the captain who takes the order?" cried D'Artagnan. "I think that he is rather too strong."
"Not even he," said M. de Lyonne.
"Since that is the case," replied D'Artagnan, wounded to the heart; "since the captain of the musketeers, who has always entered the king's chamber, is no longer allowed to enter it, his cabinet, or hissalle-a-manger; either the king is dead, or his captain is in disgrace. In either case, he can no longer want him. Do me the favor, then, M. de Lyonne, who are in favor, to return and tell the king plainly, I send him my resignation."
"D'Artagnan, beware of what you are doing!"
"For friendship's sake, go!" and he pushed him gently toward the cabinet.
"Well, I will go," said Lyonne.
D'Artagnan waited, walking about the corridor in no enviable mood. Lyonne returned. "Well, what did the king say?" exclaimed D'Artagnan.
"He simply answered, 'That is well,'" replied Lyonne.
"That that was well!" said the captain, with an explosion. "That is to say, that he accepts it? Good! Now, then, I am free! I am only a plain citizen, M. de Lyonne. I have the pleasure of bidding you good-by! Farewell, castle, corridor, antechamber! abourgeois, about to breathe at liberty, takes his farewell of you."
And without waiting longer, the captain sprang from the terrace down the staircase, where he had picked up the fragments of Gourville's letter. Five minutes after, he was at the hostelry, where, according to the custom of all great officers who have lodgings at the castle, he had taken what was called his city chamber. But when arrived there, instead of throwing off his sword and cloak, he took his pistols, put his money into a large leather purse, sent for his horses from the castle stables, and gave orders for reaching Vannes during the night. Everything went on according to his wishes. At eight o'clock in the evening, he was putting his foot in the stirrup, when M. de Gesvres appeared, at the head of twelve guards, in front of the hostelry. D'Artagnan saw all from the corner of his eye; he could not fail seeing thirteen men and thirteen horses. But he feigned not to observe anything, and was about to put his horse in motion. Gesvres rode up to him. "Monsieur d'Artagnan!" said he aloud.
"Ah, Monsieur de Gesvres! good-evening!"
"One would say you were getting on horseback."
"More than that—I am mounted, as you see."
"It is fortunate I have met with you."
"Were you looking for me, then?"
"Mon Dieu! yes."
"On the part of the king, I will wager?"
"Yes."
"As I, three days ago, went in search of M. Fouquet?"
"Oh!"
"Nonsense! It is of no use being delicate with me; that is all labor lost. Tell me at once you are come to arrest me."
"To arrest you—good heavens! no."
"Why do you come to accost me with twelve horsemen at your heels, then?"
"I am making my round."
"That isn't bad! And so you pick me up in your round, eh?"
"I don't pick you up; I meet with you, and I beg you to come with me."
"Where?"
"To the king."
"Good!" said D'Artagnan, with a bantering air; "the king has nothing to do at last!"
"For Heaven's sake, captain," said M. de Gesvres, in a low voice to the musketeer, "do not compromise yourself! these men hear you."
D'Artagnan laughed aloud, and replied, "March! People who are arrested are placed between the six first guards and the six last."
"But as I do not arrest you," said M. de Gesvres, "you will march behind with me, if you please."
"Well," said D'Artagnan, "that is very polite, duc, and you are right in being so; for if ever I had had to make my rounds near yourchambre-de-ville, I should have been courteous to you, I assure you, by the faith of a gentleman! Now, one favor more: what does the king want with me?"
"Oh, the king is furious!"
"Very well! the king, who has thought it worth while to be furious, may take the trouble of getting calm again; that is all that. I shan't die of that, I will swear."
"No, but—"
"But—I shall be sent to keep company with poor M. Fouquet. Mordioux! That is a gallant man, a worthy man! We shall live very sociably together, I will be bound."
"Here we are at our place of destination," said the duc. "Captain, for Heaven's sake be calm with the king!"
"Ah, ah! you are playing the brave man with me, duc!" said D'Artagnan, throwing one of his defiant glances over De Gesvres. "I have been told that you are ambitious of uniting your guards with my musketeers. This strikes me as a capital opportunity."
"I will take devilish good care not to avail myself of it, captain."
"And why not?"
"Oh, for many reasons—in the first place, for this: If I were to succeed you in the musketeers, after having arrested you—"
"Ah! then, you admit you have arrested me?"
"No, I don't."
"Say, met me, then. So you were saying,ifyou were to succeed me, after having arrested me?"
"Your musketeers, at the first exercise with ball cartridges, would all fire toward me, by mistake."
"Ah! as to that I won't say; for the fellows do love me a little."
Gesvres made D'Artagnan pass in first, and took him straight to the cabinet where the king was waiting for his captain of the musketeers, and placed himself behind his colleague in the antechamber. The king could be heard distinctly, speaking aloud to Colbert, in the same cabinet where Colbert might have heard, a few days before, the king speaking aloud with M. d'Artagnan. The guards remained as a mounted piquet before the principal gate; and the report was quickly spread through the city that monsieur le capitaine of the musketeers had just been arrested by order of the king. Then, these men were seen to be in motion, as, in the good old times of Louis XIII., and M. de Treville; groups were formed, the staircases were filled; vague murmurs, issuing from the courts below, came rolling up to the upper stories, like the hoarse moanings of the tide-waves. M. de Gesvres became very uneasy. He looked at his guards, who, after being interrogated by the musketeers who had just got among their ranks, began to shun them with a manifestation of uneasiness. D'Artagnan was certainly less disturbed than M. de Gesvres, the captain of the guards, was. As soon as he entered, he had seated himself on the ledge of a window, whence, with his eagle glance, he saw all that was going on, without the least emotion. None of the progress of the fermentation which had manifested itself at the report of his arrest had escaped him. He foresaw the moment when the explosion would take place, and we know that his previsions were pretty correct.
"It would be very whimsical," thought he, "if, this evening, my prætorians should make me king of France. How I should laugh!"
But, at the height, all was stopped. Guards, musketeers, officers, soldiers, murmurs and uneasinesses, all dispersed, vanished, died away; no more tempest, no more menace, no more sedition. One word had calmed all the waves. The king had desired Brienne to say, "Hush, messieurs! you disturb the king."
D'Artagnan sighed. "All is over!" said he; "the musketeers of the present day are not those of his majesty Louis XIII. All is over!"
"M. d'Artagnan to the king's apartment," cried an usher.