As soon as Raoul had quitted Athos and D'Artagnan, and as soon as the two exclamations which had followed his departure had escaped their lips, they found themselves face to face alone. Athos immediately resumed the earnest air that he had assumed at D'Artagnan's arrival.
"Well," he said, "what have you come to announce to me, my friend?"
"I?" inquired D'Artagnan.
"Yes; I do not see you in this way without some reason for it," said Athos, smiling.
"The deuce!" said D'Artagnan.
"I will place you at your ease. The king is furious, I suppose?"
"Well, I must say he is not altogether pleased."
"And you have come to arrest me, then?"
"My dear friend, you have hit the very mark."
"Oh, I expected it! I am quite ready to go with you."
"Deuce take it!" said D'Artagnan, "what a hurry you are in."
"I am afraid of delaying you," said Athos, smiling.
"I have plenty of time. Are you not curious, besides, to know how things went on between the king and me?"
"If you will be good enough to tell me, I will listen with the greatest pleasure," said Athos, pointing out to D'Artagnan a large chair, into which the latter threw himself, assuming the easiest possible attitude.
"Well, I will do so willing enough," continued D'Artagnan, "for the conversation is rather curious, I must say. In the first place, the king sent for me."
"As soon as I had left?"
"You were just going down the last steps of the staircase, as the musketeers told me. I arrived. My dear Athos, he was not red in the face merely, he was positively purple. I was not aware, of course, of what had passed; only, on the ground, lying on the floor, I saw a sword broken in two.
"'Captain d'Artagnan,' cried the king, as soon as he saw me.
"'Sire,' I replied.
"'M. de la Fere has just left me; he is an insolent man.'
"'An insolent man!' I exclaimed, in such a tone that the king stopped suddenly short.
"'Captain d'Artagnan,' resumed the king, with his teeth clenched, 'you will be good enough to listen to and hear me.'
"'That is my duty, sire.'
"'I have, out of consideration for M. de la Fere, wished to spare him, of whom I still retain some kind recollections, the discredit of being arrested in my palace. You will therefore take a carriage.' At this I made a slight movement.
"'If you object to arrest him yourself,' continued the king, 'send me my captain of the guards here.'
"'Sire,' I replied, 'there is no necessity for the captain of the guards, since I am on duty.'
"'I should not like to annoy you,' said the king, kindly, 'for you have always served me well, Monsieur d'Artagnan.'
"'You do not "annoy" me, sire,' I replied; 'I am on duty, that is all.'
"'But,' said the king, in astonishment, 'I believe the comte is your friend?'
"'If he were my father, sire, it would not make me less on duty than I am.'
"The king looked at me; he saw how unmoved my face was, and seemed satisfied. 'You will arrest M. le Comte de la Fere, then?' he inquired.
"'Most certainly, sire, if you give me the order to do so.'
"'Very well; I order you to do so.'
"I bowed and replied, 'Where is the comte, sire?'
"'You will look for him.'
"'And I am to arrest him, wherever he may be?'
"'Yes; but try that he may be at his own house. If he should have started for his own estate, leave Paris at once, and arrest him on his way thither.'
"I bowed; but as I did not move, he said, 'Well, what are you waiting for?'
"'For the order to arrest the comte, signed by yourself.'
"The king seemed annoyed; for, in point of fact, it was the exercise of a fresh act of authority; a repetition of the arbitrary act, if, indeed, it is to be considered as such. He took hold of his pen slowly, and evidently in no very good temper; and then he wrote, 'Order for M. le Chevalier d'Artagnan, captain of my musketeers, to arrest M. le Comte de la Fere, wherever he is to be found.' He then turned toward me; but I was looking on without moving a muscle of my face. In all probability he thought he perceived something like bravado in my tranquil manner, for he signed hurriedly; and then, handing me the order, he said, 'Go, monsieur!' I obeyed—and here I am."
Athos pressed his friend's hand. "Well, let us set off," he said.
"Oh! surely," said D'Artagnan, "you must have some trifling matters to arrange before you leave your apartments in this manner."
"I?—not at all."
"Why not?"
"Why, you know, D'Artagnan, that Ihave always been a very simple traveler on this earth, ready to go to the end of the world by the order of my sovereign; ready to quit it at the summons of my Maker. What does a man who is thus prepared require in such a case?—a portmanteau or a shroud. I am ready at this moment, as I have always been, my dear friend, and can accompany you at once."
"But Bragelonne—"
"I have brought him up in the same principles I laid down for my own guidance; and you observed that as soon as he perceived you he guessed, that very moment, the motive of your visit. We have thrown him off his guard for a moment; but do not be uneasy, he is sufficiently prepared for my disgrace to be too much alarmed at it. So let us go."
"Very well, 'let us go.'" said D'Artagnan, quietly.
"As I broke my sword in the king's presence, and threw the pieces at his feet, I presume that will dispense with the necessity of delivering it over to you."
"You are quite right; and besides that, what the deuce do you suppose I could do with your sword?"
"Am I to walk behind, or before you?" inquired Athos, laughing.
"You will walk arm-in-arm with me," replied D'Artagnan, as he took the comte's aim to descend the staircase; and in this manner they arrived at the landing. Grimaud, whom they had met in the anteroom, looked at them, as they went out together in this manner, with some little uneasiness; his experience of affairs was quite sufficient to give him good reason to suspect that there was something wrong.
"Ah! is that you, Grimaud?" said Athos, kindly. "We are going—"
"To take a turn in my carriage," interrupted D'Artagnan, with a friendly nod of the head.
Grimaud thanked D'Artagnan by a grimace, which was evidently intended for a smile, and accompanied both the friends to the door. Athos entered first into the carriage; D'Artagnan followed him, without saying a word to the coachman. The departure had taken place so quietlythat it excited no disturbance or attention even in the neighborhood. When the carriage had reached the quays, "You are taking me to the Bastille, I perceive," said Athos.
"I?" said D'Artagnan, "I take you wherever you may choose to go; nowhere else. I can assure you."
"What do you mean?" said the comte, surprised.
"Why, surely, my dear friend," said D'Artagnan, "you quite understand that I undertook the mission with no other object in view than that of carrying it out exactly as you liked. You surely did not expect that I was going to get you thrown into prison like that, brutally, and without any reflection. If I had not anticipated that, I should have let the captain of the guards undertake it."
"And so—?" said Athos.
"And so, I repeat again, we will go wherever you may choose."
"My dear friend," said Athos, embracing D'Artagnan, "how like you that is."
"Well, it seems simple enough to me. The coachman will take you to the barrier of the Cours-la-Reine; you will find a horse there which I have ordered to be kept ready for you; with that horse, you will be able to do three posts without stopping; and I, on my side, will take care not to return to the king, to tell him that you have gone away, until the very moment it will be impossible to overtake you. In the meantime you will have reached Havre, and from Havre across to England, where you will find the charming residence of which M. Monk made me a present, without speaking of the hospitality which King Charles will not fail to show you. Well, what do you think of this project?"
Athos shook his head, and then said, smiling as he did so, "No, no; take me to the Bastille."
"You are an obstinate-headed fellow, dear Athos," returned D'Artagnan; "reflect for a few moments."
"Upon what?"
"That you are no longer twenty years of age. Believe me, I speak according to my own knowledge and experience. A prison is certain death for men of our time of life. No, no; I will never allow you to languish in prison in such a way. Why, the very thought of it makes my head turn giddy."
"Dear D'Artagnan," Athos replied. "Heaven most fortunately made my body as strong, powerful, and enduring as my mind; and, rely upon it, I shall retain my strength up to the very last moment."
"But this is not strength of mind or character; it is sheer madness."
"No, D'Artagnan, it is the highest order of reasoning. Do not suppose that I should in the slightest degree in the world discuss the question with you, whether you would not be ruined in endeavoring to save me. I should have done precisely as you are doing if flight had been part of my plan of action; I should, therefore, have accepted from you what, without any doubt, you would have accepted from me. No! I know you too well even to breathe a word upon the subject."
"Ah! if you would only let me do it," said D'Artagnan, "how I would send the king running after you."
"Still, he is the king; do not forget that, my dear friend."
"Oh! that is all the same to me; and king though he be, I would plainly tell him, 'Sire! imprison, exile, kill every one in France and Europe; order me to arrest and poniard even whom you like—even were it Monsieur, your own brother; but do not touch one of the four musketeers, or if so,mordioux!'"
"My dear friend," replied Athos, with perfect calmness, "I should like to persuade you of one thing; namely, that I wish to be arrested; that I desire above all things that my arrest should take place."
D'Artagnan made a slight movement of his shoulders.
"Nay; I wish it, I repeat, more than anything; if you were to let me escape, it would be only to return of my own accord, and constitute myself a prisoner. I wish to prove to this young man, who is dazzled by the power and splendor of his crown, that he can be regarded as the first and chiefest among men only on the one condition of his proving himself to be the most generous and the wisest among them. He may punish me, imprison or torture me, it matters not. He abuses his opportunities, and I wish him to learn the bitterness of remorse, while Heaven teaches him what a chastisement is."
"Well, well," replied D'Artagnan, "I know, only too well, that when you have once said 'no,' you mean 'no.' I do not insist any longer; you wish to go to the Bastille?"
"I do wish to go there."
"Let us go, then! To the Bastille!" cried D'Artagnan to the coachman. And throwing himself back in the carriage, he gnawed the ends of his mustache with a fury which, for Athos, who knew him well, signified a resolution either already taken or in course of formation. A profound silence ensued in the carriage, which continued to roll on, but neither faster nor slower than before. Athos took the musketeer by the hand.
"You are not angry with me, D'Artagnan?" he said.
"I!—oh, no! certainly not; of course not. What you do from heroism, I should have done from sheer obstinacy."
"But you are quite of opinion, are you not, that Heaven will avenge me, D'Artagnan?"
"And I know some persons on earth who will lend a helping hand," said the captain.
The carriage arrived at the outside gate of the Bastille. A soldier on guard stopped it, but D'Artagnan had only to utter a single word to procure admittance, and the carriage passed on without further difficulty. While they were proceeding along the covered way which led to the courtyard of the governor's residence,D'Artagnan, whose lynx eye saw everything, even through the walls, suddenly cried out, "What is that out yonder?"
"Well," said Athos, quietly, "what is it?"
"Look yonder, Athos."
"In the courtyard?"
"Yes, yes; make haste!"
"Well, a carriage; very likely conveying a prisoner like myself."
"That would be too droll."
"I do not understand you."
"Make haste and look again, and look at the man who is just getting out of that carriage."
At that very moment a second sentinel stopped D'Artagnan, and while the formalities were being gone through, Athos could see at a hundred paces from him the man whom his friend had pointed out to him. He was, in fact, getting out of the carriage at the door of the governor's house. "Well," inquired D'Artagnan, "do you see him?"
"Yes; he is a man in a gray suit."
"What do you say of him?"
"I cannot very well tell; he is, as I have just now told you, a man in a gray suit, who is getting out, of a carriage; that is all."
"Athos, I will wager anything it is he."
"He—who?"
"Aramis."
"Aramis arrested? Impossible!"
"I do not say he is arrested, since we see him alone in his carriage."
"Well, then, what is he doing here?"
"Oh! he knows Baisemeaux, the governor," replied the musketeer, slyly; "so we have arrived just in time."
"What for?"
"In order to see what we can see."
"I regret this meeting exceedingly. When Aramis sees me, he will be very much annoyed, in the first place, at seeing me, and in the next at being seen."
"Very well reasoned."
"Unfortunately there is no remedy for it; whenever any one meets another in the Bastille, even if he wished to draw back to avoid him, it would be impossible."
"Athos, I have an idea; the question is, to spare Aramis the annoyance you were speaking of, is it not?"
"What is to be done?"
"I will tell you; or, in order to explain myself in the best possible way, let me relate the affair in my own manner; I will not recommend you to tell a falsehood, for that would be impossible for you to do; but I will tell falsehoods enough for both; it is so easy to do that with the nature and habits of a Gascon."
Athos smiled. The carriage stopped where the one we have just now pointed out had stopped; namely, at the door of the governor's house. "It is understood, then?" said D'Artagnan, in a low voice to his friend. Athos consented by a gesture. They ascended the staircase. There will be no occasion for surprise at the facility with which they had entered into the Bastille, if it be remembered that, before passing the first gate, in fact, the most difficult of all, D'Artagnan had announced that he had brought a prisoner of state. At the third gate, on the contrary, that is to say, when he had once fairly entered the prison, he merely said to the sentinel, "To M. Baisemeaux;" and they both passed on. In a few minutes they were in the governor's dining-room, and the first face which attracted D'Artagnan's observation was that of Aramis, who was seated side by side with Baisemeaux, and awaited the announcement of a good meal, whose odor impregnated the whole apartment. If D'Artagnan pretended surprise, Aramis did not pretend at all; he started when he saw his two friends, and his emotion was very apparent. Athos and D'Artagnan, however, complimented him as usual, and Baisemeaux, amazed, completely stupefied by the presence of his three guests, began to perform a few evolutions around them. "By what lucky accident—"
"We were just going to ask you," retorted D'Artagnan.
"Are we going to give ourselves up as prisoners?" cried Aramis, with an affectation of hilarity.
"Ah! ah!" said D'Artagnan; "it is true the walls smell deucedly like a prison. Monsieur de Baisemeaux, you know you invited me to sup with you the other day."
"I?" cried Baisemeaux.
"Yes, of course you did, although you now seem so struck with amazement. Don't you remember it?"
Baisemeaux turned pale and then red, looked at Aramis, who looked at him, and finished by stammering out, "Certainly—I am delighted—but upon my honor—I have not the slightest—Ah! I have such a wretched memory."
"Well! I am wrong, I see," said D'Artagnan, as if he were offended.
"Wrong, what for?"
"Wrong to remember anything about it, it seems."
Baisemeaux hurried toward him. "Do not stand on ceremony, my dear captain," he said; "I have the worst memory in the world. I no sooner leave off thinking of my pigeons and their pigeon-house, than I am no better than the rawest recruit."
"At all events, you remember it now," said D'Artagnan, boldly.
"Yes, yes," replied the governor, hesitating; "I think I remember."
"It was when you came to the palace to see me; you told me some story or other about your accounts with M. de Louviere and M. de Tremblay."
"Oh, yes! perfectly."
"And about M. d'Herblay's kindness toward you."
"Ah!" exclaimed Aramis, looking the unhappy governor full in the face, "and yet you just now said you had no memory, Monsieur de Baisemeaux."
Baisemeaux interrupted the musketeer in the midst of his revelations. "Yes, yes; you're quite right; how could I have forgotten; I remember it now as well as possible; I beg you a thousand pardons. But now, once for all, my dear M. d'Artagnan, be sure that at this present time, as at any other, whether invited or not, you are perfectly at home here, you and M. d'Herblay, your friend," he said, turning toward Aramis; "and this gentleman, too," he added, bowing to Athos.
"Well, I thought it would be sure to turn out so," replied D'Artagnan, "and that is the reason I came. Having nothing to do this evening at the Palais Royal, I wished to judge for myself what your ordinary style of living was like, and as I was coming along, I met the Comte de la Fere."
Athos bowed. "The comte, who had just left his majesty, handed me an order which required immediate attention. We were close by here; I wished to call in, even if it were for no other object than that of shaking hands with you and of presenting the comte to you, of whom you spoke so highly that evening at the palace when—"
"Certainly, certainly—M. le Comte de la Fere."
"Precisely."
"The comte is welcome, I am sure."
"And he will sup with you two, I suppose, while I, unfortunate dog that I am, must run off on a matter of duty. Oh! what happy beings you are, compared to myself," he added, sighing as loud as Porthos might have done.
"And so you are going away, then?" said Aramis and Baisemeaux together, with the same expression of delighted surprise, the tone of which was immediately noticed by D'Artagnan.
"I leave you in my place," he said, "a noble and excellent guest." And he touched Athos gently on the shoulder, who, astonished also, could not prevent exhibiting his surprise a little; a tone which was noticed by Aramis only, for M. de Baisemeaux was not quite equal to the three friends in point of intelligence.
"What! are you going to leave us?" resumed the governor.
"I shall only be about an hour, or an hour and a half. I will return in time for dessert."
"Oh! we will wait for you," said Baisemeaux.
"No, no; that would be really disobliging me."
"You will be sure to return, though?" said Athos, with an expression of doubt.
"Most certainly," he said, pressing hisfriend's hand confidentially; and he added, in a low voice, "Wait for me, Athos; be cheerful and lively as possible, and above all, don't allude even to business affairs, for Heaven's sake."
And with a renewed pressure of the hand, he seemed to warn the comte of the necessity of keeping perfectly discreet and impenetrable. Baisemeaux led D'Artagnan to the gate. Aramis, with many friendly protestations of delight, sat down by Athos, determined to make him speak; but Athos possessed every virtue and quality to the very highest degree. If necessity had required it, he would have been the finest orator in the world, but on other occasions he would rather have died than have opened his lips.
Ten minutes after D'Artagnan's departure, the three gentlemen sat down to table, which was covered with the most substantial display of gastronomic luxury. Large joints, exquisite dishes, preserves, the greatest variety of wines, appeared successively upon the table, which was served at the king's expense, and of which expense M. Colbert would have found no difficulty in saving two-thirds, without any one in the Bastille being the worse for it. Baisemeaux was the only one who ate and drank resolutely. Aramis allowed nothing to pass by him, but merely touched everything he took; Athos, after the soup and three hors d'œuvres, ate nothing more. The style of conversation was such as could hardly be otherwise between three men so opposite in temper and ideas. Aramis was incessantly asking himself by what extraordinary chance Athos was at Baisemeaux's when D'Artagnan was no longer there, and why D'Artagnan did not remain when Athos was there. Athos sounded all the depths of the mind of Aramis, who lived in the midst of subterfuge, evasion, and intrigue; he studied his man well and thoroughly, and felt convinced that he was engaged upon some important project. And then he too began to think of his own personal affair, and to lose himself in conjectures as to D'Artagnan's reason for having left the Bastille so abruptly, and for leaving behind him a prisoner so badly introducedand so badly looked after by the prison authorities. But we shall not pause to examine into the thoughts and feelings of these personages, but will leave them to themselves, surrounded by the remains of poultry, game, and fish, which Baisemeaux's generous knife and fork had so mutilated. We are going to follow D'Artagnan instead, who, getting into the carriage which had brought him, said to the coachman, "Return to the palace, and as fast as you can possibly make the horses go."
M. de Saint-Aignan had executed the commission with which the king had intrusted him for La Valliere, as we have already seen in one of the preceding chapters; but, whatever his eloquence might have been, he did not succeed in persuading the young girl that she had in the king a protector powerful enough for her under any combination of circumstances, and that she had no need of any one else in the world when the king was on her side. In point of fact, at the very first word which the favorite mentioned of the discovery of the famous secret, Louise, in a passion of tears, abandoned herself in utter despair to a sorrow which would have been far from flattering for the king, if he had been a witness of it from one of the corners of the room. Saint-Aignan, in his character of ambassador, felt greatly offended at it, as his master himself would have been, and returned to inform the king what he had seen and heard; and it is there we shall now find him in a state of great agitation, in the presence of the king, who was, if possible, in a state of greater agitation than he.
"But," said the king to the courtier, when the latter had finished his report, "what did she decide to do? Shall I at least see her presently before supper? Will she come to me, or shall I be obliged to go to her room?"
"I believe, sire, that if your majesty wishes to see her, you will not only have to take the first step in advance, but will have to go the whole way."
"That I do not mind. Do you think she has still a fancy for that Bragelonne?" muttered the king between his teeth.
"Oh! sire, that is not possible; for it is you alone, I am convinced, Mademoiselle de la Valliere loves, and that, too, with all her heart. But you know that De Bragelonne belongs to that proud race who play the part of Roman heroes."
The king smiled feebly; he knew how true the illustration was, for Athos had just left him.
"As for Mademoiselle de la Valliere," Saint-Aignan continued, "she was brought up under the care of the Dowager Madame; that is to say, in the greatest austerity and formality. This young engaged couple coldly exchanged their little vows in the presence of the moon and the stars, and now, when they find they have to break those vows asunder, it plays the very deuce with them."
Saint-Aignan thought he should have made the king laugh; but quite on the contrary, from a mere smile Louis passed to the greatest seriousness of manner. He already began to experience that remorse which the comte had promised D'Artagnan he would inflict upon him. He reflected that, in fact, these young persons had loved and sworn fidelity to each other; that one of the two had kept his word, and that the other was too conscientious not to feel her perjury most bitterly. And his remorse was not unaccompanied; for bitter pangs of jealousy began to beset the king's heart. He did not say another word, and instead of going to pay a visit to his mother, or the queen, or Madame, in order to amuse himself a little, and make the ladies laugh, as he himself used to say, he threw himself into the huge armchair in which his august father, Louis XIII., had passed so many weary days and years in company with Baradas and Cinq-Mars. Saint-Aignan perceived that the king was not to be amused at that moment: he tried a last resource and pronounced Louise's name, which made the king look up immediately. "What does your majesty intend to do this evening? Shall Mademoiselle de la Valliere be informed of your intention to see her?"
"It seems she is already aware of that," replied the king. "No, no, Saint-Aignan," he continued, after a moment's pause, "we will both of us pass our time in thinking, and musing, and dreaming; when Mademoiselle de la Valliere shall have sufficiently regretted what she now regrets, she will deign, perhaps, to give us some news of herself."
"Ah! sire, is it possible you can so misunderstand her heart, which is so full of devotion?"
The king rose, flushed from vexation and annoyance; he was a prey to jealousy as well as to remorse. Saint-Aignan was just beginning to feel that his position was becoming awkward, when the curtain before the door was raised. The king turned hastily round; his first idea was that a letter from Louise had arrived; but, instead of a letter of love, he only saw his captain of musketeers standing upright and perfectly silent in the doorway. "M. d'Artagnan," he said, "ah! Well, monsieur?"
D'Artagnan looked at Saint-Aignan; the king's eyes took the same direction as those of his captain; these looks would have been clear to any one, and for a still greater reason they were so for Saint-Aignan. The courtier bowed and quitted the room, leaving the king and D'Artagnan alone.
"Is it done?" inquired the king.
"Yes, sire," replied the captain of the musketeers in a grave voice, "it is done!"
The king was unable to say another word. Pride, however, obliged him not to pause at what he had done; whenever a sovereign has adopted a decisive course, even though it be unjust, he is compelled to prove to all who were witnesses of his having adopted it, and particularly to prove it to himself, that he was quite right in so adopting it. A good means for effecting that—an almost infalliblemeans, indeed—is to try and prove his victim to be in the wrong. Louis, brought up by Mazarin and Anne of Austria, knew better than any one else his vocation as a monarch; he therefore endeavored to prove it on the present occasion. After a few moments' pause, which he had employed in making silently to himself the same reflections which we have just expressed aloud, he said, in an indifferent tone: "What did the comte say?"
"Nothing at all, sire."
"Surely he did not allow himself to be arrested without saying something?"
"He said he expected to be arrested, sire."
The king raised his head haughtily.
"I presume," he said, "that M. le Comte de la Fere has not continued to play his obstinate and rebellious part?"
"In the first place, sire, what do you term rebellious?" quietly asked the musketeer. "A rebel, in the eyes of the king, is a man who not only allows himself to be shut up in the Bastille, but, still more, who opposes those who do not wish to take him there."
"Who do not wish to take him there!" exclaimed the king. "What do you say, captain! Are you mad?"
"I believe not, sire."
"You speak of persons who did not wish to arrest M. de la Fere. Who are those persons, may I ask?"
"I should say those whom your majesty intrusted with that duty."
"But it was you whom I intrusted with it," exclaimed the king.
"Yes, sire; it was me."
"And yet you say that, despite my orders, you had the intention of not arresting the man who had insulted me!"
"Yes, sire—that was really my intention. I even proposed to the comte to mount a horse that I had had prepared for him at the Barriere de la Conference."
"And what was your object in getting this horse ready?"
"Why, sire, in order that M. le Comte de la Fere might be able to reach Havre, and from that place make his escape to England."
"You betrayed me, then, monsieur?" cried the king, kindling with a wild pride.
"Exactly so."
There was nothing to say in answer to statements made in such a tone; the king was astounded at such an obstinate and open resistance on the part of D'Artagnan. "At least you had a reason, Monsieur d'Artagnan, for acting as you did?" said the king, proudly.
"I have always a reason for everything, sire."
"Your reason cannot be your friendship for the comte, at all events—the only one that can be of any avail, the only one that could possibly excuse you—for I placed you perfectly at your ease in that respect."
"Me, sire?"
"Did I not give you the choice to arrest or not to arrest M. le Comte de la Fere?"
"Yes, sire, but—"
"But what?" exclaimed the king, impatiently.
"But you warned me, sire, that if I did not arrest him, your captain of the guards should do so."
"Was I not considerate enough toward you from the very moment I did not compel you to obey me?"
"To me, sire, you were, but not to my friend; for my friend would be arrested all the same, whether by myself or by the captain of the guards."
"And this is your devotion, monsieur! a devotion which argues and reasons. You are no soldier, monsieur!"
"I wait for your majesty to tell me what I am."
"Well, then—you are a Frondeur."
"And since there is no longer any Fronde, sire, in that case—"
"But if what you say is true—"
"What I say is always true, sire."
"What have you come to say to me, monsieur?"
"I have come to say to your majesty, 'Sire, M. de la Fere is in the Bastille.'"
"That is not your fault, it would seem."
"That is true, sire; but at all events he is there; and since he is there, it is important that your majesty should know it."
"Ah! Monsieur d'Artagnan, so you set your king at defiance."
"Sire—"
"Monsieur d'Artagnan! I warn you that you are abusing my patience."
"On the contrary, sire."
"What do you mean by 'on the contrary'?"
"I have come to get myself arrested too."
"To get yourself arrested—you!"
"Of course. My friend will get wearied to death in the Bastille by himself; and I have come to propose to your majesty to permit me to bear him company; if your majesty will but give the word, I will arrest myself; I shall not need the captain of the guards for that, I assure you."
The king darted toward the table and seized hold of a pen to write the order for D'Artagnan's imprisonment. "Pay attention, monsieur, that this is forever," cried the king in a tone of stern menace.
"I can quite believe that," returned the musketeer; "for when you have once done such an act as that, you will never be able to look me in the face again."
The king dashed down his pen violently. "Leave the room, monsieur!" he said.
"Not so, if it please your majesty."
"How is that?"
"Sire, I came to speak gently and temperately to your majesty; your majesty got into a passion with me; that is a misfortune; but I shall not the less on that account say what I had to say to you."
"Your resignation, monsieur—your resignation!" cried the king.
"Sire, you know whether I care about my resignation or not, since at Blois, on the very day when you refused King Charles the million which my friend the Comte de la Fere gave him, I then tendered my resignation to your majesty."
"Very well, monsieur—do it at once!"
"No, sire; for there is no question of my resignation at the present moment. Your majesty took up your pen just now to send me to the Bastille—why should you change your intention?"
"D'Artagnan! Gascon that you are! who is the king, allow me to ask—you or myself?"
"You, sire, unfortunately."
"What do you mean by 'unfortunately'?"
"Yes, sire; for if it were I—"
"If it were you, you would approve of M. d'Artagnan's rebellious conduct, I suppose?"
"Certainly."
"Really!" said the king, shrugging his shoulders.
"And I should tell my captain of the musketeers," continued D'Artagnan, "I should tell him, looking at him all the while with human eyes, and not with eyes like coals of fire, 'M. d'Artagnan, I had forgotten that I was the king, for I descended from my throne in order to insult a gentleman.'"
"Monsieur," said the king, "do you think you can excuse your friend by exceeding him in insolence?"
"Oh, sire! I should go much farther than he did," said D'Artagnan; "and it would be your own fault. I should tell you what he, a man full of the finest sense of delicacy, did not tell you; I should say—'Sire, you have sacrificed his son, and he defended his son—you sacrificed himself; he addressed you in the name of honor, of religion, of virtue—you repulsed, drove him away, imprisoned him.' I should be harder than he was, for I should say to you—'Sire, it is for you to choose. Do you wish to have friends or lackeys—soldiers or slaves—great men or mere puppets? Do you wish men to serve you, or to bend and crouch before you? Do you wish men to love you or to be afraid of you? If you prefer baseness, intrigue, cowardice, say so at once, sire, and we will leave you—we who are the only individuals who are left—nay, I will say more, the only models of the valor of former times; we who have done our duty, and have exceeded, perhaps, in courage and in merit, the men already great for posterity. Choose, sire, and that too without delay. Whatever remains to you of great nobles, guard it with a jealous eye; you will never be deficient in courtiers. Delay not—and send me to the Bastille with my friend; for, if you have not known how to listen to the Comte de la Fere, whose voice is the sweetest and noblest when honor is his theme; if you do not know how to listen to D'Artagnan, the frankest and honestest voice of sincerity, you are a bad king, and to-morrow will be a poor king. And learn from me, sire, that bad kings are hated by their people, and poor kings are driven ignominiously away.' That is what I had to say to you, sire; you are wrong to have driven me to do it."
The king threw himself back in his chair, cold as death, and livid as a corpse. Had a thunderbolt fallen at his feet, he could not have been more astonished; he seemed as if his respiration had utterly ceased, and that he was at the point of death. The honest voice of sincerity, as D'Artagnan had called it, had pierced through his heart like a sword blade.
D'Artagnan had said all he had to say. Comprehending the king's anger, he drew his sword, and, approaching Louis XIV. respectfully, he placed it on the table. But the king, with a furious gesture, thrust aside the sword, which fell on the ground and rolled to D'Artagnan's feet. Notwithstanding the perfect mastery which D'Artagnan exercised over himself, he, too, in his turn, became pale, and, trembling with indignation, said, "A king may disgrace a soldier—he may exile him, and may even condemn him to death; but were he a hundred times a king, he has no right to insult him by casting a dishonor upon his sword! Sire, a king of France has never repulsed with contempt the sword of a man such as I am! Stained with disgrace as this sword now is, it has henceforth no other sheath than either your heart or my own; I choose my own, sire; and you have to thank Heaven and my own patience that I do so." Then snatching up his sword, he cried, "My blood be upon your head!" and with a rapid gesture he placed the hilt upon the floor and directed the point of the blade toward his breast. The king, however, with a movement far more rapid than that of D'Artagnan, threw his right arm roundthe musketeer's neck, and with his left hand seized hold of the blade by the middle, and returned it silently to the scabbard. D'Artagnan, upright, pale, and still trembling, let the king do all to the very end. Louis, overcome and softened by gentler feelings, returned to the table, took a pen in his hand, wrote a few lines, signed them, and then held it out to D'Artagnan.
"What is this paper, sire?" inquired the captain.
"An order for M. d'Artagnan to set the Comte de la Fere at liberty immediately."
D'Artagnan seized the king's hand and imprinted a kiss upon it; he then folded the order, placed it in his belt, and quitted the room. Neither the king nor the captain had said a syllable.
"Oh, human heart! the guide and director of kings," murmured Louis, when alone, "when shall I learn to read in your inmost recesses, as in the leaves of a book! No, I am not a bad king—nor am I a poor king; but I am still a child, after all."
D'Artagnan had promised M. de Baisemeaux to return in time for dessert, and he kept his word. They had just reached the finer and more delicate class of wines and liqueurs with which the governor's cellar had the reputation of being most admirably stocked, when the spurs of the captain resounded in the corridor, and he himself appeared at the threshold. Athos and Aramis had played a close game; neither of the two had been able to gain the slightest advantage over the other. They had supped, talked a good deal about the Bastille, of the last journey to Fontainebleau, of the intended fete that M. Fouquet was about to give at Vaux; they had generalized on every possible subject; and no one, excepting Baisemeaux, had in the slightest degree alluded to private matters. D'Artagnan arrived in the very midst of the conversation, still pale and much disturbed by his interview with the king. Baisemeaux hastened to give him a chair; D'Artagnan accepted a glass of wine, and set it down empty. Athos and Aramis both remarked his emotion; as for Baisemeaux, he saw nothing more than the captain of the king's musketeers, to whom he endeavored to show every possible attention. But, although Aramis had remarked his emotion, he had not been able to guess the cause of it. Athos alone believed he had detected it. For him, D'Artagnan's return, and particularly the manner in which he, usually so impassible, seemed overcome, signified, "I have just asked the king something which the king has refused me." Thoroughly convinced that his conjecture was correct, Athos smiled, rose from the table, and made a sign to D'Artagnan, as if to remind him that they had something else to do than to sup together. D'Artagnan immediately understood him, and replied by another sign. Aramis and Baisemeaux watched this silent dialogue, and looked inquiringly at each other. Athos felt that he was called upon to give an explanation of what was passing.
"The truth is, my friends," said the Comte de la Fere, with a smile, "that you, Aramis, have been supping with a state criminal, and you, Monsieur de Baisemeaux, with your prisoner."
Baisemeaux uttered an exclamation of surprise, and almost of delight; for he was exceedingly proud and vain of his fortress; and for his own individual profit, the more prisoners he had, the happier he was; and the higher the prisoners were in rank, the prouder he felt. Aramis assumed an expression of countenance which he thought the position justified, and said, "Well, dear Athos, forgive me; but I almost suspected what has happened. Some prank of Raoul and La Valliere, I suppose?"
"Alas!" said Baisemeaux.
"And," continued Aramis, "you, a high and powerful nobleman as you are, forgetful that courtiers now exist—you have been to the king, I suppose, and told him what you thought of his conduct?"
"Yes, you have guessed right."
"So that," said Baisemeaux, trembling at having supped so familiarly with a man who had fallen into disgrace with the king; "so that, Monsieur le Comte—"
"So that, my dear governor," said Athos, "my friend D'Artagnan will communicate to you the contents of the paper which I perceive just peeping out of his belt, and which assuredly can be nothing else than the order for my incarceration."
Baisemeaux held out his hand with his accustomed eagerness. D'Artagnan drew two papers from his belt, and presented one of them to the governor, who unfolded it, and then read, in a low tone of voice, looking at Athos over the paper, as he did so, and pausing from time to time: "'Order to detain in my chateau of the Bastille. Monsieur le Comte de la Fere.' Oh, monsieur! this is indeed a very melancholy honor for me."
"You will have a patient prisoner, monsieur," said Athos, in his calm, soft voice.
"A prisoner, too, who will not remain a month with you, my dear governor," said Aramis; while Baisemeaux, still holding the order in his hand, transcribed it upon the prison registry.
"Not a day, or rather not even a night," said D'Artagnan, displaying the second order of the king, "for now, dear M. de Baisemeaux, you will have the goodness to transcribe also this order for setting the comte immediately at liberty."
"Ah!" said Aramis, "it is a labor that you have deprived me of, D'Artagnan;" and he pressed the musketeer's hand in a significant manner, at the same moment as that of Athos.
"What!" said the latter, in astonishment, "the king sets me at liberty!"
"Read, my dear friend," returned D'Artagnan.
Athos took the order and read it. "It is quite true," he said.
"Are you sorry for it?" asked D'Artagnan.
"Oh, no, on the contrary; I wish the king no harm; and the greatest evil or misfortune that any one can wish kings, is that they should commit an act of injustice. But you have had a difficult and painful task, I know. Tell me, have you not, D'Artagnan?"
"I? not at all," said the musketeer, laughing; "the king does everything I wish him to do."
Aramis looked fixedly at D'Artagnan, and saw that he was not speaking the truth. But Baisemeaux had eyes for nothing but D'Artagnan, so great was his admiration for a man who seemed to make the king do all he wished. "And does the king exile Athos?" inquired Aramis.
"No, not precisely; the king did not explain himself upon that subject," replied D'Artagnan; "but I think the comte could not well do better, unless, indeed, he wishes particularly to thank the king—"
"No, indeed," replied Athos, smiling.
"Well, then, I think," resumed D'Artagnan, "that the comte cannot do better than to retire to his own chateau. However, my dear Athos, you have only to speak, to tell me what you want. If any particular place of residence is more agreeable to you than another, I am influential enough, perhaps, to obtain it for you."
"No, thank you," said Athos; "nothing can be more agreeable to me, my dear friend, than to return to my solitude beneath my noble trees, on the banks of the Loire. If Heaven be the overruling physician of the evils of the mind, nature is a sovereign remedy. And so, monsieur," continued Athos, turning again toward Baisemeaux, "I am now free, I suppose?"
"Yes, Monsieur le Comte, I think so—at least, I hope so," said the governor, turning over and over the two papers in question, "unless, however, M. d'Artagnan has a third order to give me."
"No, my dear Monsieur Baisemeaux, no," said the musketeer; "the second is quite enough; we can stop there."
"Ah! Monsieur le Comte," said Baisemeaux, addressing Athos, "you do not know what you are losing. I should have placed you among the thirty-franc prisoners, like the generals—what am I saying?—I mean among the fifty-francs, likethe princes; and you would have supped every evening as you have done to-night."
"Allow me, monsieur," said Athos, "to prefer my own simpler fare." And then, turning to D'Artagnan, he said, "Let us go, my dear friend. Shall I have that greatest of all pleasures for me—that of having you as my companion?"
"To the city gate only," replied D'Artagnan, "after which I will tell you what I told the king: 'I am on duty.'"
"And you, my dear Aramis," said Athos, smiling; "will you accompany me? La Fere is on the road to Vannes."
"Thank you, my dear friend," said Aramis, "but I have an appointment in Paris this evening, and I cannot leave without very serious interests suffering by my absence."
"In that case," said Athos, "I must say adieu, and take my leave of you. My dear Monsieur de Baisemeaux, I have to thank you exceedingly for your kind and friendly disposition toward me, and particularly for the specimen you have given me of the usual fare of the Bastille." And, having embraced Aramis, and shaken hands with M. de Baisemeaux, and having received their wishes for an agreeable journey from them both, Athos set off with D'Artagnan.
While thedénouementof the scene of the Palais Royal was taking place at the Bastille, let us relate what was going on at the lodgings of Athos and Bragelonne. Grimaud, as we have seen, had accompanied his master to Paris; and, as we have said, he was present when Athos went out; he had observed D'Artagnan gnaw the corners of his mustache; he had seen his master get into the carriage; he had narrowly examined both their countenances, and he had known them both for a sufficiently long period to read and understand, through the mask of their impassibility, that something serious was the matter. As soon as Athos had gone, he began to reflect; he then, and then only, remembered the strange manner in which Athos had taken leave of him, the embarrassment—imperceptible for any one else but himself—of the master whose ideas were, to him, so clear and defined, and the expression of whose wishes was so precise. He knew that Athos had taken nothing with him but the clothes he had on him at the time; and yet he seemed to fancy that Athos had not left for an hour merely, or even for a day. A long absence was signified by the manner in which he pronounced the word "Adieu." All these circumstances recurred to his mind, with feelings of deep affection for Athos, with that horror of isolation and solitude which invariably besets the minds of those who love; and all these combined, rendered poor Grimaud very melancholy, and particularly very uneasy. Without being able to account to himself for what he did, since his master's departure he wandered about the room, seeking, as it were, for some traces of him, like a faithful dog, who is not exactly uneasy about his absent master, but at least is restless. Only as, in addition to the instinct of the animal, Grimaud subjoined the reasoning faculties of the man, Grimaud therefore felt uneasy and restless too. Not having found any indication which could serve as a guide, and having neither seen nor discovered anything which could satisfy his doubts, Grimaud began to imagine what could possibly have happened. Besides, the imagination is the resource, or rather the punishment, of good and affectionate hearts. In fact, never does a good heart represent its absent friend to itself as being happy or cheerful. Never does the pigeon who travels in search of adventure inspire anything but terror to the pigeon who remains at home.
Grimaud soon passed from uneasiness to terror; he carefully went over, in his own mind, everything that had taken place: D'Artagnan's letter to Athos, the letter which had seemed to distress Athos so much after he had read it; then Raoul's visit to Athos, which resulted in Athos desiring him (Grimaud) to get his various orders and his court dress ready to put on; then his interview with the king, at the end of which Athos had returned home so unusually gloomy; then the explanation between the father and the son, at the termination of which Athos had embraced Raoul with such sadness of expression, while Raoul himself went away equally sad and melancholy; and, finally, D'Artagnan's arrival, biting, as if he were vexed, the end of his mustache, and his leaving again in the carriage, accompanied by the Comte de la Fere. All this composed a drama in five acts very clearly, particularly for so analytical an examiner as Grimaud.
The first step he took was to search in his master's coat for M. d'Artagnan's letter; he found the letter still there, which contained the following: