PLANCHET'S COUNTRY-HOUSE.
The cavaliers looked up, and saw that what Planchet had announced to
them was true. Ten minutes afterward they were in the street called the
Rue de Lyon, on the opposite side of the inn of the sign of the "Beau
Paon." A high hedge of bushy alders, hawthorn, and wild hops, formed an
impenetrable fence, behind which rose a white house, with a large tiled
roof. Two of the windows, which were quite dark, looked upon the street.
Between the two, a small door, with a porch supported by a couple of
pillars, formed the entrance to the house. The door was gained by a step
raised a little from the ground. Planchet got off his horse, as if he
intended to knock at the door; but, on second thoughts, he took hold of
his horse by the bridle, and led it about thirty paces further on, his
two companions following him. He then advanced about another thirty
paces, until he arrived at the door of a cart-house, lighted by an iron
grating; and, lifting up a wooden latch, pushed open one of the
folding-doors. He entered first, leading his horse after him by the
bridle, into a small courtyard, where an odor met them which revealed
their close vicinity to a stable. "That smells all right," said Porthos
loudly, getting off his horse, "and I almost begin to think I am near my
own cows at Pierrefonds."
"I have only one cow," Planchet hastened to say, modestly.
"And I have thirty," said Porthos; "or, rather, I don't exactly know how
many I have."
When the two cavaliers had entered, Planchet fastened the door behind
them. In the meantime, D'Artagnan, who had dismounted with his usual
agility, inhaled the fresh perfumed air with the delight a Parisian
feels at the sight of green fields and fresh foliage, plucked a piece of
honeysuckle with one hand, and of sweet-briar with the other. Porthos
had laid hold of some peas which were twined round poles stuck into the
ground, and ate, or rather browsed upon them, shells and all; and
Planchet was busily engaged trying to wake up an old and infirm peasant,
who was fast asleep in a shed, lying on a bed of moss, and dressed in an
old stable suit of clothes. The peasant, recognizing Planchet, called
him "the master" to the grocer's great satisfaction. "Stable the horses
well, old fellow, and you shall have something good for yourself," said
Planchet.
"Yes, yes; fine animals they are, too," said the peasant. "Oh! they
shall have as much as they like."
"Gently, gently, my man," said D'Artagnan. "We are getting on a little
too fast. A few oats, and a good bed--nothing more."
"Some bran and water for my horse," said Porthos, "for it is very warm,
I think."
"Don't be afraid, gentlemen," replied Planchet; "Daddy Celestin is an
old gendarme, who fought at Ivry. He knows all about stables; so come
into the house." And he led the way along a well-sheltered walk, which
crossed a kitchen-garden, then a small paddock, and came out into a
little garden behind the house, the principal front of which, as we have
already noticed, was facing the street. As they approached, they could
see, through two open windows on the ground-floor, which led into a
sitting-room, the interior of Planchet's residence. This room, softly
lighted by a lamp placed on the table, seemed, from the end of the
garden, like a smiling image of repose, comfort and happiness. In every
direction where the rays of light fell, whether upon a piece of old
china, or upon an article of furniture, shining from excessive neatness,
or upon the weapons hanging against the wall, the soft light was as
softly reflected; and its rays seemed to linger everywhere upon
something or another agreeable to the eye. The lamp which lighted the
room, while the foliage of jasmine and climbing roses hung in masses
from the window-frames, splendidly illuminated a damask table-cloth as
white as snow. The table was laid for two persons. An amber-colored wine
sparkled in the long cut-glass bottle; and a large jug of blue china,
with a silver lid, was filled with foaming cider. Near the table, in a
high-backed armchair, reclined, fast asleep, a woman of about thirty
years of age, her face the very picture of health and freshness. Upon
her knees lay a large cat, with her paws folded under her, and her eyes
half-closed, purring in that significant manner which, according to
feline habits, indicates perfect contentment. The two friends paused
before the window in complete amazement, while Planchet, perceiving
their astonishment, was, in no little degree, secretly delighted at it.
"Ah, Planchet, you rascal!" said D'Artagnan, "I now understand your
absences."
"Oh, oh! there is some white linen!" said Porthos, in his turn, in a
voice of thunder. At the sound of this voice, the cat took flight, the
housekeeper woke up suddenly, and Planchet, assuming a gracious air,
introduced his two companions into the room, where the table was already
laid.
"Permit me, my dear," he said, "to present to you, Monsieur le Chevalier
d'Artagnan, my patron." D'Artagnan took the lady's hand in his in the
most courteous manner, and with precisely the same chivalrous air as he
would have taken Madame's.
"Monsieur le Baron de Valon de Bracieux de Pierrefonds," added Planchet.
Porthos bowed with a reverence which Anne of Austria would have approved
of.
It was then Planchet's turn, and he unhesitatingly embraced the lady in
question--not, however, until he had made a sign as if requesting
D'Artagnan's and Porthos' permission, a permission which was, of course,
frankly conceded. D'Artagnan complimented Planchet, and said, "You are
indeed a man who knows how to make life agreeable."
"Life, monsieur," said Planchet, laughing, "is a capital which a man
ought to invest as sensibly as he possibly can."
"And you get very good interest for yours," said Porthos, with a burst
of laughter like a peal of thunder.
Planchet turned to his housekeeper. "You have before you," he said to
her, "the two men who have influenced no small portion of my life. I
have spoken to you about them both very frequently."
"And two others as well," said the lady, with a very decided Flemish
accent.
"Madame is Dutch?" inquired D'Artagnan. Porthos curled his mustache, a
circumstance which was not lost upon D'Artagnan, who remarked
everything.
"I am from Antwerp," said the lady.
"And her name is Madame Gechter," said Planchet.
"You should not call her madame," said D'Artagnan.
"Why not?" asked Planchet.
"Because it would make her seem older every time you call her so."
"Well, I call her Trüchen."
"And a very pretty name too," said Porthos.
"Trüchen," said Planchet, "came to me from Flanders with her virtue and
two thousand florins. She ran away from a brute of a husband, who was in
the habit of beating her. Being myself a Picard born, I was always very
fond of the Artesian women, and it is only a step from Artois to
Flanders. She came crying bitterly to her godfather, my predecessor in
the Rue des Lombards; she placed her two thousand florins in my
establishment, which I have turned to very good account, and which
bring her in ten thousand."
"Bravo, Planchet!"
"She is free and well off; she has a cow, a maid-servant, and old
Celestin at her orders. She mends my linen, knits my winter stockings.
She only sees me every fortnight, and seems anxious to make herself
happy."
"And I am very happy indeed," said Trüchen, with perfect ingenuousness.
Porthos began to curl the other side of his mustache. "The deuce!"
thought D'Artagnan, "can Porthos have any intentions in that quarter?"
In the meantime, Trüchen had set her cook to work, had laid the table
for two more, and covered it with every possible delicacy, which
converts a light supper into a substantial meal, and a meal into a
regular feast. Fresh butter, salt beef, anchovies, tunny, a shopful of
Planchet's commodities, fowls, vegetables, salad, fish from the pond and
the river, game from the forest--all the produce, in fact, of the
province. Moreover, Planchet returned from the cellar, laden with ten
bottles of wine, the glass of which could hardly be seen for the thick
coating of dust which covered them. Porthos' heart seemed to expand as
he said, "I am hungry;" and he sat himself beside Madame Trüchen, whom
he looked at in the most killing manner. D'Artagnan seated himself on
the other side of her, while Planchet, discreetly and full of delight,
took his seat opposite.
"Do not trouble yourselves," he said, "if Trüchen should leave the table
now and then during supper; for she will have to look after your
bedrooms."
In fact, the housekeeper made her escape very frequently, and they could
hear, on the first floor above them, the creaking of the wooden
bedsteads and the rolling of the castors on the floor. While this was
going on, the three men, Porthos especially, ate and drank
gloriously--it was wonderful to see them. The ten full bottles were ten
empty ones by the time Trüchen returned with the cheese. D'Artagnan
still preserved his dignity and self-possession, but Porthos had lost a
portion of his; the mirth soon began to be somewhat uproarious.
D'Artagnan recommended a new descent into the cellar, and, as Planchet
did not walk with the steadiness of a well-trained foot-soldier, the
captain of the musketeers proposed to accompany him. They set off,
humming song's wild enough to frighten anybody who might be listening.
Trüchen remained behind at table with Porthos. While the two wine
bibbers were looking behind the firewood for what they wanted, a sharp,
sonorous sound was heard like the impression of a pair of lips on a
cheek.
"Porthos fancies himself at La Rochelle," thought D'Artagnan, as they
returned freighted with bottles. Planchet was singing so loudly that he
was incapable of noticing anything. D'Artagnan, whom nothing ever
escaped, remarked how much redder Trüchen's left cheek was than her
right. Porthos was sitting on Trüchen's left, and was curling with both
his hands both sides of his mustache at once, and Trüchen was looking at
him with a most bewitching smile. The sparkling wine of Anjou very soon
produced a remarkable effect upon the three companions. D'Artagnan had
hardly strength enough left to take a candlestick to light Planchet up
his own staircase. Planchet was pulling Porthos along, who was following
Trüchen, who was herself jovial enough. It was D'Artagnan who found out
the rooms and the beds. Porthos threw himself into the one destined for
him, after his friend had undressed him. D'Artagnan got into his own
bed, saying to himself, "Mordioux! I had made up my mind never to touch
that light-colored wine, which brings my early camp days back again.
Fie! fie! if my musketeers were only to see their captain in such a
state." And drawing the curtains of his bed, he added, "Fortunately
enough, though, they will not see me."
"The country is very amusing," said Porthos, stretching out his legs,
which passed through the wooden footboard, and made a tremendous noise,
of which, however, no one in the house was capable of taking the
slightest notice. By two o'clock in the morning every one was fast
asleep.