SHOWING WHAT COULD BE SEEN FROM PLANCHET'S HOUSE.
The next morning found the three heroes sleeping soundly. Trüchen had
closed the outside blinds to keep the first rays of the sun from the
heavy eyes of her guests, like a kind good woman. It was still perfectly
dark then beneath Porthos' curtains and under Planchet's canopy, when
D'Artagnan, awakened by an indiscreet ray of light which made its way
through the windows, jumped hastily out of bed, as if he wished to be
the first at the assault. He took by assault Porthos' room, which was
next to his own. The worthy Porthos was sleeping with a noise like
distant thunder; in the dim obscurity of the room his gigantic frame was
prominently displayed, and his swollen fist hung down outside the bed
upon the carpet. D'Artagnan awoke Porthos, who rubbed his eyes in a
tolerably good humor. In the meantime Planchet was dressing himself, and
met at their bedroom doors his two guests, who were still somewhat
unsteady from their previous evening's entertainment. Although it was
yet very early, the whole household was already up. The cook was
mercilessly slaughtering poultry in the poultry-yard, and Celestin was
gathering cherries in the garden. Porthos, brisk and lively as ever,
held out his hand to Planchet, and D'Artagnan requested permission to
embrace Madame Trüchen. The latter, to show that she bore no ill-will,
approached Porthos, upon whom she conferred the same favor. Porthos
embraced Madame Trüchen, heaving an enormous sigh. Planchet took both
his friends by the hand.
"I am going to show you over the house," he said; "when we arrived last
evening it was as dark as an oven, and we were unable to see anything;
but in broad daylight everything looks different, and you will be
satisfied, I hope."
"If we begin by the view you have," said D'Artagnan, "that charms me
beyond everything; I have always lived in royal mansions, you know, and
royal personages have some every good ideas upon the selection of points
of view."
"I am a great stickler for a good view myself," said Porthos. "At my
Chateau de Pierrefonds, I have had four avenues laid out, and at the end
of each is a landscape of a different character altogether to the
others."
"You shall see my prospect," said Planchet; and he led his two guests to
a window.
"Ah!" said D'Artagnan, "this is the Rue de Lyon."
"Yes, I have two windows on this side, a paltry insignificant view, for
there is always that bustling and noisy inn, which is a very
disagreeable neighbor. I had four windows here, but I have only kept
two."
"Let us go on," said D'Artagnan.
They entered a corridor leading to the bedrooms, and Planchet pushed
open the outside blinds.
"Hollo! what is that out yonder?" said Porthos.
"The forest," said Planchet. "It is the horizon--a thick line of green,
which is yellow in the spring, green in the summer, red in the autumn,
and white in the winter."
"All very well, but it is like a curtain, which prevents one seeing a
greater distance."
"Yes," said Planchet; "still one can see, at all events, everything
between."
"Ah! the open country," said Porthos. "But what is that I see out
there--crosses and stones?"
"Ah! that is the cemetery," exclaimed D'Artagnan.
"Precisely," said Planchet; "I assure you it is very curious. Hardly a
day passes that some one is not buried there; for Fontainebleau is by no
means an inconsiderable place. Sometimes we see young girls clothed in
white carrying banners; at others, some of the town-council, or rich
citizens, with choristers and all the parish authorities; and then, too,
we see some of the officers of the king's household."
"I should not like that," said Porthos.
"There is not much amusement in it, at all events," said D'Artagnan.
"I assure you it encourages religious thoughts," replied Planchet.
"Oh, I don't deny that."
"But," continued Planchet, "we must all die one day or another, and I
once met with a maxim somewhere which I have remembered, that the
thought of death is a thought that will do us all good."
"I am far from saying the contrary," said Porthos.
"But," objected D'Artagnan, "the thought of green fields, flowers,
rivers, blue horizons, extensive and boundless plains, is no less likely
to do us good."
"If I had any, I should be far from rejecting them," said Planchet; "but
possessing only this little cemetery, full of flowers, so moss-grown,
shady and quiet, I am contented with it, and I think of those who live
in town, in the Rue des Lombards, for instance, and who have to listen
to the rumbling of a couple of thousand vehicles every day, and to the
trampling of a hundred and fifty thousand foot-passengers."
"But living," said Porthos; "living, remember that."
"That is exactly the reason," said Planchet timidly, "why I feel it does
me good to see a few dead."
"Upon my word," said D'Artagnan, "that fellow Planchet was born to be a
poet as well as a grocer."
"Monsieur," said Planchet, "I am one of those good-humored sort of men
whom Heaven created for the purpose of living a certain space of time,
and of considering all things good which they meet with during their
stay on earth."
D'Artagnan sat down close to the window, and as there seemed to be
something substantial in Planchet's philosophy, he mused over it.
"Ah, ah!" exclaimed Porthos, "if I am not mistaken, we are going to have
a representation now, for I think I heard something like chanting."
"Yes," said D'Artagnan, "I hear singing too."
"Oh, it is only a burial of a very poor description," said Planchet,
disdainfully; "the officiating priest, the beadle, and only one
chorister boy, nothing more. You observe, messieurs, that the defunct
lady or gentleman could not have been of very high rank."
"No; no one seems to be following the coffin."
"Yes," said Porthos; "I see a man."
"You are right; a man wrapped up in a cloak," said D'Artagnan.
"It's not worth looking at," said Planchet.
"I find it interesting," said D'Artagnan, leaning on the window.
"Come, come, you are beginning to take a fancy to the place already,"
said Planchet, delightedly; "it is exactly my own case. I was so
melancholy at first that I could do nothing but make the sign of the
cross all day, and the chants were like nails being driven into my head;
but now, the chants lull me to sleep, and no bird I have ever seen or
heard can sing better than those which are to be met with in this
cemetery."
"Well," said Porthos, "this is beginning to get a little dull for me,
and I prefer going downstairs."
Planchet with one bound was beside his guest, to whom he offered his
hand to lead him into the garden.
"What!" said Porthos to D'Artagnan, as he turned round, "are you going
to remain here?"
"Yes, I shall join you presently."
"Well, M. d'Artagnan is right, after all," said Planchet; "are they
beginning to bury yet?"
"Not yet."
"Ah! yes, the grave-digger is waiting until the cords are fastened round
the bier. But see, a woman has just entered the cemetery at the other
end."
"Yes, yes, my dear Planchet," said D'Artagnan, quickly, "leave me, leave
me; I feel I am beginning already to be much comforted by my
meditations, so do not interrupt me."
Planchet left, and D'Artagnan remained, devouring with his eager gaze
from behind the half-closed blinds what was taking place just before
him. The two bearers of the corpse had unfastened the straps by which
they had carried the litter, and were letting their burden glide gently
into the open grave. At a few paces distant, the man with the cloak
wrapped round him, the only spectator of this melancholy scene, was
leaning with his back against a large cypress-tree, and kept his face
and person entirely concealed from the grave-digger and the priest; the
corpse was buried in five minutes. The grave having been filled up, the
priest turned away, and the grave-digger having addressed a few words to
them, followed them as they moved away. The man in the mantle bowed as
they passed him, and put a piece of money into the grave-digger's hand.
"Mordioux!" murmured D'Artagnan; "why that man is Aramis himself."
Aramis, in fact, remained alone, on that side at least; for hardly did
he turn his head than a woman's footsteps, and the rustling of her
dress, were heard in the path close to him. He immediately turned round,
and took off his hat with the most ceremonious respect; he led the lady
under the shelter of some walnut and lime-trees, which overshadowed a
magnificent tomb.
"Ah! who would have thought it," said D'Artagnan; "the bishop of Vannes
at a rendezvous! He is still the same Abbe Aramis as he was at
Noisy-le-Sec. Yes," he added, after a pause; "but as it is in a
cemetery, the rendezvous is sacred." And he began to laugh.
The conversation lasted for fully half an hour. D'Artagnan could not see
the lady's face, for she kept her back turned toward him; but he saw
perfectly well, by the erect attitude of both the speakers, by their
gestures, by the measured and careful manner with which they glanced at
each other, either by way of attack or defense, that they must be
conversing about any other subject than that of love. At the end of the
conversation the lady rose, and bowed most profoundly to Aramis.
"Oh, oh!" said D'Artagnan; "this rendezvous finishes like one of a very
tender nature though. The cavalier kneels at the beginning, the young
lady by-and-by gets tamed down, and then it is she who has to
supplicate.--Who is this girl? I would give anything to ascertain."
This seemed impossible, however, for Aramis was the first to leave; the
lady carefully concealed her head and face, and then immediately
separated. D'Artagnan could hold out no longer; he ran to the window
which looked out on the Rue de Lyon, and saw Aramis just entering the
inn. The lady was proceeding in quite an opposite direction, and seemed,
in fact, to be about to rejoin an equipage, consisting of two led horses
and a carriage, which he could see standing close to the borders of the
forest. She was walking slowly, her head bent down, absorbed in the
deepest meditation.
"Mordioux! mordioux! I must and will learn who that woman is," said the
musketeer again; and then, without further deliberation, he set off in
pursuit of her. As he was going along, he tried to think how he could
possibly contrive to make her raise her veil. "She is not young," he
said, "and is a woman of high rank in society. I ought to know that
figure and peculiar style of walk." As he ran, the sound of his spurs
and of his boots upon the hard ground of the street made a strange
jingling noise; a fortunate circumstance in itself, which he was far
from reckoning upon. The noise disturbed the lady; she seemed to fancy
she was being either followed or pursued, which was indeed the case, and
turned round. D'Artagnan started as if he had received a charge of small
shot in his legs, and then turning suddenly round, as if he were going
back the same way he had come, he murmured, "Madame de Chevreuse!"
D'Artagnan would not go home until he had learned everything. He asked
Celestin to inquire of the grave-digger whose body it was they had
buried that morning.
[Illustration: D'ARTAGNAN, RECLINING UPON AN IMMENSE STRAIGHT-BACKED
CHAIR, WITH HIS LEGS NOT STRETCHED OUT, BUT SIMPLY PLACED UPON A STOOL,
FORMED AN ANGLE OF THE MOST OBTUSE FORM THAT COULD POSSIBLY BE
SEEN.--_Page 88._]
"A poor Franciscan mendicant friar," replied the latter, "who had not
even a dog to love him in this world and to accompany him to his last
resting-place."
"If that were really the case," thought D'Artagnan, "we should not have
found Aramis present at his funeral. The bishop of Vannes is not
precisely a dog as far as devotion goes; his scent, however, is quite as
keen, I admit."