AMONG WOMEN.
D'Artagnan had not been able to hide his feelings from his friends so
much as he would have wished. The stoical soldier, the impassible
man-at-arms, overcome by fear and presentiments, had yielded, for a few
minutes, to human weakness. When, therefore, he had silenced his heart
and calmed the agitation of his nerves, turning toward his lackey, a
silent servant, always listening in order to obey the more promptly:
"Rabaud," said he, "mind, we must travel thirty leagues a day."
"At your pleasure, captain," replied Rabaud.
And from that moment D'Artagnan, accommodating his action to the pace of
his horse, like a true centaur, employed his thoughts about
nothing--that is to say, about everything. He asked himself why the king
had sent for him back; why the Iron Mask had thrown the silver plate at
the feet of Raoul? As to the first subject, the reply was negative; he
knew right well that the king's calling him was from necessity. He still
further knew that Louis XIV. must experience an imperious want of a
private conversation with one whom the possession of such a secret
placed on a level with the highest powers of the kingdom. But as to
saying exactly what the king's wish was, D'Artagnan found himself
completely at a loss. The musketeer had no other doubts, either, upon
the reason which had urged the unfortunate Philippe to reveal his
character and his birth. Philippe, hidden forever beneath a mask of
iron, exiled to a country where the men seemed little more than slaves
of the elements; Philippe, deprived even of the society of D'Artagnan,
who had loaded him with honors and delicate attentions, had nothing more
to see than specters and griefs in this world, and despair beginning to
devour him, he poured himself forth in complaints, in the belief that
his revelations would raise an avenger for him.
The manner in which the musketeer had been near killing his two best
friends, the destiny which had so strangely brought Athos to participate
in the great state secret, the farewell of Raoul, the obscurity of that
future which threatened to end in a melancholy death; all this threw
D'Artagnan incessantly back to the lamentable predictions and
forebodings, which the rapidity of his pace did not dissipate, as it
used formerly to do. D'Artagnan passed from these considerations to the
remembrance of the proscribed Porthos and Aramis. He saw them both,
fugitives, tracked, ruined--laborious architects of a fortune they must
lose; and, as the king called for his man of execution in the hours of
vengeance and malice, D'Artagnan trembled at the idea of receiving some
commission that would make his very heart bleed. Sometimes, when
ascending hills, when the winded horse breathed hard from his nostrils,
and heaved his flanks, the captain, left to more freedom of thought,
reflected upon the prodigious genius of Aramis, a genius of astucity and
intrigue, such as the Fronde and the civil war had produced but two.
Soldier, priest, and diplomatist; gallant, avaricious, and cunning;
Aramis had never taken the good things of this life but as
stepping-stones to rise to bad ones. Generous in spirit, if not high in
heart, he never did ill but for the sake of shining a little more
brilliantly. Toward the end of his career, at the moment of reaching
the goal like the patrician Fuscus, he had made a false step upon a
plank, and had fallen into the sea. But Porthos, the good harmless
Porthos! To see Porthos hungry, to see Mousqueton without gold lace,
imprisoned perhaps; to see Pierrefonds, Bracieux, razed to the very
stones, dishonored even to the timber--these were so many poignant
griefs for D'Artagnan, and every time that one of these griefs struck
him, he bounded like a horse at the sting of the gadfly beneath the
vaults of foliage where he has sought shade and shelter from the burning
sun.
Never was the man of spirit subjected to ennui, if his body was exposed
to fatigue; never did the man healthy of body fail to find life light,
if he had something to engage his mind. D'Artagnan, riding fast,
thinking as constantly, alighted from his horse in Paris, fresh and
tender in his muscles as the athlete preparing for the gymnasium. The
king did not expect him so soon, and had just departed for the chase
toward Meudon. D'Artagnan, instead of riding after the king, as he would
formerly have done, took off his boots, had a bath, and waited till his
majesty should return dusty and tired. He occupied the interval of five
hours in taking, as people say, the air of the house, and in arming
himself against all ill-chances. He learned that the king, during the
last fortnight, had been gloomy; that the queen-mother was ill and much
depressed; that Monsieur, the king's brother, was exhibiting a
devotional turn; that Madame had the vapors; and that M. de Guiche was
gone to one of his estates. He learned that M. Colbert was radiant; that
M. Fouquet consulted a fresh physician every day, who still did not cure
him, and that his principal complaint was one which physicians do not
usually cure, unless they are political physicians. The king, D'Artagnan
was told, behaved in the kindest manner to M. Fouquet, and did not allow
him to be ever out of his sight; but the surintendant, touched to the
heart, like one of those fine trees which a worm has punctured, was
declining daily, in spite of the royal smile, that sun of court trees.
D'Artagnan learned that Mademoiselle de la Valliere had become
indispensable to the king, that the king, during his sporting
excursions, if he did not take her with him, wrote to her frequently, no
longer verses, but, what was still much worse, prose, and that, whole
pages at a time. Thus, as the poetical Pleiad of the day said, the
_first king in the world_ was seen descending from his horse _with an
ardor beyond compare_, and on the crown of his hat scrawling bombastic
phrases, which M. de Saint-Aignan, aid-de-camp in perpetuity, carried to
La Valliere at the risk of foundering his horses. During this time, deer
and pheasants were left to the free enjoyments of their nature, hunted
so lazily, that, it was said, the art of venery ran great risk of
degenerating at the court of France. D'Artagnan then thought of the
wishes of poor Raoul, of that desponding letter destined for a woman who
passed her life in hoping, and as D'Artagnan loved to philosophize a
little occasionally, he resolved to profit by the absence of the king to
have a minute's talk with Mademoiselle de la Valliere.
This was a very easy affair: while the king was hunting, Louise was
walking with some other ladies in one of the galleries of the Palais
Royal, exactly where the captain of the musketeers had some guards to
inspect. D'Artagnan did not doubt, that if he could but open the
conversation upon Raoul, Louise might give him grounds for writing a
consolatory letter to the poor exile; and hope, or at least consolation
for Raoul, in the state of heart in which he had left him, was the sun,
was life to two men who were very dear to our captain. He directed his
course, therefore, to the spot where he knew he should find Mademoiselle
de la Valliere. D'Artagnan found La Valliere the center of a circle. In
her apparent solitude, the king's favorite received, like a queen, more
perhaps than the queen, a homage of which Madame had been so proud, when
all the king's looks were directed to her, and commanded the looks of
the courtiers. D'Artagnan, although no squire of dames, received,
nevertheless, civilities and attentions from the ladies; he was polite,
as a brave man always is, and his terrible reputation had conciliated as
much friendship among the men as admiration among the women. On seeing
him enter, therefore, they immediately accosted him; and, as is not
unfrequently the case with fair ladies, opened the attack by questions.
"Where _had_ he been? What _had_ become of him so long? Why had they not
seen him as usual make his fine horse curvet in such beautiful style, to
the delight and astonishment of the curious from the king's balcony?"
He replied that he had just come from the land of oranges. This set all
the ladies laughing. Those were times in which everybody traveled, but
in which, notwithstanding, a journey of a hundred leagues was a problem
often solved by death.
"'From the land of oranges?'" exclaimed Mademoiselle de Tonnay-Charente.
"From Spain?"
"Eh! eh!" said the musketeer.
"From Malta?" said Montalais.
"Ma foi! You are coming very near, ladies."
"Is it an island?" asked La Valliere.
"Mademoiselle," said D'Artagnan; "I will not give you the trouble of
seeking any further; I come from the country where M. de Beaufort is, at
this moment, embarking for Algiers."
"Have you seen the army?" asked several warlike fair ones.
"As plainly as I see you," replied D'Artagnan.
"And the fleet?"
"Yes; I saw everything."
"Have we any of us any friends there?" said Mademoiselle de
Tonnay-Charente, coldly, but in a manner to attract attention to a
question that was not without a calculated aim.
"Why?" replied D'Artagnan, "yes; there were M. de la Guillotiere, M. de
Manchy, M. de Bragelonne--"
La Valliere became pale. "M. de Bragelonne!" cried the perfidious
Athenaïs. "Eh, what!--is he gone to the wars?--he!"
Montalais trod upon her toe, but in vain.
"Do you know what my opinion is?" continued she, addressing D'Artagnan.
"No, mademoiselle; but I should like very much to know it."
"My opinion is, then, that all the men who go to this war, are
desperate, desponding men, whom love has treated ill; and who go to try
if they cannot find black women more kind than fair ones have been."
Some of the ladies laughed. La Valliere was evidently confused.
Montalais coughed loud enough to waken the dead.
"Mademoiselle," interrupted D'Artagnan, "you are in error when you speak
of black women at Gigelli; the women there are not black; it is true
they are not white--they are yellow."
"Yellow!" exclaimed the bevy of fair beauties.
"Eh! do not disparage it. I have never seen a finer color to match with
black eyes and a coral mouth."
"So much the better for M. de Bragelonne," said Mademoiselle de
Tonnay-Charente, with persistent malice. "He will make amends for his
loss. Poor fellow!"
A profound silence followed these words; and D'Artagnan had time to
observe and reflect that women--those mild doves--treat each other much
more cruelly than tigers and bears. But making La Valliere pale did not
satisfy Athenaïs; she determined to make her blush likewise. Resuming
the conversation without pause, "Do you know, Louise," said she, "that
that is a great sin on your conscience?"
"What sin, mademoiselle?" stammered the unfortunate girl, looking round
her for support, without finding it.
"Eh!--why?" continued Athenaïs, "the poor young man was affianced to
you; he loved you, you cast him off."
"Well, and that is a right every honest woman has," said Montalais, in
an affected tone. "When we know we cannot constitute the happiness of a
man it is much better to cast him off."
"Cast him off! or refuse him!--that's all very well," said Athenaïs,
"but that is not the sin Mademoiselle de la Valliere has to reproach
herself with. The actual sin, is sending poor Bragelonne to the wars;
and to wars in which death is to be met with." Louise pressed her hand
over her icy-brow. "And if he dies," continued her pitiless tormentor;
"you will have killed him. That is the sin."
Louise, half-dead, caught at the arm of the captain of the musketeers,
whose face betrayed unusual emotion. "You wished to speak with me,
Monsieur D'Artagnan," said she, in a voice broken by anger and pain.
"What had you to say to me?"
D'Artagnan made several steps along the gallery, holding Louise on his
arm; then, when they were far enough removed from the others--"What I
had to say to you, mademoiselle," replied he, "Mademoiselle de
Tonnay-Charente has just expressed; roughly and unkindly, it is true,
but still in its entirety."
She uttered a faint cry; struck to the heart by this new wound, she went
on her way, like one of those poor birds which, struck to death, seek
the shade of the thicket to die in. She disappeared at one door, at the
moment the king was entering by another. The first glance of the king
was directed toward the empty seat of his mistress. In not perceiving La
Valliere, a frown came over his brow; but as soon as he saw D'Artagnan,
who bowed to him--"Ah! monsieur!" cried he, "you _have_ been diligent! I
am much pleased with you." This was the superlative expression of royal
satisfaction. Many men would have been ready to lay down their lives for
such a speech from the king. The maids of honor and the courtiers, who
had formed a respectful circle round the king on his entrance, drew
back, on observing he wished to speak privately with his captain of the
musketeers. The king led the way out of the gallery, after having again,
with his eyes, sought everywhere for La Valliere, whose absence he could
not account for. The moment they were out of reach of curious ears,
"Well! Monsieur d'Artagnan," said he, "the prisoner?"
"Is in his prison, sire."
"What did he say on the road?"
"Nothing, sire."
"What did he do?"
"There was a moment at which the fisherman--who took me in his boat to
Sainte-Marguerite--revolted, and did his best to kill me. The--the
prisoner defended me instead of attempting to fly."
The king became pale. "Enough!" said he; and D'Artagnan bowed. Louis
walked about his cabinet with hasty steps. "Were you at Antibes," said
he, "when Monsieur de Beaufort came there?"
"No, sire; I was setting off when Monsieur le Duc arrived."
"Ah!" which was followed by a fresh silence. "Whom did you see there?"
"A great many persons," said D'Artagnan, coolly.
The king perceived that he was unwilling to speak. "I have sent for you,
Monsieur le Capitaine, to desire you to go and prepare my lodgings at
Nantes."
"At Nantes!" cried D'Artagnan.
"In Bretagne."
"Yes, sire, it is in Bretagne. Will your majesty make so long a journey
as to Nantes?"
"The States are assembled there," replied the king. "I have two demands
to make of them: I wish to be there."
"When shall I set out?" said the captain.
"This evening--to-morrow--to-morrow evening; for you must stand in need
of rest."
"I have rested, sire."
"That is well. Then between this and to-morrow evening, when you
please."
D'Artagnan bowed as if to take his leave; but, perceiving the king very
much embarrassed, "Will your majesty," said he, stepping two paces
forward, "take the court with you?"
"Certainly I shall."
"Then your majesty will, doubtless, want the musketeers?" And the eye of
the king sank beneath the penetrating glance of the captain.
"Take a brigade of them," replied Louis.
"Is that all? Has your majesty no other orders to give me?"
"No--ah--yes."
"I am all attention, sire."
"At the castle of Nantes, which I hear is very ill arranged, you will
adopt the practice of placing musketeers at the door of each of the
principal dignitaries I shall take with me."
"Of the principal?"
"Yes."
"For instance, at the door of M. de Lyonne?"
"Yes."
"At that of M. Letellier?"
"Yes."
"Of M. de Brienne?"
"Yes."
"And of Monsieur le Surintendant?"
"Without doubt."
"Very well, sire. By to-morrow I shall have set out."
"Oh, yes; but one more word, Monsieur d'Artagnan. At Nantes you will
meet with M. le Duc de Gesvres, captain of the guards. Be sure that your
musketeers are placed before his guards arrive. Precedence always
belongs to the first comer."
"Yes, sire."
"And if M. de Gesvres should question you?"
"Question me, sire! Is it likely that M. de Gesvres should question me?"
And the musketeer, turning cavalierly on his heel, disappeared. "To
Nantes!" said he to himself, as he descended the stairs. "Why did he not
dare to say from thence to Belle-Isle?"
As he reached the great gates, one of M. Brienne's clerks came running
after him exclaiming, "Monsieur d'Artagnan. I beg your pardon--"
"What is the matter, Monsieur Ariste?"
"The king has desired me to give you this order."
"Upon your cash-box?" asked the musketeer.
"No, monsieur; upon that of M. Fouquet."
[Illustration: THEY SAW, BY THE RED FLASHES OF THE LIGHTNING AGAINST
THE VIOLET FOG WHICH THE WIND STAMPED UPON THE BANKWARD SKY, THEY SAW
PASS GRAVELY, AT SIX PACES BEHIND THE GOVERNOR, A MAN CLOTHED IN BLACK
AND MASKED BY A VISOR OF POLISHED STEEL, SOLDERED TO A HELMET OF THE
SAME NATURE, WHICH ALTOGETHER ENVELOPED THE WHOLE OF HIS
HEAD.--_Page 438._]
D'Artagnan was surprised, but he took the order, which was in the
king's own writing, and was for two hundred pistoles. "What!" thought
he, after having politely thanked M. Brienne's clerk, "M. Fouquet is to
pay for the journey, then! Mordioux! that is a bit of pure Louis XI.!
Why was not this order upon the chest of M. Colbert? He would have paid
it with such joy." And D'Artagnan, faithful to his principle of never
letting an order at sight get cold, went straight to the house of M.
Fouquet, to receive his two hundred pistoles.