The Next Day
It was seven o’clock in the morning, the first rays of day lightened
the pools of the marsh, in which the sun was reflected like a red ball,
when Athos, awaking and opening the window of his bed-chamber, which
looked out upon the banks of the river, perceived, at fifteen paces’
distance from him, the sergeant and the men who had accompanied him the
evening before, and who, after having deposited the casks at his house,
had returned to the camp by the causeway on the right.
Why had these men come back after having returned to the camp? That was
the question which first presented itself to Athos. The sergeant, with
his head raised, appeared to be watching the moment when the gentleman
should appear, to address him. Athos, surprised to see these men, whom
he had seen depart the night before, could not refrain from expressing
his astonishment to them.
“There is nothing surprising in that, monsieur,” said the sergeant;
“for yesterday the general commanded me to watch over your safety, and
I thought it right to obey that order.”
“Is the general at the camp?” asked Athos.
“No doubt he is, monsieur; as when he left you he was going back.”
“Well, wait for me a moment; I am going thither to render an account of
the fidelity with which you fulfilled your duty, and to get my sword,
which I left upon the table in the tent.”
“That happens very well,” said the sergeant, “for we were about to
request you to do so.”
Athos fancied he could detect an air of equivocal bonhomie upon the
countenance of the sergeant; but the adventure of the vault might have
excited the curiosity of the man, and it was not surprising that he
allowed some of the feelings which agitated his mind to appear in his
face. Athos closed the doors carefully, confiding the keys to Grimaud,
who had chosen his domicile beneath the shed itself, which led to the
cellar where the casks had been deposited. The sergeant escorted the
Comte de la Fere to the camp. There a fresh guard awaited him, and
relieved the four men who had conducted Athos.
This fresh guard was commanded by the aid-de-camp Digby, who, on their
way, fixed upon Athos looks so little encouraging, that the Frenchman
asked himself whence arose, with regard to him, this vigilance and this
severity, when the evening before he had been left perfectly free. He
nevertheless continued his way to the headquarters, keeping to himself
the observations which men and things forced him to make. He found in
the general’s tent, to which he had been introduced the evening before,
three superior officers: these were Monk’s lieutenant and two colonels.
Athos perceived his sword; it was still on the table where he left it.
Neither of the officers had seen Athos, consequently neither of them
knew him. Monk’s lieutenant asked, at the appearance of Athos, if that
were the same gentleman with whom the General had left the tent.
“Yes, your honor,” said the sergeant; “it is the same.”
“But,” said Athos haughtily, “I do not deny it, I think; and now,
gentlemen, in turn, permit me to ask you to what purpose these
questions are asked, and particularly some explanation upon the tone in
which you ask them?”
“Monsieur,” said the lieutenant, “if we address these questions to you,
it is because we have a right to do so, and if we make them in a
particular tone, it is because that tone, believe me, agrees with the
circumstances.”
“Gentlemen,” said Athos, “you do not know who I am; but I must tell you
I acknowledge no one here but General Monk as my equal. Where is he?
Let me be conducted to him, and if he has any questions to put to me, I
will answer him and to his satisfaction, I hope. I repeat, gentlemen,
where is the general?”
“Eh! good God! you know better than we do where he is,” said the
lieutenant.
“I?”
“Yes, you.”
“Monsieur,” said Athos, “I do not understand you.”
“You will understand me—and, in the first place, do not speak so loud.”
Athos smiled disdainfully.
“We don’t ask you to smile,” said one of the colonels warmly; “we
require you to answer.”
“And I, gentlemen, declare to you that I will not reply until I am in
the presence of the general.”
“But,” replied the same colonel who had already spoken, “you know very
well that is impossible.”
“This is the second time I have received this strange reply to the wish
I express,” said Athos. “Is the general absent?”
This question was made with such apparent good faith, and the gentleman
wore an air of such natural surprise, that the three officers exchanged
a meaning look. The lieutenant, by a tacit convention with the other
two, was spokesman.
“Monsieur, the general left you last night on the borders of the
monastery.”
“Yes, monsieur.”
“And you went——”
“It is not for me to answer you, but for those who have accompanied me.
They were your soldiers, ask them.”
“But if we please to question you?”
“Then it will please me to reply, monsieur, that I do not recognize any
one here, that I know no one here but the general, and that it is to
him alone I will reply.”
“So be it, monsieur; but as we are the masters, we constitute ourselves
a council of war, and when you are before judges you must reply.”
The countenance of Athos expressed nothing but astonishment and
disdain, instead of the terror the officers expected to read in it at
this threat.
“Scotch or English judges upon me, a subject of the king of France;
upon me, placed under the safeguard of British honor! You are mad,
gentlemen!” said Athos, shrugging his shoulders.
The officers looked at each other. “Then, monsieur,” said one of them,
“do you pretend not to know where the general is?”
“To that, monsieur, I have already replied.”
“Yes, but you have already replied an incredible thing.”
“It is true, nevertheless, gentlemen. Men of my rank are not generally
liars. I am a gentleman, I have told you, and when I have at my side
the sword which, by an excess of delicacy, I left last night upon the
table whereon it still lies, believe me, no man says that to me which I
am unwilling to hear. I am at this moment disarmed; if you pretend to
be my judges, try me; if you are but my executioners, kill me.”
“But, monsieur——” asked the lieutenant, in a more courteous voice,
struck with the lofty coolness of Athos.
“Sir, I came to speak confidentially with your general about affairs of
importance. It was not an ordinary welcome that he gave me. The
accounts your soldiers can give you may convince you of that. If, then,
the general received me in that manner, he knew my titles to his
esteem. Now, you do not suspect, I should think that I should reveal my
secrets to you, and still less his.”
“But these casks, what do they contain?”
“Have you not put that question to your soldiers? What was their
reply?”
“That they contained powder and ball.”
“From whom had they that information? They must have told you that.”
“From the general; but we are not dupes.”
“Beware, gentlemen, it is not to me you are now giving the lie, it is
to your leader.”
The officers again looked at each other. Athos continued: “Before your
soldiers the general told me to wait a week, and at the expiration of
that week he would give me the answer he had to make me. Have I fled
away? No, I wait.”
“He told you to wait a week!” cried the lieutenant.
“He told me that so clearly, sir, that I have a sloop at the mouth of
the river, which I could with ease have joined yesterday, and embarked.
Now, if I have remained, it was only in compliance with the desire of
your general, his honor having requested me not to depart without a
last audience, which fixed at a week hence. I repeat to you, then, I am
waiting.”
The lieutenant turned towards the other officers, and said, in a low
voice: “If this gentleman speaks truth, there may still be some hope.
The general may be carrying out some negotiations so secret, that he
thought it imprudent to inform even us. Then the time limited for his
absence would be a week.” Then, turning towards Athos: “Monsieur,” said
he, “your declaration is of the most serious importance; are you
willing to repeat it under the seal of an oath?”
“Sir,” replied Athos, “I have always lived in a world where my simple
word was regarded as the most sacred of oaths.”
“This time, however, monsieur, the circumstance is more grave than any
you may have been placed in. The safety of the whole army is at stake.
Reflect, the general has disappeared, and our search for him has been
vain. Is this disappearance natural? Has a crime been committed? Are we
not bound to carry our investigations to extremity? Have we any right
to wait with patience? At this moment, everything, monsieur, depends
upon the words you are about to pronounce.”
“Thus questioned, gentlemen, I no longer hesitate,” said Athos. “Yes, I
came hither to converse confidentially with General Monk, and ask him
for an answer regarding certain interests; yes, the general being,
doubtless, unable to pronounce before the expected battle, begged me to
remain a week in the house I inhabit, promising me that in a week I
should see him again. Yes, all this is true, and I swear it by the God
who is the absolute master of my life and yours.” Athos pronounced
these words with so much grandeur and solemnity, that the three
officers were almost convinced. Nevertheless, one of the colonels made
a last attempt.
“Monsieur,” said he, “although we may be now persuaded of the truth of
what you say, there is yet a strange mystery in all this. The general
is too prudent a man to have thus abandoned his army on the eve of a
battle without having at least given notice of it to one of us. As for
myself, I cannot believe but that some strange event has been the cause
of this disappearance. Yesterday some foreign fishermen came to sell
their fish here; they were lodged yonder among the Scots; that is to
say, on the road the general took with this gentleman, to go to the
abbey, and to return from it. It was one of those fishermen that
accompanied the general with a light. And this morning, bark and
fishermen have all disappeared, carried away by the night’s tide.”
“For my part,” said the lieutenant, “I see nothing in that that is not
quite natural, for these people were not prisoners.”
“No, but I repeat it was one of them who lighted the general and this
gentleman to the abbey, and Digby assures us that the general had
strong suspicions concerning those people. Now, who can say whether
these people were not connected with this gentleman; and that, the blow
being struck, the gentleman, who is evidently brave, did not remain to
reassure us by his presence, and to prevent our researches being made
in a right direction?”
This speech made an impression upon the other two officers.
“Sir,” said Athos, “permit me to tell you, that your reasoning, though
specious in appearance, nevertheless wants consistency, as regards me.
I have remained, you say, to divert suspicion. Well! on the contrary,
suspicions arise in me as well as in you; and I say, it is impossible,
gentlemen, that the general, on the eve of a battle, should leave his
army without saying anything to at least one of his officers. Yes,
there is some strange event connected with this; instead of being idle
and waiting, you must display all the activity and all the vigilance
possible. I am your prisoner, gentlemen, upon parole or otherwise. My
honor is concerned in ascertaining what has become of General Monk, and
to such a point, that if you were to say to me, ‘Depart!’ I should
reply ‘No, I will remain!’ And if you were to ask my opinion, I should
add: ‘Yes, the general is the victim of some conspiracy, for, if he had
intended to leave the camp he would have told me so.’ Seek then, search
the land, search the sea; the general has not gone of his own good
will.”
The lieutenant made a sign to the other two officers.
“No, monsieur,” said he, “no; in your turn you go too far. The general
has nothing to suffer from these events, and, no doubt, has directed
them. What Monk is now doing he has often done before. We are wrong in
alarming ourselves; his absence will, doubtless, be of short duration;
therefore, let us beware, lest by a pusillanimity which the general
would consider a crime, of making his absence public, and by that means
demoralize the army. The general gives a striking proof of his
confidence in us; let us show ourselves worthy of it. Gentlemen, let
the most profound silence cover all this with an impenetrable veil; we
will detain this gentleman, not from mistrust of him with regard to the
crime, but to assure more effectively the secret of the general’s
absence by keeping among ourselves; therefore, until fresh orders, the
gentleman will remain at headquarters.”
“Gentlemen,” said Athos, “you forget that last night the general
confided to me a deposit over which I am bound to watch. Give me
whatever guard you like, chain me if you like, but leave me the house I
inhabit for my prison. The general, on his return, would reproach you,
I swear on the honor of a gentleman, for having displeased him in
this.”
“So be it, monsieur,” said the lieutenant; “return to your abode.”
Then they placed over Athos a guard of fifty men, who surrounded his
house, without losing sight of him for a minute.
The secret remained secure, but hours, days passed away without the
general’s returning, or without anything being heard of him.