on Friendly Terms, Thanks to D’Artagnan.
There was good living in Planchet’s house. Porthos broke a ladder and
two cherry-trees, stripped the raspberry-bushes, and was only unable to
succeed in reaching the strawberry-beds on account, as he said, of his
belt. Truchen, who had become quite sociable with the giant, said that
it was not the belt so much as his corporation; and Porthos, in a state
of the highest delight, embraced Truchen, who gathered him a pailful of
the strawberries, and made him eat them out of her hands. D’Artagnan,
who arrived in the midst of these little innocent flirtations, scolded
Porthos for his indolence, and silently pitied Planchet. Porthos
breakfasted with a very good appetite, and when he had finished, he
said, looking at Truchen, “I could make myself very happy here.”
Truchen smiled at his remark, and so did Planchet, but not without
embarrassment.
D’Artagnan then addressed Porthos: “You must not let the delights of
Capua make you forget the real object of our journey to Fontainebleau.”
“My presentation to the king?”
“Certainly. I am going to take a turn in the town to get everything
ready for that. Do not think of leaving the house, I beg.”
“Oh, no!” exclaimed Porthos.
Planchet looked at D’Artagnan nervously.
“Will you be away long?” he inquired.
“No, my friend; and this very evening I will release you from two
troublesome guests.”
“Oh! Monsieur d’Artagnan! can you say--”
“No, no; you are a noble-hearted fellow, but your house is very small.
Such a house, with half a dozen acres of land, would be fit for a king,
and make him very happy, too. But you were not born a great lord.”
“No more was M. Porthos,” murmured Planchet.
“But he has become so, my good fellow; his income has been a hundred
thousand francs a year for the last twenty years, and for the last fifty
years Porthos has been the owner of a couple of fists and a backbone,
which are not to be matched throughout the whole realm of France.
Porthos is a man of the very greatest consequence compared to you,
and... well, I need say no more, for I know you are an intelligent
fellow.”
“No, no, monsieur, explain what you mean.”
“Look at your orchard, how stripped it is, how empty your larder, your
bedstead broken, your cellar almost exhausted, look too... at Madame
Truchen--”
“Oh! my goodness gracious!” said Planchet.
“Madame Truchen is an excellent person,” continued D’Artagnan, “but
keep her for yourself, do you understand?” and he slapped him on the
shoulder.
Planchet at this moment perceived Porthos and Truchen sitting close
together in an arbor; Truchen, with a grace of manner peculiarly
Flemish, was making a pair of earrings for Porthos out of a double
cherry, while Porthos was laughing as amorously as Samson in the company
of Delilah. Planchet pressed D’Artagnan’s hand, and ran towards the
arbor. We must do Porthos the justice to say that he did not move as
they approached, and, very likely, he did not think he was doing any
harm. Nor indeed did Truchen move either, which rather put Planchet out;
but he, too, had been so accustomed to see fashionable folk in his shop,
that he found no difficulty in putting a good countenance on what seemed
disagreeable or rude. Planchet seized Porthos by the arm, and proposed
to go and look at the horses, but Porthos pretended he was tired.
Planchet then suggested that the Baron du Vallon should taste some
noyeau of his own manufacture, which was not to be equaled anywhere; an
offer the baron immediately accepted; and, in this way, Planchet managed
to engage his enemy’s attention during the whole of the day, by dint of
sacrificing his cellar, in preference to his _amour propre_. Two hours
afterwards D’Artagnan returned.
“Everything is arranged,” he said; “I saw his majesty at the very moment
he was setting off for the chase; the king expects us this evening.”
“The king expects _me!_” cried Porthos, drawing himself up. It is a sad
thing to have to confess, but a man’s heart is like an ocean billow;
for, from that very moment Porthos ceased to look at Madame Truchen
in that touching manner which had so softened her heart. Planchet
encouraged these ambitious leanings as best as he could. He talked over,
or rather gave exaggerated accounts of all the splendors of the last
reign, its battles, sieges, and grand court ceremonies. He spoke of the
luxurious display which the English made; the prizes the three brave
companions carried off; and how D’Artagnan, who at the beginning had
been the humblest of the four, finished by becoming the leader. He fired
Porthos with a generous feeling of enthusiasm by reminding him of his
early youth now passed away; he boasted as much as he could of the moral
life this great lord had led, and how religiously he respected the ties
of friendship; he was eloquent, and skillful in his choice of subjects.
He tickled Porthos, frightened Truchen, and made D’Artagnan think. At
six o’clock, the musketeer ordered the horses to be brought round, and
told Porthos to get ready. He thanked Planchet for his kind hospitality,
whispered a few words about a post he might succeed in obtaining for
him at court, which immediately raised Planchet in Truchen’s estimation,
where the poor grocer--so good, so generous, so devoted--had become much
lowered ever since the appearance and comparison with him of the two
great gentlemen. Such, however, is a woman’s nature; they are anxious
to possess what they have not got, and disdain it as soon as it is
acquired. After having rendered this service to his friend Planchet,
D’Artagnan said in a low tone of voice to Porthos: “That is a very
beautiful ring you have on your finger.”
“It is worth three hundred pistoles,” said Porthos.
“Madame Truchen will remember you better if you leave her that ring,”
replied D’Artagnan, a suggestion which Porthos seemed to hesitate to
adopt.
“You think it is not beautiful enough, perhaps,” said the musketeer. “I
understand your feelings; a great lord such as you would not think of
accepting the hospitality of an old servant without paying him most
handsomely for it: but I am sure that Planchet is too good-hearted a
fellow to remember that you have an income of a hundred thousand francs
a year.”
“I have more than half a mind,” said Porthos, flattered by the remark,
“to make Madame Truchen a present of my little farm at Bracieux; it has
twelve acres.”
“It is too much, my good Porthos, too much just at present... Keep it
for a future occasion.” He then took the ring off Porthos’s finger, and
approaching Truchen, said to her:--“Madame, monsieur le baron hardly
knows how to entreat you, out of your regard for him, to accept this
little ring. M. du Vallon is one of the most generous and discreet
men of my acquaintance. He wished to offer you a farm that he has at
Bracieux, but I dissuaded him from it.”
“Oh!” said Truchen, looking eagerly at the diamond.
“Monsieur le baron!” exclaimed Planchet, quite overcome.
“My good friend,” stammered out Porthos, delighted at having been so
well represented by D’Artagnan. These several exclamations, uttered at
the same moment, made quite a pathetic winding-up of a day which might
have finished in a very ridiculous manner. But D’Artagnan was there,
and, on every occasion, wheresoever D’Artagnan exercised any control,
matters ended only just in the very way he wished and willed. There were
general embracings; Truchen, whom the baron’s munificence had restored
to her proper position, very timidly, and blushing all the while,
presented her forehead to the great lord with whom she had been on such
very pretty terms the evening before. Planchet himself was overcome by
a feeling of genuine humility. Still, in the same generosity of
disposition, Porthos would have emptied his pockets into the hands of
the cook and of Celestin; but D’Artagnan stopped him.
“No,” he said, “it is now my turn.” And he gave one pistole to the woman
and two to the man; and the benedictions which were showered down
upon them would have rejoiced the heart of Harpagon himself, and have
rendered even him a prodigal.
D’Artagnan made Planchet lead them to the chateau, and introduced
Porthos into his own apartment, where he arrived safely without having
been perceived by those he was afraid of meeting.