Chapter XXXIV. Among Women.

by Alexandre Dumas

　　D'Artagnan had not been able to hide his feelings from his friends somuch as he would have wished. The stoical soldier, the impassive man-at-arms, overcome by fear and sad presentiments, had yielded, for a fewmoments, to human weakness. When, therefore, he had silenced his heartand calmed the agitation of his nerves, turning towards his lackey, asilent 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 ofthe horse, like a true centaur, gave up his thoughts to nothing - that isto say, to everything. He asked himself why the king had sent for himback; why the Iron Mask had thrown the silver plate at the feet ofRaoul. As to the first subject, the reply was negative; he knew rightwell that the king's calling him was from necessity. He still furtherknew that Louis XIV. must experience an imperious desire for a privateconversation with one whom the possession of such a secret placed on alevel with the highest powers of the kingdom. But as to saying exactlywhat the king's wish was, D'Artagnan found himself completely at a loss.The musketeer had no doubts, either, upon the reason which had urged theunfortunate Philippe to reveal his character and birth. Philippe, buriedforever beneath a mask of steel, exiled to a country where the men seemedlittle more than slaves of the elements; Philippe, deprived even of thesociety of D'Artagnan, who had loaded him with honors and delicateattentions, had nothing more to see than odious specters in this world,and, despair beginning to devour him, he poured himself forth incomplaints, in the belief that his revelations would raise up someavenger for him. The manner in which the musketeer had been near killinghis two best friends, the destiny which had so strangely brought Athos toparticipate in the great state secret, the farewell of Raoul, theobscurity of the future which threatened to end in a melancholy death;all this threw D'Artagnan incessantly back on lamentable predictions andforebodings, which the rapidity of his pace did not dissipate, as it usedformerly to do. D'Artagnan passed from these considerations to theremembrance of the proscribed Porthos and Aramis. He saw them both,fugitives, tracked, ruined - laborious architects of fortunes they hadlost; and as the king called for his man of execution in hours ofvengeance and malice, D'Artagnan trembled at the very idea of receivingsome commission that would make his very soul bleed. Sometimes,ascending hills, when the winded horse breathed hard from his rednostrils, and heaved his flanks, the captain, left to more freedom ofthought, reflected on the prodigious genius of Aramis, a genius of acumenand intrigue, a match to which the Fronde and the civil war had producedbut twice. Soldier, priest, diplomatist; gallant, avaricious, cunning;Aramis had never taken the good things of this life except as stepping-stones to rise to giddier ends. Generous in spirit, if not lofty inheart, he never did ill but for the sake of shining even yet morebrilliantly. Towards the end of his career, at the moment of reachingthe goal, like the patrician Fuscus, he had made a false step upon aplank, and had fallen into the sea. But Porthos, good, harmlessPorthos! To see Porthos hungry, to see Mousqueton without gold lace,imprisoned, perhaps; to see Pierrefonds, Bracieux, razed to the verystones, dishonored even to the timber, - these were so many poignantgriefs for D'Artagnan, and every time that one of these griefs struckhim, he bounded like a horse at the sting of a gadfly beneath the vaultsof foliage where he has sought shady shelter from the burning sun. Neverwas the man of spirit subjected to ennui, if his body was exposed tofatigue; never did the man of healthy body fail to find life light, if hehad something to engage his mind. D'Artagnan, riding fast, thinking asconstantly, alighted from his horse in Pairs, fresh and tender in hismuscles as the athlete preparing for the gymnasium. The king did notexpect him so soon, and had just departed for the chase towards Meudon.D'Artagnan, instead of riding after the king, as he would formerly havedone, took off his boots, had a bath, and waited till his majesty shouldreturn dusty and tired. He occupied the interval of five hours intaking, as people say, the air of the house, and in arming himselfagainst all ill chances. He learned that the king, during the lastfortnight, had been gloomy; that the queen-mother was ill and muchdepressed; that Monsieur, the king's brother, was exhibiting a devotionalturn; that Madame had the vapors; and that M. de Guiche was gone to oneof his estates. He learned that M. Colbert was radiant; that M. Fouquetconsulted a fresh physician every day, who still did not cure him, andthat his principal complaint was one which physicians do not usuallycure, unless they are political physicians. The king, D'Artagnan wastold, behaved in the kindest manner to M. Fouquet, and did not allow himto be ever out of his sight; but the surintendant, touched to the heart,like one of those fine trees a worm has punctured, was declining daily,in spite of the royal smile, that sun of court trees. D'Artagnan learnedthat Mademoiselle de la Valliere had become indispensable to the king;that the king, during his sporting excursions, if he did not take herwith him, wrote to her frequently, no longer verses, but, which was muchworse, prose, and that whole pages at a time. Thus, as the politicalPleiad of the day said, the first king in the world was seen descendingfrom his horse with an ardor beyond compare, and on the crown of hishat scrawling bombastic phrases, which M. de Saint-Aignan, aide-de-campin perpetuity, carried to La Valliere at the risk of foundering hishorses. During this time, deer and pheasants were left to the freeenjoyment of their nature, hunted so lazily that, it was said, the art ofvenery ran great risk of degenerating at the court of France. D'Artagnanthen thought of the wishes of poor Raoul, of that desponding letterdestined for a woman who passed her life in hoping, and as D'Artagnanloved to philosophize a little occasionally, he resolved to profit by theabsence of the king to have a minute's talk with Mademoiselle de laValliere. This was a very easy affair; while the king was hunting,Louise was walking with some other ladies in one of the galleries of thePalais Royal, exactly where the captain of the musketeers had some guardsto inspect. D'Artagnan did not doubt that, if he could but open theconversation on Raoul, Louise might give him grounds for writing aconsolatory letter to the poor exile; and hope, or at least consolationfor 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 hiscourse, therefore, to the spot where he knew he should find Mademoisellede la Valliere. D'Artagnan found La Valliere the center of the 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 soproud, when all the king's looks were directed to her and commanded thelooks of the courtiers. D'Artagnan, although no squire of dames,received, nevertheless, civilities and attentions from the ladies; he waspolite, as a brave man always is, and his terrible reputation hadconciliated as much friendship among the men as admiration among thewomen. On seeing him enter, therefore, they immediately accosted him;and, as is not unfrequently the case with fair ladies, opened the attackby 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 suchbeautiful style, to the delight and astonishment of the curious from theking's balcony?"He replied that he had just come from the land of oranges. This set allthe ladies laughing. Those were times in which everybody traveled, butin which, notwithstanding, a journey of a hundred leagues was a problemoften solved by death."From the land of oranges?" cried Mademoiselle de Tonnay-Charente. "FromSpain?""Eh! eh!" said the musketeer."From Malta?" echoed 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 ofseeking any further; I come from the country where M. de Beaufort is, atthis 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 thatwas not without its calculated aim."Why," replied D'Artagnan, "yes; there were M. de la Guillotiere, M. deManchy, M. de Bragelonne - "La Valliere became pale. "M. de Bragelonne!" cried the perfidiousAthenais. "Eh, what! - is he gone to the wars? - he!"Montalais trod on her toe, but all 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 theycannot find jet-complexioned women more kind than fair ones have been."Some of the ladies laughed; La Valliere was evidently confused; Montalaiscoughed loud enough to waken the dead."Mademoiselle," interrupted D'Artagnan, "you are in error when you speakof black women at Gigelli; the women there have not jet faces; it is truethey 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 withblack 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 toobserve and reflect that women - mild doves - treat each other morecruelly than tigers. But making La Valliere pale did not satisfyAthenais; she determined to make her blush likewise. Resuming theconversation without pause, "Do you know, Louise," said she, "that thereis a great sin on your conscience?""What sin, mademoiselle?" stammered the unfortunate girl, looking roundher for support, without finding it."Eh! - why," continued Athenais, "the poor young man was affianced toyou; he loved you; you cast him off.""Well, that is a right which every honest woman has," said Montalais, inan affected tone. "When we know we cannot constitute the happiness of aman, it is much better to cast him off.""Cast him off! or refuse him! - that's all very well," said Athenais,"but that is not the sin Mademoiselle de la Valliere has to reproachherself with. The actual sin is sending poor Bragelonne to the wars; andto wars in which death is so very likely to be met with." Louise pressedher hand over her icy brow. "And if he dies," continued her pitilesstormentor, "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 hisarm; then, when they were far enough removed from the others - "What Ihad to say to you, mademoiselle," replied he, "Mademoiselle de Tonnay-Charente has just expressed; roughly and unkindly, it is true but stillin its entirety."She uttered a faint cry; pierced to the heart by this new wound, she wenther way, like one of those poor birds which, struck unto death, seek theshade of the thicket in which to die. She disappeared at one door, atthe moment the king was entering by another. The first glance of theking was directed towards the empty seat of his mistress. Not perceivingLa Valliere, a frown came over his brow; but as soon as he sawD'Artagnan, who bowed to him - "Ah! monsieur!" cried he, "you have beendiligent! I am much pleased with you." This was the superlativeexpression of royal satisfaction. Many men would have been ready to laydown their lives for such a speech from the king. The maids of honor andthe courtiers, who had formed a respectful circle round the king on hisentrance, drew back, on observing he wished to speak privately with hiscaptain 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 thereach of curious ears, "Well! Monsieur d'Artagnan," said he, "theprisoner?""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 toSainte-Marguerite - revolted, and did his best to kill me. The - theprisoner defended me instead of attempting to fly."The king became pale. "Enough!" said he; and D'Artagnan bowed. Louiswalked about his cabinet with hasty steps. "Were you at Antibes," saidhe, "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 he was unwilling to speak. "I have sent for you,monsieur le capitaine, to desire you to go and prepare my lodgings atNantes.""At Nantes!" cried D'Artagnan."In Bretagne.""Yes, sire, it is in Bretagne. Will you majesty make so long a journeyas to Nantes?""The States are assembled there," replied the king. "I have two demandsto 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 needof 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 verymuch embarrassed, "Will you majesty," said he, stepping two pacesforward, "take the court with you?""Certainly I shall.""Then you majesty will, doubtless, want the musketeers?" And the eye ofthe 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 willadopt the practice of placing musketeers at the door of each of theprincipal dignitaries I shall take with me.""Of the principal?""Yes.""For instance, at the door of M. de Lyonne?""Yes.""And 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 willmeet with M. le Duc de Gesvres, captain of the guards. Be sure that yourmusketeers are placed before his guards arrive. Precedence alwaysbelongs 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 questionme?" And the musketeer, turning cavalierly on his heel, disappeared."To Nantes!" said he to himself, as he descended from the stairs. "Whydid he not dare to say, from thence to Belle-Isle?"As he reached the great gates, one of M. Brienne's clerks came runningafter 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; on that of M. Fouquet."D'Artagnan was surprised, but he took the order, which was in the king'sown writing, and was for two hundred pistoles. "What!" thought he, afterhaving politely thanked M. Brienne's clerk, "M. Fouquet is to pay for thejourney, then! Mordioux! that is a bit of pure Louis XI. Why was notthis order on the chest of M. Colbert? He would have paid it with suchjoy." And D'Artagnan, faithful to his principle of never letting anorder at sight get cold, went straight to the house of M. Fouquet, toreceive his two hundred pistoles.