Ten Years Later by Alexandre Dumas (suggested reading TXT) 📗
- Author: Alexandre Dumas
Book online «Ten Years Later by Alexandre Dumas (suggested reading TXT) 📗». Author Alexandre Dumas
“You astound me! Aramis became your surety?”
“Like a man of honor; he procured the signature; Tremblay and Louviere resigned their appointments; I have paid every year twenty-five thousand francs to these two gentlemen; on the thirty-first of May, every year, M. d’Herblay himself comes to the Bastile, and brings me five thousand pistoles to distribute between my crocodiles.”
“You owe Aramis one hundred and fifty thousand francs, then?”
“That is the very thing which is the cause of my despair, for I only owe him one hundred thousand.”
“I don’t quite understand you.”
“He came and settled with the vampires only two years. To-day, however, is the thirty-first of May, and he has not been yet, and to-morrow, at midday, the payment falls due; if, therefore, I don’t pay to-morrow, those gentlemen can, by the terms of the contract, break off the bargain; I shall be stripped of everything; I shall have worked for three years, and given two hundred and fifty thousand francs for nothing, absolutely for nothing at all, dear M. d’Artagnan.”
“This is very strange,” murmured D’Artagnan.
“You can now imagine that I may well have wrinkles on my forehead, can you not?”
“Yes, indeed!”
“And you can imagine, too, that notwithstanding I may be as round as a cheese, with a complexion like an apple, and my eyes like coals on fire, I may almost be afraid that I shall not have a cheese or an apple left me to eat, and that my eyes will be left me only to weep with.”
“It is really a very grievous affair.”
“I have come to you, M. d’Artagnan, for you are the only man who can get me out of my trouble.”
“In what way?”
“You are acquainted with the Abbe d’Herblay, and you know that he is a somewhat mysterious gentleman.”
“Yes.”
“Well, you can, perhaps, give me the address of his presbytery, for I have been to Noisy-le-Sec, and he is no longer there.”
“I should think not, indeed. He is Bishop of Vannes.”
“What! Vannes in Bretagne?”
“Yes.”
The little man began to tear his hair, saying, “How can I get to Vannes from here by midday to-morrow? I am a lost man.”
“Your despair quite distresses me.”
“Vannes, Vannes!” cried Baisemeaux.
“But listen; a bishop is not always a resident. M. d’Herblay may not possibly be so far away as you fear.”
“Pray tell me his address.”
“I really don’t know it.”
“In that case I am lost. I will go and throw myself at the king’s feet.”
“But, Baisemeaux, I can hardly believe what you tell me; besides, since the Bastile is capable of producing fifty thousand francs a year, why have you not tried to screw one hundred thousand out of it?”
“Because I am an honest man, M. d’Artagnan, and because my prisoners are fed like ambassadors.”
“Well, you’re in a fair way to get out of your difficulties; give yourself a good attack of indigestion with your excellent living, and put yourself out of the way between this and midday to-morrow.”
“How can you be hard-hearted enough to laugh?”
“Nay, you really afflict me. Come, Baisemeaux, if you can pledge me your word of honor, do so, that you will not open your lips to any one about what I am going to say to you.”
“Never, never!”
“You wish to put your hands on Aramis?”
“At any cost!”
“Well, go and see where M. Fouquet is.”
“Why, what connection can there be—”
“How stupid you are! Don’t you know that Vannes is in the diocese of Belle-Isle, or Belle-Isle in the diocese of Vannes? Belle-Isle belongs to M. Fouquet, and M. Fouquet nominated M. d’Herblay to that bishopric!”
“I see, I see; you restore me to life again.”
“So much the better. Go and tell M. Fouquet very simply that you wish to speak to M. d’Herblay.”
“Of course, of course,” exclaimed Baisemeaux, delightedly.
“But,” said D’Artagnan, checking him by a severe look, “your word of honor?”
“I give you my sacred word of honor,” replied the little man, about to set off running.
“Where are you going?”
“To M. Fouquet’s house.”
“It is useless doing that; M. Fouquet is playing at cards with the king. All you can do is to pay M. Fouquet a visit early to-morrow morning.”
“I will do so. Thank you.”
“Good luck attend you,” said D’Artagnan.
“Thank you.”
“This is a strange affair,” murmured D’Artagnan, as he slowly ascended the staircase after he had left Baisemeaux. “What possible interest can Aramis have in obliging Baisemeaux in this manner? Well, I suppose we shall learn some day or another.”
Chapter XXII. The King’s Card-Table.
Fouquet was present, as D’Artagnan had said, at the king’s card-table. It seemed as if Buckingham’s departure had shed a balm on the lacerated hearts of the previous evening. Monsieur, radiant with delight, made a thousand affectionate signs to his mother. The Count de Guiche could not separate himself from Buckingham, and while playing, conversed with him upon the circumstance of his projected voyage. Buckingham, thoughtful, and kind in his manner, like a man who has adopted a resolution, listened to the count, and from time to time cast a look full of regret and hopeless affection at Madame. The princess, in the midst of her elation of spirits, divided her attention between the king, who was playing with her, Monsieur, who quietly joked her about her enormous winnings, and De Guiche, who exhibited an extravagant delight. Of Buckingham she took but little notice; for her, this fugitive, this exile, was now simply a
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