Twenty Years After by Alexandre Dumas (desktop ebook reader txt) 📗
- Author: Alexandre Dumas
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Grimaud prepared to comply with this request, when the officer made a sign as if he had something to say.
“Speak,” said the duke.
“Now, my lord, do not forget, if any harm happens to me on your account, that I have a wife and four children.”
“Rest assured; put the gag in, Grimaud.”
In a second La Ramee was gagged and laid prostrate. Two or three chairs were thrown down as if there had been a struggle. Grimaud then took from the pocket of the officer all the keys it contained and first opened the door of the room in which they were, then shut it and double-locked it, and both he and the duke proceeded rapidly down the gallery which led to the little inclosure. At last they reached the tennis court. It was completely deserted. No sentinels, no one at any of the windows. The duke ran to the rampart and perceived on the other side of the ditch, three cavaliers with two riding horses. The duke exchanged a signal with them. It was indeed for him that they were there.
Grimaud, meantime, undid the means of escape.
This was not, however, a rope ladder, but a ball of silk cord, with a narrow board which was to pass between the legs, the ball to unwind itself by the weight of the person who sat astride upon the board.
“Go!” said the duke.
“First, my lord?” inquired Grimaud.
“Certainly. If I am caught, I risk nothing but being taken back again to prison. If they catch thee, thou wilt be hung.”
“True,” replied Grimaud.
And instantly, Grimaud, sitting upon the board as if on horseback, commenced his perilous descent.
The duke followed him with his eyes, with involuntary terror. He had gone down about three-quarters of the length of the wall when the cord broke. Grimaud fell--precipitated into the moat.
The duke uttered a cry, but Grimaud did not give a single moan. He must have been dreadfully hurt, for he did not stir from the place where he fell.
Immediately one of the men who were waiting slipped down into the moat, tied under Grimaud’s shoulders the end of a cord, and the remaining two, who held the other end, drew Grimaud to them.
“Descend, my lord,” said the man in the moat. “There are only fifteen feet more from the top down here, and the grass is soft.”
The duke had already begun to descend. His task was the more difficult, as there was no board to support him. He was obliged to let himself down by his hands and from a height of fifty feet. But as we have said he was active, strong, and full of presence of mind. In less than five minutes he arrived at the end of the cord. He was then only fifteen feet from the ground, as the gentlemen below had told him. He let go the rope and fell upon his feet, without receiving any injury.
He instantly began to climb up the slope of the moat, on the top of which he met De Rochefort. The other two gentlemen were unknown to him. Grimaud, in a swoon, was tied securely to a horse.
“Gentlemen,” said the duke, “I will thank you later; now we have not a moment to lose. On, then! on! those who love me, follow me!”
And he jumped on his horse and set off at full gallop, snuffing the fresh air in his triumph and shouting out, with an expression of face which it would be impossible to describe:
“Free! free! free!”
At Blois, D’Artagnan received the money paid to him by Mazarin for any future service he might render the cardinal.
From Blois to Paris was a journey of four days for ordinary travelers, but D’Artagnan arrived on the third day at the Barriere Saint Denis. In turning the corner of the Rue Montmartre, in order to reach the Rue Tiquetonne and the Hotel de la Chevrette, where he had appointed Porthos to meet him, he saw at one of the windows of the hotel, that friend himself dressed in a sky-blue waistcoat, embroidered with silver, and gaping, till he showed every one of his white teeth; whilst the people passing by admiringly gazed at this gentleman, so handsome and so rich, who seemed to weary of his riches and his greatness.
D’Artagnan and Planchet had hardly turned the corner when Porthos recognized them.
“Eh! D’Artagnan!” he cried. “Thank God you have come!”
“Eh! good-day, dear friend!” replied D’Artagnan.
Porthos came down at once to the threshold of the hotel.
“Ah, my dear friend!” he cried, “what bad stabling for my horses here.”
“Indeed!” said D’Artagnan; “I am most unhappy to hear it, on account of those fine animals.”
“And I, also--I was also wretchedly off,” he answered, moving backward and forward as he spoke; “and had it not been for the hostess,” he added, with his air of vulgar self-complacency, “who is very agreeable and understands a joke, I should have got a lodging elsewhere.”
The pretty Madeleine, who had approached during this colloquy, stepped back and turned pale as death on hearing Porthos’s words, for she thought the scene with the Swiss was about to be repeated. But to her great surprise D’Artagnan remained perfectly calm, and instead of being angry he laughed, and said to Porthos:
“Yes, I understand, the air of La Rue Tiquetonne is not like that of Pierrefonds; but console yourself, I will soon conduct you to one much better.”
“When will you do that?”
“Immediately, I hope.”
“Ah! so much the better!”
To that exclamation of Porthos’s succeeded a groaning, low and profound, which seemed to come from behind a door. D’Artagnan, who had just dismounted, then saw, outlined against the wall, the enormous stomach of Mousqueton, whose down-drawn mouth emitted sounds of distress.
“And you, too, my poor Monsieur Mouston, are out of place in this poor hotel, are you not?” asked D’Artagnan, in that rallying tone which may indicate either compassion or mockery.
“He finds the cooking detestable,” replied Porthos.
“Why, then, doesn’t he attend to it himself, as at Chantilly?”
“Ah, monsieur, I have not here, as I had there, the ponds of monsieur le prince, where I could catch those beautiful carp, nor the forests of his highness to provide me with partridges. As for the cellar, I have searched every part and poor stuff I found.”
“Monsieur Mouston,” said D’Artagnan, “I should indeed condole with you had I not at this moment something very pressing to attend to.”
Then taking Porthos aside:
“My dear Du Vallon,” he said, “here you are in full dress most fortunately, for I am going to take you to the cardinal’s.”
“Gracious me! really!” exclaimed Porthos, opening his great wondering eyes.
“Yes, my friend.”
“A presentation? indeed!”
“Does that alarm you?”
“No, but it agitates me.”
“Oh! don’t be distressed; you have to deal with a cardinal of another kind. This one will not oppress you by his dignity.”
“‘Tis the same thing--you understand me, D’Artagnan--a court.”
“There’s no court now. Alas!”
“The queen!”
“I was going to say, there’s no longer a queen. The queen! Rest assured, we shall not see her.”
“And you say that we are going from here to the Palais Royal?”
“Immediately. Only, that there may be no delay, I shall borrow one of your horses.”
“Certainly; all the four are at your service.”
“Oh, I need only one of them for the time being.”
“Shall we take our valets?”
“Yes, you may as well take Mousqueton. As to Planchet, he has certain reasons for not going to court.”
“And what are they?”
“Oh, he doesn’t stand well with his eminence.”
“Mouston,” said Porthos, “saddle Vulcan and Bayard.”
“And for myself, monsieur, shall I saddle Rustaud?”
“No, take a more stylish horse, Phoebus or Superbe; we are going with some ceremony.”
“Ah,” said Mousqueton, breathing more freely, “you are only going, then, to make a visit?”
“Oh! yes, of course, Mouston; nothing else. But to avoid risk, put the pistols in the holsters. You will find mine on my saddle, already loaded.”
Mouston breathed a sigh; he couldn’t understand visits of ceremony made under arms.
“Indeed,” said Porthos, looking complacently at his old lackey as he went away, “you are right, D’Artagnan; Mouston will do; Mouston has a very fine appearance.”
D’Artagnan smiled.
“But you, my friend--are you not going to change your dress?”
“No, I shall go as I am. This traveling dress will serve to show the cardinal my haste to obey his commands.”
They set out on Vulcan and Bayard, followed by Mousqueton on Phoebus, and arrived at the Palais Royal at about a quarter to seven. The streets were crowded, for it was the day of Pentecost, and the crowd looked in wonder at these two cavaliers; one as fresh as if he had come out of a bandbox, the other so covered with dust that he looked as if he had but just come off a field of battle.
Mousqueton also attracted attention; and as the romance of Don Quixote was then the fashion, they said that he was Sancho, who, after having lost one master, had found two.
On reaching the palace, D’Artagnan sent to his eminence the letter in which he had been ordered to return without delay. He was soon ordered to the presence of the cardinal.
“Courage!” he whispered to Porthos, as they proceeded. “Do not be intimidated. Believe me, the eye of the eagle is closed forever. We have only the vulture to deal with. Hold yourself as bolt upright as on the day of the bastion of St. Gervais, and do not bow too low to this Italian; that might give him a poor idea of you.”
“Good!” answered Porthos. “Good!”
Mazarin was in his study, working at a list of pensions and benefices, of which he was trying to reduce the number. He saw D’Artagnan and Porthos enter with internal pleasure, yet showed no joy in his countenance.
“Ah! you, is it? Monsieur le lieutenant, you have been very prompt. ‘Tis well. Welcome to ye.”
“Thanks, my lord. Here I am at your eminence’s service, as well as Monsieur du Vallon, one of my old friends, who used to conceal his nobility under the name of Porthos.”
Porthos bowed to the cardinal.
“A magnificent cavalier,” remarked Mazarin.
Porthos turned his head to the right and to the left, and drew himself up with a movement full of dignity.
“The best swordsman in the kingdom, my lord,” said D’Artagnan.
Porthos bowed to his friend.
Mazarin was as fond of fine soldiers as, in later times, Frederick of Prussia used to be. He admired the strong hands, the broad shoulders and the steady eye of Porthos. He seemed to see before him the salvation of his administration and of the kingdom, sculptured in flesh and bone. He remembered that the old association of musketeers was composed of four persons.
“And your two other friends?” he asked.
Porthos opened his mouth, thinking it a good opportunity to put in a word in his turn; D’Artagnan checked him by a glance from the corner of his eye.
“They are prevented at this moment, but will join us later.”
Mazarin coughed a little.
“And this gentleman, being disengaged, takes to the service willingly?” he asked.
“Yes, my lord, and from pure devotion to the cause, for Monsieur de Bracieux is rich.”
“Rich!” said Mazarin, whom that single word always inspired with a great respect.
“Fifty thousand francs a year,” said Porthos.
These were the first words he
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