The Three Musketeers - Alexandre Dumas (phonics books .TXT) 📗

of prison; Madame Bonacieux was released. To be decapitated? Why, every day in the trenches we go cheerfully to expose ourselves to worse than that⁠—for a bullet may break a leg, and I am convinced a surgeon would give us more pain in cutting off a thigh than an executioner in cutting off a head. Wait quietly, then; in two hours, in four, in six hours at latest, Planchet will be here. He promised to be here, and I have very great faith in Planchet, who appears to me to be a very good lad.”

“But if he does not come?” said d’Artagnan.

“Well, if he does not come, it will be because he has been delayed, that’s all. He may have fallen from his horse, he may have cut a caper from the deck; he may have traveled so fast against the wind as to have brought on a violent catarrh. Eh, gentlemen, let us reckon upon accidents! Life is a chaplet of little miseries which the philosopher counts with a smile. Be philosophers, as I am, gentlemen; sit down at the table and let us drink. Nothing makes the future look so bright as surveying it through a glass of chambertin.”

“That’s all very well,” replied d’Artagnan; “but I am tired of fearing when I open a fresh bottle that the wine may come from the cellar of Milady.”

“You are very fastidious,” said Athos; “such a beautiful woman!”

“A woman of mark!” said Porthos, with his loud laugh.

Athos started, passed his hand over his brow to remove the drops of perspiration that burst forth, and rose in his turn with a nervous movement he could not repress.

The day, however, passed away; and the evening came on slowly, but finally it came. The bars were filled with drinkers. Athos, who had pocketed his share of the diamond, seldom quit the Parpaillot. He had found in M. de Busigny, who, by the by, had given them a magnificent dinner, a partner worthy of his company. They were playing together, as usual, when seven o’clock sounded; the patrol was heard passing to double the posts. At half past seven the retreat was sounded.

“We are lost,” said d’Artagnan, in the ear of Athos.

“You mean to say we have lost,” said Athos, quietly, drawing four pistoles from his pocket and throwing them upon the table. “Come, gentlemen,” said he, “they are beating the tattoo. Let us to bed!”

And Athos went out of the Parpaillot, followed by d’Artagnan. Aramis came behind, giving his arm to Porthos. Aramis mumbled verses to himself, and Porthos from time to time pulled a hair or two from his mustache, in sign of despair.

But all at once a shadow appeared in the darkness the outline of which was familiar to d’Artagnan, and a well-known voice said, “Monsieur, I have brought your cloak; it is chilly this evening.”

“Planchet!” cried d’Artagnan, beside himself with joy.

“Planchet!” repeated Aramis and Porthos.

“Well, yes, Planchet, to be sure,” said Athos, “what is there so astonishing in that? He promised to be back by eight o’clock, and eight is striking. Bravo, Planchet, you are a lad of your word, and if ever you leave your master, I will promise you a place in my service.”

“Oh, no, never,” said Planchet, “I will never leave M. d’Artagnan.”

At the same time d’Artagnan felt that Planchet slipped a note into his hand.

D’Artagnan felt a strong inclination to embrace Planchet as he had embraced him on his departure; but he feared lest this mark of affection, bestowed upon his lackey in the open street, might appear extraordinary to passersby, and he restrained himself.

“I have the note,” said he to Athos and to his friends.

“That’s well,” said Athos, “let us go home and read it.”

The note burned the hand of d’Artagnan. He wished to hasten their steps; but Athos took his arm and passed it under his own, and the young man was forced to regulate his pace by that of his friend.

At length they reached the tent, lit a lamp, and while Planchet stood at the entrance that the four friends might not be surprised, d’Artagnan, with a trembling hand, broke the seal and opened the so anxiously expected letter.

It contained half a line, in a hand perfectly British, and with a conciseness as perfectly Spartan:

Thank you; be easy.

D’Artagnan translated this for the others.

Athos took the letter from the hands of d’Artagnan, approached the lamp, set fire to the paper, and did not let go till it was reduced to a cinder.

Then, calling Planchet, he said, “Now, my lad, you may claim your seven hundred livres, but you did not run much risk with such a note as that.”

“I am not to blame for having tried every means to compress it,” said Planchet.

“Well!” cried d’Artagnan, “tell us all about it.”

“Dame, that’s a long job, Monsieur.”

“You are right, Planchet,” said Athos; “besides, the tattoo has been sounded, and we should be observed if we kept a light burning much longer than the others.”

“So be it,” said d’Artagnan. “Go to bed, Planchet, and sleep soundly.”

“My faith, Monsieur! that will be the first time I have done so for sixteen days.”

“And me, too!” said d’Artagnan.

“And me, too!” said Porthos.

“And me, too!” said Aramis.

“Well, if you will have the truth, and me, too!” said Athos.

XLIX Fatality

Meantime Milady, drunk with passion, roaring on the deck like a lioness that has been embarked, had been tempted to throw herself into the sea that she might regain the coast, for she could not get rid of the thought that she had been insulted by d’Artagnan, threatened by Athos, and that she had quit France without being revenged on them. This idea soon became so insupportable to her that at the risk of whatever terrible consequences might result to herself from it, she implored the captain to put her on shore; but the captain, eager to escape from his false position⁠—placed between French and English cruisers, like the bat between the mice and the birds⁠—was in