CHAPTER CVIII.
AMONG WOMEN.
D'Artagnan had not been able to hide his feelings from his friends somuch as he would have wished. The stoical soldier, the impassibleman-at-arms, overcome by fear and presentiments, had yielded, for a fewminutes, to human weakness. When, therefore, he had silenced his heartand calmed the agitation of his nerves, turning toward 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 ofhis horse, like a true centaur, employed his thoughts aboutnothing--that is to say, about everything. He asked himself why the kinghad sent for him back; why the Iron Mask had thrown the silver plate atthe feet of Raoul? As to the first subject, the reply was negative; heknew right well that the king's calling him was from necessity. He stillfurther knew that Louis XIV. must experience an imperious want of aprivate conversation with one whom the possession of such a secretplaced on a level with the highest powers of the kingdom. But as tosaying exactly what the king's wish was, D'Artagnan found himselfcompletely at a loss. The musketeer had no other doubts, either, uponthe reason which had urged the unfortunate Philippe to reveal hischaracter and his birth. Philippe, hidden forever beneath a mask ofiron, exiled to a country where the men seemed little more than slavesof the elements; Philippe, deprived even of the society of D'Artagnan,who had loaded him with honors and delicate attentions, had nothing moreto see than specters and griefs in this world, and despair beginning todevour him, he poured himself forth in complaints, in the belief thathis revelations would raise an avenger for him.
The manner in which the musketeer had been near killing his two bestfriends, the destiny which had so strangely brought Athos to participatein the great state secret, the farewell of Raoul, the obscurity of thatfuture which threatened to end in a melancholy death; all this threwD'Artagnan incessantly back to the lamentable predictions andforebodings, which the rapidity of his pace did not dissipate, as itused formerly 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 a fortune they mustlose; and, as the king called for his man of execution in the hours ofvengeance and malice, D'Artagnan trembled at the idea of receiving somecommission that would make his very heart bleed. Sometimes, whenascending hills, when the winded horse breathed hard from his nostrils,and heaved his flanks, the captain, left to more freedom of thought,reflected upon the prodigious genius of Aramis, a genius of astucity andintrigue, such as the Fronde and the civil war had produced but two.Soldier, priest, and diplomatist; gallant, avaricious, and cunning;Aramis had never taken the good things of this life but asstepping-stones to rise to bad ones. Generous in spirit, if not high inheart, he never did ill but for the sake of shining a little morebrilliantly. Toward 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, the 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 the gadfly beneath thevaults of foliage where he has sought shade and shelter from the burningsun.
Never was the man of spirit subjected to ennui, if his body was exposedto fatigue; never did the man healthy of body fail to find life light,if he had something to engage his mind. D'Artagnan, riding fast,thinking as constantly, alighted from his horse in Paris, fresh andtender in his muscles as the athlete preparing for the gymnasium. Theking did not expect him so soon, and had just departed for the chasetoward Meudon. D'Artagnan, instead of riding after the king, as he wouldformerly have done, took off his boots, had a bath, and waited till hismajesty should return dusty and tired. He occupied the interval of fivehours in taking, as people say, the air of the house, and in arminghimself against all ill-chances. He learned that the king, during thelast fortnight, had been gloomy; that the queen-mother was ill and muchdepressed; that Monsieur, the king's brother, was exhibiting adevotional turn; that Madame had the vapors; and that M. de Guiche wasgone to one of his estates. He learned that M. Colbert was radiant; thatM. Fouquet consulted a fresh physician every day, who still did not curehim, and that his principal complaint was one which physicians do notusually cure, unless they are political physicians. The king, D'Artagnanwas told, behaved in the kindest manner to M. Fouquet, and did not allowhim to be ever out of his sight; but the surintendant, touched to theheart, like one of those fine trees which a worm has punctured, wasdeclining daily, in spite of the royal smile, that sun of court trees.D'Artagnan learned that Mademoiselle de la Valliere had becomeindispensable to the king, that the king, during his sportingexcursions, if he did not take her with him, wrote to her frequently, nolonger verses, but, what was still much worse, prose, and that, wholepages at a time. Thus, as the poetical Pleiad of the day said, the_first king in the world_ was seen descending from his horse _with anardor beyond compare_, and on the crown of his hat scrawling bombasticphrases, which M. de Saint-Aignan, aid-de-camp in perpetuity, carried toLa Valliere at the risk of foundering his horses. During this time, deerand pheasants were left to the free enjoyments of their nature, huntedso lazily, that, it was said, the art of venery ran great risk ofdegenerating at the court of France. D'Artagnan then thought of thewishes of poor Raoul, of that desponding letter destined for a woman whopassed her life in hoping, and as D'Artagnan loved to philosophize alittle occasionally, he resolved to profit by the absence of the king tohave a minute's talk with Mademoiselle de la Valliere.
This was a very easy affair: while the king was hunting, Louise waswalking with some other ladies in one of the galleries of the PalaisRoyal, exactly where the captain of the musketeers had some guards toinspect. D'Artagnan did not doubt, that if he could but open theconversation upon 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 a circle. Inher apparent solitude, the king's favorite received, like a queen, moreperhaps than the queen, a homage of which Madame had been so proud, whenall the king's looks were directed to her, and commanded the looks ofthe courtiers. D'Artagnan, although no squire of dames, received,nevertheless, civilities and attentions from the ladies; he was polite,as a brave man always is, and his terrible reputation had conciliated asmuch friendship among the men as admiration among the women. On seeinghim enter, therefore, they immediately accosted him; and, as is notunfrequently the case with fair ladies, opened the attack by questions."Where _had_ he been? What _had_ become of him so long? Why had they notseen him as usual make his fine horse curvet in such beautiful style, tothe delight and astonishment of the curious from the king'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?'" exclaimed Mademoiselle de Tonnay-Charente."From Spain?"
"Eh! eh!" said the musketeer.
"From Malta?" said 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 plainl
y as I see you," replied D'Artagnan.
"And the fleet?"
"Yes; I saw everything."
"Have we any of us any friends there?" said Mademoiselle deTonnay-Charente, coldly, but in a manner to attract attention to aquestion that was not without a 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 upon her toe, but 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, aredesperate, desponding men, whom love has treated ill; and who go to tryif they cannot find black women more kind than fair ones have been."
Some of the ladies laughed. La Valliere was evidently confused.Montalais coughed loud enough to waken the dead.
"Mademoiselle," interrupted D'Artagnan, "you are in error when you speakof black women at Gigelli; the women there are not black; 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 deTonnay-Charente, with persistent malice. "He will make amends for hisloss. Poor fellow!"
A profound silence followed these words; and D'Artagnan had time toobserve and reflect that women--those mild doves--treat each other muchmore cruelly than tigers and bears. But making La Valliere pale did notsatisfy Athenais; she determined to make her blush likewise. Resumingthe conversation without pause, "Do you know, Louise," said she, "thatthat is 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, and that is a right 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;and to wars in which death is to be met with." Louise pressed her handover her icy-brow. "And if he dies," continued her pitiless tormentor;"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 deTonnay-Charente has just expressed; roughly and unkindly, it is true,but still in its entirety."
She uttered a faint cry; struck to the heart by this new wound, she wenton her way, like one of those poor birds which, struck to death, seekthe shade of the thicket to die in. She disappeared at one door, at themoment the king was entering by another. The first glance of the kingwas directed toward the empty seat of his mistress. In not perceiving LaValliere, a frown came over his brow; but as soon as he saw D'Artagnan,who bowed to him--"Ah! monsieur!" cried he, "you _have_ been diligent! Iam much pleased with you." This was the superlative expression of royalsatisfaction. Many men would have been ready to lay down their lives forsuch a speech from the king. The maids of honor and the courtiers, whohad formed a respectful circle round the king on his entrance, drewback, on observing he wished to speak privately with his captain of themusketeers. The king led the way out of the gallery, after having again,with his eyes, sought everywhere for La Valliere, whose absence he couldnot account for. The moment they were out of reach of curious ears,"Well! Monsieur d'Artagnan," said he, "the prisoner?"
"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 that 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 your 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 youplease."
D'Artagnan bowed as if to take his leave; but, perceiving the king verymuch embarrassed, "Will your majesty," said he, stepping two pacesforward, "take the court with you?"
"Certainly I shall."
"Then your 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."
"At 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 question me?"And the musketeer, turning cavalierly on his heel, disappeared. "ToNantes!" said he to himself, as he descended the stairs. "Why did he notdare 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; upon that of M. Fouquet."
THEY SAW, BY THE RED FLASHES OF THE LIGHTNING AGAINSTTHE VIOLET FOG WHICH THE WIND STAMPED UPON THE BANKWARD SKY, THEY SAWPASS GRAVELY, AT SIX PACES BEHIND THE GOVERNOR, A MAN CLOTHED IN BLACKAND MASKED BY A VISOR OF POLISHED STEEL, SOLDERED TO A HELMET OF THESAME NATURE, WHICH ALTOGETHER ENVELOPED THE WHOLE OF HISHEAD.--_Page 438._]
D'Artagnan was surprised, but he took the order, which was in theking's own writi
ng, and was for two hundred pistoles. "What!" thoughthe, after having politely thanked M. Brienne's clerk, "M. Fouquet is topay for the journey, then! Mordioux! that is a bit of pure Louis XI.!Why was not this order upon the chest of M. Colbert? He would have paidit with such joy." And D'Artagnan, faithful to his principle of neverletting an order at sight get cold, went straight to the house of M.Fouquet, to receive his two hundred pistoles.