Chapter VII. How Porthos, Truchen, and Planchet Parted with Each Otheron Friendly Terms, Thanks to D'Artagnan.
There was good living in Planchet's house. Porthos broke a ladder andtwo cherry-trees, stripped the raspberry-bushes, and was only unable tosucceed in reaching the strawberry-beds on account, as he said, of hisbelt. Truchen, who had become quite sociable with the giant, said thatit was not the belt so much as his corporation; and Porthos, in a stateof the highest delight, embraced Truchen, who gathered him a pailful ofthe strawberries, and made him eat them out of her hands. D'Artagnan,who arrived in the midst of these little innocent flirtations, scoldedPorthos for his indolence, and silently pitied Planchet. Porthosbreakfasted with a very good appetite, and when he had finished, hesaid, looking at Truchen, "I could make myself very happy here."Truchen smiled at his remark, and so did Planchet, but not withoutembarrassment.
D'Artagnan then addressed Porthos: "You must not let the delights ofCapua make you forget the real object of our journey to Fontainebleau."
"My presentation to the king?"
"Certainly. I am going to take a turn in the town to get everythingready for that. Do not think of leaving the house, I beg."
"Oh, no!" exclaimed Porthos.
Planchet looked at D'Artagnan nervously.
"Will you be away long?" he inquired.
"No, my friend; and this very evening I will release you from twotroublesome guests."
"Oh! Monsieur d'Artagnan! can you say--"
"No, no; you are a noble-hearted fellow, but your house is very small.Such a house, with half a dozen acres of land, would be fit for a king,and make him very happy, too. But you were not born a great lord."
"No more was M. Porthos," murmured Planchet.
"But he has become so, my good fellow; his income has been a hundredthousand francs a year for the last twenty years, and for the last fiftyyears Porthos has been the owner of a couple of fists and a backbone,which are not to be matched throughout the whole realm of France.Porthos is a man of the very greatest consequence compared to you,and... well, I need say no more, for I know you are an intelligentfellow."
"No, no, monsieur, explain what you mean."
"Look at your orchard, how stripped it is, how empty your larder, yourbedstead broken, your cellar almost exhausted, look too... at MadameTruchen--"
"Oh! my goodness gracious!" said Planchet.
"Madame Truchen is an excellent person," continued D'Artagnan, "butkeep her for yourself, do you understand?" and he slapped him on theshoulder.
Planchet at this moment perceived Porthos and Truchen sitting closetogether in an arbor; Truchen, with a grace of manner peculiarlyFlemish, was making a pair of earrings for Porthos out of a doublecherry, while Porthos was laughing as amorously as Samson in the companyof Delilah. Planchet pressed D'Artagnan's hand, and ran towards thearbor. We must do Porthos the justice to say that he did not move asthey approached, and, very likely, he did not think he was doing anyharm. Nor indeed did Truchen move either, which rather put Planchet out;but he, too, had been so accustomed to see fashionable folk in his shop,that he found no difficulty in putting a good countenance on what seemeddisagreeable or rude. Planchet seized Porthos by the arm, and proposedto go and look at the horses, but Porthos pretended he was tired.Planchet then suggested that the Baron du Vallon should taste somenoyeau of his own manufacture, which was not to be equaled anywhere; anoffer the baron immediately accepted; and, in this way, Planchet managedto engage his enemy's attention during the whole of the day, by dint ofsacrificing his cellar, in preference to his _amour propre_. Two hoursafterwards D'Artagnan returned.
"Everything is arranged," he said; "I saw his majesty at the very momenthe was setting off for the chase; the king expects us this evening."
"The king expects _me!_" cried Porthos, drawing himself up. It is a sadthing to have to confess, but a man's heart is like an ocean billow;for, from that very moment Porthos ceased to look at Madame Truchenin that touching manner which had so softened her heart. Planchetencouraged these ambitious leanings as best as he could. He talked over,or rather gave exaggerated accounts of all the splendors of the lastreign, its battles, sieges, and grand court ceremonies. He spoke of theluxurious display which the English made; the prizes the three bravecompanions carried off; and how D'Artagnan, who at the beginning hadbeen the humblest of the four, finished by becoming the leader. He firedPorthos with a generous feeling of enthusiasm by reminding him of hisearly youth now passed away; he boasted as much as he could of the morallife this great lord had led, and how religiously he respected the tiesof friendship; he was eloquent, and skillful in his choice of subjects.He tickled Porthos, frightened Truchen, and made D'Artagnan think. Atsix o'clock, the musketeer ordered the horses to be brought round, andtold Porthos to get ready. He thanked Planchet for his kind hospitality,whispered a few words about a post he might succeed in obtaining forhim at court, which immediately raised Planchet in Truchen's estimation,where the poor grocer--so good, so generous, so devoted--had become muchlowered ever since the appearance and comparison with him of the twogreat gentlemen. Such, however, is a woman's nature; they are anxiousto possess what they have not got, and disdain it as soon as it isacquired. After having rendered this service to his friend Planchet,D'Artagnan said in a low tone of voice to Porthos: "That is a verybeautiful ring you have on your finger."
"It is worth three hundred pistoles," said Porthos.
"Madame Truchen will remember you better if you leave her that ring,"replied D'Artagnan, a suggestion which Porthos seemed to hesitate toadopt.
"You think it is not beautiful enough, perhaps," said the musketeer. "Iunderstand your feelings; a great lord such as you would not think ofaccepting the hospitality of an old servant without paying him mosthandsomely for it: but I am sure that Planchet is too good-hearted afellow to remember that you have an income of a hundred thousand francsa year."
"I have more than half a mind," said Porthos, flattered by the remark,"to make Madame Truchen a present of my little farm at Bracieux; it hastwelve acres."
"It is too much, my good Porthos, too much just at present... Keep itfor a future occasion." He then took the ring off Porthos's finger, andapproaching Truchen, said to her:--"Madame, monsieur le baron hardlyknows how to entreat you, out of your regard for him, to accept thislittle ring. M. du Vallon is one of the most generous and discreetmen of my acquaintance. He wished to offer you a farm that he has atBracieux, but I dissuaded him from it."
"Oh!" said Truchen, looking eagerly at the diamond.
"Monsieur le baron!" exclaimed Planchet, quite overcome.
"My good friend," stammered out Porthos, delighted at having been sowell represented by D'Artagnan. These several exclamations, uttered atthe same moment, made quite a pathetic winding-up of a day which mighthave finished in a very ridiculous manner. But D'Artagnan was there,and, on every occasion, wheresoever D'Artagnan exercised any control,matters ended only just in the very way he wished and willed. There weregeneral embracings; Truchen, whom the baron's munificence had restoredto her proper position, very timidly, and blushing all the while,presented her forehead to the great lord with whom she had been on suchvery pretty terms the evening before. Planchet himself was overcome bya feeling of genuine humility. Still, in the same generosity ofdisposition, Porthos would have emptied his pockets into the hands ofthe cook and of Celestin; but D'Artagnan stopped him.
"No," he said, "it is now my turn." And he gave one pistole to the womanand two to the man; and the benedictions which were showered downupon them would have rejoiced the heart of Harpagon himself, and haverendered even him a prodigal.
D'Artagnan made Planchet lead them to the chateau, and introducedPorthos into his own apartment, where he arrived safely without havingbeen perceived by those he was afraid of meeting.