he has taken his ancient name of Vallon?”
“To which he adds that of Bracieux, an estate which has been a barony, by my troth.”
“So that Porthos will be a baron.”
“I don’t doubt it. The ‘Baroness Porthos’ will sound particularly charming.”
And the two friends began to laugh.
“So,” D’Artagnan resumed, “you will not become a partisan of Mazarin’s?”
“Nor you of the Prince de Conde?”
“No, let us belong to no party, but remain friends; let us be neither Cardinalists nor Frondists.”
“Adieu, then.” And D’Artagnan poured out a glass of wine.
“To old times,” he said.
“Yes,” returned Aramis. “Unhappily, those times are past.”
“Nonsense! They will return,” said D’Artagnan. “At all events, if you want me, remember the Rue Tiquetonne, Hotel de la Chevrette.”
“And I shall be at the convent of Jesuits; from six in the morning to eight at night come by the door. From eight in the evening until six in the morning come in by the window.”
“Adieu, dear friend.”
“Oh, I can’t let you go so! I will go with you.” And he took his sword and cloak.
“He wants to be sure that I go away,” said D’Artagnan to himself.
Aramis whistled for Bazin, but Bazin was asleep in the ante-chamber, and Aramis was obliged to shake him by the ear to awake him.
Bazin stretched his arms, rubbed his eyes, and tried to go to sleep again.
“Come, come, sleepy head; quick, the ladder!”
“But,” said Bazin, yawning portentously, “the ladder is still at the window.”
“The other one, the gardener’s. Didn’t you see that Monsieur d’Artagnan mounted with difficulty? It will be even more difficult to descend.”
D’Artagnan was about to assure Aramis that he could descend easily, when an idea came into his head which silenced him.
Bazin uttered a profound sigh and went out to look for the ladder. Presently a good, solid, wooden ladder was placed against the window.
“Now then,” said D’Artagnan, “this is something like; this is a means of communication. A woman could go up a ladder like that.”
Aramis’s searching look seemed to seek his friend’s thought even at the bottom of his heart, but D’Artagnan sustained the inquisition with an air of admirable simplicity. Besides, at that moment he put his foot on the first step of the ladder and began his descent. In a moment he was on the ground. Bazin remained at the window.
“Stay there,” said Aramis; “I shall return immediately.”
The two friends went toward the shed. At their approach Planchet came out leading the two horses.
“That is good to see,” said Aramis. “There is a servant active and vigilant, not like that lazy fellow Bazin, who is no longer good for anything since he became connected with the church. Follow us, Planchet; we shall continue our conversation to the end of the village.”
They traversed the width of the village, talking of indifferent things, then as they reached the last houses:
“Go, then, dear friend,” said Aramis, “follow your own career. Fortune lavishes her smiles upon you; do not let her flee from your embrace. As for me, I remain in my humility and indolence. Adieu!”
“Thus ‘tis quite decided,” said D’Artagnan, “that what I have to offer to you does not tempt you?”
“On the contrary, it would tempt me were I any other man,” rejoined Aramis; “but I repeat, I am made up of contradictions. What I hate to-day I adore to-morrow, and vice versa. You see that I cannot, like you, for instance, settle on any fixed plan.”
“Thou liest, subtile one,” said D’Artagnan to himself. “Thou alone, on the contrary, knowest how to choose thy object and to gain it stealthily.”
The friends embraced. They descended into the plain by the ladder. Planchet met them hard by the shed. D’Artagnan jumped into the saddle, then the old companions in arms again shook hands. D’Artagnan and Planchet spurred their steeds and took the road to Paris.
But after he had gone about two hundred steps D’Artagnan stopped short, alighted, threw the bridle of his horse over the arm of Planchet and took the pistols from his saddle-bow to fasten them to his girdle.
“What’s the matter?” asked Planchet.
“This is the matter: be he ever so cunning he shall never say I was his dupe. Stand here, don’t stir, turn your back to the road and wait for me.”
Having thus spoken, D’Artagnan cleared the ditch by the roadside and crossed the plain so as to wind around the village. He had observed between the house that Madame de Longueville inhabited and the convent of the Jesuits, an open space surrounded by a hedge.
The moon had now risen and he could see well enough to retrace his road.
He reached the hedge and hid himself behind it; in passing by the house where the scene which we have related took place, he remarked that the window was again lighted up and he was convinced that Aramis had not yet returned to his own apartment and that when he did it would not be alone.
In truth, in a few minutes he heard steps approaching and low whispers.
Close to the hedge the steps stopped.
D’Artagnan knelt down near the thickest part of the hedge.
Two men, to the astonishment of D’Artagnan, appeared shortly; soon, however, his surprise vanished, for he heard the murmurs of a soft, harmonious voice; one of these two men was a woman disguised as a cavalier.
“Calm yourself, dear Rene,” said the soft voice, “the same thing will never happen again. I have discovered a sort of subterranean passage which runs beneath the street and we shall only have to raise one of the marble slabs before the door to open you an entrance and an outlet.”
“Oh!” answered another voice, which D’Artagnan instantly recognized as that of Aramis. “I swear to you, princess, that if your reputation did not depend on precautions and if my life alone were jeopardized-”
“Yes, yes! I know you are as brave and venturesome as any man in the world, but you do not belong to me alone; you belong to all our party. Be prudent! sensible!”
“I always obey, madame, when I am commanded by so gentle a voice.”
He kissed her hand tenderly.
“Ah!” exclaimed the cavalier with a soft voice.
“What’s the matter?” asked Aramis.
“Do you not see that the wind has blown off
