certainly was one at Aramis’s. All this is very strange, and I shall be extremely curious to know how it will end.”
“Badly, sir, badly,” replied a voice, which the young man recognised as that of Planchet, for in soliloquising aloud, in the manner of persons who are deeply occupied, he had entered the passage, at the bottom of which was his own staircase.
“How, badly! what are you saying, you fool?” said d’Artagnan, “and what has happened?”
“All sorts of misfortunes.”
“What misfortunes?”
“In the first place, M. Athos is arrested.”
“Arrested! Athos arrested! and what for?”
“He was found in your lodgings, and they mistook him for you.”
“And by whom has he been arrested?”
“By the guard which was brought by the men in black whom you put to flight.”
“Why did he not give his name? Why not say that he was not concerned in this affair?”
“He was very careful not to do that, sir. On the contrary, he came near me and said—‘Thy master wants his liberty just now, and I do not need mine; since he knows all, and I know nothing. They will believe him to be in custody, and that will give him time; in three days I will declare who I am, and they will be obliged to let me go.’”
“Brave Athos! noble heart!” muttered d’Artagnan. “I recognise him well in that! And what did the officers do?”
“Four of them took him either to the Bastile or to Fort l’Eveque; and two remained with the men in black, rummaging everywhere, and carrying away all your papers. The other two mounted guard at the door whilst all this was doing; and at last they went away, leaving the house empty and the door open.”
“And Porthos and Aramis?”
“I could not find them; they have not been.”
“But they may come at any moment, for you left word that I was waiting for them.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Well, then, do not stir from here. If they should come, tell them what has happened, and that they must wait for me at the Pineapple Tavern. There might be some danger here; the house may be watched. I will run to M. de Treville’s, to tell him all this, and then will rejoin them there.”
“Very well, sir,” said Planchet.
“But you will remain? you will not be afraid,” said d’Artagnan, turning back a step to encourage his lackey.
“Be easy, sir,” said Planchet; “you do not know me yet. I am brave when I please to set about it; the great thing is to get me in the right mind. Besides, I come from Picardy.”
“Then it is all settled,” said d’Artagnan; “you will rather die than desert your post.”
“Yes, sir; and I will stick at nothing to prove my attachment to you.”
“Good,” said d’Artagnan to himself; “it is plain that the method I have followed with this lad is decidedly a proper one. I will adopt it henceforth on every occasion.”
And as fast as his legs, which were already somewhat fatigued, could carry him, he ran towards the Rue de Colombier.
M. de Treville was not at home. His company was on guard at the Louvre; and he was at the Louvre with it.
It was necessary, however, to see M. de Treville. It was important that he should be informed of these events. D’Artagnan determined, therefore, to obtain an entrance at the Louvre. His uniform, as one of M. de Essarts’s guards, ought to be a passport for admission.
He therefore went down the Rue des Petits-Augustins, and along the Quai to reach the Pont-Neuf. He had half a mind to cross the ferry; but on reaching the side of the river he mechanically put his hand into his pocket, and found that he had not enough to pay the ferryman.
When he reached the top of the Rue Guenegaud, he saw two persons, whose appearance struck him, coming out of the Rue Dauphine. They were a man and a woman. The woman resembled in figure Madame Bonancieux; and the man had such a look of Aramis that he might be mistaken for him. Besides, the woman had on the black mantle which d’Artagnan still seemed to see delineated on the shutter in the Rue Vaugirard, and on the door in the Rue de la Harpe. Moreover, the man wore the uniform of the musketeers.
The hood of the woman was lowered, and the man held his handkerchief before his face. This double precaution showed that they were both anxious to escape recognition.
They went over the bridge, and this was also d’Artagnan’s road, as he was going to the Louvre; he therefore followed them.
Scarcely, however, had he taken twenty steps, before he was convinced that the woman was Madame Bonancieux, and the man Aramis.
At the very instant he felt fermenting in his heart all the suspicious torments of jealousy.
He was doubly betrayed; betrayed both by his friend, and by her whom he had already loved as a mistress.
Madame Bonancieux had sworn to him that she did not know Aramis; and a quarter of an hour after she had made this oath he found her hanging on his arm.
D’Artagnan did not reflect that he had only known the mercer’s pretty wife during the last three hours; that she only owed him a little gratitude for having delivered her from the men in black, who wished to carry her away; and that she had made him no promise. He looked upon himself as an outraged lover; as deceived, and laughed at; and the flush of anger passed over his face, as he resolved to ascertain the truth.
The young couple perceived that they were followed, and they increased their haste. D’Artagnan, however, had made his determination; he passed by them, and then returned towards them just as they were opposite the Samaritan, which was lighted by a lamp that threw its radiance over all that part of the bridge.
D’Artagnan stopped in front of them, and they stopped also.
“What do you want, sir?” asked the musketeer, recoiling a step, and in a foreign accent, which proved to d’Artagnan that he had at least deceived himself in one of his conjectures.
“It is not Aramis!” exclaimed d’Artagnan.
“No, sir, it is not Aramis; and as I find by your exclamation that you mistook me for another, I excuse you.”
“Excuse me indeed!” said d’Artagnan.
“Yes,” replied the unknown; “now let me pass on, since it is not with me that you have anything to do.”
“You are right, sir,” said d’Artagnan; “it is not with you that I have anything to settle, it is with the lady.”
“With the lady! You do not even know her,” exclaimed the stranger.
“You are mistaken, sir. I do know her.”
“Ah!” said Madame Bonancieux,
