shall want.”
“But your companions?”
“I don’t think they can be in need of any. We left Paris, each with seventy-five pistoles in his pocket.”
“Shall I see you again before your departure?”
“I think not, monsieur, unless something new should happen.”
“Well, a pleasant journey.”
“Thanks, monsieur.”
D’Artagnan left M. de Treville, touched more than ever by his paternal solicitude for his Musketeers.
He called successively at the abodes of Athos, Porthos, and Aramis. Neither of them had returned. Their lackeys likewise were absent, and nothing had been heard of either the one or the other. He would have inquired after them of their mistresses, but he was neither acquainted with Porthos’s nor Aramis’s, and as to Athos, he had none.
As he passed the Hotel des Gardes, he took a glance in to the stables. Three of the four horses had already arrived. Planchet, all astonishment, was busy grooming them, and had already finished two.
“Ah, monsieur,” said Planchet, on perceiving d’Artagnan, “how glad I am to see you.”
“Why so, Planchet?” asked the young man.
“Do you place confidence in our landlord—Monsieur Bonacieux?”
“I? Not the least in the world.”
“Oh, you do quite right, monsieur.”
“But why this question?”
“Because, while you were talking with him, I watched you without listening to you; and, monsieur, his countenance changed color two or three times!”
“Bah!”
“Preoccupied as Monsieur was with the letter he had received, he did not observe that; but I, whom the strange fashion in which that letter came into the house had placed on my guard—I did not lose a movement of his features.”
“And you found it?”
“Traitorous, monsieur.”
“Indeed!”
“Still more; as soon as Monsieur had left and disappeared round the corner of the street, Monsieur Bonacieux took his hat, shut his door, and set off at a quick pace in an opposite direction.”
“It seems you are right, Planchet; all this appears to be a little mysterious; and be assured that we will not pay him our rent until the matter shall be categorically explained to us.”
“Monsieur jests, but Monsieur will see.”
“What would you have, Planchet? What must come is written.”
“Monsieur does not then renounce his excursion for this evening?”
“Quite the contrary, Planchet; the more ill will I have toward Monsieur Bonacieux, the more punctual I shall be in keeping the appointment made by that letter which makes you so uneasy.”
“Then that is Monsieur’s determination?”
“Undeniably, my friend. At nine o’clock, then, be ready here at the hotel, I will come and take you.”
Planchet seeing there was no longer any hope of making his master renounce his project, heaved a profound sigh and set to work to groom the third horse.
As to d’Artagnan, being at bottom a prudent youth, instead of returning home, went and dined with the Gascon priest, who, at the time of the distress of the four friends, had given them a breakfast of chocolate.
––––––––
AT NINE O’CLOCK D’ARTAGNAN was at the Hotel des Gardes; he found Planchet all ready. The fourth horse had arrived.
Planchet was armed with his musketoon and a pistol. D’Artagnan had his sword and placed two pistols in his belt; then both mounted and departed quietly. It was quite dark, and no one saw them go out. Planchet took place behind his master, and kept at a distance of ten paces from him.
D’Artagnan crossed the quays, went out by the gate of La Conference and followed the road, much more beautiful then than it is now, which leads to St. Cloud.
As long as he was in the city, Planchet kept at the respectful distance he had imposed upon himself; but as soon as the road began to be more lonely and dark, he drew softly nearer, so that when they entered the Bois de Boulogne he found himself riding quite naturally side by side with his master. In fact, we must not dissemble that the oscillation of the tall trees and the reflection of the moon in the dark underwood gave him serious uneasiness. D’Artagnan could not help perceiving that something more than usual was passing in the mind of his lackey and said, “Well, Monsieur Planchet, what is the matter with us now?”
“Don’t you think, monsieur, that woods are like churches?”
“How so, Planchet?”
“Because we dare not speak aloud in one or the other.”
“But why did you not dare to speak aloud, Planchet—because you are afraid?”
“Afraid of being heard? Yes, monsieur.”
“Afraid of being heard! Why, there is nothing improper in our conversation, my dear Planchet, and no one could find fault with it.”
“Ah, monsieur!” replied Planchet, recurring to his besetting idea, “that Monsieur Bonacieux has something vicious in his eyebrows, and something very unpleasant in the play of his lips.”
“What the devil makes you think of Bonacieux?”
“Monsieur, we think of what we can, and not of what we will.”
“Because you are a coward, Planchet.”
“Monsieur, we must not confound prudence with cowardice; prudence is a virtue.”
“And you are very virtuous, are you not, Planchet?”
“Monsieur, is not that the barrel of a musket which glitters yonder? Had we not better lower our heads?”
“In truth,” murmured d’Artagnan, to whom M. de Treville’s recommendation recurred, “this animal will end by making me afraid.” And he put his horse into a trot.
Planchet followed the movements of his master as if he had been his shadow, and was soon trotting by his side.
“Are
