“Of a tall figure?”
“Yes.”
“With an olivine complexion?”
“Yes, yes, that is he: but do you know this man, sir? Ah! if I ever meet him—and I will find him, I swear to you, even were he in hell—”
“He attended a woman did he not?” continued M. de Treville.
“At least he departed after he had conversed a moment with the one he had attended.”
“Do you know the subject of their conversation?”
“He gave her a box, which he said contained her instructions, and desired her not to open it until she arrived in London.”
“Was this woman an Englishwoman?”
“He called her ‘my lady.’”
“It is he,” murmured Treville: “it must be; I thought he was at Brussels.”
“Oh, sir,” exclaimed d’Artagnan, “if you know this man, tell me who and whence he is, and I will hold you absolved even of your promise to admit me amongst the musketeers; for before and above everything else, I long to avenge myself.”
“Beware, young man,” said M. de Treville. “Should you perceive this man walking on the one side of the street, instead of seeking your revenge, proceed yourself on the opposite side; precipitate not yourself against such a rock, upon which you will assuredly be shattered like glass.”
“That fear will not deter me, should I ever meet him,” said d’Artagnan.
“In the meantime, do not seek him,” replied Treville.
“If you take my advice—”
But all at once M. de Treville paused, as if struck by a sudden suspicion: the deadly hatred which the young traveller so openly avowed for this man who had deprived him of his father’s letter—which was in itself a very improbable circumstance—might not this apparent enmity conceal some perfidy? Was not this young man sent by his eminence? Did not he come to lay a trap for him? Was not this pretended d’Artagnan an emissary of the cardinal, whom the latter sought to introduce into his house, and whom he wished to place near him to worm himself into his confidence, and afterwards to betray him, as was often done in similar cases? He looked more earnestly at d’Artagnan than at first, and was but slightly reassured by the appearance of that countenance, beaming with acute talent and affected humility. “I know very well that he is a Gascon,” thought he; “but he is just as likely to be one for the cardinal as for me. Yet I will try him further.”
“Young man,” said he slowly, “as the son of mine ancient friend—for I consider the history of this lost letter as true—I wish, in order to compensate for the coolness which you perceived in my first reception, to reveal to you the secrets of our politics. The king and the cardinal are the best of friends; their apparent disputes are merely to deceive fools; and I do not wish that my countryman, a handsome cavalier, a brave youth, formed to rise in the world, should be the dupe of all these pretences, and, like a simpleton, rush headlong into the snare which has made awful examples of so many others. Rest assured, that I am entirely devoted to these two all-powerful masters, and that all my serious proceedings can never have any other object in view than the service of the king, and of the cardinal, who is one of the most illustrious geniuses that France has ever produced. Now, young man, regulate your conduct by this; and should you, through your family or connections, or even your instincts, bear the slightest hostility towards the cardinal, such as you may have seen burst forth occasionally amongst our nobility, take your leave, and quit me. I can assist you in a thousand ways, without attaching you to my own person. At all events, I hope my frankness will make you my friend, for you are the first young man to whom I have as yet spoken in this manner.”
Treville ceased speaking, but he thought to himself, “If the cardinal has really sent me this young fox, he would not surely fail—he who knows how much I loathe him—to tell his spy that the best way of paying court to me, is to rail at himself. Therefore, in spite of my protestations, the cunning fellow will doubtless say that he holds his eminence in detestation.”
The result, however, was far different from M. de Treville’s anticipations. D’Artagnan replied, with the utmost simplicity, “Sir, I am come to Paris with sentiments and intentions exactly similar to those you have just expressed. My father charged me to obey no one but the king, the cardinal, and yourself, whom he considers the three greatest men in France.” D’Artagnan, it will be perceived, added M. de Treville to the others, but he considered that this addition would do no harm. “Hence,” he continued, “I have the greatest veneration for the cardinal, and the most profound respect for his actions. It is, therefore, so much the better for me, sir, if, as you say, you speak frankly to me, since you will then do me the honour to esteem this similarity of opinions; but if, on the contrary, as may be very natural, you entertain any feelings of distrust respecting me, so much the worse, as I shall then feel that I am ruined by speaking the truth. But in any case, you will at least honour me with your esteem, which I value more than anything else.”
M. de Treville was astonished. So much penetration, and yet so much candour, excited his admiration, although they failed in wholly removing his doubts. The more superior this youth was to other young men, the more formidable a traitor would he make. Nevertheless, he grasped d’Artagnan’s hand, and said to him, “You are an honest fellow; but at present I can only do for you what I have promised. In the meantime, my hotel shall always be open to you; so that, having access to me at all times, and being ready to take advantage of every opportunity, you will probably hereafter obtain what you desire.”
“That is to say,” replied d’Artagnan, “that you will wait till I have become worthy of it. Very well,” he added, with Gascon familiarity; “rest assured that you will not have to wait long;” and he bowed to retire, as if the future lay with himself.
“But wait a moment,” said M. de Treville, stopping him; “I promised you a letter to the director of the Academy. Are you too proud to accept it, my little gentleman?”
“No, sir,” replied d’Artagnan; “and I will answer for it that the same fate that overtook my father’s letter shall not occur to this, which I will take good care shall reach its destination; and woe be to him who shall attempt to deprive me of it.”
M. de Treville smiled at this gasconade, and leaving his young countryman in the embrasure of the window, where they had been talking, sat down to write the promised letter of introduction. In the meantime, d’Artagnan, who had nothing better to do, beat a march on the window, looking at the musketeers, who had followed each other, and watching them rounding the corner of the street. M. de Treville, having written the letter and sealed it, approached the young man to give it to him; but at the very moment when d’Artagnan held out his hand to receive it, M. de Treville was astonished to perceive his protege spring up, redden with anger, and rush out of the cabinet, exclaiming—
“‘Od’s blood! he shall not escape me this time!”
“And who is he?” demanded M. de Treville.
“It is he—the robber!” replied d’Artagnan. “Oh, what a traitor!”—and he vanished.
“Deuce take the madman!” murmured M. de Treville, “unless it is, after all, a clever mode of giving me the slip, seeing that he has failed in his attempts.”
