your majesty perceives that they have come in sorrow and repentance, to excuse themselves.”
“In sorrow and repentance! hum!” said the king. “I do not put much trust in their hypocritical faces. There is, above all, a Gascon face in the background there! Come here, you, sir!”
D’Artagnan, who comprehended that the compliment was addressed to him, approached his majesty with a desperately desponding look.
“What! you told me it was a young man! But this is a mere boy, M. de Treville, quite a boy. Did he give that terrible wound to Jussac?”
“Yes! And those two beautiful sword thrusts to Bernajoux,” said M. de Treville.
“Really!”
“Without reckoning,” said Athos, “that if he had not rescued me from the hands of Biscarrat, I should certainly not have had the honour of paying my very humble reverence to your majesty.”
“Why, M. de Treville, this Bearnese must be the very devil. Ventre saint-gris, as the king, my sire, would have said, at this rate many doublets must be riddled, and lots of swords broken. Now, the Gascons are always poor, are they not?”
“Sire, I must say that they have found no mines of gold in their mountains, though the Almighty owed them that recompense for the manner in which they supported the cause of your father.”
“Which is to say, is it not, Treville, that it was the Gascons who made me king, as I am my father’s son? Well, let it be so; I will not contradict it. La Chesnaye, go and see if, by rummaging my pockets, you can find forty pistoles; and if you find them, bring them to me.
“And now let me hear, young man, with your hand on your heart, how this affair happened?”
D’Artagnan told all the circumstances of the adventure; how, not being able to sleep, from the expectation of seeing his majesty, he went to his friend’s house three hours before the time of the audience; how they went together to the tennis-court! and how, on account of the fear he betrayed of being struck upon his face by the ball, he had been rallied by Bernajoux, who had narrowly escaped paying for his raillery with his life; and M. de Tremouille, who was innocent, with the loss of his hotel.
“It is exactly so,” murmured the king; “yes, it is exactly as the duke recounted the affair. Poor cardinal! Seven men in two days, and seven of his most valued soldiers, too! But this is sufficient, gentlemen; do you understand? You have taken your revenge for the Rue Ferou, and more than enough. You ought now to be satisfied.”
“So we are, if your majesty is,” said Treville.
“Yes! I am,” replied the king; and taking a handful of gold from the hand of Chesnaye, and putting it into d’Artagnan’s, he added, “there is a proof of my satisfaction.”
At this period, the independent notions which are now current were not yet in fashion. A gentleman received money from the king’s hand, without being humiliated. D’Artagnan, therefore, put the forty pistoles into his pocket, without any other ceremony than that of warmly thanking his majesty for the gift.
“There,” said the king, examining his watch, “now that it is half-past eight, retire. I have told you that I have an appointment at nine. Thanks for your devotion, gentlemen! I may rely upon it, may I not?”
“Oh! sire!” replied the four at once, “we will allow ourselves to be cut in pieces in your defence!”
“Well! well! But it will be much better to remain whole, and you will be far more useful to me in that state. Treville,” added the king, in a low voice, as the others retired, “as you have no commission vacant in the musketeers, and as we have decided that it should be necessary to pass a certain probation before entering that corps, place this young man in your brother-in-law, M. des Essarts’, company of guards. Ah! I quite enjoy the thought of the grimace that the cardinal will make: he will be furious; but I do not care, I am quite right this time.”
The king bowed to Treville, and the latter joined his musketeers, whom he found sharing the forty pistoles which his majesty had given d’Artagnan.
The cardinal was in reality as furious as his master had anticipated—so furious, in fact, that for eight days he took no hand at the king’s card-table. But this did not prevent the king from putting on the most charming face, and asking, every time he met him, in a most insinuating tone—
“Well! M. le Cardinal! how is your poor Bernajoux? and your poor Jussac?”
CHAPTER 7 The Domestic Manners of the Musketeers
When d’Artagnan had left the Louvre, and had consulted his friends what he ought to do with his portion of the forty pistoles, Athos advised him to order a good dinner, and Porthos and Aramis to hire a lackey.
The dinner was accomplished on the same day; and the lackey waited at table. The dinner had been ordered by Athos; and the lackey, who had been provided by Porthos, was a Picard, whom the glorious musketeer had enlisted, on that very day, for that occasion, whilst he was sauntering about on the bridge of Latournelle, spitting into the stream. Porthos pretended that this occupation was a proof of a meditative organization, and had hired him without any other testimonial. The magnificent appearance of the gentleman, on whose account he had been hired, seduced Planchet, for that was the name of the Picard. He had, indeed, been slightly disappointed when he found, on his arrival, that the situation he expected was already held by a brother lackey of the name of Mousqueton; and when Porthos told him that his menage, though on a large scale, did not admit of two servants, and that he must therefore wait on d’Artagnan. But when he attended at the dinner which his master gave, and saw him, when paying, draw from his pocket a handful of gold, he believed his fortune made, and thanked Heaven that he had fallen into the possession of such a Croesus. In that opinion he remained until the feast was ended, and he had made up for his long abstinence by an attack upon the remnants. But, on making his master’s bed, the visions of Planchet all vanished. There was only that one bed in the chambers, which consisted merely of an anteroom and bedroom. Planchet slept upon a coverlet, with which d’Artagnan from that time forward dispensed, taken from d’Artagnan’s bed.
Athos, on his part, had a valet, whom he had drilled to his service in a manner peculiar to himself, and whom he called Grimaud. He was very taciturn, this worthy signor—we mean Athos, not his man. For the four or five years that he had lived in the closest intimacy with his companions, Porthos and Aramis, these two had often seen him smile, but never remembered to have heard him laugh. His words were brief and expressive; saying what he wished them to express, but no more; he employed no ornaments or embellishments whatever. Although Athos was scarcely thirty, and was possessed of great personal and mental attractions, no one ever knew him to have had a mistress. He never spoke of the female sex; and although he did not prevent such conversation from others, it was evident, from bitter and misogynous remarks, that it was disagreeable to him. His reserve, austerity, and silence, made him almost an old man, and he had therefore accustomed Grimaud, that he might not interrupt his habits, to obey a simple gesture, or even a motion of his lips. He never addressed him orally but in extreme cases. Sometimes Grimaud, who feared his master like fire, but at the same time was greatly attached to him believed he understood him perfectly, rushed forward to execute his orders, and did something directly contrary to what was wanted. Then Athos shrugged his shoulders, and, in cold blood, belaboured him soundly. On such days he spoke a little.
Porthos, as is easy to see, had a character diametrically opposed to that of Athos: he not only spoke a great
