THE THREE PRESENTS OF D`ARTAGNAN THE ELDER

On the first Monday of the month of April, 1625, the market town

of Meung, in which the author of ROMANCE OF THE ROSE was born,

appeared to be in as perfect a state of revolution as if the

Huguenots had just made a second La Rochelle of it. Many

citizens, seeing the women flying toward the High Street, leaving

their children crying at the open doors, hastened to don the

cuirass, and supporting their somewhat uncertain courage with a

musket or a partisan, directed their steps toward the hostelry of

the Jolly Miller, before which was gathered, increasing every

minute, a compact group, vociferous and full of curiosity.

In those times panics were common, and few days passed without

some city or other registering in its archives an event of this

kind. There were nobles, who made war against each other; there

was the king, who made war against the cardinal; there was Spain,

which made war against the king. Then, in addition to these

concealed or public, secret or open wars, there were robbers,

mendicants, Huguenots, wolves, and scoundrels, who made war upon

everybody. The citizens always took up arms readily against

thieves, wolves or scoundrels, often against nobles or Huguenots,

sometimes against the king, but never against cardinal or Spain.

It resulted, then, from this habit that on the said first Monday

of April, 1625, the citizens, on hearing the clamor, and seeing

neither the red-and-yellow standard nor the livery of the Duc de

Richelieu, rushed toward the hostel of the Jolly Miller. When

arrived there, the cause of the hubbub was apparent to all.

A young man--we can sketch his portrait at a dash. Imagine to

yourself a Don Quixote of eighteen; a Don Quixote without his

corselet, without his coat of mail, without his cuisses; a Don

Quixote clothed in a wooden doublet, the blue color of which had

faded into a nameless shade between lees of wine and a heavenly

azure; face long and brown; high cheek bones, a sign of sagacity;

the maxillary muscles enormously developed, an infallible sign by

which a Gascon may always be detected, even without his cap--and

our young man wore a cap set off with a sort of feather; the eye

open and intelligent; the nose hooked, but finely chiseled. Too

big for a youth, too small for a grown man, an experienced eye

might have taken him for a farmer`s son upon a journey had it not

been for the long sword which, dangling from a leather baldric,

hit against the calves of its owner as he walked, and against the

rough side of his steed when he was on horseback.

For our young man had a steed which was the observed of all

observers. It was a Bearn pony, from twelve to fourteen years

old, yellow in his hide, without a hair in his tail, but not

without windgalls on his legs, which, though going with his head

lower than his knees, rendering a martingale quite unnecessary,

contrived nevertheless to perform his eight leagues a day.

Unfortunately, the qualities of this horse were so well concealed

under his strange-colored hide and his unaccountable gait, that

at a time when everybody was a connoisseur in horseflesh, the

appearance of the aforesaid pony at Meung--which place he had

entered about a quarter of an hour before, by the gate of

Beaugency--produced an unfavorable feeling, which extended to his

rider.

And this feeling had been more painfully perceived by young

D`Artagnan--for so was the Don Quixote of this second Rosinante

named--from his not being able to conceal from himself the

ridiculous appearance that such a steed gave him, good horseman

as he was. He had sighed deeply, therefore, when accepting the

gift of the pony from M. D`Artagnan the elder. He was not

ignorant that such a beast was worth at least twenty livres; and

the words which had accompanied the present were above all price.

"My son," said the old Gascon gentleman, in that pure Bearn

PATOIS of which Henry IV could never rid himself, "this horse was

born in the house of your father about thirteen years ago, and

has remained in it ever since, which ought to make you love it.

Never sell it; allow it to die tranquilly and honorably of old

age, and if you make a campaign with it, take as much care of it

as you would of an old servant. At court, provided you have ever

the honor to go there," continued M. D`Artagnan the elder, "--an

honor to which, remember, your ancient nobility gives you the

right--sustain worthily your name of gentleman, which has been

worthily borne by your ancestors for five hundred years, both for

your own sake and the sake of those who belong to you. By the

latter I mean your relatives and friends. Endure nothing from

anyone except Monsieur the Cardinal and the king. It is by his

courage, please observe, by his courage alone, that a gentleman

can make his way nowadays. Whoever hesitates for a second

perhaps allows the bait to escape which during that exact second

fortune held out to him. You are young. You ought to be brave

for two reasons: the first is that you are a Gascon, and the

second is that you are my son. Never fear quarrels, but seek

adventures. I have taught you how to handle a sword; you have

thews of iron, a wrist of steel. Fight on all occasions. Fight

the more for duels being forbidden, since consequently there is

twice as much courage in fighting. I have nothing to give you,

my son, but fifteen crowns, my horse, and the counsels you have

just heard. Your mother will add to them a recipe for a certain

balsam, which she had from a Bohemian and which has the

miraculous virtue of curing all wounds that do not reach the

heart. Take advantage of all, and live happily and long. I have

but one word to add, and that is to propose an example to you--

not mine, for I myself have never appeared at court, and have

only taken part in religious wars as a volunteer; I speak of

Monsieur de Treville, who was formerly my neighbor, and who had

the honor to be, as a child, the play-fellow of our king, Louis

XIII, whom God preserve! Sometimes their play degenerated into

battles, and in these battles the king was not always the

stronger. The blows which he received increased greatly his

esteem and friendship for Monsieur de Treville. Afterward,

Monsieur de Treville fought with others: in his first journey to

Paris, five times; from the death of the late king till the young

one came of age, without reckoning wars and sieges, seven times;

and from that date up to the present day, a hundred times,

perhaps! So that in spite of edicts, ordinances, and decrees,

there he is, captain of the Musketeers; that is to say, chief of

a legion of Caesars, whom the king holds in great esteem and whom

the cardinal dreads--he who dreads nothing, as it is said. Still

further, Monsieur de Treville gains ten thousand crowns a year;

he is therefore a great noble. He began as you begin. Go to him

with this letter, and make him your model in order that you may

do as he has done."

Upon which M. D`Artagnan the elder girded his own sword round his

son, kissed him tenderly on both cheeks, and gave him his

benediction.

On leaving the paternal chamber, the young man found his mother,

who was waiting for him with the famous recipe of which the

counsels we have just repeated would necessitate frequent

employment. The adieux were on this side longer and more tender

than they had been on the other--not that M. D`Artagnan did not

love his son, who was his only offspring, but M. D`Artagnan was a

man, and he would have considered it unworthy of a man to give

way to his feelings; whereas Mme. D`Artagnan was a woman, and

still more, a mother. She wept abundantly; and--let us speak it

to the praise of M. D`Artagnan the younger--notwithstanding the

efforts he made to remain firm, as a future Musketeer ought,

nature prevailed, and he shed many tears, of which he succeeded

with great difficulty in concealing the half.

The same day the young man set forward on his journey, furnished

with the three paternal gifts, which consisted, as we have said,

of fifteen crowns, the horse, and the letter for M. de Treville--

the counsels being thrown into the bargain.

With such a VADE MECUM D`Artagnan was morally and physically an

exact copy of the hero of Cervantes, to whom we so happily

compared him when our duty of an historian placed us under the

necessity of sketching his portrait. Don Quixote took windmills

for giants, and sheep for armies; D`Artagnan took every smile for

an insult, and every look as a provocation--whence it resulted

that from Tarbes to Meung his fist was constantly doubled, or his

hand on the hilt of his sword; and yet the fist did not descend

upon any jaw, nor did the sword issue from its scabbard. It was

not that the sight of the wretched pony did not excite numerous

smiles on the countenances of passers-by; but as against the side

of this pony rattled a sword of respectable length, and as over

this sword gleamed an eye rather ferocious than haughty, these

passers-by repressed their hilarity, or if hilarity prevailed

over prudence, they endeavored to laugh only on one side, like

the masks of the ancients. D`Artagnan, then, remained majestic

and intact in his susceptibility, till he came to this unlucky

city of Meung.

But there, as he was alighting from his horse at the gate of the

Jolly Miller, without anyone--host, waiter, or hostler--coming to

hold his stirrup or take his horse, D`Artagnan spied, though an

open window on the ground floor, a gentleman, well-made and of

good carriage, although of rather a stern countenance, talking

with two persons who appeared to listen to him with respect.

D`Artagnan fancied quite naturally, according to his custom, that

he must be the object of their conversation, and listened. This

time D`Artagnan was only in part mistaken; he himself was not in

question, but his horse was. The gentleman appeared to be

enumerating all his qualities to his auditors; and, as I have

said, the auditors seeming to have great deference for the

narrator, they every moment burst into fits of laughter. Now, as

a half-smile was sufficient to awaken the irascibility of the

young man, the effect produced upon him by this vociferous mirth

may be easily imagined.

Nevertheless, D`Artagnan was desirous of examining the appearance

of this impertinent personage who ridiculed him. He fixed his

haughty eye upon the stranger, and perceived a man of from forty

to forty-five years of age, with black and piercing eyes, pale

complexion, a strongly marked nose, and a black and well-shaped

mustache. He was dressed in a doublet and hose of a violet

color, with aiguillettes of the same color, without any other

ornaments than the customary slashes, through which the shirt

appeared. This doublet and hose, though new, were creased, like

traveling clothes for a long time packed in a portmanteau.

D`Artagnan made all these remarks with the rapidity of a most

minute observer, and doubtless from an instinctive feeling that

this stranger was destined to have a great influence over his

future life.

Now, as at the moment in which D`Artagnan fixed his eyes upon the

gentleman in the violet doublet, the gentleman made one of his

most knowing and profound remarks respecting the Bearnese pony,

his two auditors laughed even louder than before, and he himself,

though contrary to his custom, allowed a pale smile (if I may

allowed to use such an expression) to stray over his countenance.

This time there could be no doubt; D`Artagnan was really

insulted. Full, then, of this conviction, he pulled his cap down

over his eyes, and endeavoring to copy some of the court airs he

had picked up in Gascony among young traveling nobles, he

advanced with one hand on the hilt of his sword and the other

resting on his hip. Unfortunately, as he advanced, his anger

increased at every step; and instead of the proper and lofty

speech he had prepared as a prelude to his challenge, he found

nothing at the tip of his tongue but a gross personality, which

he accompanied with a furious gesture.

"I say, sir, you sir, who are hiding yourself behind that

shutter--yes, you, sir, tell me what you are laughing at, and we

will laugh together!"

The gentleman raised his eyes slowly from the nag to his

cavalier, as if he required some time to ascertain whether it

could be to him that such strange reproaches were addressed;

then, when he could not possibly entertain any doubt of the

matter, his eyebrows slightly bent, and with an accent of irony

and insolence impossible to be described, he replied to

D`Artagnan, "I was not speaking to you, sir."

"But I am speaking to you!" replied the young man, additionally

exasperated with this mixture of insolence and good manners, of

politeness and scorn.

The stranger looked at him again with a slight smile, and

retiring from the window, came out of the hostelry with a slow

step, and placed himself before the horse, within two paces of

D`Artagnan. His quiet manner and the ironical expression of his

countenance redoubled the mirth of the persons with whom he had

been talking, and who still remained at the window.

D`Artagnan, seeing him approach, drew his sword a foot out of the

scabbard.

"This horse is decidedly, or rather has been in his youth, a

buttercup," resumed the stranger, continuing the remarks he had

begun, and addressing himself to his auditors at the window,

without paying the least attention to the exasperation of

D`Artagnan, who, however placed himself between him and them.

"It is a color very well known in botany, but till the present

time very rare among horses."

"There are people who laugh at the horse that would not dare to

laugh at the master," cried the young emulator of the furious

Treville.

"I do not often laugh, sir," replied the stranger, "as you may

perceive by the expression of my countenance; but nevertheless I

retain the privilege of laughing when I please."

"And I," cried D`Artagnan, "will allow no man to laugh when it

displeases me!"

"Indeed, sir," continued the stranger, more calm than ever;

"well, that is perfectly right!" and turning on his heel, was

about to re-enter the hostelry by the front gate, beneath which

D`Artagnan on arriving had observed a saddled horse.

But, D`Artagnan was not of a character to allow a man to escape

him thus who had the insolence to ridicule him. He drew his

sword entirely from the scabbard, and followed him, crying,

"Turn, turn, Master Joker, lest I strike you behind!"

"Strike me!" said the other, turning on his heels, and surveying

the young man with as much astonishment as contempt. "Why, my

good fellow, you must be mad!" Then, in a suppressed tone, as if

speaking to himself, "This is annoying," continued he. "What a

godsend this would be for his Majesty, who is seeking everywhere

for brave fellows to recruit for his Musketeers!"

He had scarcely finished, when D`Artagnan made such a furious

lunge at him that if he had not sprung nimbly backward, it is

probable he would have jested for the last time. The stranger,

then perceiving that the matter went beyond raillery, drew his

sword, saluted his adversary, and seriously placed himself on

guard. But at the same moment, his two auditors, accompanied by

the host, fell upon D`Artagnan with sticks, shovels and tongs.

This caused so rapid and complete a diversion from the attack

that D`Artagnan`s adversary, while the latter turned round to

face this shower of blows, sheathed his sword with the same

precision, and instead of an actor, which he had nearly been,

became a spectator of the fight--a part in which he acquitted

himself with his usual impassiveness, muttering, nevertheless, "A

plague upon these Gascons! Replace him on his orange horse, and

let him begone!"

"Not before I have killed you, poltroon!" cried D`Artagnan,

making the best face possible, and never retreating one step

before his three assailants, who continued to shower blows upon

him.

"Another gasconade!" murmured the gentleman. "By my honor, these

Gascons are incorrigible! Keep up the dance, then, since he will

have it so. When he is tired, he will perhaps tell us that he

has had enough of it."

But the stranger knew not the headstrong personage he had to do

with; D`Artagnan was not the man ever to cry for quarter. The

fight was therefore prolonged for some seconds; but at length

D`Artagnan dropped his sword, which was broken in two pieces by

the blow of a stick. Another blow full upon his forehead at the

same moment brought him to the ground, covered with blood and

almost fainting.

It was at this moment that people came flocking to the scene of

action from all sides. The host, fearful of consequences, with

the help of his servants carried the wounded man into the

kitchen, where some trifling attentions were bestowed upon him.

As to the gentleman, he resumed his place at the window, and

surveyed the crowd with a certain impatience, evidently annoyed

by their remaining undispersed.

"Well, how is it with this madman?" exclaimed he, turning round

as the noise of the door announced the entrance of the host, who

came in to inquire if he was unhurt.

"Your excellency is safe and sound?" asked the host.

"Oh, yes! Perfectly safe and sound, my good host; and I wish to

know what has become of our young man."

"He is better," said the host, "he fainted quite away."

"Indeed!" said the gentleman.

"But before he fainted, he collected all his strength to

challenge you, and to defy you while challenging you."

"Why, this fellow must be the devil in person!" cried the

stranger.

"Oh, no, your Excellency, he is not the devil," replied the host,

with a grin of contempt; "for during his fainting we rummaged his

valise and found nothing but a clean shirt and eleven crowns--

which however, did not prevent his saying, as he was fainting,

that if such a thing had happened in Paris, you should have cause

to repent of it at a later period."

"Then," said the stranger coolly, "he must be some prince in

disguise."

"I have told you this, good sir," resumed the host, "in order

that you may be on your guard."

"Did he name no one in his passion?"

"Yes; he struck his pocket and said, `We shall see what Monsieur

de Treville will think of this insult offered to his protege.`"

"Monsieur de Treville?" said the stranger, becoming attentive,

"he put his hand upon his pocket while pronouncing the name of

Monsieur de Treville? Now, my dear host, while your young man

was insensible, you did not fail, I am quite sure, to ascertain

what that pocket contained. What was there in it?"

"A letter addressed to Monsieur de Treville, captain of the

Musketeers."

"Indeed!"

"Exactly as I have the honor to tell your Excellency."

The host, who was not endowed with great perspicacity, did not

observe the expression which his words had given to the

physiognomy of the stranger. The latter rose from the front of

the window, upon the sill of which he had leaned with his elbow,

and knitted his brow like a man disquieted.

"The devil!" murmured he, between his teeth. "Can Treville have

set this Gascon upon me? He is very young; but a sword thrust is

a sword thrust, whatever be the age of him who gives it, and a

youth is less to be suspected than an older man," and the

stranger fell into a reverie which lasted some minutes. "A weak

obstacle is sometimes sufficient to overthrow a great design.

"Host," said he, "could you not contrive to get rid of this

frantic boy for me? In conscience, I cannot kill him; and yet,"

added he, with a coldly menacing expression, "he annoys me.

Where is he?"

"In my wife`s chamber, on the first flight, where they are

dressing his wounds."

"His things and his bag are with him? Has he taken off his

doublet?"

"On the contrary, everything is in the kitchen. But if he annoys

you, this young fool--"

"To be sure he does. He causes a disturbance in your hostelry,

which respectable people cannot put up with. Go; make out my

bill and notify my servant."

"What, monsieur, will you leave us so soon?"

"You know that very well, as I gave my order to saddle my horse.

Have they not obeyed me?"

"It is done; as your Excellency may have observed, your horse is

in the great gateway, ready saddled for your departure."

"That is well; do as I have directed you, then."

"What the devil!" said the host to himself. "Can he be afraid of

this boy?" But an imperious glance from the stranger stopped him

short; he bowed humbly and retired.

"It is not necessary for Milady* to be seen by this fellow,"

continued the stranger. "She will soon pass; she is already

late. I had better get on horseback, and go and meet her. I

should like, however, to know what this letter addressed to

Treville contains."

*We are well aware that this term, milady, is only properly used when followed by a family name. But we find it thus in the manuscript, and we do not choose to take upon ourselves to alter it.

And the stranger, muttering to himself, directed his steps toward

the kitchen."

In the meantime, the host, who entertained no doubt that it was

the presence of the young man that drove the stranger from his

hostelry, re-ascended to his wife`s chamber, and found D`Artagnan

just recovering his senses. Giving him to understand that the

police would deal with him pretty severely for having sought a

quarrel with a great lord--for the opinion of the host the

stranger could be nothing less than a great lord--he insisted

that notwithstanding his weakness D`Artagnan should get up and

depart as quickly as possible. D`Artagnan, half stupefied,

without his doublet, and with his head bound up in a linen cloth,

arose then, and urged by the host, began to descend the stairs;

but on arriving at the kitchen, the first thing he saw was his

antagonist talking calmly at the step of a heavy carriage, drawn

by two large Norman horses.

His interlocutor, whose head appeared through the carriage

window, was a woman of from twenty to two-and-twenty years. We

have already observed with what rapidity D`Artagnan seized the

expression of a countenance. He perceived then, at a glance,

that this woman was young and beautiful; and her style of beauty

struck him more forcibly from its being totally different from

that of the southern countries in which D`Artagnan had hitherto

resided. She was pale and fair, with long curls falling in

profusion over her shoulders, had large, blue, languishing eyes,

rosy lips, and hands of alabaster. She was talking with great

animation with the stranger.

"His Eminence, then, orders me--" said the lady.

"To return instantly to England, and to inform him as soon as the

duke leaves London."

"And as to my other instructions?" asked the fair traveler.

"They are contained in this box, which you will not open until

you are on the other side of the Channel."

"Very well; and you--what will you do?"

"I--I return to Paris."

"What, without chastising this insolent boy?" asked the lady.

The stranger was about to reply; but at the moment he opened his

mouth, D`Artagnan, who had heard all, precipitated himself over

the threshold of the door.

"This insolent boy chastises others," cried he; "and I hope that

this time he whom he ought to chastise will not escape him as

before."

"Will not escape him?" replied the stranger, knitting his brow.

"No; before a woman you would dare not fly, I presume?"

"Remember," said Milady, seeing the stranger lay his hand on his

sword, "the least delay may ruin everything."

"You are right," cried the gentleman; "begone then, on your part,

and I will depart as quickly on mine." And bowing to the lady,

sprang into his saddle, while her coachman applied his whip

vigorously to his horses. The two interlocutors thus separated,

taking opposite directions, at full gallop.

"Pay him, booby!" cried the stranger to his servant, without

checking the speed of his horse; and the man, after throwing two

or three silver pieces at the foot of mine host, galloped after

his master.

"Base coward! false gentleman!" cried D`Artagnan, springing

forward, in his turn, after the servant. But his wound had

rendered him too weak to support such an exertion. Scarcely had

he gone ten steps when his ears began to tingle, a faintness

seized him, a cloud of blood passed over his eyes, and he fell in

the middle of the street, crying still, "Coward! coward! coward!"

"He is a coward, indeed," grumbled the host, drawing near to

D`Artagnan, and endeavoring by this little flattery to make up

matters with the young man, as the heron of the fable did with

the snail he had despised the evening before.

"Yes, a base coward," murmured D`Artagnan; "but she--she was very

beautiful."

"What she?" demanded the host.

"Milady," faltered D`Artagnan, and fainted a second time.

"Ah, it`s all one," said the host; "I have lost two customers,

but this one remains, of whom I am pretty certain for some days

to come. There will be eleven crowns gained."

It is to be remembered that eleven crowns was just the sum that

remained in D`Artagnan`s purse.

The host had reckoned upon eleven days of confinement at a crown

a day, but he had reckoned without his guest. On the following

morning at five o`clock D`Artagnan arose, and descending to the

kitchen without help, asked, among other ingredients the list of

which has not come down to us, for some oil, some wine, and some

rosemary, and with his mother`s recipe in his hand composed a

balsam, with which he anointed his numerous wounds, replacing his

bandages himself, and positively refusing the assistance of any

doctor, D`Artagnan walked about that same evening, and was almost

cured by the morrow.

But when the time came to pay for his rosemary, this oil, and the

wine, the only expense the master had incurred, as he had

preserved a strict abstinence--while on the contrary, the yellow

horse, by the account of the hostler at least, had eaten three

times as much as a horse of his size could reasonably supposed to

have done--D`Artagnan found nothing in his pocket but his little

old velvet purse with the eleven crowns it contained; for as to

the letter addressed to M. de Treville, it had disappeared.

The young man commenced his search for the letter with the

greatest patience, turning out his pockets of all kinds over and

over again, rummaging and rerummaging in his valise, and opening

and reopening his purse; but when he found that he had come to

the conviction that the letter was not to be found, he flew, for

the third time, into such a rage as was near costing him a fresh

consumption of wine, oil, and rosemary--for upon seeing this hot-

headed youth become exasperated and threaten to destroy

everything in the establishment if his letter were not found, the

host seized a spit, his wife a broom handle, and the servants the

same sticks they had used the day before.

"My letter of recommendation!" cried D`Artagnan, "my letter of

recommendation! or, the holy blood, I will spit you all like

ortolans!"

Unfortunately, there was one circumstance which created a

powerful obstacle to the accomplishment of this threat; which

was, as we have related, that his sword had been in his first

conflict broken in two, and which he had entirely forgotten.

Hence, it resulted when D`Artagnan proceeded to draw his sword in

earnest, he found himself purely and simply armed with a stump of

a sword about eight or ten inches in length, which the host had

carefully placed in the scabbard. As to the rest of the blade,

the master had slyly put that on one side to make himself a

larding pin.

But this deception would probably not have stopped our fiery

young man if the host had not reflected that the reclamation

which his guest made was perfectly just.

"But, after all," said he, lowering the point of his spit, "where

is this letter?"

"Yes, where is this letter?" cried D`Artagnan. "In the first

place, I warn you that that letter is for Monsieur de Treville,

and it must be found, he will not know how to find it."

His threat completed the intimidation of the host. After the

king and the cardinal, M. de Treville was the man whose name was

perhaps most frequently repeated by the military, and even by

citizens. There was, to be sure, Father Joseph, but his name was

never pronounced but with a subdued voice, such was the terror

inspired by his Gray Eminence, as the cardinal`s familiar was

called.

Throwing down his spit, and ordering his wife to do the same with

her broom handle, and the servants with their sticks, he set the

first example of commencing an earnest search for the lost

letter.

"Does the letter contain anything valuable?" demanded the host,

after a few minutes of useless investigation.

"Zounds! I think it does indeed!" cried the Gascon, who reckoned

upon this letter for making his way at court. "It contained my

fortune!"

"Bills upon Spain?" asked the disturbed host.

"Bills upon his Majesty`s private treasury," answered D`Artagnan,

who, reckoning upon entering into the king`s service in

consequence of this recommendation, believed he could make this

somewhat hazardous reply without telling of a falsehood.

"The devil!" cried the host, at his wit`s end.

"But it`s of no importance," continued D`Artagnan, with natural

assurance; "it`s of no importance. The money is nothing; that

letter was everything. I would rather have lost a thousand

pistoles than have lost it." He would not have risked more if he

had said twenty thousand; but a certain juvenile modesty

restrained him.

A ray of light all at once broke upon the mind of the host as he

was giving himself to the devil upon finding nothing.

"That letter is not lost!" cried he.

"What!" cried D`Artagnan.

"No, it has been stolen from you."

"Stolen? By whom?"

"By the gentleman who was here yesterday. He came down into the

kitchen, where your doublet was. He remained there some time

alone. I would lay a wager he has stolen it."

"Do you think so?" answered D`Artagnan, but little convinced, as

he knew better than anyone else how entirely personal the value

of this letter was, and was nothing in it likely to tempt

cupidity. The fact was that none of his servants, none of the

travelers present, could have gained anything by being possessed

of this paper.

"Do you say," resumed D`Artagnan, "that you suspect that

impertinent gentleman?"

"I tell you I am sure of it," continued the host. "When I

informed him that your lordship was the protege of Monsieur de

Treville, and that you even had a letter for that illustrious

gentleman, he appeared to be very much disturbed, and asked me

where that letter was, and immediately came down into the

kitchen, where he knew your doublet was."

"Then that`s my thief," replied D`Artagnan. "I will complain to

Monsieur de Treville, and Monsieur de Treville will complain to

the king." He then drew two crowns majestically from his purse

and gave them to the host, who accompanied him, cap in hand, to

the gate, and remounted his yellow horse, which bore him without

any further accident to the gate of St. Antoine at Paris, where

his owner sold him for three crowns, which was a very good price,

considering that D`Artagnan had ridden him hard during the last

stage. Thus the dealer to whom D`Artagnan sold him for the nine

livres did not conceal from the young man that he only gave that

enormous sum for him on the account of the originality of his

color.

Thus D`Artagnan entered Paris on foot, carrying his little packet

under his arm, and walked about till he found an apartment to be

let on terms suited to the scantiness of his means. This chamber

was a sort of garret, situated in the Rue des Fossoyeurs, near

the Luxembourg.

As soon as the earnest money was paid, D`Artagnan took possession

of his lodging, and passed the remainder of the day in sewing

onto his doublet and hose some ornamental braiding which his

mother had taken off an almost-new doublet of the elder M.

D`Artagnan, and which she had given her son secretly. Next he

went to the Quai de Feraille to have a new blade put to his

sword, and then returned toward the Louvre, inquiring of the

first Musketeer he met for the situation of the hotel of M. de

Treville, which proved to be in the Rue du Vieux-Colombier; that

is to say, in the immediate vicinity of the chamber hired by

D`Artagnan--a circumstance which appeared to furnish a happy

augury for the success of his journey.

After this, satisfied with the way in which he had conducted

himself at Meung, without remorse for the past, confident in the

present, and full of hope for the future, he retired to bed and

slept the sleep of the brave.

This sleep, provincial as it was, brought him to nine o`clock in

the morning; at which hour he rose, in order to repair to the

residence of M. de Treville, the third personage in the kingdom

paternal estimation.

Date: 2015-01-29; view: 868