The Three Musketeers (The Modern Library) - Alexandre Dumas [104]
“Come, Monsieur, I think you are picking a needless quarrel.”
“Parbleu, what else, my friend?”
“What do you want?”
“Would you like to know?”
“Certainly.”
“Well then, I want your movement orders. I have none and need some.”
“You are jesting, I presume.”
“I never jest.”
“Let me pass!”
“You shall not pass!”
“My dear young man, I shall blow your brains out. Ho, Lubin! my pistols!”
“Planchet, you handle the lackey, I shall manage the master.”
Emboldened by his first exploit, Planchet sprang upon Lubin and, being young and lusty, soon had Lubin flattened out, Planchet’s bony knee pinning Lubin’s narrow chest to the ground.
“Carry on, Monsieur,” Planchet called. “My man is accounted for.”
The gentleman drew his sword and sprang upon D’Artagnan but he met more than he had bargained for. Within three seconds D’Artagnan pinked him thrice, dedicating each thrust as he dealt it: “One for Athos!” he cried. “One for Porthos!” and at the last, “one for Aramis!”
At the third thrust the gentleman fell like a log. D’Artagnan, believing him dead or at least in a faint, advanced to seize the order but, just as he stretched out his hand to search for it, the wounded man, who had not relinquished his sword, pinked D’Artagnan in the chest, crying:
“And one for you!”
“And one for me,” D’Artagnan cried in a fury, nailing him to the earth with a fourth thrust.
This time the gentleman closed his eyes and fainted. D’Artagnan plucked the order from the pocket into which he had seen the gentleman stuff it. It was in the name of the Comte de Vardes.
Then, casting a last glance at the handsome youth he was leaving there, lying senseless and perhaps dead, D’Artagnan heaved a sigh over that inexplicable fate which drives men to destroy one another in the interests of people who are strangers to them and who often do not suspect their very existence. But he was soon roused from these reflections by Lubin who was howling for help with all his might. Planchet grasped Lubin by the throat and pressed on his gullet as hard as he could.
“He won’t even whimper while I have him like this,” he announced. “But so soon as I let go of him, Monsieur, he squeals like a stuck pig. You see, he’s a Norman and Normans are a pig-headed lot.”
Indeed, all but choked, Lubin still attempted to shout for help.
“This will settle him,” D’Artagnan said, taking his handkerchief and gagging the lackey.
“Now Monsieur, let us string him up to a tree.”
This accomplished they drew the body of the Comte de Vardes close to the lackey. Night was falling. As the stranger and his lackey were both immobilized a few feet within the wood they would probably remain there until the morrow.
“Now to the Governor’s!” said D’Artagnan briskly.
“But you are wounded, Monsieur?”
“Oh, that’s nothing. Come, let us attend to our most urgent business, we can attend to my wound later. It is a mere scratch.”
They soon reached the worthy official’s country house; the Comte de Vardes was announced; D’Artagnan entered.
“You have an order signed by the Cardinal?” the Governor asked.
D’Artagnan produced the order.
“Hm! quite regular and explicit.”
“Of course, Monsieur. I am one of the Cardinal’s most faithful servants.”
“Apparently His Eminence is anxious to prevent someone from crossing to England.”
“Yes, Monsieur, one D’Artagnan, a gentleman from Béarn, who set out for London with three of his friends.”
“Do you know him personally?”
“Do I know—”
“D’Artagnan?”
“Intimately, Monsieur.”
“Pray describe him to me, then.”
“Nothing could be simpler,” D’Artagnan assured him. And he proceeded to furnish the most minute description of the Comte de Vardes.
“Is he accompanied by anyone?”
“Yes, by a valet named Lubin.”
“We will keep a sharp lookout for them,” the Governor promised, “and if ever we lay hands on them, His Eminence may be sure they will be returned to Paris under heavy guard.”
“By doing so, my dear Governor, you will have deserved well of the Cardinal,” D’Artagnan said unctuously.
“Will you be seeing His Eminence on your return, Monsieur le Comte?”
“Why, of course.”