The Three Musketeers (The Modern Library) - Alexandre Dumas [154]
Athos spoke so very naturally that D’Artagnan’s conviction was shaken. Anxious to ascertain the truth D’Artagnan ventured:
“Oh, so that’s it! Now I remember dimly as though it was a dream; we spoke of people being hanged, didn’t we?”
“There, you see how it is!” Athos replied, growing still paler and forcing a laugh. “I was sure of it: the hanging of people is my particular nightmare, the obsession of Athos drunk.”
“I think you told me something about—wait, my memory seems to be returning—yes, you told me about a woman—”
“Ay, that is it!” Athos answered, turning almost livid. “I must have spun my favorite yarn about the blonde woman. When I tell that one, I am indeed dead drunk.”
“You told me the story of a tall blonde woman who was very beautiful, who had extraordinary blue eyes, and . . .”
“And who was hanged!”
“Precisely! She was hanged by her husband who was a nobleman of your acquaintance,” D’Artagnan supplied, looking intently at Athos.
“Bah, now you see how a drunken man can compromise a friend when he does not know what he is saying,” Athos remarked, shrugging his shoulders as though he considered himself an object of pity. “I certainly will never get drunk again, D’Artagnan; it is really a ghastly habit.”
D’Artagnan made no comment. Then changing the subject suddenly Athos said: “By the way, I must thank you for the horse you brought me.”
“You like it, eh?”
“Yes, but it is no horse for hard work.”
“You’re mistaken there, Athos, I rode him almost ten leagues in less than an hour and a half and he looked as though he had merely walked once around the Place Saint-Sulpice.”
“Heavens, you begin to awaken my regrets.”
“Regrets?”
“Yes, D’Artagnan. You see, I got rid of that horse.”
“How?”
“Let me explain, my friend. Here are the simple facts. I got up this morning at six o’clock. You were sleeping like a log and I did not know what to do with myself. I was still stupefied by last night’s debauch. As I went into the common room I heard a guest, an Englishman, haggling with a horse-dealer over a mount. (His own died yesterday from a stroke.) I drew near and, finding that he was offering a hundred pistoles for a fine burned-chestnut nag:
“‘Look you, Monsieur,’ I said, ‘I too have a horse for sale.’
“‘And a very handsome horse at that, Monsieur,’ he replied. ‘I saw him yesterday; your friend’s lackey was walking him.’
“‘Do you consider him worth a hundred pistoles?’ I asked.
“‘Certainly. Will you sell him to me at that price?’
“‘Certainly not! But I will play with you for him.’
“‘Play at what?’
“‘At dice.’”
No sooner said than done, Athos told an increasingly apprehensive D’Artagnan. The Englishman, it seemed, had agreed at once.
“I lost the horse,” Athos confessed, “but I did win back the saddle.” And as D’Artagnan looked somewhat put out: “Are you annoyed?” he asked candidly.
“Yes, I admit I am, Athos. That horse was to have made us conspicuous on the battlefield; it was an identification, a pledge and a remembrance. Honestly, Athos, you were wrong to gamble it away.”
“Well, my friend, put yourself in my place. I was bored to death, and anyhow, I swear I do not like English horses. Besides, if it is merely a question of being recognized by someone, the saddle will surely suffice; it is certainly conspicuous enough! As for the horse, we can find some excuse for explaining away its disappearance. What the devil, a horse is mortal; suppose mine had glanders or the farcy.”
D’Artagnan looked as glum as ever.
“I am much vexed that you should set such store by horseflesh, my friend, because I am not yet at the end of my story.”
“What else have you done, Athos?”
“After losing my horse with a throw of nine against a ten—rotten luck, eh?—I was inspired to stake yours. A capital idea, don’t you think?”
“An idea perhaps, but surely you did not put it into execution?”
“Of course I did!”
“Confound it!” D’Artagnan said, greatly disturbed.
“What then?”
“I threw