The Three Musketeers (The Modern Library) - Alexandre Dumas [157]
“True, Monsieur, that was agreed upon. Your horse will be restored to your valet.”
“One moment, Milord,” Athos broke in. “With your permission, I should very much like to have a word with my friend, here.”
“Pray do, Monsieur.”
Athos drew D’Artagnan aside.
“Well, tempter, what more do you want of me? To have me throw again, I suppose.”
“No, D’Artagnan, I just want you to think things over carefully.”
“Think what things over?”
“You want to take your horse back, don’t you?”
“Of course I do.”
“Well, you are wrong. Were I you, I would take the hundred pistoles. As you know you staked the harnesses against the horse or one hundred pistoles in cash, at your choice.”
“I know that.”
“Well, I would take the money.”
“And I intend to take the horse.”
“I repeat, you are wrong, D’Artagnan. What on earth can two of us do with but one horse? I cannot ride behind you; we would look like the two sons of Aymon in search of their brother. And surely you would not dream of humiliating me by prancing along beside me on that magnificent steed. For my part, D’Artagnan, I would not hesitate a moment; I would take the hundred pistoles. Remember we need money to get back to Paris.”
“That horse means a great deal to me, Athos.”
“There again you are wrong, my friend. A horse shies or slips and he suffers an injury; a horse bucks and he breaks a leg; a horse eats out of a manger in which an infected horse has eaten and he comes down with glanders. There is a horse—or rather one hundred pistoles—irremediably lost. Again, a master must feed his horse, whereas on the contrary one hundred pistoles feed their master!”
“But how shall we get back to Paris?”
“Quite easy! We will ride our lackeys’ horses. People can always tell by our looks that we are persons of quality.”
“So we are to cut a shabby figure on the wretched ponies of our lackeys while Aramis and Porthos caracole on their chargers beside us?”
“Aramis!” Athos laughed. “Porthos!” His laughter gained momentum.
“What is so hilarious about that?” D’Artagnan inquired, completely at a loss.
“Nothing, nothing, let us continue our argument.”
“So your advice is—?”
“—to take the hundred pistoles, D’Artagnan! With such a sum we can live like kings till the end of the month. We have undergone a great deal of grueling fatigue, my friend; it will do us a lot of good to relax a little.”
“To relax! I, relax? No, no, Athos! As soon as I reach Paris, I shall go search for the beautiful and unhappy woman I love.”
“All right, which do you think will help you most in your quest; one hundred jingling golden coins or a horse? Take the money, my friend, I repeat; take the hundred pistoles.”
D’Artagnan needed but one reason in order to surrender and this last reason seemed convincing. Besides, by refusing to do as Athos suggested, he feared lest he appear selfish and niggardly in the eyes of his friend. He therefore acquiesced and chose the hundred pistoles which the Englishman paid out on the spot.
Then they prepared eagerly to depart. To make their peace with the landlord, over and above the old horse Athos had given him, cost them six pistoles. D’Artagnan and his friend bestrode the nags of Planchet and Grimaud respectively, the lackeys following afoot in their wake, carrying the saddles on their heads. Ill-mounted though our friends were, they soon outpaced their lackeys, reaching Crèvecoeur long before them. From afar they sighted Aramis, seated at the window, leaning over the sill in deep melancholy and, like Sister Ann in Bluebeard, scanning the horizon.
“Ho, Aramis!” D’Artagnan shouted. “What the devil are you doing there?”
“So it’s you, my friends! Greetings, D’Artagnan! Good day to you Athos!” Then when they had shaken hands: “I was meditating upon the celerity with which the goods of this world leave us,” Aramis confessed. “My handsome English horse has just vanished amid a cloud of dust; he is a living image of the fragility of earthly things. All life may be summed up in three words: erat, est,