The Three Musketeers (The Modern Library) - Alexandre Dumas [158]
“Which means—?” D’Artagnan asked, vaguely suspecting what was to come.
“Which means that I have just made a fool’s bargain. I was swindled. I got only sixty louis for a horse that, judging by his gait, can cover five leagues an hour at an easy trot.”
D’Artagnan and Athos burst out laughing.
“My dear D’Artagnan,” Aramis apologized, “pray do not be too angry with me, necessity knows no law. Besides, I am the person most severely punished because that rascally horsedealer has cheated me out of at least fifty louis. Ah, you two fellows are good managers; you ride your lackeys’ horses and have your own magnificent mounts led by hand gently and by easy stages.”
Just then a market-cart, which had turned into the Amiens road, drew up before the inn. Grimaud and Planchet emerged, the saddles on their heads. The cart was returning empty to Paris and the two lackeys, in return for their transportation, had agreed to slake the driver’s thirst along the road.
“What’s this? Aramis cried as he saw them arrive. “Saddles? Nothing but saddles?”
“Don’t you understand?” Athos asked.
“Bless me, I did just the same, my friends. Some obscure instinct made me keep my harness too! Ho, Bazin, bring my new saddle and carry it along with those Planchet and Grimaud are wearing!”
“What about your clerics?” D’Artagnan asked. “What have you done with them?”
“I invited them to dinner the next day,” Aramis replied, “and incidentally they have some capital wine in this inn, my friends. I did my very best to make my clerics tipsy to such effect that the Curé forbade me to doff my uniform and the Jesuit implored me to help him enlist in the musketeers.”
“Without a thesis, eh Aramis!” D’Artagnan laughed. “I demand he be admitted without a thesis.”
“Since then,” Aramis continued, “I have been living most agreeably. I have begun a poem in lines of one syllable, a fairly difficult task but all merit consists in overcoming difficulties. The theme is worldly, gallant and erotic. I will read you the first canto; it consists of four hundred lines and can be read in just one minute.”
“In other words, my dear Aramis—” D’Artagnan hated poetry almost as heartily as he did Latin, “add the merit of brevity to the merit of difficulty and your work will triumph on two counts.”
“What is more,” Aramis enthused, “my poem breathes the noblest and most irreproachable of passions. You shall hear for yourselves, my friends.”
They chatted a few minutes about their plans.
“So we return to Paris, eh?” Aramis exclaimed joyfully. “Bravo! I am ready at a moment’s notice. We shall join good old Porthos; that will be great fun. You can have no idea how much I have missed that great simpleton. You cannot imagine him selling his horse, no, not for a kingdom! I long to see him astride his magnificent beast, his buttocks firmly ensconced in his sumptuous saddle. I am certain he will look like the Great Mogul.”
D’Artagnan and Athos stayed an hour to rest their horses; Aramis settled his bill and put Bazin in the cart with his colleagues. And so they set forth to join Porthos.
They found him up and about, much less pale than he had been on D’Artagnan’s first visit. Porthos was seated at a table which, though he was alone, was set for four. The dinner consisted of meats succulently dressed, of choice wines and of superb fruits.
“Ha, by God!” he exclaimed, rising to greet them. “Your arrival is wonderfully timed, gentlemen. I was just beginning with soup; you must dine with me.”
“Well, Porthos, Mousqueton certainly did not lasso such bottles as these!” D’Artagnan said admiringly. “And unless my eyes mistake me, I see a crisply larded fricandeau and a filet of beef—”
“I am recuperating, I have to build myself up,” Porthos explained. “Nothing can weaken a man more than these damned sprains. Have you ever sprained your knee, Athos?”
“No, I have not. But I remember a sword-thrust I received in our skirmish in the Rue Férou. For a fortnight it had exactly the same effect on me as your sprain has on you.”
“Surely this dinner was