The Three Musketeers (The Modern Library) - Alexandre Dumas [165]
“So we are reconciled, dear Monsieur Porthos?” she simpered.
“For life!” Porthos simpered in return.
“Farewell, sweet traitor!”
“Farewell, forgetful charmer.”
“Tomorrow, angel!”
“Tomorrow, love of my life.”
XXX
MILADY
D’Artagnan followed Milady out of the church, saw her step into her carriage and heard her order the coachman to drive to Saint-Germain. He knew it was useless to try to keep up with a vehicle drawn by two powerful horses. He therefore made his way to the Rue Férou to call upon Athos. In the Rue de Seine he met Planchet, who had paused to look into the show window of a pastrycook’s and was lost in ecstasy as he surveyed a brioche of the most luscious and toothsome appearance.
“Well, Planchet, a fine sight, eh?”
“What does Monsieur wish me to do?”
“Take your eyes off that cake and go to the stables of Monsieur de Tréville! Saddle a horse for myself and you—” D’Artagnan blessed the moment when the Captain of Musketeers had given him carte blanche—“and take them to the Rue Férou where I shall be waiting with Monsieur Athos.”
“Very good, Monsieur.”
D’Artagnan found Athos at home, draining a bottle of the Spanish wine he had brought back from the expedition into Picardy. Athos signaled to Grimaud for a glass which Grimaud, wordless as usual, produced silently. Then the Gascon told Athos of what he had seen in the Church of Saint-Leu and how Porthos stood an excellent chance of outfitting himself in the very near future.
“For my part I am not worrying,” Athos observed coolly. “No woman will pay for my equipment.”
“Come now, Athos, what woman would be indifferent to you, handsome, well-bred and a nobleman to your fingertips? What queen or princess could be safe from your solicitations if but you deigned to solicit?”
“My poor D’Artagnan!” Athos shrugged his shoulders and motioned to Grimaud to fetch up another bottle of wine. “I swear you are the veriest babe in arms!”
Suddenly Planchet poked his head meekly through the door to announce to his master that the horses were ready.
“What horses?” Athos demanded.
“Two horses that Monsieur de Tréville puts at my disposal,” D’Artagnan explained suavely. “I am off for a jaunt to Saint-Germain.”
“What on earth are you going to do at Saint-Germain?” Athos inquired.
D’Artagnan told him how he had seen the lady of Meung. It was not she, beautiful though she was, whom he sought to find again but his arch-enemy, the man in the black cloak, the man with the scar near his temple.
“I see,” Athos observed contemptuously, his manner suggesting a vast pity for humanity in general. “You are in love with this lady as deeply as you were once in love with Madame Bonacieux.”
“Nonsense, Athos! All I want is to clear up the mystery in which she plays a part. I cannot explain why, but I have a curious feeling that this woman, strangers though we are, exercises a powerful influence upon my life.”
“Undoubtedly, D’Artagnan. Why bother to look for a woman once she is lost? Madame Bonacieux is lost, so much the worse for her. Let her shift for herself.”
“No, Athos, you are mistaken. I love my poor Constance more than ever. Alas, if I knew where she was, I would cheerfully go to the ends of the earth to save her from her enemies. But I know nothing; all my investigations have proved useless. And after all a man must find amusement somewhere.”
“Very well, amuse yourself with Milady, my dear fellow; I wish you the best of luck.”
“Come, Athos, instead of shutting yourself up here as though you were under arrest, why not go for a ride with me through the forest of Saint-Germain?”
“My dear D’Artagnan, I ride when I own a horse. When I have none, I walk.”
Such misanthropy would have offended D’Artagnan from any one but Athos. He smiled.
“That is where we differ,” he said, “I am not so proud as you; I ride any nag I can get. Good-bye, Athos.”
“Good-bye to you, lad!” the musketeer replied, motioning to Grimaud to uncork the bottle he had just brought in.
D’Artagnan and Planchet set off briskly toward Saint-Germain. All along the road the young Gascon reflected