The Three Musketeers (The Modern Library) - Alexandre Dumas [18]
“A temporary postponement!” Aramis answered, picking imaginary dust off his sleeve. “Some day I shall be a priest! Why do you suppose I am going on with my theological studies?”
“Ay, a priest he’ll be, sooner or later!”
“Sooner!”
Another musketeer intervened:
“Aramis is waiting for one thing before he dons the cassock hanging behind his uniform.”
“What is that?”
“For the Queen to produce an heir to the throne of France!”
“That is no subject for jesting!” Porthos objected. “Thank God the Queen is still of an age to bear a child!”
“My Lord Buckingham is said to be in France . . .”
The fleeting, sharp smile that accompanied this apparently simple statement left it open to a somewhat scandalous interpretation.
“Aramis, my friend, this time you are wrong. Your wit is forever leading you astray. If Monsieur de Tréville heard you, you would rue it.”
“Are you presuming to lecture me, Porthos?”
“No, I—”
A flash of lightning blazed in the eyes of Aramis, eyes habitually so placid and kindly.
“Well?”
“My dear Aramis, make up your mind. Are you to be an abbé or a musketeer? Be one or the other, not both.” Porthos paused. “You know what Athos told you the other day. He said you were all things to all men.”
Aramis raised his arm violently.
“Come, let us not get angry,” Porthos continued. “You know what Athos, you and I have agreed upon. Well, you visit Madame d’Aiguillon to pay court to her, you visit Madame de Bois-Tracy and you pay court to her, too. May I remind you that she is a cousin of Madame de Chevreuse? Rumor has it that you are quite far advanced in the good graces of Madame de Bois-Tracy.”
Again, Aramis made an impatient gesture.
“Good Lord, don’t bother to tell us about your luck with the ladies. No one wants to discover your secret; everybody knows you for a model of discretion. But since you possess that virtue, why the devil not apply it when you speak of Her Majesty the Queen? I don’t care who plays fast and loose with King or Cardinal. But the Queen is sacred. If a man speaks of her, let it be with respect.”
Aramis looked at his friend. He sighed.
“Porthos,” he declared, “You are vain as Narcissus. I have told you this before, I tell you again. You know how I loathe moralizing, unless Athos does it. As for yourself, my fine friend, your baldric is far too magnificent to chime with your philosophy. If I care to become an abbé, I shall do so. Meanwhile I am a musketeer and as such I shall say what I please. At this moment, I am pleased to say that I find you very boring.”
“Aramis!”
“Porthos!”
Their comrades hastily interfered:
“Come, come, gentlemen . . . Stop, Porthos . . . Look, Aramis . . . After all, he didn’t mean it . . . Now, now. . . .”
The door of Monsieur de Tréville’s study flew open. A lackey stood on the doorsill.
“Monsieur de Tréville will receive Monsieur d’Artagnan,” he announced.
The door being open, those in the antechamber suddenly stopped talking. Amid the general silence, D’Artagnan walked across the room and entered the office, congratulating himself with all his heart at having so narrowly escaped the end of the extraordinary altercation.
III
THE AUDIENCE
Though Monsieur de Tréville was in a very bad humor at the moment, he greeted his young caller politely. D’Artagnan bowed to the ground and in his sonorous Béarn accent paid his profound respects. His southern intonation and diction reminded Monsieur de Tréville of both his youth and his country, a twofold remembrance which brings a smile to the lips of any man, old or young. But before bidding D’Artagnan to be seated, Monsieur de Tréville stepped toward the antechamber, waving his hand toward D’Artagnan as though to ask his permission to finish with other business before he began with him.
Standing by the open door, Monsieur de Tréville called three names. At each name, his voice gained in volume so that he ran the gamut between command and anger.
“Athos! Porthos! Aramis!”
At his summons, only two soldiers appeared, the musketeer of the golden baldric and the musketeer who would be an abbé. No sooner had