The Three Musketeers (The Modern Library) - Alexandre Dumas [182]
“Well, it is true I visit an Englishwoman, the one I told you about.”
“Ah, yes, the blonde woman about whom I vouchsafed advice, which you of course took care not to follow.”
“I gave you my reasons.”
“Yes, I think you said you were looking to that quarter for your equipment.”
“Not at all. I have acquired certain knowledge that she is concerned in the abduction of Madame Bonacieux.”
“Yes, I understand now: to find one woman, you are courting another. It is the longest way around but undoubtedly the most amusing.”
D’Artagnan was on the point of telling Athos the whole story but one point restrained him. Athos was a gentleman, punctilious in points of honor, and the plan D’Artagnan had adopted included certain actions which would not obtain the assent of this Puritan. He therefore said nothing and, as Athos was the least inquisitive man on earth, D’Artagnan’s confidence stopped there. We will therefore leave the two friends conversing over unimportant trifles and follow Aramis.
We have seen with what alacrity Aramis followed Bazin when he heard that the visitor came from Tours. Actually he followed him only a few steps, for, having quickly overtaken him, he ran without stopping from the Rue Férou to the Rue de Vaugirard. Entering his apartment, he found a rather short man with intelligent eyes, clad in rags.
“You asked for me?” he inquired.
“I should like to speak to Monsieur Aramis. Is that your name, Monsieur?”
“Yes. You have brought me something?”
“Yes, if you will show me a certain embroidered handkerchief.”
Aramis took a small key from his breast pocket, opened a small ebony box inlaid with mother-of-pearl, drew out the handkerchief, and held it out for the other’s inspection.
“Here it is: look!”
“That is right,” said the beggar, “dismiss your lackey.”
Bazin was indeed there, all ears. Curious to find out what the mendicant could want with his master, he had kept pace with him as well as he could, reaching home at almost the same time. But his speed had not profited him. At the beggar’s suggestion, Aramis motioned Bazin to retire, which he was reluctantly compelled to do.
Bazin gone, the beggar looked quickly around him to make sure that no one could either see or hear him. Then, opening his ragged vest, perilously held together by a leather belt, he began to rip the upper part of his doublet, from which he drew a letter.
Aramis uttered a cry of joy at the sight of the seal, kissed the writing with almost religious respect, and opened the letter to read the following:
My dear Friend:
It is the will of fate that we should remain separated for some time longer, but the delightful days of youth are not lost beyond return. Perform your duty in the camp, I will do mine elsewhere.
Accept what the bearer brings you. Fight in the campaign like the brave, handsome and true gentleman you are, and think of me who herewith kiss your black eyes ever so tenderly.
Adieu or rather au revoir. . . .
The beggar continued to rip his garments and from amid his filthy rags drew one hundred and fifty Spanish double pistoles which he laid down in shining rows on the table. Then he opened the door, bowed and disappeared before the young man, stupefied, had ventured to say a word to him.
Aramis then reread the letter and this time perceived a postscript:
P.S. You may behave politely to the bearer, who is a Count and a Grandee of Spain.
“Golden dreams!” cried Aramis. “Oh, beautiful life! Yes, we are young; yes, we shall know happy days! My love, my blood, my life, all, all are yours, my beauteous and adorable mistress.”
And he kissed the letter passionately without even vouchsafing a glance at the gold which sparkled on the table.
Bazin scratched at the door and, as Aramis had no longer any reason to exclude him, he bade him enter. The servant was so astounded at the sight of the gold that he forgot he had come to announce D’Artagnan who, curious to know who the beggar could be, had come straight