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There was Bassompierre, who was now forty-eight. Twenty years before he had shared in the dissipations of court life under Henry IV; he had also fought in the Savoy campaign and in 1603 in Hungary against the Turks. Six years ago he had supported Louis XIII against the rebel Huguenots on this same field of La Rochelle. In 1630 he was to be a plotter against Richelieu in the famous conspiracy of the Day of Dupes and, like d’Angoulême, he was to spend twelve long years in the Bastille. He was to die at the age of eighty-seven.

The third candidate for the supreme command was Henri de Schomberg, Marshal of France and son of a Marshal of France. He was connected with a German family, several of whose members had fought in the French cause. One indeed had been killed in the service of Henry IV at Ivry.)

D’Artagnan meanwhile had become somewhat more easy, as always happens after a danger has passed and seems to have completely vanished. His only anxiety was at hearing no tidings from his friends. But one morning early in November everything was explained by the following letter, dated from Villeroi:

Monsieur d’Artagnan:

Messieurs Athos, Porthos and Aramis, having dined well at my establishment and being in very high spirits, created such a disturbance that the provost of the château, a very strict man, ordered them confined to quarters for several days. But, carrying out their orders, I am sending you a dozen bottles of my Anjou wine, of which they thought most highly. They hope you will drink to their healths in their favorite wine.

In obeying them, Monsieur, I commend myself to you most respectfully,

Your most humble and obedient servant.

Godeau

Purveyor and Steward to the Musketeers.

“Bravo!” D’Artagnan cried. “They remember me in their pleasures as I remember them in my troubles. I shall most assuredly drink to their healths with all my heart. But I will not drink alone.”

And he hastened off to invite two guardsmen, to whom he was closer than the others, to share the light toothsome Anjou wine he had just received. As one of his comrades was engaged that evening and the other one the next day, the meeting was fixed for two days later.

D’Artagnan therefore sent the twelve bottles to the guard’s canteen with orders that they be carefully stored. Then on the festive day, as the dinner was to take place at noon, he dispatched Planchet to the canteen at nine o’clock to prepare everything for the entertainment.

Planchet, very proud at being promoted to the dignity of maître d’hôtel, determined to make all necessary arrangements in the most intelligent manner. With this purpose he enlisted the services of the lackey of one of the guests, a lad named Fourreau, and of the cowardly soldier who had attempted to kill D’Artagnan. The convalescent, whose name was Brisemont, belonged to no troop; he therefore entered the service of D’Artagnan or rather of Planchet, serving in fact as a servant’s servant.

The hour of the feast arrived. The two guests took their places; the viands were laid out upon the table. Planchet, a napkin folded over his arm, was to serve the guests. Fourreau was uncorking the bottles and Brisemont was decanting the wine which seemed to have acquired a good deal of sediment as a result of the shaking of the journey. The first bottle looked somewhat cloudy at the bottom; Brisemont poured the dregs into a glass which D’Artagnan permitted him to drink, for the poor devil was still very shaky because of his wound.

The guests, having partaken of soup, were about to lift the first glass to their lips when suddenly the cannon of Fort Louis and Fort Neuf fired full blast. The guardsmen, thinking it meant a surprise attack either from the English or from the Huguenots, sprang to their swords. Host and guests sped to their posts. They had barely left the canteen when they discovered the cause of the firing. Cries of “Long live the King!” and “Long live the Cardinal!” rang out from all sides and the drums throughout the camp beat out a salute.