The Three Musketeers (The Modern Library) - Alexandre Dumas [219]
One evening when D’Artagnan, on duty in the trenches, could not accompany them, Athos, Porthos and Aramis, mounted on their steeds and buried in their cloaks, their hands on their pistol-butts, were returning from a tavern called the Sign of the Red Dovecote. Athos had discovered it two days before on the La Jarrie road. They were riding home to camp, very much on their guard for fear of an ambuscade, when at about a quarter of a league from the village of Boisnau, they heard the sound of horses approaching. Immediately all three halted, closed in tightly and waited in the middle of the road. A moment later, as the moon broke from behind a cloud, they saw two horsemen at a bend in the road. Perceiving the musketeers, the two strangers stopped in their turn, apparently to deliberate whether they should continue on their way or retreat. This hesitation aroused the suspicion of the musketeers. So Athos, advancing a few paces in front of the others, cried in a firm voice:
“Who goes there?”
“Who goes there, yourselves?” one of the horsemen replied.
“That is no answer,” Athos called back. “Who goes there? Answer or we charge.”
“Beware of what you are about, gentlemen!” said a clear voice in tones accustomed to command.
“It is some higher officer making his night-rounds,” said Athos. “What do you wish, gentlemen?”
“Who are you?” said the same voice in the same commanding tone. “Answer in your turn or you may well repent of your disobedience.”
“Royal Musketeers,” said Athos, ever more convinced that their questioner had full authority to challenge them.
“What company?”
“Monsieur de Tréville’s.”
“Advance and give an account of what you are doing here at this hour.”
The three companions advanced rather shamefacedly, for all were now certain they had to deal with someone more powerful than themselves. As usual, by tacit agreement, Athos filled the rôle of spokesman.
The horseman who had spoken so authoritatively sat erect and still in his saddle, some ten paces in front of his companion. Athos signaled to Porthos and Aramis to remain in the rear and rode his horse forward at a walk.
“Your pardon, Sir,” he said, “but we did not know whom we were speaking to. As you saw we were keeping close watch.”
“Your name?” asked the officer, drawing up his cloak to cover his face.
“But yourself, Monsieur,” Athos protested, now somewhat annoyed at this inquisition. “I beg you to give me some proof of your right to question me.”
“Your name?” the horseman repeated sharply as he drew his cloak down, leaving his face uncovered.
“Monsieur le Cardinal!”
“Your name?” His Eminence cried for the third time.
“Athos.”
The Cardinal motioned to his attendant to draw near.
“These three musketeers shall follow us,” he said in an undertone. “I do not care to have it known that I left camp. If they follow us, we shall be certain they will tell nobody.”
“We are gentlemen, Monseigneur,” Athos objected. “Ask us but to give you our word, you need worry no further. Thank God we can keep a secret.”
The Cardinal fixed his piercing eyes on his courageous interlocutor.
“You have a sharp ear, Monsieur Athos,” he said. “But now listen to this. It is not from mistrust I request you to follow me but for reasons of my personal security. Doubtless the gentlemen accompanying you are Messieurs Porthos and Aramis?”
“Ay, Your Eminence,” Athos nodded as his two friends rode forward slowly, hat in hand.
“I know you, gentlemen, I know you!” the Cardinal said. “I am aware that you are not exactly my friends and I am sorry for it. But I am also aware that you are brave, loyal, trustworthy gentlemen. I shall therefore ask you, Monsieur Athos, and your two friends, to do me the honor to accompany me. You will thus be providing me with an escort fit to excite envy in even His Majesty should we chance to meet him.”
The three musketeers bowed so low that their chins grazed the necks of their horses.
“Upon