The Three Musketeers (The Modern Library) - Alexandre Dumas [228]
“Let us go there, then,” Athos suggested, “because here the walls are thin as paper.”
D’Artagnan was accustomed to his friend’s behavior; he could sense immediately by a word, gesture, or sign from him that the situation was very serious. He therefore took the musketeer’s arm and they went out together in silence. Porthos followed, chatting with Aramis.
On their way they met Grimaud. Athos beckoned him to follow; Grimaud, according to custom, obeyed in silence. (The poor lad had almost reached the point of forgetting how to speak.)
They arrived at the tavern of the inn at seven o’clock, in early daylight. Having ordered breakfast they repaired to a room, where, according to the innkeeper, they would not be disturbed.
Unfortunately they had chosen a bad hour for a secret conference. Reveille had just sounded; from all parts of the camp the troops, shaking off the drowsiness of night and eager to dispel the humid chill of the morning air, flocked to the inn for an eye-opener. Dragoons, Swiss mercenaries, guardsmen, musketeers and hussars appeared with a rapidity much appreciated by the innkeeper but most unwelcome to our four friends. They replied to the greeting, toasts and jokes of the other patrons with a very sullen air.
“O Lord!” Athos groaned. “I see what is going to happen. We shall get into some gay little brawl or other and that is the last thing we should do at the moment. Come, D’Artagnan, tell us about your experiences last night and we will tell you about ours.”
“Yes, yes,” said a hussar who had overheard them. Sipping his brandy mincingly, he struck a foppish attitude. “I hear the guardsmen held the line last night. They seem to have been handled rather roughly by the defenders of La Rochelle.”
D’Artagnan looked up at Athos inquiringly. Should he answer this intruder?
“Well, D’Artagnan,” Athos asked. “Monsieur de Busigny has done you the honor of speaking to you. These gentlemen are eager to know what happened last night. Won’t you satisfy their curiosity?”
“Dittent you shtorm a pashtyun?” asked a Swiss mercenary, who was drinking rum out of a beer glass.
“Yes, Monsieur!” D’Artagnan bowed. “We had the honor of storming a bastion. Perhaps you have heard that we also set a barrel of powder under one of the angles. The fireworks, when it blew up, made a sizable breach in the walls. I might add that since that bastion was not built yesterday, the whole structure was considerably unsettled.”
“What bastion was that?” asked a dragoon on his way to the fireplace, his sabre spiking a goose he was about to roast.
“The Bastion Saint-Gervais,” D’Artagnan answered. “The bastion from behind which the men of La Rochelle were irking our workmen.”
“Did you have a hot time of it?”
“Tolerably hot. We lost five men, those of La Rochelle lost eight or ten.”
“Balzempleu! Py te ploot of Gott!” cried the Swiss who, despite the admirable collection of oaths afforded by the German language, had acquired a habit of swearing in French.
The hussar shrugged his shoulders: “This morning they will probably send in a squad of pioneers to repair the damage.”
“Yes,” D’Artagnan agreed. “They probably will.”
“Is any gentleman here willing to lay a wager on it?” Athos asked.
“A vacher, ja, a vacher!” said the Swiss.
“What kind?” asked the hussar.
“A wager on what?”
“Just a minute,” the dragoon interrupted, setting his sabre like a spit on the huge andirons in the fireplace.
“If you are betting, count me in! Ho, landlord, damn you, fetch me a pan forthwith! I’ll not lose a drop of the fat dripping from this estimable fowl.”
“Recht he iss,” agreed the Switzer. “Ffatt of goosse she is fery goot mit schweetmeats.”
“There; I’ve cooked my goose! Now—what price your wager, Monsieur Athos?” the dragoon challenged. “We are listening!”
“The wager!” cried the hussar, “the wager, Monsieur Athos!”
“Very well, gentlemen, here it is. I bet that my three friends, Porthos, Aramis, D’Artagnan, and myself will breakfast in the Bastion Saint-Gervais and