The Three Musketeers (The Modern Library) - Alexandre Dumas [231]
“Twelve.”
“How many cartridges?”
“About a hundred.”
“That is all we need, let us load the guns.”
The four musketeers set to work and just as they were loading the last musket Grimaud signaled that breakfast was ready. Athos replied by gestures that it was well and, pointing to a kind of turret shaped like a pepperbox, indicated that Grimaud was to stand guard there. To lighten the boredom of this duty, Athos permitted him to take along a loaf of bread, two cutlets and a bottle of wine.
“And now to table!” said Athos briskly.
The four friends sat on the ground, their legs crossed like Turks or tailors.
“Now that there is no danger of being overheard,” D’Artagnan suggested, “I trust you will tell us your mysterious secret.”
“My friends, I hope to procure you both amusement and glory,” Athos began. “I have taken you out for a very jolly walk; here is a most toothsome breakfast; and yonder, as you may see through the loopholes, stand five hundred persons who take us for madmen or heroes, two species of idiots which are not unlike.”
“But the secret, Athos, the secret.”
“The secret is that I saw Milady yesterday.”
D’Artagnan was raising his wine to his lips. At the name of Milady his hand shook so violently that he had to put the glass on the ground again for fear of spilling its contents.
“You saw your wi—”
“Hush!” Athos interrupted in a quick whisper. “You forget, my friend, that these gentlemen are not initiated into my family secrets.” Then, aloud: “I saw Milady,” he concluded.
“Where?”
“About two miles from here, at the Sign of the Red Dovecote.”
“In that case I am a lost man!” D’Artagnan groaned.
“No, not quite yet, for she must certainly have left the shores of France by now.”
D’Artagnan breathed again.
“Come, now, after all, who is this Milady?” Porthos inquired.
“A charming woman,” Athos explained, sipping a glass of sparkling wine. “Damnation! that scoundrelly innkeeper gave us Anjou instead of champagne and he thinks we can’t tell the difference! . . . Yes, as I was saying, Milady is a charming woman who bestowed her favors upon D’Artagnan. Our friend played her some nasty trick or other. Seeking revenge, she tried to have him shot a month ago, to poison him last week and yesterday to demand his head of the Cardinal.”
“What! she demanded my head of the Cardinal?” cried D’Artagnan, pale with terror.
“That is Gospel truth,” Porthos testified. “I heard it with my own ears.”
“So did I,” Aramis confirmed.
“In that case, all further struggle is useless!” D’Artagnan let his arm fall to his side in discouragement. “I may as well blow my brains out and end it all.”
“That is the ultimate folly to commit,” Athos commented, “seeing that it is the only one for which we have no remedy.”
“But with such enemies,” D’Artagnan objected, “how can I ever escape? First, the stranger of Meung . . . then the Comte de Vardes whom I wounded thrice . . . then Milady whose secret I discovered . . . and now the Cardinal whose revenge I foiled. . . .”
“Well, that only makes four, and there are four of us, so we are evenly matched,” Athos said easily. Then: “By God, look at Grimaud! From the signs he is making I judge we are about to face a far larger number of people than that! What is it, Grimaud?” he called. “In view of the seriousness of the situation I permit you to speak, my friend. But pray be laconic. What do you see?”
“A troop.”
“How many?”
“Twenty.”
“What sort of men?”
“Sixteen sappers, four soldiers.”
“How far off?”
“Five hundred paces.”
“Good; we still have time to finish this fowl and to drink one glass to your health, D’Artagnan!”
“Your health,” Porthos and Aramis repeated.
“Well, then, to my health, though I scarcely believe your good wishes will be of much use to me.”
“Nonsense,” said Athos. “God is great, as the Mohammedans say, and the future lies in the hollow of his palm.”
Then, draining his glass, which he set down beside him, Athos rose nonchalantly to his feet, picked up the first musket at hand and took his stand near one of the loopholes.