The Three Musketeers (The Modern Library) - Alexandre Dumas [243]
In the morning D’Artagnan, who deep in his heart felt a certain partiality for Buckingham, drew Planchet aside just as the lackey was about to mount his horse.
“Listen carefully,” he enjoined. “After you have given Lord Winter the letter and he has read it, tell him: ‘Watch over Lord Buckingham for they wish to assassinate him.’ Do you understand?”
“Ay, Monsieur: ‘Watch over Lord Buckingham for they wish to assassinate him.’”
“Planchet, this is so serious and so important that I did not tell even my friends I meant to entrust this secret to you. And I would not put it in writing, no! not even for a Captain’s commission!”
“Do not worry, Monsieur, you shall see how reliable I am.”
With which Planchet, mounted on an excellent horse he was to leave sixty miles further when he took the post, galloped off, somewhat hurt by the triple threat the musketeers had made but otherwise as cheerful as could be.
On the morrow Bazin set out for Tours, being allowed eight days for his mission.
During the absence of their messengers our friends eyed the watch around the dial, thrust their noses to the wind and kept their ears peeled. Day by long day they collected and sifted any rumors they might overhear, they observed the Cardinal’s actions minutely and they spied upon every courier that set foot in camp. More than once when called out on special duty, they were seized with uncontrollable misgivings. Also they had constantly to look to their own safety, for Milady was the type of phantom which, once arisen, did not allow its victims to sleep very soundly thereafter.
The morning of the eighth day Bazin, fresh and deliberate and smiling as ever, entered the Parpaillot tavern as the musketeers were sitting down to breakfast and, as had been agreed upon, announced:
“Monsieur Aramis, here is the answer from your cousin.”
The quartet exchanged joyous glances, relieved to know that half the work was done. To be sure it was the shortest and easiest part but it augured well for the other. Aramis, blushing in spite of himself, took the letter which was couched in a large coarse hand.
“God help us,” he laughed, “I quite despair of my poor Michon. She will never write like Monsieur de Voiture.”
“Vot doss you mean, dot poor Mischon,” asked the Swiss who was sitting with our friends.
“I mean nothing serious,” Aramis assured him. “This is a note from a charming little seamstress whom I love very dearly. I asked her to write me just for remembrance.”
“Teffil you say, if she pe so pig a lady as her hantwritink, ten you are a lucky tamn fellow, my frient.”
Aramis read the letter and passed it to Athos telling him to examine it. Athos glanced over it and to scatter any suspicions that might have arisen, read aloud:
My dear Cousin:
My sister and I are skilful at interpreting dreams and we are terrified by them anyhow.
In the case of yours, I hope we will be able to say that dreams are but lies and illusions.
Farewell. Take care of yourself. And act in such a way that we may from time to time hear of your prowesses.
Aglae Michon
The dragoon, who had drawn up to the table as Athos was reading, asked what the dream in question might be.
“Ja,” the Swiss concurred. “Vot is tiss tream?”
“Oh, just a dream,” Aramis said airily. “I had a dream and I told her about it.”
“Yess, py Gott, it iss siimple to tell off a tream. Pot I neffer tream mineself.”
“You are very fortunate,” Athos said, rising. “Would I could say as much myself.”
“I neffer neffer tream,” the Swiss insisted, charmed that a man like Athos could envy him anything. “Neffer in mine life!”
D’Artagnan, seeing Athos rise, followed suit, took his arm and accompanied him out while Porthos and Aramis remained to bandy jests with the dragoon and the Switzer. As for Bazin, he found himself a truss of straw and lay down upon it. He soon fell asleep and, more imaginative than the Swiss, dreamed