The Three Musketeers (The Modern Library) - Alexandre Dumas [255]
Amid the general consternation Athos alone preserved his calm. Cool as a cucumber, self-possessed as ever, he faced the Cardinal as a nobleman, equal to equal.
“Monseigneur,” he said evenly, “when off duty, His Majesty’s musketeers drink and dice. They are not commissioned, but to their lackeys they are the equals of the highest Field Officers.”
“Lackeys, you say,” the Cardinal grumbled, “lackeys ordered to alert their masters when someone passes by are sentries, not lackeys.”
“Yet Your Eminence must see that we have posted no sentries. We were taken by surprise. Indeed we might well have let Your Eminence pass without paying our respects and offering our thanks for past favors.” Athos paused a moment, drew himself up and: “D’Artagnan,” he said, “you have been waiting for a chance to express your gratitude to the Cardinal. Well, here is your chance.”
Athos spoke with all the assurance and imperturbability that distinguished him in times of crisis. Ever calm, he was kingly when danger threatened. D’Artagnan stumbled forward, mumbled a few words of thanks, and relapsed into silence under the Cardinal’s disapproving stare.
Richelieu, apparently in no wise diverted from his original purpose by the incident Athos had created, looked stonily ahead of him and said:
“All this is beyond the point, gentlemen. Because private soldiers happen to be privileged to serve in a crack regiment, they are not to play the part of great noblemen. I do not like it. Discipline is the same for one and all.”
Athos bowed.
“Monseigneur,” he said firmly, “we have not violated military discipline. We are now off duty and being off duty we fancied we could spend our time as we pleased. If Your Eminence sees fit to order us to perform some task in the line of duty we would be much honored.” Athos frowned, for the Cardinal’s specious interrogation was beginning to try his patience. “As Your Eminence may observe, we did not venture forth unarmed.”
Athos looked significantly at the four muskets stacked beside the drum on which lay an assortment of cards and dice.
Recovering his senses, D’Artagnan suggested that the musketeers would not have failed to go to meet His Eminence had they imagined he was coming into their midst so poorly attended. The Cardinal pursed his lips.
“Do you know what you look like? Always together, always armed, always guarded by your lackeys? Why, you look like four conspirators.”
“True, Monseigneur, we do conspire. But as Your Eminence observed the other day, we conspire against the men of La Rochelle.”
“Well, gentlemen politicos—” the Cardinal frowned in his turn, “I dare say many mysteries might be solved if one could read your minds as blithely as you were reading that letter when I drew up. I may add that I was as quick to see you hide it as you were to do so.”
Athos, flushing, stepped forward.
“Judging by this inquisition, it would seem as though Your Eminence really suspected us of conspiracy. If so, we trust Monseigneur will deign to explain so that we may at least know where we stand.”
“Inquisition or no, Monsieur Athos, others have submitted to it and answered in all honesty.”
“We are prepared to answer in all honesty to any question Your Eminence may be pleased to ask.”
“I see.” There was a long silence. Then, turning on Aramis, the Cardinal barked: “What was in the letter you were reading, Monsieur, and why did you hide it when I appeared?”
“A letter from a lady, Monsieur.”
“Ah, yes, that sort of letter commands discretion!” The Cardinal coughed. “Still, it may well be shown to a confessor; as you know I have been admitted to Holy Orders.”
With a calmness the more terrifying because he knew he might well pay for it with his head, Athos admitted the letter was from a lady but was signed neither by Marion de Lorme nor by Madame d’Aiguillon.
The Cardinal turned very pale, his eyes darted lightning, and he turned as if to give an order to Cahusac and La Houdinière.