The Three Musketeers (The Modern Library) - Alexandre Dumas [309]
“Madame,” said Athos, passing his arm under D’Artagnan’s, “we abandon to your pious care the precious remains of this unfortunate woman. She was an angel on earth before becoming an angel in Heaven. Pray treat her as one of your own sisters. We will return some day to pray over her grave.”
D’Artagnan hid his face against the shoulder Athos offered and burst into sobs.
“Ay, weep, lad!” he whispered. “Weep, heart full of love, alive with youth, and pulsing with life! Would I too could weep!”
And he helped his friend out of the room, handling him with all the affection of a father, the charity of a priest and the sympathy of a man who has suffered much.
All five, followed by five lackeys leading their horses by the bridle, walked into the town of Béthune and stopped at the first inn they found.
“What!” D’Artagnan protested vehemently. “Are we not going in pursuit of that woman?”
“Later,” Athos said soothingly. “I have certain measures to take.”
“She will slip through our fingers, Athos, and you will be to blame.”
“No, D’Artagnan, I guarantee we will find her.”
Athos spoke with such quiet conviction and D’Artagnan trusted him so implicitly that he bowed his head in consent and entered the inn without replying. Porthos and Aramis looked at each other in puzzlement, wondering how Athos was so confident. Lord Winter suggested to them in a whisper that Athos had spoken so in order to soothe D’Artagnan’s sorrow.
Having ascertained that there were five vacant rooms in the inn, Athos proposed that each retire.
“D’Artagnan needs to be alone to mourn, to find calm and to go to sleep. I promise to take charge of everything; I promise you I know what I am doing.”
Lord Winter seemed somewhat taken aback.
“If there are certain measures to be taken against Lady Clark, it concerns me too, Monsieur. She is my sister-in-law—”
“I have a prior and more valid claim,” Athos said coldly. “She is my wife!”
D’Artagnan smiled. He understood that to reveal so horrible a secret, Athos must be certain of his prey. Porthos and Aramis exchanged another of those quizzical glances that enigmatic statements from Athos invariably aroused. As for Lord Winter, he was convinced Athos was completely mad.
“Pray retire then, gentlemen, and let me act. You must perceive that, I being the lady’s husband, the affair is wholly my concern. But look here, D’Artagnan: if you have not lost it, give me the paper that dropped from that man’s hat—you recall, it bore the name of a village—the village of—”
“Ah! that name—in her handwriting . . .”
“Ay, D’Artagnan, that village.” Athos bowed to his companion. “As you see, D’Artagnan, God is in His Heaven!”
LXIV
THE MAN IN THE RED CLOAK
When Athos first looked down upon Madame Bonacieux writhing in agony, he was seized with a despair which he concealed by speaking with the utmost phlegm. Then the implications of what had occurred concentrated his grief and heightened the lucidity of his thought. One thing alone moved him now. He had made a promise and assumed a heavy responsibility. That alone mattered.
He was therefore careful to retire only after he had made sure his companions were safe in their rooms. Next, he begged the landlord to bring him a map of the province and studying every line traced upon it, he ascertained that four different roads connected Béthune with Armentières. Then he sent for the lackeys.
Planchet, Grimaud, Mousqueton and Bazin appeared successively and received clear, positive and ironclad instructions. They were to set out at daybreak and to proceed to Armentières, each by a different road. Planchet, the most intelligent of the four, was to take the road followed by the carriage upon which their masters had fired that evening.
A thorough strategist, Athos put the lackeys into the field first because