The Three Musketeers (The Modern Library) - Alexandre Dumas [312]
“What now?” D’Artagnan asked curtly.
“We must wait.”
Without protest or comment each of them withdrew to his room. At eight o’clock that evening, Athos ordered the horses to be saddled and sent word to Lord Winter and to his friends that they would be leaving soon. The party was ready in a few moments. Each of them examined his arms and put them in order. Athos, the last to come downstairs, found D’Artagnan already mounted and chafing at the delay.
“Patience, my friend,” he said coolly. “One of our party is still missing.”
His companions looked about in surprise, wondering who this other person might be. Just then Planchet brought out Athos’ horse and the musketeer leaped lightly into the saddle.
“Wait for me,” he said. “I will be back in a moment!” and he galloped off.
Within a quarter of an hour he returned, accompanied by a tall man who wore a mask over his eyes and was swathed in a vast red cloak. Lord Winter and the musketeers exchanged questioning glances. None could enlighten the others; none had the faintest notion who the stranger might be. But they trusted Athos and, since Athos had so arranged, they would not question or demur. At nine o’clock, guided by Planchet, the little cavalcade started off along the road the carriage had taken.
These six men presented a melancholy sight as they rode forward in silence, each deep in his own thoughts, dark as despair and gloomy as retribution.
LXV
DAY OF JUDGMENT
It was a dark, tempestuous night. Vast tenebrous clouds raced across the heavens, obscuring the light of the stars. The moon would not be rising until about midnight. Now and then, thanks to a flash of lightning on the horizon, the cavalcade could see the road stretching out before them, white and solitary. Then, the flash spent, the riders were plunged into murky darkness.
Time and again Athos had to call D’Artagnan back to his place in the cavalcade; obsessed by one thought, to speed forward fast as he could, the Gascon kept pushing on too far in advance of his comrades.
They passed in silence through the hamlet of Festubert, where the wounded courier lay; they skirted the forest of Richebourg, and at Herlier, Planchet who led the column, turned to the left. Lord Winter or Porthos or Aramis tried several times to engage in conversation with the red-cloaked stranger. At each effort they made he merely bowed, without replying. Realizing from his attitude that he must have some mysterious but compelling reason for his silence, they abandoned all thoughts of sociability.
The storm increased in intensity, flash succeeded ever more rapidly on flash, the thunder growled ominously and the wind, forerunner of a hurricane, whistled through the feathers of the horsemen’s hats and through their hair.
They broke into a fast trot.
A little beyond Fromelles the storm burst in great fury and the horsemen put on their greatcoats. They still had some ten miles to cover, which they did under torrents of rain. D’Artagnan, who alone had not put on his greatcoat, now took off his hat; he enjoyed letting the cold rain beat down on his burning brow and trickle refreshingly over his feverish body.
Just as the little troop cleared the village of Goskal and drew close to the Post House where relays were stationed, a man sheltered by a tree and rendered invisible by its trunk, stepped out onto the road and held up one arm high over his head. As they halted, he brought one finger to his lips. Athos recognized Grimaud.
“What is it?” cried D’Artagnan, “Has she left Armentières?”
Grimaud nodded affirmatively; D’Artagnan gnashed his teeth, and cried: “But look here—”
“Hush, D’Artagnan!” Athos ordered. “I am in charge of this operation and I shall question Grimaud.” Turning back to Grimaud: “Where is she?” he asked.
Grimaud pointed toward the River