The Three Musketeers (The Modern Library) - Alexandre Dumas [45]
D’Artagnan, intellectually curious like most enterprising people, did his best to try to discover the key to the pseudonyms under which Athos, Porthos and Aramis cloaked their identities. He was particularly interested in Athos, whose high nobility could be detected in his merest gesture. But Monsieur de Tréville alone possessed this secret. Vainly D’Artagnan sought to pump Porthos for information about Athos and to draw out Aramis on the subject of Porthos. All he could find out about Athos was the following.
Porthos knew no more about his taciturn comrade than was self-apparent. Rumor had it that Athos had suffered desperate crosses in love and that a tragic betrayal had poisoned his existence. What this treachery was and who were the principals in this drama, nobody knew.
The life of Porthos, except for his real name, was an open book; his vanity and indiscretion made him as transparent as crystal. One factor alone—the excellent opinion Porthos entertained of himself—might conceivably have led an investigator astray.
Aramis, while appearing anything but secretive was a very repository of arcana; he replied meagrely to the questions asked him about others and he eluded those concerning himself. One day D’Artagnan, questioning Aramis at length about Porthos, learned the current rumor about the latter’s success with a princess. His curiosity whetted, he sought to find out something of his interlocutor’s amours.
“And you, my friend, you who are constantly speaking about the baronesses, countesses and princesses of others?”
“I beg your pardon, I speak of them because Porthos himself did. As you have noticed, he is not averse to parading his good fortune. Believe me, my dear D’Artagnan, if I had them from any other source or if they had been given me in confidence, I can think of no confessor more discreet than I.”
“I am sure of that, my dear Aramis. Yet it seems to me that you are quite familiar with armorial bearings. I seem to remember a certain embroidered handkerchief to which I owe the honor of your acquaintance.”
This time Aramis, far from being angry, assumed his most modest air and replied in a friendly tone:
“Don’t forget, my dear friend, that I intend to become a churchman; I therefore eschew all mundane and fashionable pleasures. The handkerchief you saw was not mine; it had been mislaid at my house by a friend. I had perforce to pick it up in order not to compromise him and the lady he loves. As for myself, I have no mistress and do not desire one. In this, I follow the judicious example of Athos, who is as celibate as I.”
“Devil take it, you are not an abbé, you are a musketeer!”
“A musketeer provisionally—ad interim, as the Cardinal says—a musketeer in spite of himself. At heart I am a churchman, believe me. Athos and Porthos dragged me into this rôle to occupy my mind, because, at the moment I was being ordained, I had a little difficulty with . . . Oh well, never mind! This must be boring you and I am wasting your valuable time.”
“Not at all, I am much interested and I have nothing to do for the moment.”
“That may be. But I have my breviary to read, then I must compose some verses which Madame d’Aiguillon begged of me, then I must go to the Rue Saint-Honoré to buy some rouge for Madame de Chevreuse. So you see, my dear friend, that if you are not in a hurry, I most certainly am.”
With which he held out his hand most cordially and took his leave of his companion.
Since despite repeated efforts, this was all D’Artagnan could learn about his new friends, he determined to believe for the present all that was said of their past and to look to the future for more extensive and authoritative revelations. Meanwhile, the life of the four young men was pleasant enough. Athos gambled and as a rule, unluckily; yet he never borrowed a sou from his companions though his own purse was ever at their service, and when he played on