The Three Musketeers (Translated by Richard Pevear) - Alexandre Dumas [126]
“The three men had brought the carriage up without any noise. They pulled a little man out of it, fat, short, gray-haired, meanly dressed in dark clothes, who cautiously climbed the ladder, looked sneakily into the room, stealthily climbed down again, and murmured in a low voice:
“‘It is she!’
“The one who had spoken to me went to the door of the pavilion at once, opened it with a key he had with him, closed it again, and disappeared. At the same time, the other two climbed the ladder. The little old man stayed by the doorway, the coachman held the carriage horses, and a lackey the saddle horses.
“Suddenly loud cries rang out in the pavilion; a woman rushed to the window and opened it in order to jump out. But as soon as she saw the two men, she threw herself back. The two men rushed into the room after her.
“Then I didn’t see anything more, but I heard the noise of furniture being broken. The woman cried out and called for help. But her cries were soon stifled. The three men came back to the window carrying the woman in their arms; two went down the ladder and transferred her to the carriage. The little old man got in after her. The one who had stayed in the pavilion closed the window again, came out the door a moment later, and made sure the woman was indeed in the carriage. His two companions were already waiting on horseback. He jumped into the saddle in turn, the lackey took his place beside the coachman, the carriage drove off at a gallop, escorted by the three horsemen, and it was all over. From that moment on, I neither saw nor heard anything.”
D’Artagnan, crushed by such terrible news, stood mute and motionless, while all the demons of wrath and jealousy howled in his heart.
“But, my good gentleman,” continued the old man, on whom this mute despair certainly made more effect than would have been produced by cries and tears, “come, don’t grieve, they didn’t kill her on you, that’s the main thing.”
“Do you have any idea,” asked d’Artagnan, “who the leader of this infernal expedition was?”
“I don’t know him.”
“But if he spoke to you, it means you could see him.”
“Ah, you’re asking for his description?”
“Yes.”
“A tall, dry man, dark-skinned, black mustaches, black eyes, the air of a gentleman.”
“That’s it,” cried d’Artagnan, “him again! always him! He’s my demon, it seems! And the other one?”
“Which?”
“The little one.”
“Oh, that one’s no gentleman, I guarantee! Besides, he wasn’t wearing a sword, and the others treated him without any consideration.”
“Some lackey,” murmured d’Artagnan. “Ah, poor woman! poor woman! What have they done to her?”
“You’ve promised me secrecy,” said the old man.
“And I renew my promise; don’t worry, I’m a gentleman. A gentleman has only his word, and I’ve given you mine.”
With distress in his soul, d’Artagnan went back down the road to the ferry. At times he could not believe that it was Mme Bonacieux, and he hoped to find her at the Louvre the next day; at times he feared she was having an intrigue with someone else, and that the jealous man had caught her and carried her off. He vacillated, he grieved, he despaired.
“Oh, if only I had my friends here,” he cried, “I’d at least have some hope of finding her again! But who knows what’s become of them!”
It was nearly midnight; the problem was to find Planchet. D’Artagnan successively opened the doors of every tavern in which he saw a glimmer of light; he did not find Planchet in any of them.
At the sixth he began to reflect that the search was somewhat rash. D’Artagnan had told his lackey to meet him only at six in the morning, and wherever he was, he was within his rights.
Besides, the idea occurred to the young man that by remaining in the neighborhood of the place where the abduction had occurred, he might obtain some elucidation of this mysterious affair. At the sixth tavern, as we have said,