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The Three Musketeers (Translated by Richard Pevear) - Alexandre Dumas [127]

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d’Artagnan thus stopped, ordered a bottle of first-class wine, leaned on his elbows in the darkest corner, and decided to wait like that till daybreak. But this time, too, his hopes were deceived, and though he listened with all his ears, he heard, amidst the oaths, gibes, and curses exchanged by the workers, lackeys, and wagoners who made up the honorable society he now shared, nothing that could put him on the trail of the poor abducted woman. He had no choice then, after downing his bottle out of idleness and so as not to arouse suspicion, but to try to find the most satisfactory position possible in his corner and sleep as well as he could. D’Artagnan was twenty, it will be recalled, and at that age sleep has inalienable rights, which it imperiously lays claim to, even over the most desperate hearts.

Towards six o’clock in the morning, d’Artagnan woke up with that malaise which usually comes with the break of day after a bad night. It did not take him long to straighten his clothes. He felt himself over to see whether anyone had profited from his sleep to rob him, and having found his diamond on his finger, his purse in his pocket, and his pistols in his belt, he stood up, paid for his bottle, and went out to see whether he might not have better luck in the search for his lackey in the morning than at night. Indeed, the first thing he saw through the damp and gray mist was honest Planchet, who, with the two horses in hand, was waiting for him at the door of a shady-looking little tavern that d’Artagnan had passed by without even suspecting its existence.

XXV

PORTHOS


Instead of going directly home, d’Artagnan alighted at M. de Tréville’s door and quickly went up the stairs. This time he had decided to tell him all he had just been through. No doubt he would give him good advice in the whole affair. Then, too, as M. de Tréville saw the queen almost daily, he might perhaps draw some information from Her Majesty about the poor woman, who had undoubtedly been made to pay for her devotion to her mistress.

M. de Tréville listened to the young man’s story with a gravity which proved that he saw something other than a love intrigue in this whole adventure; then, when d’Artagnan had finished, he said:

“Hm! all this smells of His Eminence a league away.”

“But what to do?” asked d’Artagnan.

“Nothing, absolutely nothing, right now, except to leave Paris, as I told you, as soon as possible. I will see the queen, I will recount to her the details of this poor woman’s disappearance, of which she is no doubt unaware. Those details will guide her on her side, and on your return perhaps I’ll have some good news for you. Rely on me.”

D’Artagnan knew that M. de Tréville, though a Gascon, was not in the habit of making promises, and that when by chance he promised something, he would do more than he promised. And so he bowed to him, full of gratitude for the past and for the future, and the worthy captain, who for his part took a keen interest in this young man who was so brave and so resolute, affectionately shook his hand and wished him a good journey.

Resolved to put M. de Tréville’s advice into practice at once, d’Artagnan made his way to the rue des Fossoyeurs to supervise the packing of his bags. As he approached his house, he spotted M. Bonacieux in his morning suit, standing on his doorsill. Everything that the prudent Planchet had told him the day before about the sinister character of his landlord came back to d’Artagnan’s mind then, and he looked at him more attentively than he had before. Indeed, over and above that yellowish and sickly pallor which indicated the infiltration of bile into the blood, and might, besides, be merely accidental, d’Artagnan noticed something slyly perfidious in the pattern of wrinkles on his face. A knave does not laugh in the same way as an honest man; a hypocrite does not weep the same tears as a man of good faith. All falsity is a mask, and however well made the mask is, one always manages, with a bit of attention, to distinguish it from a face.

So it seemed to d’Artagnan that M.

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