The Three Musketeers (Translated by Richard Pevear) - Alexandre Dumas [131]
“But is Porthos wounded then?”
“I am unable to tell you that, Monsieur.”
“How do you mean, you’re unable to tell me that? You should be better informed than anyone.”
“Yes, but people in our condition do not say all we know, Monsieur, especially when we’ve been warned that our ears will answer for our tongue.”
“Well, then, can I see Porthos?”
“Certainly, Monsieur. Take the stairs, go up to the second floor, and knock at number one. Only let him know that it’s you.”
“What? I should I let him know that it’s me?”
“Yes, for misfortune might befall you.”
“And what misfortune would you have befall me?”
“M. Porthos might take you for one of the household and, in a burst of anger, run you through with his sword or blow your brains out.”
“What on earth have you done to him?”
“We have asked him for money.”
“Ah, devil take it, now I understand! That’s a request that Porthos takes very badly when he’s out of funds. But, as far as I know, he shouldn’t be.”
“That’s what we thought as well, Monsieur. As the house is quite orderly, and we do our accounts every week, at the end of eight days we presented him with our bill, but it seems we happened upon the wrong moment, for, at the first word we uttered on the subject, he sent us to all possible devils. It’s true that he had been playing cards the night before.”
“So he had been playing cards the night before! And with whom?”
“Oh, my God, who knows? With a lord who was passing through and to whom he had proposed a game of lansquenet.”
“That’s it, the poor fellow must have lost everything.”
“Including his horse, Monsieur, for when the stranger made ready to leave, we noticed that his lackey saddled M. Porthos’s horse. We pointed it out to him then, but he told us we were mixing into what did not concern us and that the horse was his. We at once informed M. Porthos of what was happening, but he told us we were knaves to doubt the word of a gentleman, and that, since the latter had said the horse was his, it must have been so.”
“That’s him all right,” murmured d’Artagnan.
“Then,” continued the host, “I replied to him that, as we seemed destined not to understand each other in regard to payment, I hoped he would at least be so kind as to grant the favor of his custom to my colleague, the master of the Golden Eagle. But M. Porthos replied to me that, my hôtel being better, he wished to remain here.
“This reply was too flattering for me to insist on his departure. So I limited myself to asking that he give up his room, which is the finest in the hôtel, and content himself with a pretty little room on the fourth floor. But to this M. Porthos replied that, as he was expecting his mistress at any moment, and she was one of the grandest ladies of the court, I should understand that the room he did me the honor of inhabiting in my hôtel was still rather mediocre for such a person.
“However, while recognizing the truth of what he said, I believed I had to insist. But without even bothering to enter into discussion with me, he took his pistol, placed it on the night table, and declared that at the first word anyone said to him about any movement at all, exterior or interior, he would blow the brains out of the one who would be so imprudent as to mix into something that concerned only him. And so, since that time, Monsieur, no one enters his room anymore except his domestic.”
“So Mousqueton is here?”
“Yes, Monsieur, five days after his departure, he came back in an extremely bad humor. It seems he also had some inconvenience in his travels. Unfortunately, he’s more nimble than his master, so that for his master’s sake he turns everything upside down, seeing that, as he thinks he may be refused what he asks for, he takes everything he needs without asking.”
“The fact is,” replied d’Artagnan, “that I have always noticed a very superior devotion and intelligence in Mousqueton.”
“That’s possible, Monsieur. But if I should come in contact with such intelligence