The Three Musketeers (Translated by Richard Pevear) - Alexandre Dumas [164]
Lost in thought like this, and occasionally putting the spurs to his horse, d’Artagnan had covered the distance and come to Saint-Germain. He had just ridden past the pavilion in which which, ten years later, Louis XIV would be born.131 He was riding down a quite deserted street, looking right and left to see if he might pick up some trace of his beautiful Englishwoman, when on the ground floor of a pretty house, which, according to the custom of the time, had no window on the street, he caught sight of a familiar figure. This figure was pacing up and down a sort of terrace decorated with flowers. Planchet recognized him first.
“Eh, Monsieur,” he said, turning to d’Artagnan, “can you place that mug that’s gaping there?”
“No,” said d’Artagnan, “and yet I’m sure it’s not the first time I’ve seen it.”
“I should say not, pardieu!” said Planchet. “It’s that poor Lubin, the lackey of the comte de Wardes, the one you did up so well a month ago in Calais, on the road to the governor’s summer house.”
“Ah, yes, of course,” said d’Artagnan, “now I recognize him! Do you think he recognizes you?”
“By heaven, Monsieur, he was so upset that I doubt he kept a very clear memory of me.”
“Well, then, go and have a chat with the lad,” said d’Artagnan, “and find out if his master is dead.”
Planchet got off his horse, walked straight up to Lubin, who indeed did not recognize him, and the two lackeys started chatting with the best understanding in the world, while d’Artagnan pushed the two horses into a lane and, circling around the house, came back to attend the conference behind a hedge of hazels.
After a moment’s observation behind the hedge, he heard the sound of horses and saw Milady’s carriage pull up opposite him. There could be no mistake. Milady was in it. D’Artagnan flattened himself to his horse’s neck, in order to see without being seen.
Milady leaned her charming blond head out the door and gave orders to her chambermaid.
The latter, a pretty girl of twenty or twenty-two, alert and lively, the perfect stage soubrette for a grand lady, jumped down from the footboard, which she had been sitting on following the custom of the time, and headed for the terrace where d’Artagnan had seen Lubin.
D’Artagnan followed the soubrette with his eyes and saw her going towards the terrace. But, by chance, an order from inside had called Lubin away, so that Planchet was left alone, looking all around to see by what path d’Artagnan had disappeared.
The chambermaid approached Planchet, whom she took for Lubin, and held out a little note to him.
“For your master,” she said.
“For my master?” Planchet picked up, astonished.
“Yes, and it’s very urgent. So take it quickly.”
Thereupon she rushed for the carriage, which had swung around ahead of time to face the direction it had come from. She threw herself onto the footboard, and the carriage set off again.
Planchet turned the note over and over, then, accustomed to passive obedience, jumped from the terrace, went along the lane, and after twenty steps ran into d’Artagnan, who, having seen everything, was on his way to meet him.
“For you, Monsieur,” said Planchet, presenting the note to the young man.
“For me?” asked d’Artagnan. “Are you sure of that?”
“Pardieu, yes, I’m sure of it! The soubrette said: ‘For your master.’ I have no other master than you, and so…A nice bit of a girl, by heaven, that soubrette!”
D’Artagnan opened the letter and read the following words:
A person who is more interested in you than she can say would like to know on which day you will feel up to a stroll in the forest. Tomorrow, at the hotel of the Field of the Cloth of Gold, a lackey in black and red will await your reply.
“Oho!” d’Artagnan said