The Three Musketeers (Translated by Richard Pevear) - Alexandre Dumas [165]
“No, Monsieur, he’s doing as well as one can with four sword strokes in the body, for you, meaning no reproach, fetched the dear gentleman four good ones, and he’s still quite weak, having lost nearly all his blood. As I had said to Monsieur, Lubin didn’t recognize me, and he told me our adventure from beginning to end.”
“Excellent, Planchet, you are the king of lackeys. Now back on your horse and let’s catch up with the carriage.”
It did not take long. After five minutes, they saw the carriage stopped by the side of the road. A richly dressed cavalier was standing at the door.
The conversation between Milady and the cavalier was so animated that d’Artagnan stopped on the other side of the carriage without anyone other than the pretty soubrette noticing his presence.
The conversation was conducted in English, a language d’Artagnan did not understand, but by the tone of it the young man guessed that the beautiful Englishwoman was extremely angry. She ended with a gesture that left him in no further doubt as to the nature of the conversation: it was the blow of a fan, delivered with such force that the little feminine accoutrement flew into a thousand pieces.
The cavalier let out a burst of laughter that seemed to exasperate Milady.
D’Artagnan thought it was the moment to intervene. He went up to the other door, respectfully removed his hat, and said:
“Madame, will you allow me to offer you my services? It seems to me that this cavalier has made you angry. Say the word, Madame, and I will take it upon myself to punish him for his lack of courtesy.”
At his first words, Milady had turned, looking at the young man with astonishment, and when he finished, she said, in very good French:
“Monsieur, I would gladly put myself under your protection if the person quarreling with me were not my brother.”
“Ah! Excuse me, then,” said d’Artagnan, “you will understand that I was not aware of that, Madame.”
“What is this featherbrain mixing into?” shouted the cavalier whom Milady had designated as her relation, bending down to the level of the coach door. “Why doesn’t he go on his way?”
“Featherbrain yourself,” said d’Artagnan, lowering himself in turn on the neck of his horse and replying through the door from his side. “I don’t go on my way because it pleases me to stop here.”
The cavalier addressed a few words in English to his sister.
“I speak French to you,” said d’Artagnan. “Do me the favor, then, I beg you, of replying to me in the same language. You are Madame’s brother, so be it, but fortunately you are not mine.”
One might have thought that Milady, fearful as a woman ordinarily is, would intervene in this beginning of a provocation, so as to keep the quarrel from going too far; but, quite the contrary, she threw herself back in her carriage and shouted coldly to the coachman:
“To the hôtel!”
The pretty soubrette cast a worried glance at d’Artagnan, whose good looks seemed to have had an effect on her.
The carriage set off and left the two men face to face, with no material object separating them any longer.
The cavalier made a move as if to follow the carriage, but d’Artagnan, whose already boiling anger was increased still more when he recognized in him the Englishman who had won his horse at Amiens and had almost won his diamond ring from Athos, jumped for his bridle and stopped him.
“Eh, Monsieur,” he said, “it seems you’re even more featherbrained than I am, for it strikes me that you’ve forgotten there’s already a little quarrel between us!”
“Aha!” said the Englishman, “it’s you, my master. So you’re forever playing one game or another?”
“Yes, and that reminds me that I have a revenge to take. We shall see, my dear sir, if you handle the rapier as adroitly as the dice cup.”
“You can see very well that I have no sword,” said the Englishman. “Do you mean to play the bravo against an unarmed man?”
“I certainly hope you have one