The Three Musketeers (Translated by Richard Pevear) - Alexandre Dumas [180]
“It’s you who are asking for me?” said the musketeer.
“That is, I am asking for M. Aramis: is it you who call yourself that?”
“Himself. Do you have something to give me?”
“Yes, if you will show me a certain embroidered handkerchief.”
“Here it is,” said Aramis, taking a key from his bosom and opening a small ebony chest inlaid with mother-of-pearl, “here it is, take it.”
“Very well,” said the beggar, “send your lackey away.”
Indeed, Bazin, curious to know what the beggar wanted with his master, had matched his pace and arrived at almost the same time. But this celerity was of little use to him. At the beggar’s invitation, his master made a sign for him to withdraw, and he was forced to obey.
With Bazin gone, the beggar cast a rapid glance around to make sure that no one could either see or hear him, and, opening his ragged coat, poorly secured by a leather belt, set about unstitching the top of his doublet, from which he drew a letter.
Aramis let out a cry of joy on seeing the seal, kissed the handwriting, and with an almost religious respect, opened the epistle, which contained the following:
My friend, fate wills that we be separated for some time still; but the lovely days of youth are not lost forever. Do your duty in the camp; I shall do mine elsewhere. Take what the bearer will give you; make the campaign as a fine and true gentleman, and think of me, who tenderly kiss your dark eyes.
Adieu, or rather, au revoir!
The beggar went on unstitching. One by one, he drew a hundred and fifty Spanish double pistoles from his dirty clothes and lined them up on the table. Then he opened the door, bowed, and left before the stupefied young man dared say a word to him.
Aramis then reread the letter, and noticed that it had a post-scriptum.
P.S. You may welcome the bearer, who is a count and a Spanish grandee.
“Golden dreams!” cried Aramis. “Oh, beautiful life! Yes, we’re still young! Yes, we shall still have happy days! Oh, to you, my love, my blood, my life! All, all, all, my beautiful mistress!”
And he kissed the letter passionately, without even looking at the gold that glittered on the table.
Bazin scratched at the door. Aramis had no more reason to keep him away; he let him come in.
Bazin was left stunned by the sight of the gold, and forgot that he had come to announce d’Artagnan, who, curious to know what this beggar was all about, went to Aramis on leaving Athos.
Now, as d’Artagnan did not stand on ceremony with Aramis, seeing that Bazin forgot to announce him, he announced himself.
“Ah, devil take it, my dear Aramis,” said d’Artagnan, “if that’s the sort of prunes they send us from Tours, give my compliments to the gardener who picked them!”
“You’re mistaken, my dear,” said the ever discreet Aramis, “it’s my bookseller, who has just sent me the fee for that poem in one-syllable lines that I began down there.”
“Ah, really!” said d’Artagnan. “Well, your bookseller is generous, my dear Aramis, that’s all I can say.”
“What, Monsieur!” cried Bazin. “A poem selling for so much? It’s incredible! Oh, Monsieur, just keep on going, you may become the equal of M. de Voiture and M. de Benserade!140 I like that, I do. A poet—that’s almost an abbé. Ah, M. Aramis, be a poet, then, I beg you!”
“Bazin, my friend,” said Aramis, “I believe you’re mixing into the conversation.”
Bazin understood that he was in the wrong. He hung his head and left.
“Ah,” said d’Artagnan with a smile, “you sell your productions for their weight in gold. You’re a lucky man, my friend. But take care, you’re going to lose that letter that’s sticking out of your tabard, and which is undoubtedly from your bookseller.”
Aramis blushed to the roots of his hair, pushed the letter back in, and buttoned up his doublet.
“My dear d’Artagnan,” he said, “if you’re willing, we’ll go to find our friends. And since I’m rich, today we’ll start dining together again, while we wait for you all to become rich in turn.”
“By heaven,” said d’Artagnan, “with great pleasure! We haven’t had a proper dinner for a long time. And since, for my