The Three Musketeers (Translated by Richard Pevear) - Alexandre Dumas [181]
“Let it be old burgundy; I don’t detest it either,” said Aramis, from whom the sight of the gold had removed, as if by sleight of hand, all thoughts of retirement.
And having put three or four double pistoles in his pocket to answer to the needs of the moment, he locked up the rest in the ebony chest inlaid with mother-of-pearl, where he had already put the famous handkerchief that had served him as a talisman.
The two friends went first to see Athos, who, faithful to the oath he had taken not to go out, undertook to have dinner brought to his place. As he had a perfect understanding of gastronomic details, d’Artagnan and Aramis had no difficulty in leaving this important task to him.
They were on their way to see Porthos when, at the corner of the rue du Bac, they ran into Mousqueton, who, with a pitiable look, was driving a mule and a horse before him.
D’Artagnan let out a cry of surprise, which was not without an admixture of joy.
“Ah, my yellow horse!” he cried. “Aramis, look at this horse!”
“What a frightful old cob!” said Aramis.
“Well, my dear,” d’Artagnan picked up, “that’s the horse I came to Paris on!”
“What? Monsieur knows this horse?” said Mousqueton.
“The color’s original,” said Aramis. “It’s the only one I’ve ever seen with a hide like that.”
“I can well believe it,” d’Artagnan picked up. “I sold him for three écus, and it must have been for the hide, because the carcass certainly wasn’t worth eighteen livres. But how did you wind up with this horse, Mousqueton?”
“Ah!” said the valet, “don’t speak of it, Monsieur. It’s a frightful trick of our duchess’s husband!”
“How’s that, Mousqueton?”
“Yes, we’re looked upon with a very kindly eye by a lady of quality, the duchess of…But, forgive me, my master has urged me to be discreet. She had forced us to accept a little souvenir, a magnificent Spanish jennet and an Andalusian mule that was a wonder to behold. The husband found out about it, confiscated the two magnificent beasts as they were being sent to us, and substituted these horrible animals for them!”
“Which you are bringing back to him?” asked d’Artagnan.
“Exactly!” replied Mousqueton. “You understand that we can hardly accept such mounts in exchange for the ones that were promised us.”
“No, pardieu, though I’d love to have seen Porthos on my Buttercup; it would have given me an idea of how I looked myself when I arrived in Paris. But don’t let us detain you, Mousqueton. Go, go, and carry out your master’s commission. Is he at home?”
“Yes, Monsieur,” said Mousqueton, “but very grumpy, I can tell you!”
And he continued on his way towards the quai des Grands-Augustins, while the two friends went to ring at the unfortunate Porthos’s door. The latter had seen them crossing the courtyard and took care not to open. So they rang in vain.
Meanwhile, Mousqueton continued on his route, and, crossing the Pont-Neuf, constantly driving the two nags before him, came to the rue aux Ours. On arriving there, following his master’s orders, he tied the horse and the mule to the procureur’s door knocker. Then, without worrying about their future fate, he went to find Porthos and announced to him that his commission had been carried out.
After a while, the two wretched beasts, who had not eaten since morning, made so much noise by raising the knocker and letting it fall that the procureur ordered his errand boy to go and find out from the neighbors whom the horse and mule belonged to.
Mme Coquenard recognized her present, and at first could not understand this restitution; but soon a visit from Porthos enlightened her. The wrath that shone in the musketeer’s eyes, despite the restraint he imposed on himself, frightened his sensitive lady love. Indeed, Mousqueton had not concealed from his master that he had run into d’Artagnan and Aramis, and that d’Artagnan had recognized the yellow horse as the Béarnais nag on which he had come to Paris, and which