The Three Musketeers (Translated by Richard Pevear) - Alexandre Dumas [196]
The musketeer found himself a superb Andalusian horse, black as jade, with flaming nostrils, fine and elegant legs, which was going on six years old. He examined it and found it flawless. He was asked a thousand livres.
Perhaps he could have had it for less; but while d’Artagnan was debating the price with the horse dealer, Athos counted out the hundred pistoles on the table.
Grimaud got a Picard horse, thickset and strong, that cost three hundred livres.
But once the saddle for the latter horse and arms for Grimaud were bought, not a sou was left of Athos’s hundred and fifty pistoles. D’Artagnan offered to let his friend take a bite out of his own share, which he could pay back later.
But Athos’s only response was a shrug of the shoulders.
“How much did the Jew offer to buy the sapphire outright?” he asked.
“Five hundred pistoles.”
“In other words, two hundred pistoles more—a hundred for you, a hundred for me. Why, that’s a veritable fortune, my friend. Go back to the Jew.”
“You mean you want to…”
“That ring will decidedly bring back too many sad memories to me. And then, we’ll never have the three hundred pistoles to give him, so we’re just losing two hundred pistoles on the deal. Go and tell him the ring is his, d’Artagnan, and come back with the two hundred pistoles.”
“Think it over, Athos.”
“Ready money is precious these days, and we must know how to make sacrifices. Go, d’Artagnan, go. Grimaud will accompany you with his musketoon.”
Half an hour later, d’Artagnan came back with the two thousand livres and without any incidents on the way.
Thus Athos found resources in his household that he was not expecting at all.
XXXIX
A VISION
At four o’clock, the four friends met at Athos’s. Their concerns about outfitting themselves had vanished entirely, and each face kept the expression only of its own secret concerns, for behind every present happiness a future fear lies hidden.
All at once Planchet came in, bringing two letters addressed to d’Artagnan.
One was a little note nicely folded lengthwise, with a pretty seal of green wax bearing the impression of a dove carrying an olive branch.
The other was a big square epistle resplendent with the terrible coat of arms of His Eminence the cardinal-duke.
At the sight of the little letter, d’Artagnan’s heart leaped, for he thought he recognized the handwriting; and though he had seen that handwriting only once, the memory of it had remained in the depths of his heart.
He thus took the little epistle and quickly unsealed it. It told him:
Go for a ride next Wednesday, between six and seven in the evening, on the road to Chaillot, and look carefully into the passing carriages, but if you value your life and that of people who love you, do not say a word, do not make a gesture that could lead anyone to think you have recognized her who is exposing herself to so much in order to catch a momentary glimpse of you.
No signature.
“It’s a trap,” said Athos. “Don’t go, d’Artagnan.”
“And yet,” said d’Artagnan, “I seem to recognize the handwriting.”
“It may be a counterfeit,” replied Athos. “Between six and seven, at this time of year, the road to Chaillot is completely deserted: you might as well go for a walk in the forest of Bondy.”
“But what if we should all go!” said d’Artagnan. “Devil take it, they’ll never devour all four of us, plus four lackeys, plus the horses, plus the weapons.”
“Then, too, it will be an occasion for showing off our outfits,” said Porthos.
“But if it’s a woman writing,” said Aramis, “and that woman wishes not to be seen, think how you’ll compromise her, d’Artagnan—which is a bad thing on a gentleman’s part.”
“We’ll drop back,” said Porthos, “and he can go ahead by himself.”
“Yes, but a pistol is quickly fired from a galloping carriage.”
“Bah!” said d’Artagnan, “they’ll miss me. Then we’ll catch up with the carriage and exterminate whomever we find in it. That will always be so many fewer enemies.