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This man could crush him, and yet he had not done so. For a mind as perspicacious as d’Artagnan’s, this indulgence was the light by which he saw into a better future.

Then, he had made yet another enemy, less to be feared, he thought, but who he felt instinctively was not to be scorned. That enemy was Milady.

In exchange for all that, he had acquired the protection and benevolence of the queen, but the benevolence of the queen, at the current time, was one more cause of persecution; and her protection, as we know, protected very poorly—witness Chalais and Mme Bonacieux.

Thus the clearest gain he had made in all this was the fiveor six-thousand-livre diamond he wore on his finger; and even that diamond, supposing that d’Artagnan, in his ambitious plans, wanted to keep it in order to use it one day as a sign of recognition with the queen, meanwhile, since he could not dispose of it, had no more value than the pebbles he was trampling underfoot.

We say trampling underfoot, for d’Artagnan was making these reflections while walking alone down a pretty little path that led to the camp in the village of Angoutin. But these reflections had led him further than he thought, and the day was beginning to decline when, in the last ray of the setting sun, behind a hedge, he seemed to see the gleam of a musket barrel.

D’Artagnan had a sharp eye and a quick mind. He understood that the musket had not come there by itself, and that the one carrying it had not hidden behind a hedge with friendly intentions. He decided to clear off, but then, on the other side of the road, behind a rock, he noticed the tip of another musket.

It was evidently an ambush.

The young man cast a glance at the first musket and saw with a certain uneasiness that it was taking aim at him, but as soon as he saw the mouth of the barrel stop moving, he threw himself to the ground. At the same time, the shot rang out, and he heard the whistle of a bullet passing over his head.

There was no time to lose. D’Artagnan leaped up, and at that same moment the bullet of the other musket sent the pebbles flying at the very place on the path where he had been lying face down.

D’Artagnan was not one of those uselessly brave men who court a ridiculous death so that it will be said of them that they did not yield an inch; besides, it was not a question of courage here: d’Artagnan had fallen into a trap.

“If there’s a third shot,” he said to himself, “I’m done for!”

And taking to his heels at once, he ran off in the direction of the camp, with the swiftness of the folk of his province, so renowned for their agility. But fast as he ran, the first one who had fired, having had time to reload his gun, fired a second shot at him, so well aimed this time that it went through his hat and sent it flying ten feet in front of him.

However, as d’Artagnan had no other hat, he picked it up as he ran, reached his quarters quite out of breath and pale, sat down without saying anything to anyone, and began to reflect.

This event could have three causes:

The first and most natural would be an ambush by the Rochelois,153 who would not have been sorry to kill one of His Majesty’s guards, first because that was one less enemy, and then because that enemy might have a well-stuffed purse in his pocket.

D’Artagnan picked up his hat, examined the bullet hole, and shook his head. The bullet was not a musket ball; it was a ball from an arquebus.154 The accuracy of the shot had already made him think it had been fired by a personal weapon: this was not, then, a military ambush, since the ball was of the wrong caliber.

It could be a nice souvenir from M. le cardinal. It will be recalled that, at the very moment when, thanks to that blessed ray of sunlight, he caught sight of the gun barrel, he was marveling at His Eminence’s forebearance regarding him.

But d’Artagnan shook his head. With men towards whom he had only to reach out his hand, His Eminence rarely had recourse to such methods.

It could be the vengeance of Milady.

That was more probable.