The Three Musketeers (Translated by Richard Pevear) - Alexandre Dumas [211]
When the hour of the feast came, the two guests arrived, took their places, and the dishes lined themselves up on the table. Planchet served with a napkin over his arm, Fourreau uncorked the bottles, and Brisemont (that was the convalescent’s name) decanted the wine into carafes, for it seemed to have thrown a sediment owing to the bumps in the road. The first bottle of this wine was a bit clouded at the bottom. Brisemont poured the lees into a glass, and d’Artagnan allowed him to drink it; for the poor fellow still did not have much strength.
The guests, after finishing the soup, were about to bring the first glass to their lips, when all at once the cannon thundered from Fort Louis and the Port-Neuf. The guards, thinking it was some unexpected attack either from the besieged forces or from the English, jumped for their swords at once. D’Artagnan, no less nimble, did the same, and all three left at a run to report to their posts.
But they were hardly out of the pothouse when they found themselves staring at the cause of the great commotion. Cries of “Long live the king!” and “Long live the cardinal!” rang out on all sides, and drums were beating in all directions.
Indeed, the king, impatient as we have said, had just doubled two days’ marches and arrived at that very moment with all his household and a reinforcement of ten thousand troops. His musketeers preceded and followed him. D’Artagnan, lined up with his company, saluted his friends with an expressive gesture. They responded with their eyes, as did M. de Tréville, who had recognized him first thing.
Once the reception ceremony was over, the four friends were soon in each other’s arms.
“Pardieu!” cried d’Artagnan, “you couldn’t possibly have arrived more opportunely; the food won’t even have had time to get cold! Isn’t that so, gentlemen?” the young man added, turning to the two guards, whom he introduced to his friends.
“Aha! it seems we’re banqueting!” said Porthos.
“I hope,” said Aramis, “that there are no women at your dinner!”
“Is there any drinkable wine in your shanty?” asked Athos.
“Pardieu! There’s yours, my dear friend!” replied d’Artagnan.
“Our wine?” said Athos, astonished.
“Yes, the wine you sent me.”
“We sent you wine?”
“But you know very well, that little wine from the slopes of Anjou.”
“Yes, I know very well which wine you mean.”
“Your favorite wine.”
“To be sure, when I don’t have champagne or chambertin.”
“Well, for lack of champagne and chambertin, you can content yourself with this.”
“So we sent you Anjou wine, gourmets that we are?” said Porthos.
“No, I was sent the wine in your name.”
“In our name?” said the three musketeers.
“Was it you who had the wine sent, Aramis?” asked Athos.
“No, and you, Porthos?”
“No, and you, Athos?”
“No.”
“If it wasn’t you,” said d’Artagnan, “it was your hosteler.”
“Our hosteler?”
“Why, yes! Your hosteler, Godeau, hosteler to the musketeers.”
“By heaven, let it come from wherever it likes, it’s no matter,” said Porthos. “Let’s try it, and if it’s good, we’ll drink it.”
“No,” said Athos, “we won’t drink wine from an unknown source.”
“You’re right, Athos,” said d’Artagnan. “None of you directed the hosteler Godeau to send me wine?”
“No! And yet he sent it to you in our name?”
“Here’s the letter!” said d’Artagnan.
And he handed the note to his comrades.
“That’s not his writing!” cried Athos. “I know his hand. It was I who settled accounts for the community before we left.”
“A false letter,” said Porthos. “We were never confined to barracks.”
“D’Artagnan,” asked Aramis in a reproachful tone, “how could you believe we made a racket?…”
D’Artagnan turned pale, and a convulsive trembling shook all his limbs.
“You frighten me,” said Athos. “What’s happened?”
“Run quickly, quickly, my friends!” cried d’Artagnan. “A horrible suspicion has just occurred to me! Can this be another attempt at vengeance from that woman?”
This time it was Athos