The Three Musketeers (Translated by Richard Pevear) - Alexandre Dumas [224]
As a consequence, after traveling all night, at seven o’clock in the morning she was at the Fort de La Pointe, at eight o’clock she was aboard ship, and at nine o’clock the vessel, which, with letters of marque from the cardinal, was supposedly bound for Bayonne, raised anchor and set sail for England.
XLVI
THE SAINT-GERVAIS BASTION
On coming to his three friends’ quarters, d’Artagnan found them all gathered in the same room: Athos was reflecting, Porthos was curling his mustache, Aramis was saying his prayers from a charming little book of hours bound in blue velvet.
“Pardieu, gentlemen,” he said, “I hope that what you have to tell me is worth the trouble! Otherwise I warn you that I won’t forgive you for making me come, instead of letting me rest after a night spent in capturing and demolishing a bastion. Ah, if only you had been there, gentlemen! We had a hot time of it!”
“We were elsewhere, where it wasn’t exactly cold!” replied Porthos, giving his own particular twist to his mustache.
“Shh!” said Athos.
“Oho!” said d’Artagnan, understanding the musketeer’s slight frown, “it seems there’s something new here.”
“Aramis,” said Athos, “you had lunch the day before yesterday at the inn of the Parpaillot,170 I believe?”
“Yes.”
“How is it there?”
“Well, it was a very bad meal in my opinion; the day before yesterday was a fast day, and they had nothing but meat.”
“How’s that?” said Athos. “A seaport without fish?”
“They say,” Aramis picked up, returning to his pious reading, “that the dike M. le cardinal has built drives them out to sea.”
“But that’s not what I was asking you, Aramis,” said Athos. “I was asking if you were quite free, if no one disturbed you?”
“It seems to me that we didn’t have too many pests. Yes, in fact, for what you’re getting at, Athos, we’d do rather well at the Parpaillot.”
“To the Parpaillot, then,” said Athos, “for here the walls are like sheets of writing paper.”
D’Artagnan, who was used to his friend’s way of doing things, and who recognized at a word, at a gesture, at a sign from him, that the circumstances were serious, took Athos’s arm and went out with him without saying a word. Porthos followed them, chatting with Aramis.
On the way they ran into Grimaud. Athos made a sign for him to follow them; Grimaud, as was his habit, obeyed in silence. The poor boy had ended up by almost forgetting how to speak.
They came to the Parpaillot pothouse. It was seven o’clock in the morning; dawn was breaking. The three friends ordered breakfast and went into a room where, according to the host, they would not be disturbed.
Unfortunately, it was a poorly chosen hour for a conciliabule. Reveille had just sounded, everyone was shaking off the night’s sleep, and, to drive away the damp morning air, came to the tavern for a drop to drink: dragoons, Switzers, guards, musketeers, light horse succeeded each other with a speed that must have been very profitable for the host, but which fulfilled the aims of our four friends rather poorly. And so they responded quite gloomily to the greetings, toasts, and jests of their companions.
“Enough!” said Athos. “We’re going to have a nice little quarrel, and we don’t need that right now. D’Artagnan, tell us about your night; we’ll tell you about ours afterwards.”
“Indeed,” said a light horseman, who sidled up to them holding a glass of brandy, which he slowly sipped, “indeed, you were in the trenches last night, gentlemen of the guard, and it seems to me you had a bone to pick with the Rochelois?”
D’Artagnan looked at Athos to see if he should reply to this intruder who had mixed into the conversation.
“Well,