The Three Musketeers (Translated by Richard Pevear) - Alexandre Dumas [225]
“Habend you tekken a pastion?” asked a Switzer, who was drinking rum from a beer glass.
“Yes, Monsieur,” replied d’Artagnan, bowing, “we had that honor. As you may have heard, we even introduced a keg of powder under one corner, which, on exploding, made a very pretty breach; not to mention that, since the bastion wasn’t built yesterday, the rest of the structure was quite badly shaken.”
“And what bastion was it?” asked a dragoon, who had a goose spitted on his sabre that he had brought to be cooked.
“The Saint-Gervais bastion,” replied d’Artagnan, “from the cover of which the Rochelois were harassing our workmen.”
“And was it a hot business?”
“Why, yes. We lost five men in it, and the Rochelois eight or ten.”
“Balzampleu!” cried the Switzer, who, though the German language possesses an admirable collection of oaths, had acquired the habit of cursing in French.
“But it’s likely,” said the light horseman, “that they’ll send pioneers this morning to put the bastion back into shape.”
“Yes, it’s likely,” said d’Artagnan.
“Gentlemen,” said Athos, “a bet!”
“Ach, ja, a pet!” said the Switzer.
“What is it?” asked the light horseman.
“Wait,” said the dragoon, placing his sabre like a spit on the two massive andirons that held up the fire in the hearth, “count me in. You woeful hosteler! A dripping pan at once! I don’t want to lose a drop of grease from this estimable fowl!”
“Und he’s right,” said the Switzer, “goose grease makes fery gut gondiments.”
“There!” said the dragoon. “Now, what about the bet? We’re listening, M. Athos!”
“Yes, the bet!” said the light horseman.
“Well, then, M. de Busigny, I bet you,” said Athos, “that I and my three companions, MM. Porthos, Aramis, and d’Artagnan, will go to have lunch in the Saint-Gervais bastion, and that we’ll hold it for an hour by the clock, whatever the enemy does to dislodge us.”
Porthos and Aramis looked at each other. They were beginning to understand.
“But,” said d’Artagnan, leaning over to Athos’s ear, “you’re going to get us killed quite mercilessly.”
“We’re still more killed if we don’t go,” replied Athos.
“Ah, by heaven, gentlemen,” said Porthos, throwing himself back in his chair and twirling his mustache, “there’s a splendid bet, I should hope!”
“I accept!” said M. de Busigny. “Now it’s a matter of setting the stakes.”
“There are four of you, gentlemen,” said Athos, “and four of us: dinner for eight, all you can eat—does that suit you?”
“Wonderfully,” replied M. de Busigny.
“Perfectly,” said the dragoon.
“Dat zoots me,” said the Switzer.
The fourth listener, who had played a mute role throughout this conversation, nodded his head as a sign that he agreed to the proposition.
“The gentlemen’s lunch is ready,” said the host.
“Well, bring it then!” said Athos.
The host obeyed. Athos called Grimaud, showed him a big basket lying in a corner, and made a gesture of wrapping the food that had been brought in napkins.
Grimaud understood instantly that it was a question of a picnic, took the basket, packed up the food, added some bottles, and slung the basket over his arm.
“But where are you going to eat my lunch?” asked the host.
“What does it matter to you,” said Athos, “provided we pay you for it?”
And he majestically tossed two pistoles on the table.
“Do you want the change, officer?” asked the host.
“No, just add two bottles of champagne, and the difference will go for the napkins.”
The host did not make as good a deal as he had thought at first, but he compensated himself for it by slipping the four guests two bottles of Anjou wine instead of two bottles of champagne.
“M. de Busigny,” said Athos, “would you kindly set your watch by mine, or allow me to set mine by yours?”
“Excellent, Monsieur!” said the light horseman, pulling from his watch pocket an extremely handsome watch set round with diamonds. “Seven-thirty,” he said.
“Seven-thirty-five,” said Athos. “We shall know that I am