The Three Musketeers (Translated by Richard Pevear) - Alexandre Dumas [240]
“Really,” Athos said to them, “you’re not men but children, if a woman can frighten you so much! And what is it about, after all? Being imprisoned! Well, but they will get us out of prison: they got Mme Bonacieux out well enough. Being decapitated? But every day in the trenches we expose ourselves to worse than that, for a bullet can break your leg, and I’m sure the surgeon will make you suffer more in cutting up your thigh than the executioner in cutting off your head. Keep calm, then. In two hours, in four, in six hours at the latest, Planchet will be here. He promised to be, and I have great faith in the promises of Planchet, who strikes me as a very brave lad.”
“But what if he doesn’t come?” said d’Artagnan.
“Well, if he doesn’t come, it means he was delayed, that’s all. He might have fallen off his horse, he might have tumbled over a bridge, he might have ridden so fast that he caught an inflammation of the lungs. Eh, gentlemen, let’s make allowance for events! Life is a chaplet of little miseries, and the philosopher tells it over with a laugh. Be philosophers like me, gentlemen. Sit down and let’s drink. The future never looks so rosy as when it’s viewed through a glass of chambertin.”
“That’s all very well,” said d’Artagnan, “but I’m tired of having to worry, every time I have a cool drink, that the wine may have come from Milady’s cellar.”
“You’re a finicky one,” said Athos. “Such a beautiful woman!”
“A branded woman!” said Porthos, with his loud laugh.
Athos shuddered, ran his hand over his forehead to wipe away the sweat, and stood up in his turn with a nervous movement that he could not repress.
The day passed, however, and evening, though it came more slowly, finally came. The pothouses filled up with clients. Athos, who had pocketed his share of the diamond, never left the Parpaillot. In M. de Busigny, who, moreover, had given them a magnificent dinner, he had found a partner worthy of himself. They were playing cards together, as usual, when it struck seven. They heard the patrols pass by, going to reinforce the posts. At half-past seven retreat was sounded.
“We’re lost,” d’Artagnan said in Athos’s ear.
“You mean we’ve lost,” Athos said calmly, taking four pistoles from his pocket and tossing them on the table. “Come, gentlemen, they’re sounding retreat, let’s go to bed.”
And Athos left the Parpaillot, followed by d’Artagnan. Aramis came behind, giving his arm to Porthos. Aramis was mumbling some verses, and Porthos tore a few hairs from his mustache now and then in a sign of despair.
But, lo and behold, all at once a shadow whose form was familiar to d’Artagnan detached itself from the darkness, and a well-known voice said to him:
“Monsieur, I’ve brought you your cloak, for it’s chilly tonight.”
“Planchet!” cried d’Artagnan, drunk with joy.
“Planchet!” repeated Porthos and Aramis.
“Well, yes, it’s Planchet,” said Athos. “What’s so surprising about that? He promised to be back by eight o’clock, and here it’s just striking eight. Bravo, Planchet! You’re a lad of your word, and if you ever leave your master, I’ll keep a place for you in my service.”
“Oh, no, never!” said Planchet. “I will never leave M. d’Artagnan.”
At the same time, d’Artagnan felt Planchet slip a note into his hand.
D’Artagnan had a great desire to embrace Planchet on his return, as he had on his departure; but he was afraid that this token of effusion, given to his lackey in the middle of the street, might seem extraordinary to some passerby, and he restrained himself.
“I’ve got the letter,” he said to Athos and his friends.
“That’s good,” said Athos. “Let’s go home and read it.”
The letter burned d’Artagnan’s hand. He wanted to quicken the pace, but Athos took his arm and passed it under his own, and the young man was forced to adjust his speed to that of his friend.
At last they went into the tent and lighted