The Three Musketeers (Translated by Richard Pevear) - Alexandre Dumas [241]
It contained half a line, in a very British hand and of a very Spartan brevity:
Thank you, be easy.
Athos took the letter from d’Artagnan’s hands, brought it to the lamp, and set fire to it, and did not let go of it until it was reduced to ashes.
Then, calling Planchet, he said to him:
“Now, my lad, you can claim your seven hundred livres, but you weren’t running much risk with a note like that.”
“Not that I didn’t invent lots of ways to keep it hidden,” said Planchet.
“Well, now,” said d’Artagnan, “tell us about that.”
“Oh, it’s a long story, Monsieur.”
“You’re right, Planchet,” said Athos. “Besides, they’ve sounded retreat, and we’ll attract notice if we keep the light on longer than the others.”
“Very well,” said d’Artagnan, “let’s go to bed. Sleep well, Planchet!”
“By heaven, Monsieur, it will be the first time in sixteen days!”
“For me, too!” said d’Artagnan.
“For me, too!” repeated Porthos.
“For me, too!” repeated Aramis.
“Well, to tell you the truth—for me, too!” said Athos.
XLIX
FATALITY
Meanwhile Milady, drunk with wrath, roaring from the deck of the vessel like a lioness being put aboard ship, had been tempted to throw herself into the sea in order to get back to shore, for she could not accept the idea that she had been insulted by d’Artagnan, threatened by Athos, and was leaving France without having been revenged on them. The idea had soon become so unbearable to her that, at the risk of terrible consequences for herself, she had begged the captain to put her ashore; but the captain, anxious to escape his false position, placed between French and English cruisers like a bat between the rats and the birds, was in great haste to return to England, and stubbornly refused to obey what he took to be a feminine caprice, promising his passenger, who, moreover, had been especially recommended to him by the cardinal, to put her off, if the sea and the French permitted, at one of the ports of Brittany, either Lorient or Brest; but meanwhile the wind was contrary, the sea was rough, they tacked about and ran to windward. It was only nine days after leaving the Charente that Milady, all pale with her afflictions and her rage, saw the bluish coast of Finisterre appear.
She calculated that to cross that corner of France and return to the cardinal would take her at least three days; add one day for the landing and it made four; add those four days to the nine others, that was thirteen days lost, thirteen days during which many important events could take place in London. She reflected that the cardinal would without any doubt be furious at her return, and consequently would be more disposed to listen to the complaints brought against her than to the accusations she brought against others. She therefore let Lorient and Brest go by without insisting with the captain, who, for his part, was careful not to alert her. Milady thus continued on her way, and the same day that Planchet embarked for France at Portsmouth, His Eminence’s messenger triumphantly entered port.
The whole town was in an extraordinary commotion: four large ships, recently completed, had just been launched into the sea. Standing on the jetty, glittering with gold, sparkling, as was his habit, with diamonds and precious stones, his hat adorned with a white feather that fell to his shoulder, Buckingham could be seen, surrounded by a staff almost as brilliant as himself.
It was one of those fine and rare winter days when England remembers that there is a sun. The paled but still splendid star was setting on the horizon, empurpling the sky and sea at once with strips of flame, and casting on the towers and old houses of the town a last golden ray, which made the windows glow like the reflection of a fire. Breathing this sea air, more keen and fragrant with the approach of land, contemplating all the power of these preparations that she was ordered to