The Three Musketeers (Translated by Richard Pevear) - Alexandre Dumas [251]
One can imagine how this discovery increased his desire to overhear the conversation. His eyes acquired a strange expression, and with catlike steps he went up to the hedge; but he had managed to catch only a few vague syllables of no definite import, when a brief and ringing cry startled him and drew the attention of the musketeers.
“Officer!” cried Grimaud.
“You spoke, I believe, you rascal,” said Athos, propping himself on his elbow and fixing Grimaud with his fiery gaze.
And so Grimaud did not add another word, contenting himself with pointing his finger in the direction of the hedge and by this gesture giving away the cardinal and his escort.
With a single leap, the four musketeers got to their feet and bowed respectfully.
The cardinal looked furious.
“It seems one posts guards among the gentlemen musketeers!” he said. “Is it that the English are coming by land, or might it be that the musketeers regard themselves as superior officers?”
“Monseigneur,” replied Athos, for in the midst of the general fright he alone had kept that lordly calm and coolheadedness which never left him. “Monseigneur, the musketeers, when they are not on duty, or their duty is over, drink and throw dice, and for their lackeys they are very superior officers.”
“Lackeys?” growled the cardinal. “Lackeys who are under orders to warn their masters when someone passes by are not lackeys, they are sentries.”
“His Eminence sees very well, however, that if we had not taken this precaution, we would have exposed ourselves to letting him pass by without paying our respects to him and offering him our thanks for the favor he has done us in uniting us. D’Artagnan,” Athos continued, “you were just asking for this chance to express your gratitude to Monseigneur—here it is, take advantage of it.”
These words were uttered with that imperturbable phlegm which distinguished Athos in times of danger, and that extreme politeness which made of him at certain moments a king more majestic than those who are born kings.
D’Artagnan approached and stammered a few words of thanks, which soon expired under the cardinal’s grim gaze.
“Never mind, gentlemen,” the cardinal continued, not seeming deflected in the least from his original intention by the point Athos had just raised, “never mind, gentlemen, I don’t like it when simple soldiers, because they have the advantage of serving in a privileged corps, make great lords of themselves like this. Discipline is the same for everybody.”
Athos allowed the cardinal to round off his phrase and, bowing in a sign of assent, went on in his turn:
“I hope, Monseigneur, that we have in no way neglected discipline. We are not on duty, and we thought that, not being on duty, we could dispose of our time as we saw fit. If we are so fortunate that His Eminence has some special order to give us, we are ready to obey him. Monseigneur can see,” Athos went on, frowning, for this sort of interrogation was beginning to irritate him, “that, in order to be ready for the least alarm, we have brought our weapons with us.”
And he pointed out to the cardinal the four muskets stacked together near the drum on which the cards and dice lay.
“Your Eminence may believe,” added d’Artagnan, “that we would have gone to meet him, if we had been able to suppose that it was he who was coming towards us in so small a company.”
The cardinal chewed his mustaches and even bit his lips slightly.
“Do you know what you look like, always together, as you are now, armed as you are, and guarded by your lackeys?” said the cardinal. “You look like four conspirators.”
“Oh, as for that, Monseigneur,