The Three Musketeers (Translated by Richard Pevear) - Alexandre Dumas [30]
D’Artagnan was not so foolish as to fail to perceive that he was one too many; but he was not yet so broken to the ways of society as to gallantly get himself out of such a false situation as is generally that of a man who comes to mix with people he hardly knows and in a conversation that does not concern him. He was thus racking his brains for a means of making his retreat with the least possible awkwardness, when he noticed that Aramis had dropped his handkerchief and, no doubt inadvertently, had placed his foot on it. It seemed to him that the moment had come to make up for his impropriety: he bent down and, with the most graceful air he could muster, drew the handkerchief from under the musketeer’s foot, for all the efforts the latter made to keep it there, and said as he handed it to him:
“I believe, Monsieur, that this is a handkerchief you would be sorry to lose.”
The handkerchief was indeed richly embroidered and bore a coronet and a coat of arms at one of its corners. Aramis blushed exceedingly and tore rather than took the handkerchief from the Gascon’s hands.
“Aha!” cried one of the guards. “Will you still say, discreet Aramis, that you’re on bad terms with Mme de Bois-Tracy, when the gracious lady is kind enough to lend you her handkerchiefs?”
Aramis shot d’Artagnan one of those glances which make a man understand that he has just acquired a mortal enemy. Then, resuming his suave air, he said: “You’re mistaken, gentlemen, this handkerchief isn’t mine, and I don’t know what whim made Monsieur give it to me rather than to one of you. The proof of what I’m saying is that my own is here in my pocket.”
With those words he pulled out his own handkerchief, a very elegant one as well, and of fine cambric, though cambric was costly at that time, but a handkerchief without embroidery, without a coat of arms, and ornamented with a single initial, that of its owner.
This time d’Artagnan did not breathe a word; he had realized his blunder; but Aramis’s friends would not be convinced by his denials, and one of them, turning to Aramis with affected seriousness, said:
“If it were as you claim, I would be forced, my dear Aramis, to demand it back from you; for, as you know, Bois-Tracy is among my intimates, and I do not want anyone to make a trophy of his wife’s belongings.”
“Your demand is ill put,” replied Aramis, “and while I recognize the fundamental fairness of your objection, I refuse on account of the form.”
“The fact is,” d’Artagnan ventured timidly, “that I didn’t see the handkerchief come from M. Aramis’s pocket. He had his foot on it, that’s all, and I thought, since he had his foot on it, that the handkerchief was his.”
“And you were mistaken, my dear Monsieur,” Aramis replied coldly, little sensible of the amends.
Then, turning to the guard who had declared himself a friend of Bois-Tracy, he continued:
“Besides, it occurs to me, my dear intimate of Bois-Tracy, that I am no less loving a friend of his than you may be yourself; so that, strictly speaking, this handkerchief could just as well have come from your pocket as from mine.”
“No, on my honor!” cried His Majesty’s guard.
“You will swear on your honor and I on my word, which means that one of us will obviously be lying. Wait, let’s do better, Montaran, let’s each take a half.”
“Of the handkerchief?”
“Yes.”
“Perfect,” cried the other two guards, “the judgment of Solomon.27 Decidedly, Aramis, you are filled with wisdom.”
The young men burst out laughing, and, as we might well expect, the affair had no further consequences. A moment later, the conversation came to an end, and the three guards and the musketeer, after cordially shaking hands, went off, the three guards one way and Aramis the other.
“Now’s the moment to make peace with this gallant man,” d’Artagnan said to himself, having stood aside during the whole last part of this conversation. And, with that good