The Three Musketeers (Translated by Richard Pevear) - Alexandre Dumas [306]
Planchet went in search of the postilion who had driven the post chaise, and found him. He had driven the lady as far as Fromelles, and from Fromelles she had set out for Armentières. Planchet went across country, and by seven in the morning was in Armentières.
There was only one hôtel, the Hôtel de la Poste. Planchet went to introduce himself as an unemployed lackey who was looking for a position. Before he had spoken ten minutes with the folk of the inn, he knew that a woman had arrived alone at eleven o’clock in the evening, had taken a room, had sent for the maître d’hôtel, and had told him that she wished to stay for a time in the neighborhood.
Planchet had no need to know more. He ran to the rendezvous, found the three punctual lackeys at their post, placed them as sentries at all the exits of the hotel, and went to find Athos, who had just finished receiving Planchet’s information when his friends came in.
All their faces were gloomy and tense, even the gentle face of Aramis.
“What must we do?” asked d’Artagnan.
“Wait,” replied Athos.
Each of them retired to his own room.
At eight o’clock in the evening, Athos gave orders to saddle the horses, and informed Lord de Winter and his friends that they should make ready for the expedition.
In an instant all five were ready. Each of them saw to his weapons and put them in good order. Athos went down first and found d’Artagnan already mounted and growing impatient.
“Patience,” said Athos, “we’re still missing someone.”
The four horsemen looked around them in astonishment, uselessly racking their brains for who this missing someone might be.
At that moment, Planchet brought Athos’s horse, and the musketeer leaped lightly into the saddle.
“Wait for me,” he said. “I’ll be right back.”
And he set off at a gallop.
A quarter of an hour later, he indeed came back, accompanied by a masked man wrapped in a large red cloak.
Lord de Winter and the three musketeers looked questioningly at each other. None of them could enlighten the others, for none of them knew who this man was. However, they thought that it ought to be so, since the thing had been done on Athos’s orders.
At nine o’clock, guided by Planchet, the little cavalcade set off, taking the route that the carriage had followed.
It was a sorry sight to see these six men riding along in silence, each sunk in his own thoughts, dismal as despair, grim as retribution.
LXV
THE JUDGMENT
It was a dark and stormy night. Big clouds raced across the sky, veiling the brightness of the stars. The moon would not rise before midnight.
Sometimes, by a flash of lightning that gleamed on the horizon, the road could be seen stretching away white and solitary; then, when the lightning died out, everything fell back into darkness.
Athos kept asking d’Artagnan, who always rode at the head of the little troop, to fall back into line, but after a moment he would abandon it again. His only thought was to go on, and on he went.
They passed silently through the village of Festubert, where the wounded servant had stayed, then followed along the wood of Richebourg. On reaching Herlies, Planchet, who was still guiding the column, turned left.
Several times, Lord de Winter, or Porthos, or Aramis had tried to address a word to the man in the red cloak; but to each question put to him, he had nodded without replying. The travelers had understood then that there was some reason for the unknown man to keep silent, and they had stopped speaking to him.
Besides, the storm was building up, flashes of lightning came in rapid succession, thunder began to rumble, and the wind, precursor of the tempest, whistled across the plain, ruffling the horsemen’s plumes.
The cavalcade went into a fast trot. Cloaks were unfurled. There were still three leagues