The Three Musketeers (Translated by Richard Pevear) - Alexandre Dumas [52]
“No, Monsieur, no; you seem to be an honest young man, and I will trust you. I believe, then, that my wife has been apprehended not on account of her love affairs, but on account of those of a woman higher than she.”
“Aha! might it be on account of the love affairs of Mme de Bois-Tracy?” said d’Artagnan, who wished to have the air, visà-vis his bourgeois, of being in the know about the doings at court.
“Higher, Monsieur, higher.”
“Of Mme d’Aiguillon?”
“Still higher.”
“Of Mme de Chevreuse?”
“Higher, much higher!”
“Of the…” d’Artagnan stopped.
“Yes, Monsieur,” the frightened bourgeois replied, so softly that he could barely be heard.
“And with whom?”
“Who can it be, if not the duke of…”
“The duke of…”
“Yes, Monsieur!” replied the bourgeois, giving a still lower intonation to his voice.
“But how do you know all that?”
“Ah! how do I know?”
“Yes, how do you know? No half trust, or…you understand.”
“I know it from my wife, Monsieur, from my wife herself.”
“Who knows it from whom?”
“From M. de La Porte. Didn’t I tell you that she is the goddaughter of M. de La Porte, the queen’s trusted man? Well, M. de La Porte placed her near Her Majesty so that our poor queen would have at least someone to trust, abandoned as she is by the king, spied on as she is by the cardinal, betrayed as she is by everyone.”
“Aha! something’s taking shape here,” said d’Artagnan.
“Now, my wife came four days ago, Monsieur. One of her conditions was that she should visit me twice a week, for, as I have had the honor of telling you, my wife loves me very much. So my wife came and confided to me that the queen was in great fear at that moment.”
“Really?”
“Yes, M. le cardinal, as it seems, is pursuing her and persecuting her more than ever. He cannot forgive her the story of the saraband. You know the story of the saraband?”
“Pardieu, as if I didn’t!” replied d’Artagnan, who knew nothing at all about it, but wanted to have the air of being in the know.
“So that now it is no longer a matter of hatred, but of vengeance.”
“Really?”
“And the queen thinks…”
“Well, what does the queen think?”
“She thinks someone has written to the duke of Buckingham in her name.”
“In the queen’s name?”
“Yes, to make him come to Paris, and once he has come to Paris, to draw him into some trap.”
“Devil take it! But what, my dear Monsieur, does your wife have to do with all this?”
“Her devotion to the queen is known, and they want to distance her from Her Majesty, or intimidate her in order to find out Her Majesty’s secrets, or seduce her in order to use her as a spy.”
“That’s probable,” said d’Artagnan. “But do you know the man who abducted her?”
“I’ve told you that I think I know him.”
“His name?”
“I don’t know that; I know only that he is a creature of the cardinal, his tool.”
“But have you seen him?”
“Yes, my wife showed him to me one day.”
“Does he have any signs one could recognize him by?”
“Oh, certainly! He’s a lord of haughty bearing, black hair, dark skin, a piercing eye, white teeth, and a scar on his temple.”
“A scar on his temple!” cried d’Artagnan. “And along with that, white teeth, a piercing eye, dark skin, black hair, and a haughty bearing! It’s my man from Meung!”
“Your man, you say?”
“Yes, yes, but that doesn’t change anything. No, I’m wrong; that simplifies a great deal. On the contrary: if your man is mine, I’ll have two vengeances at one stroke, that’s all. But where can the man be found?”
“I don’t know.”
“You have no information about where he lives?”
“None. One day as I was taking my wife back to the Louvre, he came out as she was going in, and she pointed him out to me.”
“Devil take it! Devil take it!” murmured d’Artagnan. “This is all very vague. Who told you about your wife’s abduction?”
“M. de La Porte.”
“Did he give you any details?”
“He had none.”
“And you’ve learned nothing from any other quarter?”
“Yes, I have. I received…”
“What?”
“But perhaps I am committing a great imprudence?”
“You’re starting on that again? However, I’ll observe