"Decidedly," said D'Artagnan to himself, "I have struck a good vein.
That star which shines once in the life of every man, which shone for
Job and Iris, the most unfortunate of the Jews and the poorest of the
Greeks, is come at last to shine on me. I will commit no folly, I will
take advantage of it; it comes quite late enough to find me reasonable."
He supped that evening, in very good humor, with his friend Athos;
he said nothing to him about the expected donation, but he could not
forbear questioning his friend, while eating, about country produce,
sowing, and planting. Athos replied complacently, as he always did. His
idea was that D'Artagnan wished to become a land-owner, only he could
not help regretting, more than once, the absence of the lively humor
and amusing sallies of the cheerful companion of former days. In fact,
D'Artagnan was so absorbed, that, with his knife, he took advantage of
the grease left at the bottom of his plate, to trace ciphers and make
additions of surprising rotundity.
The order, or rather license, for their embarkation, arrived at Athos's
lodgings that evening. While this paper was remitted to the comte,
another messenger brought to D'Artagnan a little bundle of parchments,
adorned with all the seals employed in setting off property deeds in
England. Athos surprised him turning over the leaves of these different
acts which established the transmission of property. The prudent
Monk--others would say the generous Monk--had commuted the donation
into a sale, and acknowledged the receipt of the sum of fifteen thousand
crowns as the price of the property ceded. The messenger was gone.
D'Artagnan still continued reading, Athos watched him with a smile.
D'Artagnan, surprising one of those smiles over his shoulder, put the
bundle in its wrapper.
"I beg your pardon," said Athos.
"Oh! not at all, my friend," replied the lieutenant, "I shall tell
you--"
"No, don't tell me anything, I beg you; orders are things so sacred,
that to one's brother, one's father, the person charged with such orders
should never open his mouth. Thus I, who speak to you, and love you more
tenderly than brother, father, or all the world--"
"Except your Raoul?"
"I shall love Raoul still better when he shall be a man, and I shall
have seen him develop himself in all the phases of his character and his
actions--as I have seen you, my friend."
"You said, then, that you had an order likewise, and that you would not
communicate it to me."
"Yes, my dear D'Artagnan."
The Gascon sighed. "There was a time," said he, "when you would have
placed that order open upon the table, saying, 'D'Artagnan, read this
scrawl to Porthos, Aramis, and to me.'"
"That is true. Oh! that was the time of youth, confidence, the generous
season when the blood commands, when it is warmed by feeling!"
"Well! Athos, will you allow me to tell you?"
"Speak, my friend!"
"That delightful time, that generous season, that ruling by warm blood,
were all very fine things, no doubt: but I do not regret them at all.
It is absolutely like the period of studies. I have constantly met with
fools who would boast of the days of pensums, ferules, and crusts of dry
bread. It is singular, but I never loved all that; for my part, however
active and sober I might be (you know if I was so, Athos), however
simple I might appear in my clothes, I would not the less have preferred
the braveries and embroideries of Porthos to my little perforated
cassock, which gave passage to the wind in winter and the sun in summer.
I should always, my friend, mistrust him who would pretend to prefer
evil to good. Now, in times past all went wrong with me, and every month
found a fresh hole in my cassock and in my skin, a gold crown less in my
poor purse; of that execrable time of small beer and see-saw, I regret
absolutely nothing, nothing, nothing save our friendship; for within me
I have a heart, and it is a miracle that heart has not been dried up by
the wind of poverty which passed through all the holes of my cloak, or
pierced by the swords of all shapes which passed through the holes in my
poor flesh."
"Do not regret our friendship," said Athos, "that will only die with
ourselves. Friendship is composed, above all things, of memories and
habits, and if you have just now made a little satire upon mine, because
I hesitate to tell you the nature of my mission into France--"
"Who! I?--Oh! heavens! if you knew, my dear friend, how indifferent all
the missions of the world will henceforth become to me!" And he laid his
hand upon the parchment in his vest pocket.
Athos rose from the table and called the host in order to pay the
reckoning.
"Since I have known you, my friend," said D'Artagnan, "I have never
discharged the reckoning. Porthos often did, Aramis sometimes, and you,
you almost always drew out your purse with the dessert. I am now rich,
and should like to try if it is heroic to pay."
"Do so," said Athos, returning his purse to his pocket.
The two friends then directed their steps towards the port, not,
however, without D'Artagnan's frequently turning round to watch the
transportation of his dear crowns. Night had just spread her thick veil
over the yellow waters of the Thames; they heard those noises of casks
and pulleys, the preliminaries of preparing to sail which had so many
times made the hearts of the musketeers beat when the dangers of the sea
were the least of those they were going to face. This time they were
to embark on board a large vessel which awaited them at Gravesend,
and Charles II., always delicate in small affairs, had sent one of
his yachts, with twelve men of his Scots guard, to do honor to the
ambassador he was sending to France. At midnight the yacht had deposited
its passengers on board the vessel, and at eight o'clock in the
morning, the vessel landed the ambassador and his friend on the wharf at
Boulogne. Whilst the comte, with Grimaud, was busy procuring horses
to go straight to Paris, D'Artagnan hastened to the hostelry where,
according to his orders, his little army was to wait for him. These
gentlemen were at breakfast upon oysters, fish, and spiced brandy, when
D'Artagnan appeared. They were all very gay, but not one of them had
yet exceeded the bounds of reason. A hurrah of joy welcomed the general.
"Here I am," said D'Artagnan, "the campaign is ended. I am come to bring
each his supplement of pay, as agreed upon." Their eyes sparkled.
"I will lay a wager there are not, at this moment, a hundred crowns
remaining in the purse of the richest among you."
"That is true!" cried they in chorus.
"Gentlemen," said D'Artagnan, "then, this is the last order. The treaty
of commerce has been concluded, thanks to our coup-de-main which made
us masters of the most skillful financier of England, for now I am
at liberty to confess to you that the man we had to carry off was the
treasurer of General Monk."
This word treasurer produced a certain effect on his army. D'Artagnan
observed that the eyes of Menneville alone did not evince perfect faith.
"This treasurer," he continued, "I conveyed to a neutral territory,
Holland; I forced him to sign the treaty; I have even reconducted him
to Newcastle, and he was obliged to be satisfied with our proceedings
towards him--the deal coffer being always carried without jolting, and
being lined softly, I asked a gratification for you. Here it is." He
threw a respectable-looking purse upon the cloth; and all involuntarily
stretched out their hands. "One moment, my lambs," said D'Artagnan; "if
there are profits, there are also charges."
"Oh! oh!" murmured they.
"We are about to find ourselves, my friends, in a position which would
not be tenable for people without brains. I speak plainly; we are
between the gallows and the Bastile."
"Oh! Oh!" said the chorus.
"That is easily understood. It was necessary to explain to General Monk
the disappearance of his treasurer. I waited, for that purpose, till the
unhoped-for moment of the restoration of King Charles II., who is one of
my friends."
This army exchanged a glance of satisfaction in reply to the
sufficiently proud look of D'Artagnan. "The king being restored, I
restored to Monk his man of business, a little plucked, it is true, but,
in short, I restored him. Now, General Monk, when he pardoned me, for
he has pardoned me, could not help repeating these words to me, which I
charge every one of you to engrave deeply there, between the eyes, under
the vault of the cranium:--'Monsieur, the joke has been a good one, but
I don't naturally like jokes; if ever a word of what you have done' (you
understand me, Menneville) 'escapes from your lips, or the lips of your
companions, I have, in my government of Scotland and Ireland, seven
hundred and forty-one wooden gibbets, of strong oak, clamped with iron,
and freshly greased every week. I will make a present of one of these
gibbets to each of you, and observe well, M. d'Artagnan,' added he
(observe it also, M. Menneville), 'I shall still have seven hundred and
thirty left for my private pleasure. And still further--'"
"Ah! ah!" said the auxiliaries, "is there still more?"
"A mere trifle. 'Monsieur d'Artagnan, I send to the king of France the
treaty in question, with a request that he will cast into the Bastile
provisionally, and then send to me, all who have taken part in this
expedition; and that is a prayer with which the king will certainly
comply.'"
A cry of terror broke from all corners of the table.
"There! there! there!" said D'Artagnan, "this brave M. Monk has
forgotten one thing, and that is he does not know the name of any one of
you; I alone know you, and it is not I, you well may believe, who will
betray you. Why should I? As for you--I cannot suppose you will be silly
enough to denounce yourselves, for then the king, to spare himself the
expense of feeding and lodging you, will send you off to Scotland, where
the seven hundred and forty-one gibbets are to be found. That is all,
messieurs; I have not another word to add to what I have had the honor
to tell you. I am sure you have understood me perfectly well, have you
not, M. Menneville?"
"Perfectly," replied the latter.
"Now the crowns!" said D'Artagnan. "Shut the doors," he cried, and
opened the bag upon the table, from which rolled several fine gold
crowns. Every one made a movement towards the floor.
"Gently!" cried D'Artagnan. "Let no one stoop, and then I shall not
be out in my reckoning." He found it all right, gave fifty of those
splendid crowns to each man, and received as many benedictions as he
bestowed pieces. "Now," said he, "if it were possible for you to reform
a little, if you could become good and honest citizens--"
"That is rather difficult," said one of the troop.
"What then, captain?" said another.
"Because I might be able to find you again, and, who knows what other
good fortune?" He made a sign to Menneville, who listened to all he said
with a composed air. "Menneville," said he, "come with me. Adieu, my
brave fellows! I need not warn you to be discreet."
Menneville followed him, whilst the salutations of the auxiliaries were
mingled with the sweet sound of the money clinking in their pockets.
"Menneville," said D'Artagnan, when they were once in the street, "you
were not my dupe; beware of being so. You did not appear to have any
fear of the gibbets of Monk, or the Bastile of his majesty, King Louis
XIV., but you will do me the favor of being afraid of me. Then listen;
at the smallest word that shall escape you, I will kill you as I would a
fowl. I have absolution from our holy father, the pope, in my pocket."
"I assure you I know absolutely nothing, my dear M. d'Artagnan, and that
your words have all been to me so many articles of faith."
"I was quite sure you were an intelligent fellow," said the musketeer;
"I have tried you for a length of time. These fifty crowns which I give
you above the rest will prove the esteem I have for you. Take them."
"Thanks, Monsieur d'Artagnan," said Menneville.
"With that sum you can really become an honest man," replied D'Artagnan,
in the most serious tone possible. "It would be disgraceful for a mind
like yours, and a name you no longer dare to bear, to sink forever under
the rust of an evil life. Become a gallant man, Menneville, and live for
a year upon those hundred gold crowns: it is a good provision; twice
the pay of a high officer. In a year come to me, and, Mordioux! I will
make something of you."
Menneville swore, as his comrades had sworn, that he would be as silent
as the grave. And yet some one must have spoken; and as, certainly, it
was not one of the nine companions, and quite as certainly, it was
not Menneville, it must have been D'Artagnan, who, in his quality of a
Gascon, had his tongue very near to his lips. For, in short, if it were
not he, who could it be? And how can it be explained that the secret of
the deal coffer pierced with holes should come to our knowledge, and
in so complete a fashion that we have, as has been seen, related the
history of it in all its most minute details; details which, besides,
throw a light as new as unexpected upon all that portion of the history
of England which has been left, up to the present day, completely in
darkness by the historian of our neighbors?