The Three Musketeers. Alexandre Dumas

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СКАЧАТЬ bloom, that down on the peach—had evaporated in the storm of somewhat unorthodox advice which the three musketeers had given to their friend. According to the curious customs of the time, he had come to look upon himself as being just as much engaged in a campaign whilst he was at Paris, as though he had been in Flanders. Spaniard there, woman here: yet, in either case, there was an enemy to overcome, and contributions to raise.

      But let us not disguise that the young Gascon was, at present, influenced by a nobler and more disinterested feeling. The mercer had confessed to him that he was rich; and it was easy to infer that, with a simpleton like Bonancieux, the wife would be the keeper of the purse. But nothing of this kind had contributed to that sentiment which the sight of Madame Bonancieux had inspired, and selfishness had been almost disregarded in the dawning love which had arisen from his interview. We say almost—for the assurance that a young, lovely, charming and witty woman is rich also, has a tendency, not to diminish, but rather to corroborate, this growth of sentiment. In easy circumstances, there are a crowd of aristocratic cares and caprices which accord well with beauty. A white and fine stocking, a silken dress, a lace kerchief, a pretty little shoe, a becoming ribband, do not make an ugly woman pretty, but they make a pretty woman irresistible; whilst her hands, moreover, are sure to be the gainers by her wealth; for the hands—in women, especially—must remain idle to be beautiful.

      Now, as the reader very well knows—for we have made no secret of the state of his finances—d’Artagnan was not a man of large fortune. It is true that he quite expected to become so, at some future time; but the date which he had himself fixed on for that happy transformation, was as yet far distant. In the meantime, what sorrow would it be to see the woman whom one idolizes sighing for the thousand trifles in which so much of the happiness of womankind consists, and to be unable to procure them for her. But when the woman is rich, although the lover is poor, the gifts which he cannot present, she can provide for herself; and then, although it may most frequently be with the husband’s money that these enjoyments are obtained, it is not commonly to this husband that the gratitude is shown.

      Thus disposed to become the most passionate of admirers, d’Artagnan had not ceased to be a devoted friend. In the midst of his more tender feelings towards the mercer’s wife, he was not forgetful of his companions. The pretty Madame Bonancieux was the very woman to take on an excursion to the plain of Saint Denis, or the fair at St. Germain, in company with Athos, Porthos, and Aramis, to whom he should be so proud to show his charming conquest. And then—as d’Artagnan had happened to remark of late—after a long walk one gets hungry; and they would have some of those pleasant little dinners, during which one touches on this side the hand of a friend, on that the foot of a mistress. Finally, in moments of emergency, in great extremities, might it not be his happiness to be the saviour of his friends?

      But what of M. Bonancieux, whom d’Artagnan had given over to the keeping of the officers; disowning him aloud, whilst, in a whisper, he assured him of his care? We must confess to our readers, that d’Artagnan had never thought of him at all; or, if he did think of him, it was merely to congratulate himself, that he was very well where he was, wherever that might be. Love is the most selfish of all our passions.

      Nevertheless, let our readers take comfort: though d’Artagnan forgets his landlord, or pretends to forget him, under the excuse of not knowing where he has been taken, we have not forgotten him, and do know where he is. But, for the present, let us act like the amorous Gascon. As for the worthy mercer, we will return to him by and by.

      D’Artagnan, whilst meditating on his future love, and conversing with the night, and smiling on the stars, proceeded along the Rue de Cherche Midi, or Chasse Midi, as it was then called. Being in Aramis’s neighbourhood, he thought he might as well pay him a visit, to explain why he had sent Planchet with the invitation to come immediately to the mousetrap.

      If Planchet had found Aramis at home, the latter had probably hastened to the Rue des Fossoyeurs, and, finding nobody there but his other two friends, perhaps, they would all have been in ignorance of what the summons meant. This dilemma needed some explanation; or, at least, so said d’Artagnan aloud.

      But, in his inner soul, he thought that this call would give him an opportunity of talking of the pretty Madame Bonancieux, with whom his mind, if not his heart, was already quite occupied. It is not in regard to a first love that we must look for discretion. The joy with which such a love is attended is so exuberant, that it must overflow, or it would suffocate us.

      For the last two hours Paris had been dark and nearly deserted. Eleven o’clock was striking from all the clocks of the Faubourg St. Germain; the time was mild, and d’Artagnan was passing down a small street situated on the ground where the Rue d’Assas now stands, where the air was redolent of odours which were borne on the wind along the Rue de Vaugiraud, from gardens that the evening dews and the gentle gales refreshed. Afar off, though deadened by substantial shutters, was heard the revelry of the wine shops which were scattered over the flat quarters. Having reached the end of this street, d’Artagnan turned to the left. The house where Aramis lived was situated between the Rue Cassette and the Rue Servandoni.

      D’Artagnan had already passed by the Rue Cassette, and could just perceive the door of his friend’s house, embosomed amidst sycamores and clematis, when he saw something like a shadow which came out of the Rue Servandoni. This something was enveloped in a cloak, and d’Artagnan at first thought that it was a man; but from the smallness of its size, the irresolution of its manner, and its impeded step, he soon became convinced that it must be a woman. And, moreover, this woman, as though she was uncertain of the house she sought for, lifted up her eyes to examine, stopped, turned back, and then retraced her steps. D’Artagnan was at a loss.

      “Suppose I should go and proffer my services!” thought he. “By her manner it is evident that she is young, and perhaps she is pretty. Oh, yes! But then a woman who runs about the streets at this hour, seldom goes out except to meet her lover. Plague! if I should interrupt an appointment, it would be but a bad kind of introduction.”

      The young woman, however, still came forward, counting the windows and the houses. This was not indeed a long or difficult operation. There were but three hotels in that part of the street, and but two windows looking upon the thoroughfare; of which one was that of a pavilion, parallel to the pavilion of Aramis, and the other that of Aramis himself.

      “By Jove!” said d’Artagnan to himself, as he suddenly remembered the theologian’s niece—“by Jove! it would be droll if this wandering dove is looking for my friend’s house. But, upon my soul, it seems very like it. Ah, my dear Aramis! I will be satisfied about it once and for all.”

      Making himself as small as possible, d’Artagnan concealed himself in the most obscure part of the street, near a stone bench placed at the back of a niche.

      The young woman continued to advance; for, besides the lightness of her step which had betrayed her, a slight, small cough had also denoted a gentle voice. D’Artagnan concluded that this cough was a signal.

      Nevertheless, whether this cough had been answered by some corresponding signal which had ended the uncertainties of her nocturnal search, or whether, without any such external aid, she perceived herself to have found her journey’s end, the lady advanced resolutely, and knocked three times, at equal intervals, and with a bent finger, on the shutter of Aramis’s window.

      “It is really at Aramis’s house,” muttered d’Artagnan.

      “Ah, Mr. Hypocrite I catch you studying theology!”

      Scarcely had the three taps been given, before the inner casement opened, and a light appeared.

      “Ah, ah!” said the listener, “not at the door, but the window! Ah! ah! the visit was expected. Come, the shutter will be opened presently, and the lady will get in by escalade. СКАЧАТЬ