The Three Musketeers

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. Good!”

But, to his great astonishment, the shutter continued closed; and, what was more, the light, which had flashed for an instant, disappeared, and all became dark again.

D’Artagnan thought that this could not last, and continued to watch with all his eyes and ears. He was right; in a few seconds, two knocks were heard from the inside; and when the young woman of the street answered by one knock, the shutter opened.

It may be judged if d’Artagnan did not look and listen eagerly.

Unfortunately, the light had been removed into some other room; but the eyes of the young man were accustomed to the darkness. Besides, it is said that the eyes of Gascons, like those of cats, have the faculty of seeing in the night.

D’Artagnan was able, therefore, to see the young woman take from her pocket something white, which she unfolded quickly, and which took the form of a pocket handkerchief, and she then drew the attention of the person she addressed to the corner of the object she unfolded.

This reminded d’Artagnan of the handkerchief he had found at the feet of Madame Bonancieux, which, also, had recalled to his recollection the one that he had drawn from under the foot of Aramis.

What the deuce, then, could this handkerchief mean?

Situated as he was, d’Artagnan could not see the countenance of Aramis—we say Aramis, because the young man had no doubt that it was his friend who was conversing from the inside with the lady on the outside. His curiosity, therefore, overcame his prudence; and, profiting by the earnest attention which the sight of the handkerchief excited in the two persons whom we have described, he left his place of concealment, and, quickly as lightning, yet with cautious step, placed himself near a corner of the wall, from which his eye could completely overlook the inside of Aramis’s apartment.

On reaching this spot, he was scarcely able to restrain an exclamation of surprise. It was not Aramis who was conferring with the midnight visitor, but a woman. D’Artagnan could just discern enough to recognise the general aspect of her vesture, but not to distinguish her features. At that moment the woman in the room drew a handkerchief from her own pocket, and exchanged it for the one which had been shown to her. A few words were then pronounced by the two women, the shutter was closed, and the woman in the street returned, and, lowering the hood of her cloak passed within four paces of d’Artagnan. But her precaution had been taken too late; he had already recognised Madame Bonancieux.

Madame Bonancieux! The suspicion had already crossed his mind when he saw her take the handkerchief from her pocket; but what probability was there that Madame Bonancieux, who had sent for M. de la Porte, in order that he might conduct her to the Louvre, should be coursing through the streets of Paris at half-past eleven at night, at the hazard of being carried off a second time? It must unquestionably be on some important affair; and what affair is of importance to a woman of twenty-five but love?

But was it on her own account, or that of some other person, that she exposed herself to this risk? This was the inward doubt of the young man, whom the demon of jealousy was now tormenting, as though he had been an acknowledged lover. To satisfy himself as to where Madame Bonancieux was going, there was, in fact, one very simple way, which was to follow her. So simple, indeed, did this course appear, that d’Artagnan adopted it naturally, and as it were by instinct.

But, at the sight of the young man who moved from the wall, like a statue escaping from its alcove, and at the sound of his steps behind her, Madame Bonancieux uttered a faint scream, and fled.

D’Artagnan ran after her. It was no great difficulty for him to catch a woman encumbered by a large cloak. He overtook her, in fact, before she had gone a third of the length of the street. The poor woman was exhausted, not by fatigue, but terror; and when d’Artagnan put his hand upon her shoulder, she sunk upon one knee, exclaiming in a suffocated voice—

“I will die before you learn anything.”

D’Artagnan raised her up, by placing his arm round her waist, but, perceiving by her weight that she was upon the point of fainting, he hastened to encourage her by protestations of devotion. These protestations were of no avail against Madame Bonancieux, for they may easily be made with the most mischievous intentions in the world; but the voice was everything. The young woman thought that she recognised that voice. She opened her eyes, threw one glance upon the man who had so frightened her, and, seeing that it was d’Artagnan, gave utterance to a cry of joy.

“Oh! it is you, it is you,” said she. “God be thanked!”

“Yes, it is I,” said d’Artagnan, “whom God has sent to guard you.”

“And was it with this intent that you followed me,” asked the young woman, with a smile full of coquetry; for all her fears had vanished, and her love of badinage had resumed its ascendancy, on the instant that she recognised a friend in him whom she had dreaded as a foe.

“No,” replied d’Artagnan. “No, I confess that it is chance which put me on your track. I saw a woman knocking at the window of one of my friends.”

“Of one of your friends!” interrupted Madame Bonancieux.

“Yes, certainly! Aramis is one of my intimates.”

“Aramis! who is he?”

“Come, now, do you pretend to tell me that you do not know Aramis?”

“It is the first time that I ever heard his name.”

“Then it is the first time that you have visited this house?”

“Yes, indeed!”

“And you did not know that a young man occupied it?”

“No.”

“A musketeer?”

“By no means.”

“Then it was not him that you came to look for?”

“Most assuredly not! Besides, you must have plainly seen that the person whom I talked to was a woman.”

“That is true; but then this woman is one of Aramis’s friends!”

“I know nothing about that.”

“Why, she lodges at his house.”

“That is not my affair.”