The Three Musketeers

“The fact is,” modestly observed d’Artagnan, “I did not see the handkerchief fall from the pocket of M. Aramis; he had his foot upon it, however, and hence my reason for supposing that it belonged to him.”

“And you were mistaken, sir,” coldly replied Aramis, not very grateful for the apology. Then, turning to the guardsman who had avowed himself the friend of de Bois Tracy, he added, “Besides, on reflection, my worthy comrade, I am the friend of de Bois Tracy as well as yourself, and this handkerchief, strictly speaking, might have come from your pocket as well as from mine.”

“No, upon my honour,” said the musketeer.

“You swear by your honour, and I pledge my word; therefore one of us must evidently lie. But come, Monterau, let us do something better than indulge in counter assertions and denials: let each of us take half.”

“Of the handkerchief?”

“Yes.”

“Perfectly fair,” cried the other two guardsmen; “decidedly the judgment of Solomon. Aramis, you are certainly cram-ful of wisdom!” exclaimed the young men, indulging in hearty laughter; and the affair, as may be imagined, was thus deprived of further importance. Immediately afterwards the conversation ceased, and the friends separated, with a cordial shaking of hands, the three guardsmen going one way, and Aramis another.

“Now is my opportunity for making my peace with this gentleman,” mentally ejaculated d’Artagnan, who had kept somewhat aloof during the latter part of the conversation, and who now, impelled by this good feeling, approached Aramis, who was departing without taking any further notice of him.

“I hope, sir, that you will excuse me,” said he, addressing Aramis.

“Sir,” rejoined the latter, “you must permit me to remark, that you have not acted in this affair as a man of good breeding ought to have done.”

“What inference, sir, am I to draw from your remark?”

“Why, sir, I take it for granted that you are not a fool; and that, although coming from Gascony, you must be well aware that no one walks upon pocket-handkerchiefs without sufficient reason for so doing. Zounds, sir, Paris is not paved with cambric!”

“You do me injustice, sir, in thus endeavouring to mortify me,” said d’Artagnan, in whom the inherent love of quarrelling began to operate much more forcibly than his previous pacific intentions. “I am a Gascon, it is true; and, as you do not require to be informed, the Gascons are not very long-suffering; therefore, when they have once apologised, even should it be for some imprudence, they consider that they have done one half more than they ought to do.”

“What I have said to you, sir,” retorted Aramis, “is not for the purpose of seeking a quarrel with you. Thank God! I am no bully; and being a musketeer only temporarily, I never fight except when I am compelled, and then with the utmost reluctance. This, however, is a serious affair, for a lady here is compromised by you.”

“Say rather by us,” cried d’Artagnan.

“Why did you perpetrate such a stupid blunder as to give me this handkerchief?”

“Why were you so stupid as to let it fall?”

“I have declared, and I repeat, sir, that this handkerchief did not come from my pocket.”

“Well, then, you have twice lied; for I myself saw it fall from your pocket.”

“Ah, is this the tone you choose to assume, Sir Gascon? Well, I must teach you how to behave better.”

“And I will send you back to your missal, M. Abbe; so draw, if you please, this instant?”

“No, I thank you, my fine fellow; not here, at any rate. Do you not perceive that we are opposite the hotel d’Aiguillon, which is full of the cardinal’s creatures. In fact, who can say that it is not his eminence who has commissioned you to procure my head for him. Now, as it happens that I entertain what may appear to you a ridiculous affection for my head, provided it remains tolerably firm on my shoulders, I wish, before parting with it, to kill you. But keep yourself quite easy on that score; I will kill you at leisure, in a retired and secret spot, where you may not be able to boast of your death to any one.”

“I am quite agreeable,” replied d’Artagnan; “but do not be puffed up; and here, take away your handkerchief, whether it belongs to you or not; probably you may have tears to dry.”

“Spoken like a true Gascon, sir,” said Aramis.

“Yes; but that is no reason why you should delay our little affair, unless, indeed, you are influenced by more prudential motives.”

“I know well that prudence, although indispensable to churchmen, is a virtue unknown to the musketeers,” replied Aramis, “and being, as I have informed you, only a soldier temporarily, I am resolved to remain prudent. At two o’clock I shall have the honour of awaiting you at the hotel of M. de Treville, whence I will conduct you to a more convenient spot.”

The two young men then bowed to each other, and parted. Aramis proceeded towards the Luxembourg; whilst d’Artagnan, finding that the time approached, took the road to the Carmes Deschaux, all the while inwardly ejaculating—“Positively, I cannot escape! but at all events, if I am killed, it will be by a musketeer.”

CHAPTER 5 The King’s Musketeers and the Cardinal’s Guards (#ulink_87ec2e0d-b5c9-5308-8f30-820768decb38)

D’Artagnan was friendless in Paris. He therefore went to meet Athos without being provided with a second, having made up his mind to be satisfied with those which accompanied his adversary. Besides, he fully intended to offer the brave musketeer all suitable apologies, but, at the same time, to betray nothing having the slightest appearance of timidity or weakness. He also feared such a result from this duel as may be naturally anticipated in an affair of the kind, where a young and vigorous man fights with an opponent who is wounded and enfeebled; and in which, should the former be vanquished, the triumph of his opponent is doubled; whilst, should the former prove the conqueror, he is not only accused of being brave at small risk, but even his courage is regarded as extremely doubtful. Moreover, unless we have been unsuccessful in our attempt to portray the true character of our adventurer, the reader must have already remarked, that d’Artagnan was no common type. Therefore, although he could not divest himself of the idea that his death was inevitable, he had by no means resolved quietly to resign himself to his fate with that patience which another less courageous than himself might perhaps have displayed in such a case. He pondered upon the different characters of those with whom he was about to engage, and at length began to obtain a clearer view of his situation. By means of the sincere apology which he contemplated, he hoped to conciliate Athos, whose aristocratic air and austere manner quite delighted him. Then he flattered himself that he might intimidate Porthos by the adventure of the belt, whose story, if he were not instantaneously killed, he might relate to every one, so as to overwhelm him with ridicule. Lastly, as regarded the quiet Aramis, he entertained very slight apprehensions; for, supposing that he should survive to fight him, he entertained no doubt of his ability to make short work of him, or, at all events, by wounding him in the face (as Caesar recommended his men to do with Pompey’s soldiers), to spoil for ever that beauty of which he was so vain. In fine, d’Artagnan now brought into action those principles of unconquerable and steady resolve which the counsels of his father had implanted in his heart—counsels which, as we know, had instructed him to submit to nothing like indignity unless it proceeded from the king, the cardinal, or M. de Treville.

Full of these ideas, he sped as if on wings towards the convent des Carmes Deschaux—a building without windows, adjoining a chapel of ease of the Pre-aux-Clercs, and surrounded by dry meadows, which generally served as a rendezvous for those combatants who had no time to lose. As d’Artagnan came in sight of the small open space in front of the convent, it struck the hour of noon, and Athos had already been about five minutes on the ground. He was therefore as punctual as the Samaritan woman, and the most rigorous casuist in the laws of duelling could have found nothing to censure.

Athos, who continued to suffer severely from his wound, although it had again been dressed by M. de Treville’s surgeon, had seated himself on a large stone, where he awaited his adversary with that air of calmness and dignity which never forsook him. As d’Artagnan approached, he arose, and politely advanced some steps to meet him; whilst d’Artagnan, on his part, went towards his antagonist bowing until his plume touched the ground.

“Sir,” said Athos, “I expected two of my friends who are to act as my seconds, but they are not yet arrived. I am surprised that they should be so late, as they are generally punctual!”

“I have no second, sir,” said d’Artagnan; “I only arrived in Paris yesterday; consequently I am unknown to any one here except M. de Treville, to whom I was introduced by my father, who has the honour to claim his friendship.”

Athos mused for an instant, and then said: “So M. de Treville is your only acquaintance?”

“Yes, sir, I know no one but him.”

“Oh, then,” continued Athos sotto voce, “if I should kill you, I shall acquire the reputation of a child-eater.”

“Not entirely so, sir,” answered d’Artagnan, with a bow which was not devoid of dignity, “not quite so; since you do me the honour to draw your sword against me whilst suffering from a wound which must occasion you great inconvenience.”

“Inconvenience! Upon my honour I assure you that you hurt me confoundedly. But I will use my left hand, as I usually do under such circumstances. Yet do not imagine that by this means I do you a favour, as I fight equally well with either hand. Indeed, it will rather be a disadvantage to you, a left-handed man being a very trying opponent to one who is not used to it. I regret, therefore, that I did not apprise you sooner of this circumstance.”

“Really, sir,” said d’Artagnan, again bowing, “you are so very courteous that I cannot be sufficiently grateful.”

“You overwhelm me,” replied Athos, with the air of a well-bred man; “if it be not disagreeable to you, pray let us converse upon some other subject. Ah! how you did hurt me! how my shoulder still burns!”

“Would you permit me—?” said d’Artagnan, somewhat timidly.

“To do what, sir?” inquired Athos.

“I have a salve which is quite a panacea for wounds—a salve which my mother gave me, and which I have tried upon myself with success.”

“And what of it?” continued Athos.

“Why, sir, I am certain that in less than three days this salve would cure you; and at the end of that time, when your cure is completed, it would be a great honour for me to cross swords with you.”

D’Artagnan uttered these words with a simplicity which did honour to his courtesy, without in the slightest degree detracting from his courage.

“By my faith!” exclaimed Athos, “this is a proposition which much pleases me; not that I should think of accepting it; but it savours of the perfect knight, and it was thus that, in the days of Charlemagne, those brave men, whom every man of honour should make his model, spoke. Unfortunately, however, we do not live in the times of the great emperor, but in those of the cardinal; and three days hence, however well we might preserve our secret, it would be known that we were going to fight, and we should be prevented. But,” he added, with some impatience, “these seconds are laggards.”

“If you are in haste, sir,” said d’Artagnan, with the same simplicity that had the moment before characterised his proposition to put off the duel for three days—“if you are in haste, and should wish to dispose of me at once, dispense with the seconds, I beseech you.”

“This speech of yours pleases me still more,” said Athos, gracefully bowing to d’Artagnan, “it does not seem that of a man who lacks either head or heart. I admire men of your stamp, and, if we are spared, I shall hereafter have sincere pleasure in your acquaintance. Meantime, let us wait for these gentlemen, I pray you. I have plenty of time, and it will be more according to rule. Ah! see, here comes one of them.”

And as he spoke, the gigantic form of Porthos was seen at the end of the Rue de Vaugirard.