Александр Дюма
Twenty Years After
60. Respect to Fallen Majesty
As our fugitives approached the house, they found the ground cut up, as if a considerable body of horsemen had preceded them. Before the door the traces were yet more apparent; these horsemen, whoever they might be, had halted there.
“Egad!” cried D’Artagnan, “it’s quite clear that the king and his escort have been by here.”
“The devil!” said Porthos; “in that case they have eaten everything.”
“Bah!” said D’Artagnan, “they will have left a chicken, at least.” He dismounted and knocked on the door. There was no response.
He pushed open the door and found the first room empty and deserted.
“Well?” cried Porthos.
“I can see nobody,” said D’Artagnan. “Aha!”
“What?”
“Blood!”
At this word the three friends leaped from their horses and entered. D’Artagnan had already opened the door of the second room, and from the expression of his face it was clear that he there beheld some extraordinary object.
The three friends drew near and discovered a young man stretched on the ground, bathed in a pool of blood. It was evident that he had attempted to regain his bed, but had not had sufficient strength to do so.
Athos, who imagined that he saw him move, was the first to go up to him.
“Well?” inquired D’Artagnan.
“Well, if he is dead,” said Athos, “he has not been so long, for he is still warm. But no, his heart is beating. Ho, there, my friend!”
The wounded man heaved a sigh. D’Artagnan took some water in the hollow of his hand and threw it upon his face. The man opened his eyes, made an effort to raise his head, and fell back again. The wound was in the top of his skull and blood was flawing copiously.
Aramis dipped a cloth into some water and applied it to the gash. Again the wounded man opened his eyes and looked in astonishment at these strangers, who appeared to pity him.
“You are among friends,” said Athos, in English; “so cheer up, and tell us, if you have the strength to do so, what has happened?”
“The king,” muttered the wounded man, “the king is a prisoner.”
“You have seen him?” asked Aramis, in the same language.
The man made no reply.
“Make your mind easy,” resumed Athos, “we are all faithful servants of his majesty.”
“Is what you tell me true?” asked the wounded man.
“On our honor as gentlemen.”
“Then I may tell you all. I am brother to Parry, his majesty’s lackey.”
Athos and Aramis remembered that this was the name by which De Winter had called the man they had found in the passage of the king’s tent.
“We know him,” said Athos, “he never left the king.”
“Yes, that is he. Well, he thought of me, when he saw the king was taken, and as they were passing before the house he begged in the king’s name that they would stop, as the king was hungry. They brought him into this room and placed sentinels at the doors and windows. Parry knew this room, as he had often been to see me when the king was at Newcastle. He knew that there was a trap-door communicating with a cellar, from which one could get into the orchard. He made a sign, which I understood, but the king’s guards must have noticed it and held themselves on guard. I went out as if to fetch wood, passed through the subterranean passage into the cellar, and whilst Parry was gently bolting the door, pushed up the board and beckoned to the king to follow me. Alas! he would not. But Parry clasped his hands and implored him, and at last he agreed. I went on first, fortunately. The king was a few steps behind me, when suddenly I saw something rise up in front of me like a huge shadow. I wanted to cry out to warn the king, but that very moment I felt a blow as if the house was falling on my head, and fell insensible. When I came to myself again, I was stretched in the same place. I dragged myself as far as the yard. The king and his escort were no longer there. I spent perhaps an hour in coming from the yard to this place; then my strength gave out and I fainted again.”
“And now how are you feeling?”
“Very ill,” replied the wounded man.
“Can we do anything for you?” asked Athos.
“Help to put me on the bed; I think I shall feel better there.”
“Have you any one to depend on for assistance?”
“My wife is at Durham and may return at any moment. But you-is there nothing that you want?”
“We came here with the intention of asking for something to eat.”
“Alas, they have taken everything; there isn’t a morsel of bread in the house.”
“You hear, D’Artagnan?” said Athos; “we shall have to look elsewhere for our dinner.”
“It is all one to me now,” said D’Artagnan; “I am no longer hungry.”
“Faith! neither am I,” said Porthos.
They carried the man to his bed and called Grimaud to dress the wound. In the service of the four friends Grimaud had had so frequent occasion to make lint and bandages that he had become something of a surgeon.
In the meantime the fugitives had returned to the first room, where they took counsel together.
“Now,” said Aramis, “we know how the matter stands. The king and his escort have gone this way; we had better take the opposite direction, eh?”
Athos did not reply; he reflected.
“Yes,” said Porthos, “let us take the opposite direction; if we follow the escort we shall find everything devoured and die of hunger. What a confounded country this England is! This is the first time I have gone without my dinner for ten years, and it is generally my best meal.”
“What do you think, D’Artagnan?” asked Athos. “Do you agree with Aramis?”
“Not at all,” said D’Artagnan; “I am precisely of the contrary opinion.”
“What! you would follow the escort?” exclaimed Porthos, in dismay.
“No, I would join the escort.”
Athos’s eyes shone with joy.
“Join the escort!” cried Aramis.
“Let D’Artagnan speak,” said Athos; “you know he always has wise advice to give.”
“Clearly,” said D’Artagnan, “we must go where they will not look for us. Now, they will be far from looking for us among the Puritans; therefore, with the Puritans we must go.”
“Good, my friend, good!” said Athos. “It is excellent advice. I was about to give it when you anticipated me.”
“That, then, is your opinion?” asked Aramis.
“Yes. They will think we are trying to leave England and will search for us at the ports; meanwhile we shall reach London with the king. Once in London we shall be hard to find-without considering,” continued Athos, throwing a glance at Aramis, “the chances that may come to us on the way.”
“Yes,” said Aramis, “I understand.”
“I, however, do not understand,” said Porthos. “But no matter; since it is at the same time the opinion of D’Artagnan and of Athos, it must be the best.”
“But,” said Aramis, “shall we not be suspected by Colonel Harrison?”
“Egad!” cried D’Artagnan, “he’s just the man I count upon. Colonel Harrison is one of our friends. We have met him twice at General Cromwell’s. He knows that we were sent from France by Monsieur Mazarin; he will consider us as brothers. Besides, is he not a butcher’s son? Well, then, Porthos shall show him how to knock down an ox with a blow of the fist, and I how to trip up a bull by taking him by the horns. That will insure his confidence.”
Athos smiled. “You are the best companion that I know, D’Artagnan,” he said, offering his hand to the Gascon; “and I am very happy in having found you again, my dear son.”
This was, as we have seen, the term which Athos applied to D’Artagnan in his more expansive moods.
At this moment Grimaud came in. He had stanched the wound and the man was better.
The four friends took leave of him and asked if they could deliver any message for him to his brother.
“Tell him,” answered the brave man, “to let the king know that they have not killed me outright. However insignificant I am, I am sure that his majesty is concerned for me and blames himself for my death.”
“Be easy,” said D’Artagnan, “he will know all before night.”
The little troop recommenced their march, and at the end of two hours perceived a considerable body of horsemen about half a league ahead.
“My dear friends,” said D’Artagnan, “give your swords to Monsieur Mouston, who will return them to you at the proper time and place, and do not forget you are our prisoners.”
It was not long before they joined the escort. The king was riding in front, surrounded by troopers, and when he saw Athos and Aramis a glow of pleasure lighted his pale cheeks.
D’Artagnan passed to the head of the column, and leaving his friends under the guard of Porthos, went straight to Harrison, who recognized him as having met him at Cromwell’s and received him as politely as a man of his breeding and disposition could. It turned out as D’Artagnan had foreseen. The colonel neither had nor could have any suspicion.
They halted for the king to dine. This time, however, due precautions were taken to prevent any attempt at escape. In the large room of the hotel a small table was placed for him and a large one for the officers.
“Will you dine with me?” asked Harrison of D’Artagnan.
“Gad, I should be very happy, but I have my companion, Monsieur du Vallon, and the two prisoners, whom I cannot leave. Let us manage it better. Have a table set for us in a corner and send us whatever you like from yours.”
“Good,” answered Harrison.
The matter was arranged as D’Artagnan had suggested, and when he returned he found the king already seated at his little table, where Parry waited on him, Harrison and his officers sitting together at another table, and, in a corner, places reserved for himself and his companions.
The table at which the Puritan officers were seated was round, and whether by chance or coarse intention, Harrison sat with his back to the king.
The king saw the four gentlemen come in, but appeared to take no notice of them.
They sat down in such a manner as to turn their backs on nobody. The officers, table and that of the king were opposite to them.
“I’faith, colonel,” said D’Artagnan, “we are very grateful for your gracious invitation; for without you we ran the risk of going without dinner, as we have without breakfast. My friend here, Monsieur du Vallon, shares my gratitude, for he was particularly hungry.”
“And I am so still,” said Porthos bowing to Harrison.
“And how,” said Harrison, laughing, “did this serious calamity of going without breakfast happen to you?”
“In a very simple manner, colonel,” said D’Artagnan. “I was in a hurry to join you and took the road you had already gone by. You can understand our disappointment when, arriving at a pretty little house on the skirts of a wood, which at a distance had quite a gay appearance, with its red roof and green shutters, we found nothing but a poor wretch bathed-Ah! colonel, pay my respects to the officer of yours who struck that blow.”
“Yes,” said Harrison, laughing, and looking over at one of the officers seated at his table. “When Groslow undertakes this kind of thing there’s no need to go over the ground a second time.”
“Ah! it was this gentleman?” said D’Artagnan, bowing to the officer. “I am sorry he does not speak French, that I might tender him my compliments.”
“I am ready to receive and return them, sir,” said the officer, in pretty good French, “for I resided three years in Paris.”
“Then, sir, allow me to assure you that your blow was so well directed that you have nearly killed your man.”
“Nearly? I thought I had quite,” said Groslow.
“No. It was a very near thing, but he is not dead.”
As he said this, D’Artagnan gave a glance at Parry, who was standing in front of the king, to show him that the news was meant for him.
The king, too, who had listened in the greatest agony, now breathed again.
“Hang it,” said Groslow, “I thought I had succeeded better. If it were not so far from here to the house I would return and finish him.”
“And you would do well, if you are afraid of his recovering; for you know, if a wound in the head does not kill at once, it is cured in a week.”
And D’Artagnan threw a second glance toward Parry, on whose face such an expression of joy was manifested that Charles stretched out his hand to him, smiling.
Parry bent over his master’s hand and kissed it respectfully.
“I’ve a great desire to drink the king’s health,” said Athos.
“Let me propose it, then,” said D’Artagnan.
“Do,” said Aramis.
Porthos looked at D’Artagnan, quite amazed at the resources with which his companion’s Gascon sharpness continually supplied him. D’Artagnan took up his camp tin cup, filled it with wine and arose.
“Gentlemen,” said he, “let us drink to him who presides at the repast. Here’s to our colonel, and let him know that we are always at his commands as far as London and farther.”
And as D’Artagnan, as he spoke, looked at Harrison, the colonel imagined the toast was for himself. He arose and bowed to the four friends, whose eyes were fixed on Charles, while Harrison emptied his glass without the slightest misgiving.
The king, in return, looked at the four gentlemen and drank with a smile full of nobility and gratitude.
“Come, gentlemen,” cried Harrison, regardless of his illustrious captive, “let us be off.”
“Where do we sleep, colonel?”
“At Thirsk,” replied Harrison.
“Parry,” said the king, rising too, “my horse; I desire to go to Thirsk.”
“Egad!” said D’Artagnan to Athos, “your king has thoroughly taken me, and I am quite at his service.”
“If what you say is sincere,” replied Athos, “he will never reach London.”
“How so?”
“Because before then we shall have carried him off.”
“Well, this time, Athos,” said D’Artagnan, “upon my word, you are mad.”
“Have you some plan in your head then?” asked Aramis.
“Ay!” said Porthos, “the thing would not be impossible with a good plan.”
“I have none,” said Athos; “but D’Artagnan will discover one.”
D’Artagnan shrugged his shoulders and they proceeded.
61. D’Artagnan hits on a Plan
As night closed in they arrived at Thirsk. The four friends appeared to be entire strangers to one another and indifferent to the precautions taken for guarding the king. They withdrew to a private house, and as they had reason every moment to fear for their safety, they occupied but one room and provided an exit, which might be useful in case of an attack. The lackeys were sent to their several posts, except that Grimaud lay on a truss of straw across the doorway.
D’Artagnan was thoughtful and seemed for the moment to have lost his usual loquacity. Porthos, who could never see anything that was not self-evident, talked to him as usual. He replied in monosyllables and Athos and Aramis looked significantly at one another.
Next morning D’Artagnan was the first to rise. He had been down to the stables, already taken a look at the horses and given the necessary orders for the day, whilst Athos and Aramis were still in bed and Porthos snoring.
At eight o’clock the march was resumed in the same order as the night before, except that D’Artagnan left his friends and began to renew the acquaintance which he had already struck up with Monsieur Groslow.
Groslow, whom D’Artagnan’s praises had greatly pleased, welcomed him with a gracious smile.
“Really, sir,” D’Artagnan said to him, “I am pleased to find one with whom to talk in my own poor tongue. My friend, Monsieur du Vallon, is of a very melancholy disposition, so much so, that one can scarcely get three words out of him all day. As for our two prisoners, you can imagine that they are but little in the vein for conversation.”
“They are hot royalists,” said Groslow.
“The more reason they should be sulky with us for having captured the Stuart, for whom, I hope, you’re preparing a pretty trial.”
“Why,” said Groslow, “that is just what we are taking him to London for.”
“And you never by any chance lose sight of him, I presume?”
“I should think not, indeed. You see he has a truly royal escort.”
“Ay, there’s no fear in the daytime; but at night?”
“We redouble our precautions.”
“And what method of surveillance do you employ?”
“Eight men remain constantly in his room.”
“The deuce, he is well guarded, then. But besides these eight men, you doubtless place some guard outside?”
“Oh, no! Just think. What would you have two men without arms do against eight armed men?”
“Two men-how do you mean?”
“Yes, the king and his lackey.”
“Oh! then they allow the lackey to remain with him?”
“Yes; Stuart begged this favor and Harrison consented. Under pretense that he’s a king it appears he cannot dress or undress without assistance.”
“Really, captain,” said D’Artagnan, determined to continue on the laudatory tack on which he had commenced, “the more I listen to you the more surprised I am at the easy and elegant manner in which you speak French. You have lived three years in Paris? May I ask what you were doing there?”
“My father, who is a merchant, placed me with his correspondent, who in turn sent his son to join our house in London.”
“Were you pleased with Paris, sir?”
“Yes, but you are much in want of a revolution like our own-not against your king, who is a mere child, but against that lazar of an Italian, the queen’s favorite.”
“Ah! I am quite of your opinion, sir, and we should soon make an end of Mazarin if we had only a dozen officers like yourself, without prejudices, vigilant and incorruptible.”
“But,” said the officer, “I thought you were in his service and that it was he who sent you to General Cromwell.”
“That is to say I am in the king’s service, and that knowing he wanted to send some one to England, I solicited the appointment, so great was my desire to know the man of genius who now governs the three kingdoms. So that when he proposed to us to draw our swords in honor of old England you see how we snapped up the proposition.”
“Yes, I know that you charged by the side of Mordaunt.”
“On his right and left, sir. Ah! there’s another brave and excellent young man.”
“Do you know him?” asked the officer.
“Yes, very well. Monsieur du Vallon and myself came from France with him.”
“It appears, too, you kept him waiting a long time at Boulogne.”
“What would you have? I was like you, and had a king in keeping.”
“Aha!” said Groslow; “what king?”
“Our own, to be sure, the little one-Louis XIV.”
“And how long had you to take care of him?”
“Three nights; and, by my troth, I shall always remember those three nights with a certain pleasure.”
“How do you mean?”
“I mean that my friends, officers in the guards and mousquetaires, came to keep me company and we passed the night in feasting, drinking, dicing.”
“Ah true,” said the Englishman, with a sigh; “you Frenchmen are born boon companions.”
“And don’t you play, too, when you are on guard?”
“Never,” said the Englishman.
“In that case you must be horribly bored, and have my sympathy.”
“The fact is, I look to my turn for keeping guard with horror. It’s tiresome work to keep awake a whole night.”
“Yes, but with a jovial partner and dice, and guineas clinking on the cloth, the night passes like a dream. You don’t like playing, then?”
“On the contrary, I do.”
“Lansquenet, for instance?”
“Devoted to it. I used to play almost every night in France.”
“And since your return to England?”
“I have not handled a card or dice-box.”
“I sincerely pity you,” said D’Artagnan, with an air of profound compassion.
“Look here,” said the Englishman.
“Well?”
“To-morrow I am on guard.”
“In Stuart’s room?”
“Yes; come and pass the night with me.”
“Impossible!”
“Impossible! why so?”
“I play with Monsieur du Vallon every night. Sometimes we don’t go to bed at all!”
“Well, what of that?”
“Why, he would be annoyed if I did not play with him.”
“Does he play well?”
“I have seen him lose as much as two thousand pistoles, laughing all the while till the tears rolled down.”
“Bring him with you, then.”
“But how about our prisoners?”
“Let your servants guard them.”
“Yes, and give them a chance of escaping,” said D’Artagnan. “Why, one of them is a rich lord from Touraine and the other a knight of Malta, of noble family. We have arranged the ransom of each of them-2,000 on arriving in France. We are reluctant to leave for a single moment men whom our lackeys know to be millionaires. It is true we plundered them a little when we took them, and I will even confess that it is their purse that Monsieur du Vallon and I draw on in our nightly play. Still, they may have concealed some precious stone, some valuable diamond; so that we are like those misers who are unable to absent themselves from their treasures. We have made ourselves the constant guardians of our men, and while I sleep Monsieur du Vallon watches.”
“Ah! ah!” said Groslow.
“You see, then, why I must decline your polite invitation, which is especially attractive to me, because nothing is so wearisome as to play night after night with the same person; the chances always balance and at the month’s end nothing is gained or lost.”
“Ah!” said Groslow, sighing; “there is something still more wearisome, and that is not to play at all.”
“I can understand that,” said D’Artagnan.
“But, come,” resumed the Englishman, “are these men of yours dangerous?”
“In what respect?”
“Are they capable of attempting violence?”
D’Artagnan burst out laughing at the idea.
“Jesus Dieu!” he cried; “one of them is trembling with fever, having failed to adapt himself to this charming country of yours, and the other is a knight of Malta, as timid as a young girl; and for greater security we have taken from them even their penknives and pocket scissors.”
“Well, then,” said Groslow, “bring them with you.”
“But really-” said D’Artagnan.
“I have eight men on guard, you know. Four of them can guard the king and the other four your prisoners. I’ll manage it somehow, you will see.”
“But,” said D’Artagnan, “now I think of it-what is to prevent our beginning to-night?”
“Nothing at all,” said Groslow.
“Just so. Come to us this evening and to-morrow we’ll return your visit.”
“Capital! This evening with you, to-morrow at Stuart’s, the next day with me.”
“You see, that with a little forethought one can lead a merry life anywhere and everywhere,” said D’Artagnan.
“Yes, with Frenchmen, and Frenchmen like you.”
“And Monsieur du Vallon,” added the other. “You will see what a fellow he is; a man who nearly killed Mazarin between two doors. They employ him because they are afraid of him. Ah, there he is calling me now. You’ll excuse me, I know.”
They exchanged bows and D’Artagnan returned to his companions.
“What on earth can you have been saying to that bulldog?” exclaimed Porthos.
“My dear fellow, don’t speak like that of Monsieur Groslow. He’s one of my most intimate friends.”
“One of your friends!” cried Porthos, “this butcher of unarmed farmers!”
“Hush! my dear Porthos. Monsieur Groslow is perhaps rather hasty, it’s true, but at bottom I have discovered two good qualities in him-he is conceited and stupid.”
Porthos opened his eyes in amazement; Athos and Aramis looked at one another and smiled; they knew D’Artagnan, and knew that he did nothing without a purpose.
“But,” continued D’Artagnan, “you shall judge of him for yourself. He is coming to play with us this evening.”
“Oho!” said Porthos, his eyes glistening at the news. “Is he rich?”
“He’s the son of one of the wealthiest merchants in London.”
“And knows lansquenet?”
“Adores it.”
“Basset?”
“His mania.”
“Biribi?”
“Revels in it.”
“Good,” said Porthos; “we shall pass an agreeable evening.”
“The more so, as it will be the prelude to a better.”
“How so?”
“We invite him to play to-night; he has invited us in return to-morrow. But wait. To-night we stop at Derby; and if there is a bottle of wine in the town let Mousqueton buy it. It will be well to prepare a light supper, of which you, Athos and Aramis, are not to partake-Athos, because I told him you had a fever; Aramis, because you are a knight of Malta and won’t mix with fellows like us. Do you understand?”
“That’s no doubt very fine,” said Porthos; “but deuce take me if I understand at all.”
“Porthos, my friend, you know I am descended on the father’s side from the Prophets and on the mother’s from the Sybils, and that I only speak in parables and riddles. Let those who have ears hear and those who have eyes see; I can tell you nothing more at present.”
“Go ahead, my friend,” said Athos; “I am sure that whatever you do is well done.”
“And you, Aramis, are you of that opinion?”
“Entirely so, my dear D’Artagnan.”
“Very good,” said D’Artagnan; “here indeed are true believers; it is a pleasure to work miracles before them; they are not like that unbelieving Porthos, who must see and touch before he will believe.”
“The fact is,” said Porthos, with an air of finesse, “I am rather incredulous.”
D’Artagnan gave him playful buffet on the shoulder, and as they had reached the station where they were to breakfast, the conversation ended there.
At five in the evening they sent Mousqueton on before as agreed upon. Blaisois went with him.
In crossing the principal street in Derby the four friends perceived Blaisois standing in the doorway of a handsome house. It was there a lodging was prepared for them.
At the hour agreed upon Groslow came. D’Artagnan received him as he would have done a friend of twenty years’ standing. Porthos scanned him from head to foot and smiled when he discovered that in spite of the blow he had administered to Parry’s brother, he was not nearly so strong as himself. Athos and Aramis suppressed as well as they could the disgust they felt in the presence of such coarseness and brutality.
In short, Groslow seemed to be pleased with his reception.
Athos and Aramis kept themselves to their role. At midnight they withdrew to their chamber, the door of which was left open on the pretext of kindly consideration. Furthermore, D’Artagnan went with them, leaving Porthos at play with Groslow.
Porthos gained fifty pistoles from Groslow, and found him a more agreeable companion than he had at first believed him to be.
As to Groslow, he promised himself that on the following evening he would recover from D’Artagnan what he had lost to Porthos, and on leaving reminded the Gascon of his appointment.
The next day was spent as usual. D’Artagnan went from Captain Groslow to Colonel Harrison and from Colonel Harrison to his friends. To any one not acquainted with him he seemed to be in his normal condition; but to his friends-to Athos and Aramis-was apparent a certain feverishness in his gayety.
“What is he contriving?” asked Aramis.
“Wait,” said Athos.
Porthos said nothing, but he handled in his pocket the fifty pistoles he had gained from Groslow with a degree of satisfaction which betrayed itself in his whole bearing.
Arrived at Ryston, D’Artagnan assembled his friends. His face had lost the expression of careless gayety it had worn like a mask the whole day. Athos pinched Aramis’s hand.
“The moment is at hand,” he said.
“Yes,” returned D’Artagnan, who had overheard him, “to-night, gentlemen, we rescue the king.”
“D’Artagnan,” said Athos, “this is no joke, I trust? It would quite cut me up.”
“You are a very odd man, Athos,” he replied, “to doubt me thus. Where and when have you seen me trifle with a friend’s heart and a king’s life? I have told you, and I repeat it, that to-night we rescue Charles I. You left it to me to discover the means and I have done so.”
Porthos looked at D’Artagnan with an expression of profound admiration. Aramis smiled as one who hopes. Athos was pale, and trembled in every limb.
“Speak,” said Athos.
“We are invited,” replied D’Artagnan, “to pass the night with M. Groslow. But do you know where?”
“No.”
“In the king’s room.”
“The king’s room?” cried Athos.
“Yes, gentlemen, in the king’s room. Groslow is on guard there this evening, and to pass the time away he has invited us to keep him company.”
“All four of us?” asked Athos.
“Pardieu! certainly, all four; we couldn’t leave our prisoners, could we?”
“Ah! ah!” said Aramis.
“Tell us about it,” said Athos, palpitating.
“We are going, then, we two with our swords, you with daggers. We four have got to master these eight fools and their stupid captain. Monsieur Porthos, what do you say to that?”
“I say it is easy enough,” answered Porthos.
“We dress the king in Groslow’s clothes. Mousqueton, Grimaud and Blaisois have our horses saddled at the end of the first street. We mount them and before daylight are twenty leagues distant.”
Athos placed his two hands on D’Artagnan’s shoulders, and gazed at him with his calm, sad smile.
“I declare, my friend,” said he, “that there is not a creature under the sky who equals you in prowess and in courage. Whilst we thought you indifferent to our sorrows, which you couldn’t share without crime, you alone among us have discovered what we were searching for in vain. I repeat it, D’Artagnan, you are the best one among us; I bless and love you, my dear son.”
“And to think that I couldn’t find that out,” said Porthos, scratching his head; “it is so simple.”
“But,” said Aramis, “if I understand rightly we are to kill them all, eh?”
Athos shuddered and turned pale.
“Mordioux!” answered D’Artagnan, “I believe we must. I confess I can discover no other safe and satisfactory way.”
“Let us see,” said Aramis, “how are we to act?”
“I have arranged two plans. Firstly, at a given signal, which shall be the words ‘At last,’ you each plunge a dagger into the heart of the soldier nearest to you. We, on our side, do the same. That will be four killed. We shall then be matched, four against the remaining five. If these five men give themselves up we gag them; if they resist, we kill them. If by chance our Amphitryon changes his mind and receives only Porthos and myself, why, then, we must resort to heroic measures and each give two strokes instead of one. It will take a little longer time and may make a greater disturbance, but you will be outside with swords and will rush in at the proper time.”
“But if you yourselves should be struck?” said Athos.
“Impossible!” said D’Artagnan; “those beer drinkers are too clumsy and awkward. Besides, you will strike at the throat, Porthos; it kills as quickly and prevents all outcry.”
“Very good,” said Porthos; “it will be a nice little throat cutting.”
“Horrible, horrible,” exclaimed Athos.
“Nonsense,” said D’Artagnan; “you would do as much, Mr. Humanity, in a battle. But if you think the king’s life is not worth what it must cost there’s an end of the matter and I send to Groslow to say I am ill.”
