On his part, the man with the feathers fixed his eyes upon the disguised lieutenant, and, in spite of his metamorphosis, recognized him. “D’Artagnan!” cried he; and the color mounted to his face. “Hush!” said he to d’Artagnan.
“Hush!” in his turn, said the musketeer. In fact, if Porthos had just been discovered by d’Artagnan, d’Artagnan had just been discovered by Porthos. The interest of the particular secret of each struck them both at the same instant. Nevertheless the first movement of the two men was to throw their arms around each other. What they wished to conceal from the bystanders, was not their friendship, but their names. But, after the embrace, came reflection.
“What the devil brings Porthos to Belle-Isle, lifting stones?” said d’Artagnan; only d’Artagnan uttered that question in a low voice. Less strong in diplomacy than his friend, Porthos thought aloud.
“How the devil did you come to Belle-Isle?” asked he of d’Artagnan; “and what do you want to do here?” It was necessary to reply without hesitation. To hesitate in answer to Porthos would have been a check, for which the self-love of d’Artagnan would never have consoled itself.
“Pardieu! my friend, I am at Belle-Isle because you are.”
“Ah, bah!” said Porthos, visibly stupefied with the argument and seeking to account for it to himself, with the felicity of deduction we know to be particular to him.
“Without doubt,” continued d’Artagnan, unwilling to give his friend time to recollect himself, “I have been to see you at Pierrefonds.”
“Indeed!”
“Yes.”
“And you did not find me there?”
“No, but I found Mouston.”
“Is he well?”
“Peste!”
“Well, but Mouston did not tell you I was here.”
“Why should he not? Have I, perchance, deserved to lose his confidence?”
“No; but he did not know it.”
“Well; that is a reason at least that does not offend my self-love.”
“Then how did you manage to find me?”
“My dear friend, a great noble like you always leaves traces behind him on his passage; and I should think but poorly of myself, if I were not sharp enough to follow the traces of my friends.” This explanation, flattering as it was, did not entirely satisfy Porthos.
“But I left no traces behind me, for I came here disguised,” said Porthos.
“Ah! You came disguised did you?” said d’Artagnan.
“Yes.”
“And how?”
“As a miller.”
“And do you think a great noble, like you, Porthos, can affect common manners so as to deceive people?”
“Well, I swear to you my friend, that I played my part so well that everybody was deceived.”
“Indeed! so well, that I have not discovered and joined you?”
“Yes; but how did you discover and join me?”
“Stop a bit. I was going to tell you how. Do you imagine Mouston—”
“Ah! it was that fellow, Mouston,” said Porthos, gathering up those two triumphant arches which served him for eyebrows.
“But stop, I tell you—it was no fault of Mouston’s because he was ignorant of where you were.”
“I know he was; and that is why I am in such haste to understand—”
“Oh! how impatient you are, Porthos.”
“When I do not comprehend, I am terrible.”
“Well, you will understand. Aramis wrote to you at Pierrefonds, did he not?”
“Yes.”
“And he told you to come before the equinox.”
“That is true.”
“Well! that is it,” said d’Artagnan, hoping that this reason would mystify Porthos. Porthos appeared to give himself up to a violent mental labor.
“Yes, yes,” said he, “I understand. As Aramis told me to come before the equinox, you have understood that that was to join him. You then inquired where Aramis was, saying to yourself, ‘Where Aramis is, there Porthos will be.’ You have learnt that Aramis was in Bretagne, and you said to yourself, ‘Porthos is in Bretagne.’ ”
“Exactly. In good truth, Porthos, I cannot tell why you have not turned conjuror. So you understand that, arriving at Roche-Bernard, I heard of the splendid fortifications going on at Belle-Isle. The account raised my curiosity, I embarked in a fishing boat, without dreaming that you were here: I came, and I saw a monstrous fine fellow lifting a stone Ajax could not have stirred. I cried out, ‘Nobody but the Baron de Bracieux could have performed such a feat of strength.’ You heard me, you turned round, you recognized me, we embraced; and, ma foi! if you like, my dear friend, we will embrace again.”
“Ah! now all is explained,” said Porthos; and he embraced d’Artagnan with so much friendship as to deprive the musketeer of his breath for five minutes.
“Why, you are stronger than ever,” said d’Artagnan, “and still, happily, in your arms.” Porthos saluted d’Artagnan with a gracious smile. During the five minutes d’Artagnan was recovering his breath, he reflected that he had a very difficult part to play. It was necessary that he always should question and never reply. By the time his respiration returned, he had fixed his plans for the campaign.
70
Wherein the Ideas of d’Artagnan, at First Strangely Clouded, Begin to Clear Up a Little
D’Artagnan immediately took the offensive. “Now that I have told you all, dear friend, or rather you have guessed all, tell me what you are doing here, covered with dust and mud?”
Porthos wiped his brow, and looked around him with pride. “Why, it appears,” said he, “that you may see what I am doing here.”
“No doubt, no doubt, you lift great stones.”
“Oh! to show these idle fellows what a man is,” said Porthos, with contempt. “But you understand—”
“Yes, that is not your place to lift stones, although there are many whose place it is, who cannot lift them as you do. It was that which made me ask you, just now. What are you doing here, baron?”
“I am studying topography, chevalier.”
“You are studying topography?”
“Yes; but you—what are you doing in that common dress?”
D’Artagnan perceived he had committed a fault in giving expression to his astonishment. Porthos had taken advantage of it, to retort with a question. “Why,” said he, “you know I am a bourgeois, in fact; my dress, then, has nothing astonishing in it, since it conforms with
