“We will prevent the explosion.”
“Not I,” said Athos, “for I must return to Blois. All this gilded elegance of the court, all these intrigues, sicken me. I am no longer a young man who can make terms with the meanness of the day. I have read in the Great Book many things too beautiful and too comprehensive to longer take any interest in the trifling phrases which these men whisper among themselves when they wish to deceive others. In one word, I am weary of Paris wherever and whenever you are not with me; and as I cannot have you with me always, I wish to return to Blois.”
“How wrong you are, Athos; how you gainsay your origin and the destiny of your noble nature. Men of your stamp are created to continue, to the very last moment, in full possession of their great faculties. Look at my sword, a Spanish blade, the one I wore at La Rochelle; it served me for thirty years without fail; one day in the winter it fell upon the marble floor on the Louvre and was broken. I had a hunting-knife made of it which will last a hundred years yet. You, Athos, with your loyalty, your frankness, your cool courage, and your sound information, are the very man kings need to warn and direct them. Remain here; Monsieur Fouquet will not last as long as my Spanish blade.”
“Is it possible,” said Athos, smiling, “that my friend, d’Artagnan, who, after having raised me to the skies, making me an object of worship, casts me down from the top of Olympus, and hurls me to the ground? I have more exalted ambition, d’Artagnan. To be a minister—to be a slave—never! Am I not still greater? I am nothing. I remember having heard you occasionally call me ‘the great Athos’; I defy you, therefore, if I were minister, to continue to bestow that title upon me. No, no; I do not yield myself in this manner.”
“We will not speak of it any more, then; renounce everything, even the brotherly feeling which unites us.”
“It is almost cruel what you say.”
D’Artagnan pressed Athos’s hand warmly. “No, no; renounce everything without fear. Raoul can get on without you. I am at Paris.”
“In that case I shall return to Blois. We will take leave of each other tonight; tomorrow at daybreak I shall be on my horse again.”
“You cannot return to your hotel alone; why did you not bring Grimaud with you?”
“Grimaud takes his rest now; he goes to bed early, for my poor old servant gets easily fatigued. He came from Blois with me, and I compelled him to remain within doors; for if, in retracing the forty leagues which separate us from Blois, he needed to draw breath even, he would die without a murmur. But I don’t want to lose Grimaud.”
“You shall have one of my musketeers to carry a torch for you. Holà! someone there,” called out d’Artagnan, leaning over the gilded balustrade. The heads of seven or eight musketeers appeared. “I wish some gentleman, who is so disposed, to escort the Comte de la Fère,” cried d’Artagnan.
“Thank you for your readiness, gentlemen,” said Athos; “I regret to have occasion to trouble you in this manner.”
“I would willingly escort the Comte de la Fère,” said someone, “if I had not to speak to Monsieur d’Artagnan.”
“Who is that?” said d’Artagnan, looking into the darkness.
“I, Monsieur d’Artagnan.”
“Heaven forgive me, if that is not Monsieur Baisemeaux’s voice.”
“It is, Monsieur.”
“What are you doing in the courtyard, my dear Baisemeaux?”
“I am waiting your orders, my dear Monsieur d’Artagnan.”
Wretch that I am
, thought d’Artagnan; “true, you have been told, I suppose, that someone was to be arrested, and have come yourself, instead of sending an officer?”
“I came because I had occasion to speak to you.”
“You did not send to me?”
“I waited until you were disengaged,” said Monsieur Baisemeaux, timidly.
“I leave you, d’Artagnan,” said Athos.
“Not before I have present Monsieur Baisemeaux de Montlezun, the governor of the Bastille.”
Baisemeaux and Athos saluted each other.
“Surely you must know each other,” said d’Artagnan.
“I have an indistinct recollection of Monsieur Baisemeaux,” said Athos.
“You remember, my dear, Baisemeaux, the king’s guardsman with whom we used formerly to have such delightful meetings in the cardinal’s time?”
“Perfectly,” said Athos, taking leave of him with affability.
“Monsieur le Comte de la Fère, whose nom de guerre was Athos,” whispered d’Artagnan to Baisemeaux.
“Yes, yes, a brave man, one of the celebrated four.”
“Precisely so. But, my dear Baisemeaux, shall we talk now?”
“If you please.”
“In the first place, as for the orders—there are none. The king does not intend to arrest the person in question.
“So much the worse,” said Baisemeaux with a sigh.
“What do you mean by so much the worse?” exclaimed d’Artagnan, laughing.
“No doubt of it,” returned the governor, “my prisoners are my income.”
“I beg your pardon, I did not see it in that light.”
“And so there are no orders,” repeated Baisemeaux with a sigh. “What an admirable situation yours is, captain,” he continued, after a pause; “captain-lieutenant of the Musketeers.”
“Oh, it is good enough; but I don’t see why you should envy me; you, governor of the Bastille, the first castle in France.”
“I am well aware of that,” said Baisemeaux, in a sorrowful tone of voice.
“You say that like a man confessing his sins. I would willingly exchange my profits for yours.”
“Don’t speak of profits to me, if you wish to save me the bitterest anguish of mind.”
“Why do you look first on one side and then on the other, as if you were afraid of being arrested yourself, you whose business it is to arrest others?”
“I was looking to see whether anyone could see or listen to us; it would be safer to confer more in private, if you would grant me such a favor.”
“Baisemeaux, you seem to forget we are acquaintances of five and thirty years’ standing. Don’t