“The miserable coward!” exclaimed the king.
“The consequence of your ordinances, sire. If a man has fought well, and fairly, and has already escaped one chance of death, he naturally wishes to escape a second. M. de Bouteville cannot be forgotten very easily.”
“And so, men turn cowards.”
“No, they become prudent.”
“And he has fled, then, you say?”
“Yes; and as fast as his horse could possibly carry him.”
“In what direction?”
“In the direction of the château.”
“Well, and after that?”
“Afterwards, as I have had the honor of telling Your Majesty, two men on foot arrived, who carried M. de Guiche back with them.”
“What proof have you that these men arrived after the combat?”
“A very evident proof, sire; at the moment the encounter took place, the rain had just ceased, the ground had not had time to imbibe the moisture, and was, consequently, soaked; the footsteps sank in the ground; but while M. de Guiche was lying there in a fainting condition, the ground became firm again, and the footsteps made a less sensible impression.”
Louis clapped his hands together in sign of admiration. “Monsieur d’Artagnan,” he said, “you are positively the cleverest man in my kingdom.”
“The identical thing M. de Richelieu thought, and M. de Mazarin said, sire.”
“And now, it remains for us to see if your sagacity is at fault.”
“Oh! sire, a man may be mistaken; humanum est errare,”11 said the musketeer, philosophically.
“In that case, you are not human, Monsieur d’Artagnan, for I believe you are never mistaken.”
“Your Majesty said that we were going to see whether such was the case, or not.”
“Yes.”
“In what way, may I venture to ask?”
“I have sent for M. de Manicamp, and M. de Manicamp is coming.”
“And M. de Manicamp knows the secret?”
“De Guiche has no secrets from M. de Manicamp.”
D’Artagnan shook his head. “No one was present at the combat, I repeat; and unless M. de Manicamp was one of the two men who brought him back—”
“Hush!” said the king, “he is coming; remain, and listen attentively.”
“Very good, sire.”
And, at the very same moment, Manicamp and Saint-Aignan appeared at the threshold of the door.
157
The Encounter
The king signified with an imperious gesture, first to the musketeer, then to Saint-Aignan, “On your lives, not a word.” D’Artagnan withdrew, like a sentinel, to a corner of the room; Saint-Aignan, in his character of a favorite, leaned over the back of the king’s chair. Manicamp, with his right foot properly advanced, a smile upon his lips, and his white and well-formed hands gracefully disposed, advanced to make his reverence to the king, who returned the salutation by a bow. “Good evening, M. de Manicamp,” he said.
“Your Majesty did me the honor to send for me,” said Manicamp.
“Yes, in order to learn from you all the details of the unfortunate accident which has befallen the Comte de Guiche.”
“Oh! sire, it is grievous indeed.”
“You were there?”
“Not precisely, sire.”
“But you arrived on the scene of the accident, a few minutes after it took place?”
“Sire, about half an hour afterwards.”
“And where did the accident happen?”
“I believe, sire, the place is called the Rond-point du Bois-Rochin.”
“Oh! the rendezvous of the hunt.”
“The very spot, sire.”
“Good; give me all the details you are acquainted with, respecting this unhappy affair, Monsieur de Manicamp.”
“Perhaps Your Majesty has already been informed of them, and I fear to fatigue you with useless repetition.”
“No, do not be afraid of that.”
Manicamp looked round him; he saw only d’Artagnan leaning with his back against the wainscot—D’Artagnan, calm, kind, and good-natured as usual—and Saint-Aignan whom he had accompanied, and who still leaned over the king’s armchair with an expression of countenance equally full of good feeling. He determined, therefore, to speak out. “Your Majesty is perfectly aware,” he said, “that accidents are very frequent in hunting.”
“In hunting, do you say?”
“I mean, sire, when an animal is brought to bay.”
“Ah, ah!” said the king, “it was when the animal was brought to bay, then, that the accident happened?”
“Alas! sire, unhappily it was.”
The king paused for a moment before he said: “What animal was being hunted?”
“A wild boar, sire.”
“And what could possibly have possessed de Guiche to go to a wild boar-hunt by himself; that is but a clownish idea of sport, only fit for that class of people who, unlike the Maréchal de Gramont, have no dogs and huntsmen, to hunt as gentlemen should do.”
Manicamp shrugged his shoulders. “Youth is very rash,” he said, sententiously.
“Well, go on,” said the king.
“At all events,” continued Manicamp, not venturing to be too precipitate and hasty, and letting his words fall very slowly one by one, “at all events, sire, poor de Guiche went hunting—all alone.”
“Quite alone? indeed?—What a sportsman! And is not M. de Guiche aware that the wild boar always stands at bay?”
“That is the very thing that really happened, sire.”
“He had some idea, then, of the beast being there?”
“Yes, sire, some peasants had seen it among their potatoes.”12
“And what kind of animal was it?”
“A short, thick beast.”
“You may as well tell me, Monsieur, that de Guiche had some idea of committing suicide; for I have seen him hunt, and he is an active and vigorous hunter. Whenever he fires at an animal brought to bay and held in check by the dogs, he takes every possible precaution, and yet he fires with a carbine, and on this occasion he seems to have faced the boar with pistols only.”
Manicamp started.
“A costly pair of pistols, excellent weapons to fight a duel with a man and not a wild boar. What an absurdity!”
“There are some things, sire, which are difficult of explanation.”
“You are quite right, and the event which we are now discussing is certainly one of them. Go on.”
During the recital, Saint-Aignan, who probably would have made a sign to Manicamp to be careful what he was about, found that the king’s glance was constantly fixed upon himself, so that it was utterly impossible to communicate with Manicamp in any way. As for d’Artagnan, the statue of Silence at Athens was far more
