“Alas!” said Baisemeaux.
“And,” continued Aramis, “you, a high and powerful nobleman as you are, forgetful that courtiers now exist—you have been to the king, I suppose, and told him what you thought of his conduct?”
“Yes, you have guessed right.”
“So that,” said Baisemeaux, trembling at having supped so familiarly with a man who had fallen into disgrace with the king; “so that, Monsieur le Comte—”
“So that, my dear governor,” said Athos, “my friend d’Artagnan will communicate to you the contents of the paper which I perceived just peeping out of his belt, and which assuredly can be nothing else than the order for my incarceration.”
Baisemeaux held out his hand with his accustomed eagerness. D’Artagnan drew two papers from his belt, and presented one of them to the governor, who unfolded it, and then read, in a low tone of voice, looking at Athos over the paper, as he did so, and pausing from time to time: “ ‘Order to detain, in my château of the Bastille, Monsieur le Comte de la Fère.’ Oh, Monsieur! this is indeed a very melancholy day for me.”
“You will have a patient prisoner, Monsieur,” said Athos, in his calm, soft voice.
“A prisoner, too, who will not remain a month with you, my dear governor,” said Aramis; while Baisemeaux, still holding the order in his hand, transcribed it upon the prison registry.
“Not a day, or rather not even a night,” said d’Artagnan, displaying the second order of the king, “for now, dear M. de Baisemeaux, you will have the goodness to transcribe also this order for setting the comte immediately at liberty.”
“Ah!” said Aramis, “it is a labor that you have deprived me of, d’Artagnan”; and he pressed the musketeer’s hand in a significant manner, at the same moment as that of Athos.
“What!” said the latter in astonishment, “the king sets me at liberty!”
“Read, my dear friend,” returned d’Artagnan.
Athos took the order and read it. “It is quite true,” he said.
“Are you sorry for it?” asked d’Artagnan.
“Oh, no, on the contrary. I wish the king no harm; and the greatest evil or misfortune that anyone can wish kings, is that they should commit an act of injustice. But you have had a difficult and painful task, I know. Tell me, have you not, d’Artagnan?”
“I? not at all,” said the musketeer, laughing: “the king does everything I wish him to do.”
Aramis looked fixedly at d’Artagnan, and saw that he was not speaking the truth. But Baisemeaux had eyes for nothing but d’Artagnan, so great was his admiration for a man who seemed to make the king do all he wished.
“And does the king exile Athos?” inquired Aramis.
“No, not precisely; the king did not explain himself upon that subject,” replied d’Artagnan; “but I think the comte could not well do better unless, indeed, he wishes particularly to thank the king—”
“No, indeed,” replied Athos, smiling.
“Well, then, I think,” resumed d’Artagnan, “that the comte cannot do better than to retire to his own château. However, my dear Athos, you have only to speak, to tell me what you want. If any particular place of residence is more agreeable to you than another, I am influential enough, perhaps, to obtain it for you.”
“No, thank you,” said Athos; “nothing can be more agreeable to me, my dear friend, than to return to my solitude beneath my noble trees on the banks of the Loire. If Heaven be the overruling physician of the evils of the mind, nature is a sovereign remedy. And so, Monsieur,” continued Athos, turning again towards Baisemeaux, “I am now free, I suppose?”
“Yes, Monsieur le Comte, I think so—at least, I hope so,” said the governor, turning over and over the two papers in question, “unless, however, M. d’Artagnan has a third order to give me.”
“No, my dear Baisemeaux, no,” said the musketeer; “the second is quite enough: we will stop there—if you please.”
“Ah! Monsieur le Comte,” said Baisemeaux addressing Athos, “you do not know what you are losing. I should have placed you among the thirty-franc prisoners, like the generals—what am I saying?—I mean among the fifty-francs, like the princes, and you would have supped every evening as you have done tonight.”
“Allow me, Monsieur,” said Athos, “to prefer my own simpler fare.” And then, turning to d’Artagnan, he said, “Let us go, my dear friend. Shall I have that greatest of all pleasures for me—that of having you as my companion?”
“To the city gate only,” replied d’Artagnan, “after which I will tell you what I told the king: ‘I am on duty.’ ”
“And you, my dear Aramis,” said Athos, smiling; “will you accompany me? La Fère is on the road to Vannes.”
“Thank you, my dear friend,” said Aramis, “but I have an appointment in Paris this evening, and I cannot leave without very serious interests suffering by my absence.”
“In that case,” said Athos, “I must say adieu, and take my leave of you. My dear Monsieur de Baisemeaux, I have to thank you exceedingly for your kind and friendly disposition towards me, and particularly for the enjoyable specimen you have given me of the ordinary fare of the Bastille.” And, having embraced Aramis, and shaken hands with M. de Baisemeaux, and having received best wishes for a pleasant journey from them both, Athos set off with d’Artagnan.
Whilst the denouement of the scene of the Palais Royal was taking place at the Bastille, let us relate what was going on at the lodgings of Athos and Bragelonne. Grimaud, as we have seen, had accompanied his master to Paris; and, as we have said, he was present when Athos went out; he had observed d’Artagnan gnaw the corners of his mustache; he had seen his master get into the carriage; he had narrowly examined both their countenances, and he had known them both for a sufficiently long period to read and understand, through the mask of their impassibility, that something serious was the matter. As soon as Athos had gone, he began to reflect; he then, and then only,
