“Grimaud,” exclaimed Raoul, “is the comte well?”
“Have you seen him?”
“No; where is he?”
“I am trying to find out.”
“And M. d’Artagnan?”
“Went out with him.”
“When?”
“Ten minutes after you did.”
“In what way did they go out?”
“In a carriage.”
“Where did they go?”
“I have no idea at all.”
“Did my father take any money with him?”
“No.”
“Or his sword?”
“No.”
“I have an idea, Grimaud, that M. d’Artagnan came in order to—”
“Arrest Monsieur le Comte, do you not think, Monsieur?”
“Yes, Grimaud.”
“I could have sworn it.”
“What road did they take?”
“The way leading towards the quay.”
“To the Bastille, then?”
“Yes, yes.”
“Quick, quick; let us run.”
“Yes, let us not lose a moment.”
“But where are we to go?” said Raoul, overwhelmed.
“We will go to M. d’Artagnan’s first, we may perhaps learn something there.”
“No; if they keep me in ignorance at my father’s, they will do the same everywhere. Let us go to—Oh, good heavens! why, I must be mad today, Grimaud; I have forgotten M. du Vallon, who is waiting for and expecting me still.”
“Where is he, then?”
“At the Minimes of Vincennes.”
“Thank goodness, that is on the same side as the Bastille. I will run and saddle the horses, and we will go at once,” said Grimaud.
“Do, my friend, do.”
206
In Which Porthos Is Convinced Without Having Understood Anything
The good and worthy Porthos, faithful to all the laws of ancient chivalry, had determined to wait for M. de Saint-Aignan until sunset; and as Saint-Aignan did not come, as Raoul had forgotten to communicate with his second, and as he found that waiting so long was very wearisome, Porthos had desired one of the gatekeepers to fetch him a few bottles of good wine and a good joint of meat—so that, at least, he might pass away the time by means of a glass or two and a mouthful of something to eat. He had just finished when Raoul arrived, escorted by Grimaud, both of them riding at full speed. As soon as Porthos saw the two cavaliers riding at such a pace along the road, he did not for a moment doubt but that they were the men he was expecting, and he rose from the grass upon which he had been indolently reclining and began to stretch his legs and arms, saying, “See what it is to have good habits. The fellow has finished by coming, after all. If I had gone away he would have found no one here and would have taken advantage of that.” He then threw himself into a martial attitude, and drew himself up to the full height of his gigantic stature. But instead of Saint-Aignan, he only saw Raoul, who, with the most despairing gestures, accosted him by crying out, “Pray forgive me, my dear friend, I am most wretched.”
“Raoul!” cried Porthos, surprised.
“You have been angry with me?” said Raoul, embracing Porthos.
“I? What for?”
“For having forgotten you. But I assure you my head seems utterly lost. If you only knew!”
“You have killed him?”
“Who?”
“Saint-Aignan; or, if that is not the case, what is the matter?”
“The matter is, that Monsieur le Comte de la Fère has by this time been arrested.”
Porthos gave a start that would have thrown down a wall.
“Arrested!” he cried out; “by whom?”
“By d’Artagnan.”
“It is impossible,” said Porthos.
“My dear friend, it is perfectly true.”
Porthos turned towards Grimaud, as if he needed a second confirmation of the intelligence. Grimaud nodded his head. “And where have they taken him?”
“Probably to the Bastille.”
“What makes you think that?”
“As we came along we questioned some persons, who saw the carriage pass; and others who saw it enter the Bastille.”
“Oh!” muttered Porthos.
“What do you intend to do?” inquired Raoul.
“I? Nothing; only I will not have Athos remain at the Bastille.”
“Do you know,” said Raoul, advancing nearer to Porthos, “that the arrest was made by order of the king?”
Porthos looked at the young man, as if to say, “What does that matter to me?” This dumb language seemed so eloquent of meaning to Raoul that he did not ask any other question. He mounted his horse again; and Porthos, assisted by Grimaud, had already done the same.
“Let us arrange our plan of action,” said Raoul.
“Yes,” returned Porthos, “that is the best thing we can do.”
Raoul sighed deeply, and then paused suddenly.
“What is the matter?” asked Porthos; “are you faint?”
“No, only I feel how utterly helpless our position is. Can we three pretend to go and take the Bastille?”
“Well, if d’Artagnan were only here,” replied Porthos, “I am not so very certain we would fail.”
Raoul could not resist a feeling of admiration at the sight of such perfect confidence, heroic in its simplicity. These were truly the celebrated men who, by three or four, attacked armies and assaulted castles! Men who had terrified death itself, who had survived the wrecks of a tempestuous age, and still stood, stronger than the most robust of the young.
“Monsieur,” said he to Porthos, “you have just given me an idea; we absolutely must see M. d’Artagnan.”
“Undoubtedly.”
“He ought by this time to have returned home, after having taken my father to the Bastille. Let us go to his house.”
“First inquire at the Bastille,” said Grimaud, who was in the habit of speaking little, but that to the purpose.
Accordingly, they hastened towards the fortress, when one of those chances which Heaven bestows on men of strong will caused Grimaud suddenly to perceive the carriage, which was entering by the great gate of the drawbridge. This was the moment that d’Artagnan was, as we have seen, returning from his visit to the king. In vain was it that Raoul urged on his horse in order to join the carriage, and to see whom it contained. The horses had already gained the other side of the great gate, which again closed, while one of the sentries struck the nose of Raoul’s horse with his musket; Raoul turned about, only too happy to find he had ascertained something respecting the carriage which had contained his father.
“We have him,” said Grimaud.
“If we
