“What! of that kind friend?”
“She was the friend of—her you know of. She ruined her by pride.”
“You are mistaken.”
“And now, when she has ruined her, she would ravish from her the only thing that renders that woman excusable in my eyes.”
“What is that?”
“Her love.”
“What do you mean by that?”
“I mean that there is a plot formed against her who is the mistress of the king—a plot formed in the very house of Madame.”
“Can you think so?”
“I am certain of it.”
“By Montalais?”
“Take her as the least dangerous of the enemies I dread for—the other!”
“Explain yourself clearly, my friend; and if I can understand you—”
“In two words. Madame has been long jealous of the king.”
“I know she has—”
“Oh! fear nothing—you are beloved—you are beloved, count; do you feel the value of these three words? They signify that you can raise your head, that you can sleep tranquilly, that you can thank God every minute of you life. You are beloved; that signifies that you may hear everything, even the counsel of a friend who wishes to preserve your happiness. You are beloved, de Guiche, you are beloved! You do not endure those atrocious nights, those nights without end, which, with arid eye and fainting heart, others pass through who are destined to die. You will live long, if you act like the miser who, bit by bit, crumb by crumb, collects and heaps up diamonds and gold. You are beloved!—allow me to tell you what you must do that you may be beloved forever.”
De Guiche contemplated for some time this unfortunate young man, half mad with despair, till there passed through his heart something like remorse at his own happiness. Raoul suppressed his feverish excitement, to assume the voice and countenance of an impassible man.
“They will make her, whose name I should wish still to be able to pronounce—they will make her suffer. Swear to me that you will not second them in anything—but that you will defend her when possible, as I would have done myself.”
“I swear I will,” replied de Guiche.
“And,” continued Raoul, “some day, when you shall have rendered her a great service—some day when she shall thank you, promise me to say these words to her—‘I have done you this kindness, Madame, at the warm request of M. de Bragelonne, whom you so deeply injured.’ ”
“I swear I will,” murmured de Guiche.
“That is all. Adieu! I set out tomorrow, or the day after, for Toulon. If you have a few hours to spare, give them to me.”
“All! all!” cried the young man.
“Thank you!”
“And what are you going to do now?”
“I am going to meet M. le Comte at Planchet’s residence, where we hope to find M. d’Artagnan.”
“M. d’Artagnan?”
“Yes, I wish to embrace him before my departure. He is a brave man, who loves me dearly. Farewell, my friend; you are expected, no doubt; you will find me, when you wish, at the lodgings of the comte. Farewell!”
The two young men embraced. Those who chanced to see them both thus, would not have hesitated to say, pointing to Raoul, “That is the happy man!”
236
The Inventory of Planchet
Athos, during the visit made to the Luxembourg by Raoul, had gone to Planchet’s residence to inquire after d’Artagnan. The comte, on arriving at the Rue des Lombards, found the shop of the grocer in great confusion; but it was not the encumberment of a lucky sale, or that of an arrival of goods. Planchet was not enthroned, as usual, on sacks and barrels. No. A young man with a pen behind his ear, and another with an account-book in his hand, were setting down a number of figures, whilst a third counted and weighed. An inventory was being taken. Athos, who had no knowledge of commercial matters, felt himself a little embarrassed by material obstacles and the majesty of those who were thus employed. He saw several customers sent away, and asked himself whether he, who came to buy nothing, would not be more properly deemed importunate. He therefore asked very politely if he could see M. Planchet. The reply, quite carelessly given, was that M. Planchet was packing his trunks. These words surprised Athos. “What! his trunks?” said he; “is M. Planchet going away?”
“Yes, Monsieur, directly.”
“Then, if you please, inform him that M. le Comte de la Fère desires to speak to him for a moment.”
At the mention of the comte’s name, one of the young men, no doubt accustomed to hear it pronounced with respect, immediately went to inform Planchet. It was at this moment that Raoul, after his painful scene with Montalais and de Guiche, arrived at the grocer’s house. Planchet left his job directly he received the comte’s message.
“Ah! Monsieur le Comte!” exclaimed he, “how glad I am to see you! What good star brings you here?”
“My dear Planchet,” said Athos, pressing the hand of his son, whose sad look he silently observed—“we are come to learn of you—But in what confusion do I find you! You are as white as a miller; where have you been rummaging?”
“Ah, diable! take care, Monsieur; don’t come near me till I have well shaken myself.”
“What for? Flour or dust only whiten.”
“No, no; what you see on my arms is arsenic.”
“Arsenic?”
“Yes; I am taking my precautions against rats.”
“Ay, I suppose in an establishment like this, rats play a conspicuous part.”
“It is not with this establishment I concern myself, Monsieur le Comte. The rats have robbed me of more here than they will ever rob me of again.”
“What do you mean?”
“Why, you may have observed, Monsieur, my inventory is being taken.”
“Are you leaving trade, then?”
“Eh! mon Dieu! yes. I have disposed of my business to one of my young men.”
“Bah! you are rich, then, I suppose?”
“Monsieur, I have taken a dislike to the city; I don’t know whether it is because I am growing old, and as M. d’Artagnan one day said, when we grow old we more often think of the adventures of our youth; but for some time past I have felt
