Athos made a gesture of approval, and then added: “You are going to buy an estate, then?”
“I have bought one, Monsieur.”
“Ah! that is still better.”
“A little house at Fontainebleau, with something like twenty acres of land round it.”
“Very well, Planchet! Accept my compliments on your acquisition.”
“But, Monsieur, we are not comfortable here; the cursed dust makes you cough. Corbleu! I do not wish to poison the most worthy gentleman in the kingdom.”
Athos did not smile at this little pleasantry which Planchet had aimed at him, in order to try his strength in mundane facetiousness.
“Yes,” said Athos, “let us have a little talk by ourselves—in your own room, for example. You have a room, have you not?”
“Certainly, Monsieur le Comte.”
“Upstairs, perhaps?” And Athos, seeing Planchet a little embarrassed, wished to relieve him by going first.
“It is—but—” said Planchet, hesitating.
Athos was mistaken in the cause of this hesitation, and, attributing it to a fear the grocer might have of offering humble hospitality, “Never mind, never mind,” said he, still going up, “the dwelling of a tradesman in this quarter is not expected to be a palace. Come on.”
Raoul nimbly preceded him, and entered first. Two cries were heard simultaneously—we may say three. One of these cries dominated the others; it emanated from a woman. Another proceeded from the mouth of Raoul; it was an exclamation of surprise. He had no sooner uttered it than he shut the door sharply. The third was from fright; it came from Planchet.
“I ask your pardon!” added he; “Madame is dressing.”
Raoul had, no doubt, seen that what Planchet said was true, for he turned round to go downstairs again.
“Madame—” said Athos. “Oh! pardon me, Planchet, I did not know that you had upstairs—”
“It is Trüchen,” added Planchet, blushing a little.
“It is whoever you please, my good Planchet; but pardon my rudeness.”
“No, no; go up now, gentlemen.”
“We will do no such thing,” said Athos.
“Oh! Madame, having notice, has had time—”
“No, Planchet; farewell!”
“Eh, gentlemen! you would not disoblige me by thus standing on the staircase, or by going away without having sat down.”
“If we had known you had a lady upstairs,” replied Athos, with his customary coolness, “we would have asked permission to pay our respects to her.”
Planchet was so disconcerted by this little extravagance, that he forced the passage, and himself opened the door to admit the comte and his son. Trüchen was quite dressed: in the costume of the shopkeeper’s wife, rich yet coquettish; German eyes attacking French eyes. She left the apartment after two courtesies, and went down into the shop—but not without having listened at the door, to know what Planchet’s gentlemen visitors would say of her. Athos suspected that, and therefore turned the conversation accordingly. Planchet, on his part, was burning to give explanations, which Athos avoided. But, as certain tenacities are stronger than others, Athos was forced to hear Planchet recite his idyls of felicity, translated into a language more chaste than that of Longus. So Planchet related how Trüchen had charmed the years of his advancing age, and brought good luck to his business, as Ruth did to Boaz.
“You want nothing now, then, but heirs to your property.”
“If I had one he would have three hundred thousand livres,” said Planchet.
“Humph! you must have one, then,” said Athos, phlegmatically, “if only to prevent your little fortune being lost.”
This word little fortune placed Planchet in his rank, like the voice of the sergeant when Planchet was but a piqueur in the regiment of Piedmont, in which Rochefort had placed him. Athos perceived that the grocer would marry Trüchen, and, in spite of fate, establish a family. This appeared the more evident to him when he learned that the young man to whom Planchet was selling the business was her cousin. Having heard all that was necessary of the happy prospects of the retiring grocer, “What is M. d’Artagnan about?” said he; “he is not at the Louvre.”
“Ah! Monsieur le Comte, Monsieur d’Artagnan has disappeared.”
“Disappeared!” said Athos, in surprise.
“Oh! Monsieur, we know what that means.”
“But I do not know.”
“Whenever M. d’Artagnan disappears it is always for some mission or some great affair.”
“Has he said anything to you about it?”
“Never.”
“You were acquainted with his departure for England formerly, were you not?”
“On account of the speculation,” said Planchet, heedlessly.
“The speculation!”
“I mean—” interrupted Planchet, quite confused.
“Well, well; neither your affairs nor those of your master are in question; the interest we take in him alone has induced me to apply to you. Since the captain of the Musketeers is not here, and as we cannot learn from you where we are likely to find M. d’Artagnan, we will take our leave of you. Au revoir, Planchet, au revoir. Let us be gone, Raoul.”
“Monsieur le Comte, I wish I were able to tell you—”
“Oh, not at all; I am not the man to reproach a servant with discretion.”
This word “servant” struck rudely on the ears of the demi-millionaire Planchet, but natural respect and bonhomie prevailed over pride. “There is nothing indiscreet in telling you, Monsieur le Comte, M. d’Artagnan came here the other day—”
“Aha?”
“And remained several hours consulting a geographical chart.”
“You are right, then, my friend; say no more about it.”
“And the chart is there as a proof,” added Planchet, who went to fetch from the neighboring wall, where it was suspended by a twist, forming a triangle with the bar of the window to which it was fastened, the plan consulted by the captain on his last visit to Planchet. This plan, which he brought to the comte, was a map of France, upon which the practiced eye of that gentleman discovered an itinerary, marked out with small pins; wherever a pin was missing, a hole denoted its having been there. Athos, by following with his eye the pins and holes, saw that d’Artagnan had taken the direction of the
