“This happens very well,” said the sergeant, “for we were about to request you to do so.”
Athos fancied he could detect an air of equivocal bonhomie upon the countenance of the sergeant; but the adventure of the vault might have excited the curiosity of the man, and it was not surprising that he allowed some of the feelings which agitated his mind to appear in his face. Athos closed the doors carefully, confiding the keys to Grimaud, who had chosen his domicile beneath the shed itself, which led to the cellar where the casks had been deposited. The sergeant escorted the Comte de la Fère to the camp. There a fresh guard awaited him, and relieved the four men who had conducted Athos.
This fresh guard was commanded by the aid-de-camp Digby, who, on their way, fixed upon Athos looks so little encouraging, that the Frenchman asked himself whence arose, with regard to him, this vigilance and this severity, when the evening before he had been left perfectly free. He nevertheless continued his way to the headquarters, keeping to himself the observations which men and things forced him to make. He found in the general’s tent, to which he had been introduced the evening before, three superior officers: these were Monck’s lieutenant and two colonels. Athos perceived his sword; it was still on the table where he left it. Neither of the officers had seen Athos, consequently neither of them knew him. Monck’s lieutenant asked, at the appearance of Athos, if that were the same gentleman with whom the general had left the tent.
“Yes, your honor,” said the sergeant; “it is the same.”
“But,” said Athos, haughtily, “I do not deny it, I think; and now, gentlemen, in turn, permit me to ask you to what purpose these questions are asked, and particularly some explanations upon the tone in which you ask them?”
“Monsieur,” said the lieutenant, “if we address these questions to you, it is because we have a right to do so, and if we make them in a particular tone, it is because that tone, believe me, agrees with the circumstances.”
“Gentlemen,” said Athos, “you do not know who I am; but I must tell you that I acknowledge no one here but General Monck as my equal. Where is he? Let me be conducted to him, and if he has any questions to put to me, I will answer him and to his satisfaction, I hope. I repeat, gentlemen, where is the general?”
“Eh! good God! you know better than we do where he is,” said the lieutenant.
“I?”
“Yes, you.”
“Monsieur,” said Athos; “I do not understand you.”
“You will understand me—and, in the first place, do not speak so loudly.”
Athos smiled disdainfully.
“We don’t ask you to smile,” said one of the colonels warmly; “we require you to answer.”
“And I, gentlemen, declare to you that I will not reply until I am in the presence of the general.”
“But,” replied the same colonel who had already spoken, “you know very well that is impossible.”
“This is the second time I have received this strange reply to the wish I express,” said Athos. “Is the general absent?”
This question was made with such apparent good faith, and the gentleman wore an air of such natural surprise, that the three officers exchanged a meaning look. The lieutenant, by a tacit convention with the other two, was spokesman.
“Monsieur, the general left you last night on the borders of the monastery.”
“Yes, Monsieur.”
“And you went—”
“It is not for me to answer you, but for those who have accompanied me. They were your soldiers, ask them.”
“But if we please to question you?”
“Then it will please me to reply, Monsieur, that I do not recognize anyone here, that I know no one here but the general, and that it is to him alone I will reply.”
“So be it, Monsieur; but as we are the masters, we constitute ourselves a council of war, and when you are before judges you must reply.”
The countenance of Athos expressed nothing but astonishment and disdain, instead of the terror the officers expected to read in it at this threat.
“Scottish or English judges upon me, a subject of the king of France; upon me, placed under the safeguard of British honor! You are mad, gentlemen!” said Athos, shrugging his shoulders.
The officers looked at each other. “Then, Monsieur,” said one of them, “do you pretend not to know where the general is?”
“To that, Monsieur, I have already replied.”
“Yes, but you have already replied an incredible thing.”
“It is true, nevertheless, gentlemen. Men of my rank are not generally liars. I am a gentleman, I have told you, and when I have at my side the sword which, by an excess of delicacy, I left last night upon the table whereon it still lies, believe me, no man says that to me which I am unwilling to hear. I am at this moment disarmed; if you pretend to be my judges, try me; if you are but my executioners, kill me.”
“But, Monsieur—” asked the lieutenant, in a more courteous voice, struck with the lofty coolness of Athos.
“Sir, I came to speak confidentially with your general about affairs of importance. It was not an ordinary welcome that he gave me. The accounts your soldiers can give you may convince you of that. If, then, the general received me in that manner, he knew my titles to his esteem. Now, you do not suspect, I should think, that I should reveal my secrets to you, and still less his.”
“But these casks, what do they contain?”
“Have you not put that question to your soldiers? What was their reply?”
“That they contained powder and ball.”
“From whom had they that information? They must have told you that.”
“From the general; but we are not dupes.”
“Beware, gentlemen; it is not to me you are now giving the lie, it is to your leader.”
The officers again looked at each other. Athos continued: “Before your soldiers the general told me to wait a week, and at
