“Oh! good Heaven,” said Planchet, “what a misfortune! and how did it happen?”
“I will tell you all about it,” replied Mousqueton.
Porthos uttered a deep groan.
“Make way for us, Planchet,” said d’Artagnan in a whisper to him, “or he will not arrive alive; the lungs are attacked, my friend.”
Planchet shook his head with the air of a man who says, “In that case things look ill.” Then he exclaimed, turning to his men:
“Let them pass; they are friends.”
The carriage resumed its course, and Mazarin, who had held his breath, ventured to breathe again.
“Bricconi!” muttered he.
A few steps in advance of the gate of Saint-Honoré they met a third troop; this latter party was composed of ill-looking fellows, who resembled bandits more than anything else; they were the men of the beggar of Saint Eustache.
“Attention, Porthos!” cried d’Artagnan.
Porthos placed his hand on the pistols.
“What is it?” asked Mazarin.
“My lord, I think we are in bad company.”
A man advanced to the door with a kind of scythe in his hand. “Qui vive?” he asked.
“Eh, rascal!” said d’Artagnan, “do you not recognize His Highness the prince’s carriage?”
“Prince or not,” said the man, “open. We are here to guard the gate, and no one whom we do not know shall pass.”
“What is to be done?” said Porthos.
“Pardieu! pass,” replied d’Artagnan.
“But how?” asked Mazarin.
“Through or over; coachman, gallop on.”
The coachman raised his whip.
“Not a step further,” said the man, who appeared to be the captain, “or I will hamstring your horses.”
“Peste!” said Porthos, “it would be a pity; animals which cost me a hundred pistoles each.”
“I will pay you two hundred for them,” said Mazarin.
“Yes, but when once they are hamstrung, our necks will be strung next.”
“If one of them comes to my side,” asked Porthos, “must I kill him?”
“Yes, by a blow of your fist, if you can; we will not fire but at the last extremity.”
“I can do it,” said Porthos.
“Come and open, then!” cried d’Artagnan to the man with the scythe, taking one of the pistols up by the muzzle and preparing to strike with the handle. And as the man approached, d’Artagnan, in order to have more freedom for his actions, leaned half out of the door; his eyes were fixed upon those of the mendicant, which were lighted up by a lantern. Without doubt he recognized d’Artagnan, for he became deadly pale; doubtless the musketeer knew him, for his hair stood up on his head.
“Monsieur d’Artagnan!” he cried, falling back a step; “it is Monsieur d’Artagnan! let him pass.”
D’Artagnan was perhaps about to reply, when a blow, similar to that of a mallet falling on the head of an ox, was heard. The noise was caused by Porthos, who had just knocked down his man.
D’Artagnan turned around and saw the unfortunate man upon his back about four paces off.
“ ’Sdeath!” cried he to the coachman. “Spur your horses! whip! get on!”
The coachman bestowed a heavy blow of the whip upon his horses; the noble animals bounded forward; then cries of men who were knocked down were heard; then a double concussion was felt, and two of the wheels seemed to pass over a round and flexible body. There was a moment’s silence, then the carriage cleared the gate.
“To Cours la Reine!” cried d’Artagnan to the coachman; then turning to Mazarin he said, “Now, my lord, you can say five paters and five aves, in thanks to Heaven for your deliverance. You are safe—you are free.”
Mazarin replied only by a groan; he could not believe in such a miracle. Five minutes later the carriage stopped, having reached Cours la Reine.
“Is my lord pleased with his escort?” asked d’Artagnan.
“Enchanted, Monsieur,” said Mazarin, venturing his head out of one of the windows; “and now do as much for the queen.”
“It will not be so difficult,” replied d’Artagnan, springing to the ground. “Monsieur du Vallon, I commend his Eminence to your care.”
“Be quite at ease,” said Porthos, holding out his hand, which d’Artagnan took and shook in his.
“Oh!” cried Porthos, as if in pain.
D’Artagnan looked with surprise at his friend.
“What is the matter, then?” he asked.
“I think I have sprained my wrist,” said Porthos.
“The devil! why, you strike like a blind or a deaf man.”
“It was necessary; my man was going to fire a pistol at me; but you—how did you get rid of yours?”
“Oh, mine,” replied d’Artagnan, “was not a man.”
“What was it then?”
“It was an apparition.”
“And—”
“I charmed it away.”
Without further explanation d’Artagnan took the pistols which were upon the front seat, placed them in his belt, wrapped himself in his cloak, and not wishing to enter by the same gate as that through which they had left, he took his way toward the Richelieu gate.
LII
The Carriage of Monsieur le Coadjuteur
Instead of returning, then, by the Saint-Honoré gate, d’Artagnan, who had time before him, walked around and re-entered by the Porte Richelieu. He was approached to be examined, and when it was discovered by his plumed hat and his laced coat, that he was an officer of the Musketeers, he was surrounded, with the intention of making him cry, “Down with Mazarin!” The demonstration did not fail to make him uneasy at first; but when he discovered what it meant, he shouted it in such a voice that even the most exacting were satisfied. He walked down the Rue Richelieu, meditating how he should carry off the queen in her turn, for to take her in a carriage bearing the arms of France was not to be thought of, when he perceived an equipage standing at the door of the hotel belonging to Madame de Guéménée.
He was struck by a sudden idea.
“Ah, pardieu!” he exclaimed; “that would be fair play.”
And approaching the carriage, he examined the arms on the panels and the livery of the coachman on his box. This scrutiny was so much the more easy, the coachman being sound
