“You forget,” replied Athos, “that we consider ourselves your prisoners and not free from the engagement we entered into.”
“Truly, Athos,” interrupted d’Artagnan, “I am vexed that such a man as you are should talk nonsense which schoolboys would be ashamed of. Chevalier,” he continued, addressing Aramis, who, leaning proudly on his sword, seemed to agree with his companion, “Chevalier, Porthos and I run no risk; besides, should any ill-luck happen to two of us, will it not be much better that the other two should be spared to assist those who may be apprehended? Besides, who knows whether, divided, we may not obtain a pardon—you from the queen, we from Mazarin—which, were we all four together, would never be granted. Come, Athos and Aramis, go to the right; Porthos, come with me to the left; these gentlemen should file off into Normandy, whilst we, by the nearest road, reach Paris.”
He then gave his friends minute directions as to their route.
“Ah! my dear friend,” exclaimed Athos, “how I should admire the resources of your mind did I not stop to adore those of your heart.”
And he gave him his hand.
“Isn’t this fox a genius, Athos?” asked the Gascon. “No! he knows how to crunch fowls, to dodge the huntsman and to find his way home by day or by night, that’s all. Well, is all said?”
“All.”
“Then let’s count our money and divide it. Ah! hurrah! there’s the sun! A merry morning to you, Sunshine. ’Tis a long time since I saw thee!”
“Come, come, d’Artagnan,” said Athos, “do not affect to be strong-minded; there are tears in your eyes. Let us be open with each other and sincere.”
“What!” cried the Gascon, “do you think, Athos, we can take leave, calmly, of two friends at a time not free from danger to you and Aramis?”
“No,” answered Athos; “embrace me, my son.”
“Zounds!” said Porthos, sobbing, “I believe I’m crying; but how foolish all this is!”
Then they embraced. At that moment their fraternal bond of union was closer than ever, and when they parted, each to take the route agreed on, they turned back to utter affectionate expressions, which the echoes of the Dunes repeated. At last they lost sight of each other.
“Sacrebleu! D’Artagnan,” said Porthos, “I must out with it at once, for I can’t keep to myself anything I have against you; I haven’t been able to recognize you in this matter.”
“Why not?” said d’Artagnan, with his wise smile.
“Because if, as you say, Athos and Aramis are in real danger, this is not the time to abandon them. For my part, I confess to you that I was all ready to follow them and am still ready to rejoin them, in spite of all the Mazarins in the world.”
“You would be right, Porthos, but for one thing, which may change the current of your ideas; and that is, that it is not those gentlemen who are in the greatest danger, it is ourselves; it is not to abandon them that we have separated, but to avoid compromising them.”
“Really?” said Porthos, opening his eyes in astonishment.
“Yes, no doubt. If they are arrested they will only be put in the Bastille; if we are arrested it is a matter of the Place de Grève.”
“Oh! oh!” said Porthos, “there is quite a gap between that fate and the baronial coronet you promised me, d’Artagnan.”
“Bah! perhaps not so great as you think, Porthos; you know the proverb, ‘All roads lead to Rome.’ ”
“But how is it that we are incurring greater risks than Athos and Aramis?” asked Porthos.
“Because they have but fulfilled the mission confided to them by Queen Henrietta and we have betrayed that confided to us by Mazarin; because, going hence as emissaries to Cromwell, we became partisans of King Charles; because, instead of helping cut off the royal head condemned by those fellows called Mazarin, Cromwell, Joyce, Bridge, Fairfax, etc., we very nearly succeeded in saving it.”
“Upon my word that is true,” said Porthos; “but how can you suppose, my dear friend, that in the midst of his great preoccupations General Cromwell has had time to think—”
“Cromwell thinks of everything; Cromwell has time for everything; and believe me, dear friend, we ought not to lose our time—it is precious. We shall not be safe till we have seen Mazarin, and then—”
“The devil!” said Porthos; “what can we say to Mazarin?”
“Leave that to me—I have my plan. He laughs best who laughs last. Cromwell is mighty, Mazarin is tricky, but I would rather have to do with them than with the late Monsieur Mordaunt.”
“Ah!” said Porthos, “it is very pleasant to be able to say ‘the late Monsieur Mordaunt.’ ”
“My faith, yes,” said d’Artagnan. “But we must be going.”
The two immediately started across country toward the road to Paris, followed by Mousqueton, who, after being too cold all night, at the end of a quarter of an hour found himself too warm.
LXXV
The Return
During the six weeks that Athos and Aramis had been absent from France, the Parisians, finding themselves one morning without either queen or king, were greatly annoyed at being thus deserted, and the absence of Mazarin, a thing so long desired, did not compensate for that of the two august fugitives.
The first feeling that pervaded Paris on hearing of the flight to Saint Germain, was that sort of affright which seizes children when they awake in the night and find themselves alone. A deputation was therefore sent to the queen to entreat her to return to Paris; but she not only declined to receive the deputies, but sent an intimation by Chancellor Séguier, implying that if the parliament did not humble itself before Her Majesty by negativing all
