“Sir, the distance will be diminished,” said a subordinate.
Aramis saluted, then turning toward Athos:
“I don’t care to camp on the Place Royale with all these people,” he said. “Shall we go forward? We shall see better what is going on.”
“And then Monsieur de Châtillon will not come to the Place Royale to look for you. Come, then, my friend, we will go forward.”
“Haven’t you something to say to Monsieur de Flamarens on your own account?”
“My friend,” said Athos, “I have made a resolution never to draw my sword save when it is absolutely necessary.”
“And how long ago was that?”
“When I last drew my poniard.”
“Ah! Good! another souvenir of Monsieur Mordaunt. Well, my friend, nothing now is lacking except that you should feel remorse for having killed that fellow.”
“Hush!” said Athos, putting a finger on his lips, with the sad smile peculiar to him; “let us talk no more of Mordaunt—it will bring bad luck.” And Athos set forward toward Charenton, followed closely by Aramis.
LXXVIII
The Battle of Charenton
As Athos and Aramis proceeded, and passed different companies on the road, they became aware that they were arriving near the field of battle.
“Ah! my friend!” cried Athos, suddenly, “where have you brought us? I fancy I perceive around us faces of different officers in the royal army; is not that the Duc de Châtillon himself coming toward us with his brigadiers?”
“Good day, sirs,” said the duke, advancing; “you are puzzled by what you see here, but one word will explain everything. There is now a truce and a conference. The prince, Monsieur de Retz, the Duc de Beaufort, the Duc de Bouillon, are talking over public affairs. Now one of two things must happen: either matters will not be arranged, or they will be arranged, in which last case I shall be relieved of my command and we shall still meet again.”
“Sir,” said Aramis, “you speak to the point. Allow me to ask you a question: Where are the plenipotentiaries?”
“At Charenton, in the second house on the right on entering from the direction of Paris.”
“And was this conference arranged beforehand?”
“No, gentlemen, it seems to be the result of certain propositions which Mazarin made last night to the Parisians.”
Athos and Aramis exchanged smiles; for they well knew what those propositions were, to whom they had been made and who had made them.
“And that house in which the plenipotentiaries are,” asked Athos, “belongs to—”
“To Monsieur de Chanleu, who commands your troops at Charenton. I say your troops, for I presume that you gentlemen are Frondeurs?”
“Yes, almost,” said Aramis.
“We are for the king and the princes,” added Athos.
“We must understand each other,” said the duke. “The king is with us and his generals are the Duke of Orléans and the Prince de Condé, although I must add ’tis almost impossible now to know to which party anyone belongs.”
“Yes,” answered Athos, “but his right place is in our ranks, with the Prince de Conti, de Beaufort, d’Elbeuf, and de Bouillon; but, sir, supposing that the conference is broken off—are you going to try to take Charenton?”
“Such are my orders.”
“Sir, since you command the cavalry—”
“Pardon me, I am commander-in-chief.”
“So much the better. You must know all your officers—I mean those more distinguished.”
“Why, yes, very nearly.”
“Will you then kindly tell me if you have in your command the Chevalier d’Artagnan, lieutenant in the Musketeers?”
“No, sir, he is not with us; he left Paris more than six weeks ago and is believed to have gone on a mission to England.”
“I knew that, but I supposed he had returned.”
“No, sir; no one has seen him. I can answer positively on that point, for the Musketeers belong to our forces and Monsieur de Cambon, the substitute for Monsieur d’Artagnan, still holds his place.”
The two friends looked at each other.
“You see,” said Athos.
“It is strange,” said Aramis.
“It is absolutely certain that some misfortune has happened to them on the way.”
“If we have no news of them this evening, tomorrow we must start.”
Athos nodded affirmatively, then turning:
“And Monsieur de Bragelonne, a young man fifteen years of age, attached to the Prince de Condé—has he the honor of being known to you?” he inquired, diffident in allowing the sarcastic Aramis to perceive how strong were his paternal feelings.
“Yes, surely, he came with the prince; a charming young man; he is one of your friends then, Monsieur le Comte?”
“Yes, sir,” answered Athos, agitated; “so much so that I wish to see him if possible.”
“Quite possible, sir; do me the favor to accompany me and I will conduct you to headquarters.”
“Hallo, there!” cried Aramis, turning around; “what a noise behind us!”
“A body of cavaliers is coming toward us,” said Châtillon.
“I recognize the coadjutor by his Frondist hat.”
“And I the Duc de Beaufort by his white plume of ostrich feathers.”
“They are coming, full gallop; the prince is with them—ah! he is leaving them!”
“They are beating the rappel!” cried Châtillon; “we must discover what is going on.”
In fact, they saw the soldiers running to their arms; the trumpets sounded; the drums beat; the Duc de Beaufort drew his sword. On his side the prince sounded a rappel and all the officers of the royalist army, mingling momentarily with the Parisian troops, ran to him.
“Gentlemen,” cried Châtillon, “the truce is broken, that is evident; they are going to fight; go, then, into Charenton, for I shall begin in a short time—there’s a signal from the prince!”
The cornet of a troop had in fact just raised the standard of the prince.
“Farewell, till the next time we meet,” cried Châtillon, and he set off, full gallop.
Athos and Aramis turned also and went to salute the coadjutor and the Duc de Beaufort. As to the Duc de Bouillon, he had such a fit of gout as obliged him to return to Paris in a litter; but his place was well filled by the Duc d’Elbeuf and his four sons, ranged around him like a staff. Meantime, between Charenton and the royal army was left a
