“Not for me,” cried Porthos; “I am not by any means resigned.”
“But you will be resigned, my friend.”
“Never!”
“He will become so, Monsieur; I know him better than he knows himself. Be silent, dear Du Vallon, and resign yourself.”
“Adieu, gentlemen,” said de Comminges; “sleep well!”
“We will try.”
De Comminges went away, d’Artagnan remaining apparently in the same attitude of humble resignation; but scarcely had he departed when he turned and clasped Porthos in his arms with an expression not to be doubted.
“Oh!” cried Porthos; “what’s the matter now? Have you gone mad, my dear friend?”
“What is the matter?” returned d’Artagnan; “we are saved!”
“I don’t see that at all,” answered Porthos. “I think we are all taken prisoners, except Aramis, and that our chances of getting out are lessened since one more of us is caught in Mazarin’s mousetrap.”
“Which is far too strong for two of us, but not strong enough for three of us,” returned d’Artagnan.
“I don’t understand,” said Porthos.
“Never mind; let’s sit down to table and take something to strengthen us for the night.”
“What are we to do, then, tonight?”
“To travel—perhaps.”
“But—”
“Sit down, dear friend, to table. When one is eating, ideas flow easily. After supper, when they are perfected, I will communicate my plans to you.”
So Porthos sat down to table without another word and ate with an appetite that did honor to the confidence that was ever inspired in him by d’Artagnan’s inventive imagination.
LXXXIV
Strength and Sagacity—Continued
Supper was eaten in silence, but not in sadness; for from time to time one of those sweet smiles which were habitual to him in moments of good-humor illumined the face of d’Artagnan. Not a scintilla of these was lost on Porthos; and at every one he uttered an exclamation which betrayed to his friend that he had not lost sight of the idea which possessed his brain.
At dessert d’Artagnan reposed in his chair, crossed one leg over the other and lounged about like a man perfectly at his ease.
Porthos rested his chin on his hands, placed his elbows on the table and looked at d’Artagnan with an expression of confidence which imparted to that colossus an admirable appearance of good-fellowship.
“Well?” said d’Artagnan, at last.
“Well!” repeated Porthos.
“You were saying, my dear friend—”
“No; I said nothing.”
“Yes; you were saying you wished to leave this place.”
“Ah, indeed! the will was never wanting.”
“To get away you would not mind, you added, knocking down a door or a wall.”
“ ’Tis true—I said so, and I say it again.”
“And I answered you, Porthos, that it was not a good plan; that we couldn’t go a hundred steps without being recaptured, because we were without clothes to disguise ourselves and arms to defend ourselves.”
“That is true; we should need clothes and arms.”
“Well,” said d’Artagnan, rising, “we have them, friend Porthos, and even something better.”
“Bah!” said Porthos, looking around.
“Useless to look; everything will come to us when wanted. At about what time did we see the two Swiss guards walking yesterday?”
“An hour after sunset.”
“If they go out today as they did yesterday we shall have the honor, then, of seeing them in half an hour?”
“In a quarter of an hour at most.”
“Your arm is still strong enough, is it not, Porthos?”
Porthos unbuttoned his sleeve, raised his shirt and looked complacently on his strong arm, as large as the leg of any ordinary man.
“Yes, indeed,” said he, “I believe so.”
“So that you could without trouble convert these tongs into a hoop and yonder shovel into a corkscrew?”
“Certainly.” And the giant took up these two articles, and without any apparent effort produced in them the metamorphoses suggested by his companion.
“There!” he cried.
“Capital!” exclaimed the Gascon. “Really, Porthos, you are a gifted individual!”
“I have heard speak,” said Porthos, “of a certain Milo of Crotona, who performed wonderful feats, such as binding his forehead with a cord and bursting it—of killing an ox with a blow of his fist and carrying it home on his shoulders, et cetera. I used to learn all these feats by heart yonder, down at Pierrefonds, and I have done all that he did except breaking a cord by the corrugation of my temples.”
“Because your strength is not in your head, Porthos,” said his friend.
“No; it is in my arms and shoulders,” answered Porthos with gratified naivete.
“Well, my dear friend, let us approach the window and there you can match your strength against that of an iron bar.”
Porthos went to the window, took a bar in his hands, clung to it and bent it like a bow; so that the two ends came out of the sockets of stone in which for thirty years they had been fixed.
“Well! friend, the cardinal, although such a genius, could never have done that.”
“Shall I take out any more of them?” asked Porthos.
“No; that is sufficient; a man can pass through that.”
Porthos tried, and passed the upper portion of his body through.
“Yes,” he said.
“Now pass your arm through this opening.”
“Why?”
“You will know presently—pass it.”
Porthos obeyed with military promptness and passed his arm through the opening.
“Admirable!” said d’Artagnan.
“The scheme goes forward, it seems.”
“On wheels, dear friend.”
“Good! What shall I do now?”
“Nothing.”
“It is finished, then?”
“No, not yet.”
“I should like to understand,” said Porthos.
“Listen, my dear friend; in two words you will know all. The door of the guardhouse opens, as you see.”
“Yes, I see.”
“They are about to send into our court, which Monsieur de Mazarin crosses on his way to the orangery, the two guards who attend him.”
“There they are, coming out.”
“If only they close the guardhouse door! Good! They close it.”
“What, then?”
“Silence! They may hear us.”
“I don’t understand it at all.”
“As you execute you will understand.”
“And yet I should have preferred—”
“You will have the pleasure of the surprise.”
“Ah, that is true.”
“Hush!”
Porthos remained silent and motionless.
In fact, the two soldiers advanced on the side where the window was, rubbing their hands, for it was cold, it being the month of February.
At this moment the door of the guardhouse was opened and one of the soldiers was summoned
