“I shall be baron!” explained Porthos, stepping forward.
“I told you so,” said d’Artagnan, checking him with his hand; “and now his Eminence confirms it.”
“And you, Monsieur d’Artagnan, what do you want?”
“My lord,” said d’Artagnan, “it is twenty years since Cardinal de Richelieu made me lieutenant.”
“Yes, and you would be gratified if Cardinal Mazarin should make you captain.”
D’Artagnan bowed.
“Well, that is not impossible. We will see, gentlemen, we will see. Now, Monsieur de Vallon,” said Mazarin, “what service do you prefer, in the town or in the country?”
Porthos opened his mouth to reply.
“My lord,” said d’Artagnan, “Monsieur de Vallon is like me, he prefers service extraordinary—that is to say, enterprises that are considered mad and impossible.”
That boastfulness was not displeasing to Mazarin; he fell into meditation.
“And yet,” he said, “I must admit that I sent for you to appoint you to quiet service; I have certain apprehensions—well, what is the meaning of that?”
In fact, a great noise was heard in the antechamber; at the same time the door of the study was burst open and a man, covered with dust, rushed into it, exclaiming:
“My lord the cardinal! my lord the cardinal!”
Mazarin thought that someone was going to assassinate him and he drew back, pushing his chair on the castors. D’Artagnan and Porthos moved so as to plant themselves between the person entering and the cardinal.
“Well, sir,” exclaimed Mazarin, “what’s the matter? and why do you rush in here, as if you were about to penetrate a crowded marketplace?”
“My lord,” replied the messenger, “I wish to speak to your Eminence in secret. I am Monsieur du Poins, an officer in the Guards, on duty at the donjon of Vincennes.”
Mazarin, perceiving by the paleness and agitation of the messenger that he had something of importance to say, made a sign that d’Artagnan and Porthos should give place.
D’Artagnan and Porthos withdrew to a corner of the cabinet.
“Speak, Monsieur, speak at once!” said Mazarin. “What is the matter?”
“The matter is, my lord, that the Duc de Beaufort has contrived to escape from the Château of Vincennes.”
Mazarin uttered a cry and became paler than the man who had brought the news. He fell back, almost fainting, in his chair.
“Escaped? Monsieur de Beaufort escaped?”
“My lord, I saw him run off from the top of the terrace.”
“And you did not fire on him?”
“He was out of range.”
“Monsieur de Chavigny—where was he?”
“Absent.”
“And La Ramee?”
“Was found locked up in the prisoner’s room, a gag in his mouth and a poniard near him.”
“But the man who was under him?”
“Was an accomplice of the duke’s and escaped along with him.”
Mazarin groaned.
“My lord,” said d’Artagnan, advancing toward the cardinal, “it seems to me that your Eminence is losing precious time. It may still be possible to overtake the prisoner. France is large; the nearest frontier is sixty leagues distant.”
“And who is to pursue him?” cried Mazarin.
“I, pardieu!”
“And you would arrest him?”
“Why not?”
“You would arrest the Duc de Beaufort, armed, in the field?”
“If your Eminence should order me to arrest the devil, I would seize him by the horns and would bring him in.”
“So would I,” said Porthos.
“So would you!” said Mazarin, looking with astonishment at those two men. “But the duke will not yield himself without a furious battle.”
“Very well,” said d’Artagnan, his eyes aflame, “battle! It is a long time since we have had a battle, eh, Porthos?”
“Battle!” cried Porthos.
“And you think you can catch him?”
“Yes, if we are better mounted than he.”
“Go then, take what guards you find here, and pursue him.”
“You command us, my lord, to do so?”
“And I sign my orders,” said Mazarin, taking a piece of paper and writing some lines; “Monsieur du Vallon, your barony is on the back of the Duc de Beaufort’s horse; you have nothing to do but to overtake it. As for you, my dear lieutenant, I promise you nothing; but if you bring him back to me, dead or alive, you may ask all you wish.”
“To horse, Porthos!” said d’Artagnan, taking his friend by the hand.
“Here I am,” smiled Porthos, with his sublime composure.
They descended the great staircase, taking with them all the guards they found on their road, and crying out, “To arms! To arms!” and immediately put spur to horse, which set off along the Rue Saint-Honoré with the speed of the whirlwind.
“Well, baron, I promise you some good exercise!” said the Gascon.
“Yes, my captain.”
As they went, the citizens, awakened, left their doors and the street dogs followed the cavaliers, barking. At the corner of the Cimetière Saint Jean, d’Artagnan upset a man; it was too insignificant an occurrence to delay people so eager to get on. The troop continued its course as though their steeds had wings.
Alas! there are no unimportant events in this world! and we shall see that this apparently slight incident came near endangering the monarchy.
XXV
An Adventure on the High Road
The musketeers rode the whole length of the Faubourg Saint Antoine and of the road to Vincennes, and soon found themselves out of the town, then in a forest and then within sight of a village.
The horses seemed to become more lively with each successive step; their nostrils reddened like glowing furnaces. D’Artagnan, freely applying his spurs, was in advance of Porthos two feet at the most; Mousqueton followed two lengths behind; the guards were scattered according to the varying excellence of their respective mounts.
From the top of an eminence d’Artagnan perceived a group of people collected on the other side of the moat, in front of that part of the donjon which looks toward Saint Maur. He rode on, convinced that in this direction he would gain intelligence of the fugitive. In five minutes he had arrived at the place, where the guards joined him, coming up one by one.
The several members of that group were much excited. They looked at the cord, still hanging from the loophole and broken at about twenty feet from the ground. Their eyes measured the height and
