On that day, in fact, the four friends arrived punctually at the hour, each from his own abode or occupation. Porthos had been trying a new horse; d’Artagnan was on guard at the Louvre; Aramis had been to visit one of his penitents in the neighborhood; and Athos, whose domicile was established in the Rue Guénégaud, found himself close at hand. They were, therefore, somewhat surprised to meet altogether at the door of the Hermitage, Athos starting out from the Pont Neuf, Porthos by the Rue de la Roule, d’Artagnan by the Rue des Fosse Saint Germain l’Auxerrois, and Aramis by the Rue de Bethisy.
The first words exchanged between the four friends, on account of the ceremony which each of them mingled with their demonstration, were somewhat forced and even the repast began with a kind of stiffness. Athos perceived this embarrassment, and by way of supplying an effectual remedy, called for four bottles of champagne.
At this order, given in Athos’s habitually calm manner, the face of the Gascon relaxed and Porthos’s brow grew smooth. Aramis was astonished. He knew that Athos not only never drank, but more, that he had a kind of repugnance to wine. This astonishment was doubled when Aramis saw Athos fill a bumper and toss it off with all his former enthusiasm. His companions followed his example. In a very few minutes the four bottles were empty and this excellent specific succeeded in dissipating even the slightest cloud that might have rested on their spirits. Now the four friends began to speak loud, scarcely waiting till one had finished before another began, and each assumed his favorite attitude on or at the table. Soon—strange fact—Aramis undid two buttons of his doublet, seeing which, Porthos unfastened his entirely.
Battles, long journeys, blows given and received, sufficed for the first themes of conversation, which turned upon the silent struggles sustained against him who was now called the great cardinal.
“Faith,” said Aramis, laughing, “we have praised the dead enough, let us revile the living a little; I should like to say something evil of Mazarin; is it permissible?”
“Go on, go on,” replied d’Artagnan, laughing heartily; “relate your story and I will applaud it if it is a good one.”
“A great prince,” said Aramis, “with whom Mazarin sought an alliance, was invited by him to send him a list of the conditions on which he would do him the honor to negotiate with him. The prince, who had a great repugnance to treat with such an ill-bred fellow, made out a list, against the grain, and sent it. In this list there were three conditions which displeased Mazarin and he offered the prince ten thousand crowns to renounce them.”
“Ah, ha, ha!” laughed the three friends, “not a bad bargain; and there was no fear of being taken at his word; what did the prince do then?”
“The prince immediately sent fifty thousand francs to Mazarin, begging him never to write to him again, and offered twenty thousand francs more, on condition that he would never speak to him. What did Mazarin do?”
“Stormed!” suggested Athos.
“Beat the messenger!” cried Porthos.
“Accepted the money!” said d’Artagnan.
“You have guessed it,” answered Aramis; and they all laughed so heartily that the host appeared in order to inquire whether the gentlemen wanted anything; he thought they were fighting.
At last their hilarity calmed down and:
“Faith!” exclaimed d’Artagnan to the two friends, “you may well wish ill to Mazarin; for I assure you, on his side he wishes you no good.”
“Pooh! really?” asked Athos. “If I thought the fellow knew me by my name I would be rebaptized, for fear it might be thought I knew him.”
“He knows you better by your actions than your name; he is quite aware that there are two gentlemen who greatly aided the escape of Monsieur de Beaufort, and he has instigated an active search for them, I can answer for it.”
“By whom?”
“By me; and this morning he sent for me to ask me if I had obtained any information.”
“And what did you reply?”
“That I had none as yet; but that I was to dine today with two gentlemen, who would be able to give me some.”
“You told him that?” said Porthos, a broad smile spreading over his honest face. “Bravo! and you are not afraid of that, Athos?”
“No,” replied Athos, “it is not the search of Mazarin that I fear.”
“Now,” said Aramis, “tell me a little what you do fear.”
“Nothing for the present; at least, nothing in good earnest.”
“And with regard to the past?” asked Porthos.
“Oh! the past is another thing,” said Athos, sighing; “the past and the future.”
“Are you afraid for your young Raoul?” asked Aramis.
“Well,” said d’Artagnan, “one is never killed in a first engagement.”
“Nor in the second,” said Aramis.
“Nor in the third,” returned Porthos; “and even when one is killed, one rises again, the proof of which is, that here we are!”
“No,” said Athos, “it is not Raoul about whom I am anxious, for I trust he will conduct himself like a gentleman; and if he is killed—well, he will die bravely; but hold—should such a misfortune happen—well—” Athos passed his hand across his pale brow.
“Well?” asked Aramis.
“Well, I shall look upon it as an expiation.”
“Ah!” said d’Artagnan; “I know what you mean.”
“And I, too,” added Aramis; “but you must not think of that, Athos; what is past, is past.”
“I don’t understand,” said Porthos.
“The affair at Armentières,” whispered d’Artagnan.
“The affair at Armentières?” asked he again.
“Milady.”
“Oh, yes!” said Porthos; “true, I had forgotten it!”
Athos looked at him intently.
“You have forgotten it, Porthos?” said he.
“Faith! yes, it is so long ago,” answered Porthos.
“This affair does not, then, weigh upon your conscience?”
“Faith, no.”
“And you, d’Artagnan?”
“I—I own that
