The Three Musketeers by Alexandre Dumas (free biff chip and kipper ebooks .txt) 📕
- Author: Alexandre Dumas
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“Oh!” said d’Artagnan, “this is rather warm; it appears that Milady and I are anxious about the health of the same person. Well, Planchet, how is the good Monsieur de Wardes? He is not dead, then?”
“No, monsieur, he is as well as a man can be with four sword wounds in his body; for you, without question, inflicted four upon the dear gentleman, and he is still very weak, having lost almost all his blood. As I said, monsieur, Lubin did not know me, and told me our adventure from one end to the other.”
“Well done, Planchet! you are the king of lackeys. Now jump onto your horse, and let us overtake the carriage.”
This did not take long. At the end of five minutes they perceived the carriage drawn up by the roadside; a cavalier, richly dressed, was close to the door.
The conversation between Milady and the cavalier was so animated that d’Artagnan stopped on the other side of the carriage without anyone but the pretty SOUBRETTE perceiving his presence.
The conversation took place in English--a language which d’Artagnan could not understand; but by the accent the young man plainly saw that the beautiful Englishwoman was in a great rage. She terminated it by an action which left no doubt as to the nature of this conversation; this was a blow with her fan, applied with such force that the little feminine weapon flew into a thousand pieces.
The cavalier laughed aloud, which appeared to exasperate Milady still more.
D’Artagnan thought this was the moment to interfere. He approached the other door, and taking off his hat respectfully, said, “Madame, will you permit me to offer you my services? It appears to me that this cavalier has made you very angry. Speak one word, madame, and I take upon myself to punish him for his want of courtesy.”
At the first word Milady turned, looking at the young man with astonishment; and when he had finished, she said in very good French, “Monsieur, I should with great confidence place myself under your protection if the person with whom I quarrel were not my brother.”
“Ah, excuse me, then,” said d’Artagnan. “You must be aware that I was ignorant of that, madame.”
“What is that stupid fellow troubling himself about?” cried the cavalier whom Milady had designated as her brother, stooping down to the height of the coach window. “Why does not he go about his business?”
“Stupid fellow yourself!” said d’Artagnan, stooping in his turn on the neck of his horse, and answering on his side through the carriage window. “I do not go on because it pleases me to stop here.”
The cavalier addressed some words in English to his sister.
“I speak to you in French,” said d’Artagnan; “be kind enough, then, to reply to me in the same language. You are Madame’s brother, I learn--be it so; but fortunately you are not mine.”
It might be thought that Milady, timid as women are in general, would have interposed in this commencement of mutual provocations in order to prevent the quarrel from going too far; but on the contrary, she threw herself back in her carriage, and called out coolly to the coachman, “Go on--home!”
The pretty SOUBRETTE cast an anxious glance at d’Artagnan, whose good looks seemed to have made an impression on her.
The carriage went on, and left the two men facing each other; no material obstacle separated them.
The cavalier made a movement as if to follow the carriage; but d’Artagnan, whose anger, already excited, was much increased by recognizing in him the Englishman of Amiens who had won his horse and had been very near winning his diamond of Athos, caught at his bridle and stopped him.
“Well, monsieur,” said he, “you appear to be more stupid than I am, for you forget there is a little quarrel to arrange between us two.”
“Ah,” said the Englishman, “is it you, my master? It seems you must always be playing some game or other.”
“Yes; and that reminds me that I have a revenge to take. We will see, my dear monsieur, if you can handle a sword as skillfully as you can a dice box.”
“You see plainly that I have no sword,” said the Englishman. “Do you wish to play the braggart with an unarmed man?”
“I hope you have a sword at home; but at all events, I have two, and if you like, I will throw with you for one of them.”
“Needless,” said the Englishman; “I am well furnished with such playthings.”
“Very well, my worthy gentleman,” replied d’Artagnan, “pick out the longest, and come and show it to me this evening.”
“Where, if you please?”
“Behind the Luxembourg; that’s a charming spot for such amusements as the one I propose to you.”
“That will do; I will be there.”
“Your hour?”
“Six o’clock.”
“A PROPOS, you have probably one or two friends?”
“I have three, who would be honored by joining in the sport with me.”
“Three? Marvelous! That falls out oddly! Three is just my number!”
“Now, then, who are you?” asked the Englishman.
“I am Monsieur d’Artagnan, a Gascon gentleman, serving in the king’s Musketeers. And you?”
“I am Lord de Winter, Baron Sheffield.”
“Well, then, I am your servant, Monsieur Baron,” said d’Artagnan, “though you have names rather difficult to recollect.” And touching his horse with the spur, he cantered back to Paris. As he was accustomed to do in all cases of any consequence, d’Artagnan went straight to the residence of Athos.
He found Athos reclining upon a large sofa, where he was waiting, as he said, for his outfit to come and find him. He related to Athos all that had passed, except the letter to M. de Wardes.
Athos was delighted to find he was going to fight an Englishman. We might say that was his dream.
They immediately sent their lackeys for Porthos and Aramis, and on their arrival made them acquainted with the situation.
Porthos drew his sword from the scabbard, and made passes at the wall, springing back from time to time, and making contortions like a dancer.
Aramis, who was constantly at work at his poem, shut himself up in Athos’s closet, and begged not to be disturbed before the moment of drawing swords.
Athos, by signs, desired Grimaud to bring another bottle of wine.
D’Artagnan employed himself in arranging a little plan, of which we shall hereafter see the execution, and which promised him some agreeable adventure, as might be seen by the smiles which from time to time passed over his countenance, whose thoughtfulness they animated.
The hour having come, they went with their four lackeys to a spot behind the Luxembourg given up to the feeding of goats. Athos threw a piece of money to the goatkeeper to withdraw. The lackeys were ordered to act as sentinels.
A silent party soon drew near to the same enclosure, entered, and joined the Musketeers. Then, according to foreign custom, the presentations took place.
The Englishmen were all men of rank; consequently the odd names of their adversaries were for them not only a matter of surprise, but of annoyance.
“But after all,” said Lord de Winter, when the three friends had been named, “we do not know who you are. We cannot fight with such names; they are names of shepherds.”
“Therefore your lordship may suppose they are only assumed names,” said Athos.
“Which only gives us a greater desire to know the real ones,” replied the Englishman.
“You played very willingly with us without knowing our names,” said Athos, “by the same token that you won our horses.”
“That is true, but we then only risked our pistoles; this time we risk our blood. One plays with anybody; but one fights only with equals.”
“And that is but just,” said Athos, and he took aside the one of the four Englishmen with whom he was to fight, and communicated his name in a low voice.
Porthos and Aramis did the same.
“Does that satisfy you?” said Athos to his adversary. “Do you find me of sufficient rank to do me the honor of crossing swords with me?”
“Yes, monsieur,” said the Englishman, bowing.
“Well! now shall I tell you something?” added Athos, coolly.
“What?” replied the Englishman.
“Why, that is that you would have acted much more wisely if you had not required me to make myself known.”
“Why so?”
“Because I am believed to be dead, and have reasons for wishing nobody to know I am living; so that I shall be obliged to kill you to prevent my secret from roaming over the fields.”
The Englishman looked at Athos, believing that he jested, but Athos did not jest the least in the world.
“Gentlemen,” said Athos, addressing at the same time his companions and their adversaries, “are we ready?”
“Yes!” answered the Englishmen and the Frenchmen, as with one voice.
“On guard, then!” cried Athos.
Immediately eight swords glittered in the rays of the setting sun, and the combat began with an animosity very natural between men twice enemies.
Athos fenced with as much calmness and method as if he had been practicing in a fencing school.
Porthos, abated, no doubt, of his too-great confidence by his adventure of Chantilly, played with skill and prudence. Aramis, who had the third canto of his poem to finish, behaved like a man in haste.
Athos killed his adversary first. He hit him but once, but as he had foretold, that hit was a mortal one; the sword pierced his heart.
Second, Porthos stretched his upon the grass with a wound through his thigh, As the Englishman, without making any further resistance, then surrendered his sword, Porthos took him up in his arms and bore him to his carriage.
Aramis pushed his so vigorously that after going back fifty paces, the man ended by fairly taking to his heels, and disappeared amid the hooting of the lackeys.
As to d’Artagnan, he fought purely and simply on the defensive; and when he saw his adversary pretty well fatigued, with a vigorous side thrust sent his sword flying. The baron, finding himself disarmed, took two or three steps back, but in this movement his foot slipped and he fell backward.
D’Artagnan was over him at a bound, and said to the Englishman, pointing his sword to his throat, “I could kill you, my Lord, you are completely in my hands; but I spare your life for the sake of your sister.”
D’Artagnan was at the height of joy; he had realized the plan he had imagined beforehand, whose picturing had produced the smiles we noted upon his face.
The Englishman, delighted at having to do with a gentleman of such a kind disposition, pressed d’Artagnan in his arms, and paid a thousand compliments to the three Musketeers, and as Porthos’s adversary was already installed in the carriage, and as Aramis’s had taken to his heels, they had nothing to think about but the dead.
As Porthos and Aramis were undressing him, in the hope of finding his wound not mortal, a large purse dropped from his clothes. D’Artagnan picked it up and offered it to Lord de Winter.
“What the devil would you have me do with that?” said the Englishman.
“You can restore it to his family,” said d’Artagnan.
“His family will care much about such a trifle as that! His family will inherit fifteen thousand louis a year from him. Keep the purse for your lackeys.”
D’Artagnan put the purse into his pocket.
“And now, my young friend, for
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