“Come, then.” And the two proceeded on their way. As d’Artagnan had foreseen, Athos was not at home; so taking the key, which they were in the habit of giving to him as a friend of the musketeer, he ascended the stairs, and introduced Madame Bonancieux into the little apartment which we have already described.
“You are now at home,” said he. “Lock the door inside, and do not open it to any one, unless you hear three knocks—thus;” and he tapped three times—two taps together, pretty hard, and, after a short interval, a gentler tap.
“That will do,” said Madame Bonancieux; “and now let me give you my instructions.”
“I am all attention.”
“Present yourself at the postern of the Louvre, on the side of the Rue de l’Echelle; and ask for Germain.”
“Very well; and what next?”
“He will ask you what you want; you must answer by these words—‘Tours and Brussels’—and he will immediately listen to your commands.”
“And what shall I tell him to do?”
“To go and find M. de la Porte, the queen’s valet-de-chambre.”
“And when M. de la Porte has come?”
“You will send him to me.”
“Very well. But where, and how, shall I see you again?”
“Do you feel particularly anxious to see me again?”
“Particularly.”
“Well, then, leave that to my care; and be at ease.”
“I rely upon your word.”
“And quite right.”
D’Artagnan took leave of Madame Bonancieux, with the most amorous glance that he could possibly concentrate upon her charming little person; and whilst he was descending the stairs, he heard the door behind him double locked. In two bounds he was at the Louvre; and, as he entered the small door in the Rue de l’Echelle, it struck ten; so that all the events we have just related had transpired within half an hour.
Everything happened just as Madame Bonancieux had predicted. Germain heard the watchword with a bow, and in ten minutes de la Porte was in the porter’s lodge; and in two words d’Artagnan told him what had occurred, and where Madame Bonancieux was to be found. La Porte made himself certain of the address by having it twice repeated, and then hurried away. But he had scarcely taken ten steps, before he returned.
“Young man,” said he, “let me give you some good counsel.”
“What is it?”
“You may possibly get into some trouble on account of this affair.”
“Do you think so?”
“I do! Have you any friend whose clock is slow?”
“Suppose I have?”
“Go and pay him a visit, that he may be able to bear witness that you were in his company at half-past nine. In law, that is what is called an alibi.”
D’Artagnan thought the advice prudent. He therefore took to his heels, and reached M. de Treville’s; but, instead of entering the drawing-room, with the rest of the company, he asked to be admitted into the cabinet, and as he was one of the habitual frequenters of the hotel, no objection was made to this; and M. de Treville was soon informed that his young compatriot, having something of importance to communicate, solicited a private interview.
In five minutes M. de Treville was there, and asked d’Artagnan what he could do for him, and to what he was indebted for a visit at such a late hour?
“Forgive me, sir,” said d’Artagnan (who had taken advantage of the moment he was left alone, to put the clock back three quarters of an hour), “but I thought, as it was only twenty-five minutes past nine, it was not yet too late to wait upon you.”
“Twenty-five minutes past nine!” exclaimed M. de Treville, looking at the clock, “it is impossible!”
“Look for yourself, sir,” said d’Artagnan, “the clock shows it.”
“You are right,” replied M. de Treville: “I should have thought it was later. But what can I do for you?”
Then d’Artagnan entered into a long story about the queen; expressing all the fears that he entertained upon her majesty’s account, and recounting all that he had heard about the cardinal’s designs against Buckingham; and this with a degree of tranquillity and consistency by which M. de Treville was the more readily duped, inasmuch as he had himself, as we have already said, remarked that something fresh was stirring between the cardinal, the king, and the queen.
Just as the clock was striking ten, d’Artagnan arose, and took his leave of M. de Treville, who thanked him for his information, expressed on him an incessant earnestness in the service of the king and queen, and returned to his saloon.
But d’Artagnan remembered, at the bottom of the stairs, that he had forgotten his cane; he therefore hastened up again, re-entered the cabinet, and with one touch of his finger put the clock to its right time, so that it might not be seen the next day to have been wrong: then, satisfied that he had a witness there to prove his alibi, he again descended the stairs, and soon found himself in the street.
CHAPTER 11 The Intrigue Becomes Confused
When his visit to M. de Treville was ended, d’Artagnan took, in pensive mood, the longest road to return to his own home.
But what were the meditations which thus led him from his way; contemplating, with successive sighs and smiles, the stars that glittered in the sky.
Alas! he was intent on Madame Bonancieux. To an apprentice musketeer, the charms of that young person raised her almost into an ideal of love. Pretty, mysterious, and initiated into all the court secrets, which reflected so much charming seriousness over her seductive features, he supposed her, also, to be not wholly unimpassioned, which is an irresistible attraction to novices in these engagements of the heart. He felt, moreover, that he had delivered her from the hands of miscreants who wished to search and maltreat her; and this important service had prepossessed her with a sentiment of gratitude towards him, which might easily be made to take a character of greater tenderness.
So rapidly do our dreams travel on imagination’s wings, that d’Artagnan already fancied himself accosted by some messenger from Madame Bonancieux, handing to him an appointment for an interview, or a diamond or a chain of gold. We have already intimated that the young cavaliers were not then ashamed of accepting presents from their king; and we may add, that, in those times of easy morality, they were not more scrupulous in respect of their mistresses, and that these latter almost always conferred upon them some precious and durable memorials, as though they were endeavouring to overcome the instability of their sentiments by the solidity of gifts.
Men did not then blush at owing their advancement to women; and we might refer to many amongst the heroes of that age of gallantry, who would neither have won their spurs at first, nor their battles afterwards, but for the better or worse furnished purse which some mistress had suspended at their saddle-bow.
Now, d’Artagnan possessed nothing. His provincial hesitation—that superficial varnish, and ephemeral bloom, that down on the peach—had evaporated in the storm of somewhat unorthodox advice which the three musketeers had given to their friend. According to the curious customs of the time, he had come to look upon himself as being just as much engaged in a campaign whilst he was at Paris, as though he had been in Flanders. Spaniard there, woman here: yet, in either case, there was an enemy to overcome, and contributions to raise.
But let us not disguise that the young Gascon was, at present, influenced by a nobler and more disinterested feeling. The mercer had confessed to him that he was