Porthos obeyed, rose from his bed, and opened his eyes, even before opening his mind.
“We are going off,” said Aramis.
“Ah!” returned Porthos.
“We shall go mounted, and faster than we have ever gone in our lives.”
“Ah!” repeated Porthos.
“Dress yourself, my friend.”
And he helped the giant to dress himself, and thrust his gold and diamonds into his pocket. While he was thus engaged, a slight noise attracted his attention, and he saw d’Artagnan looking at them from the open doorway. Aramis started.
“What the devil are you doing there in such an agitated manner?” said the musketeer.
“Hush!” said Porthos.
“We are going off on a mission,” added the bishop.
“You are very fortunate,” said the musketeer.
“Oh, dear me!” said Porthos, “I feel so wearied; I would much prefer to sleep. But the service of the King-”
“Have you seen M. Fouquet?” inquired Aramis of d’Artagnan.
“Yes; this very minute, in a carriage.”
“What did he say to you?”
“He bade me adieu.”
“Was that all?”
“What else do you think he could say? Am I worth anything now, since you have all got into such high favor?”
“Listen,” said Aramis, embracing the musketeer; “your good times are returning again. You will have no more occasion to be jealous of any one.”
“Ah, bah!”
“I predict that something will happen to you to-day which will increase your importance.”
“Really?”
“You know that I know all the news?”
“Oh, yes!”
“Come, Porthos, are you ready? Let us go.”
“I am quite ready, Aramis.”
“Let us embrace d’Artagnan first.”
“Pardieu!”
“But the horses?”
“Oh! there is no want of them here. Will you have mine?”
No; Porthos has his own stud. So adieu; adieu!”
The two fugitives mounted their horses beneath the eyes of the captain of the Musketeers, who held Porthos’s stirrup for him, and gazed after them until they were out of sight.
“On any other occasion,” thought the Gascon, “I should say that those gentlemen were making their escape; but in these days politics seem so changed that this is called going on a mission. I have no objection. Let me attend to my own affairs”; and he philosophically entered his apartments.
Chapter L: How the Countersign Was Respected at the Bastille
FOUQUET tore along as fast as his horses could drag him. On the way he trembled with horror at the idea of what had just been revealed to him. “What must have been,” he thought, “the youth of those extraordinary men, who, even as age is stealing fast upon them, still are able to conceive such plans, and to carry them out without flinching!”
At one moment he asked himself whether all that Aramis had just been recounting to him was not a dream only, and whether the fable itself was not the snare; so that when he should arrive at the Bastille he might find an order of arrest, which would send him to join the dethroned King. Strongly impressed with this idea, he gave certain sealed orders on his route, while fresh horses were harnessed to his carriage. These orders were addressed to M. d’Artagnan and to certain others whose fidelity to the King was far above suspicion.
“In this way,” said Fouquet to himself, “prisoner or not, I shall have performed the duty which I owe to my honor. The orders will not reach them until after my return, if I should return free, and consequently they will not have been unsealed. I shall then take them back again. If I am delayed, it will be because some misfortune will have befallen me; and in that case assistance will be sent for me as well as for the King.”
Prepared in this manner, the superintendent arrived at the Bastille; he had travelled at the rate of five leagues and a half an hour. Every circumstance of delay which Aramis had escaped in his visit to the Bastille befell Fouquet. It was in vain that he gave his name, in vain that he endeavored to be recognized; he could not succeed in obtaining an entrance. By dint of entreaties, threats, and commands, he succeeded in inducing a sentinel to speak to one of the subalterns, who went and told the major. As for the governor, they did not even dare disturb him. Fouquet sat in his carriage, at the outer gate of the fortress, chafing with rage and impatience, awaiting the return of the officer, who at last reappeared with a somewhat sulky air.