camp? That was the question which first presented itself to
Athos. The sergeant, with his head raised, appeared to be
watching the moment when the gentleman should appear, to
address him. Athos, surprised to see these men, whom he had
seen depart the night before, could not refrain from
expressing his astonishment to them.
“There is nothing surprising in that, monsieur,” said the
sergeant; “for yesterday the general commanded me to watch
over your safety, and I thought it right to obey that
order.”
“Is the general at the camp?” asked Athos.
“No doubt he is, monsieur; as when he left you he was going
back.”
“Well, wait for me a moment; I am going thither to render an
account of the fidelity with which you fulfilled your duty,
and to get my sword, which I left upon the table in the
tent.”
“That happens very well,” said the sergeant, “for we were
about to request you to do so.”
Athos fancied he could detect an air of equivocal bonhomie
upon the countenance of the sergeant; but the adventure of
the vault might have excited the curiosity of the man, and
it was not surprising that he allowed some of the feelings
which agitated his mind to appear in his face. Athos closed
the doors carefully, confiding the keys to Grimaud, who had
chosen his domicile beneath the shed itself, which led to
the cellar where the casks had been deposited. The sergeant
escorted the Comte de la Fere to the camp. There a fresh
guard awaited him, and relieved the four men who had
conducted Athos.
This fresh guard was commanded by the aid-de-camp Digby,
who, on their way, fixed upon Athos looks so little
encouraging, that the Frenchman asked himself whence arose,
with regard to him, this vigilance and this severity, when
the evening before he had been left perfectly free. He
nevertheless continued his way to the headquarters, keeping
to himself the observations which men and things forced him
to make. He found in the general’s tent, to which he had
been introduced the evening before, three superior officers:
these were Monk’s lieutenant and two colonels. Athos
perceived his sword; it was still on the table where he left
it. Neither of the officers had seen Athos, consequently
neither of them knew him. Monk’s lieutenant asked, at the
appearance of Athos, if that were the same gentleman with
whom the General had left the tent.
“Yes, your honor,” said the sergeant; “it is the same.”
“But,” said Athos haughtily, “I do not deny it, I think; and
now, gentlemen, in turn, permit me to ask you to what
purpose these questions are asked, and particularly some
explanation upon the tone in which you ask them?”
“Monsieur,” said the lieutenant, “if we address these
questions to you, it is because we have a right to do so,
and if we make them in a particular tone, it is because that
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tone, believe me, agrees with the circumstances.”
“Gentlemen,” said Athos, “you do not know who I am; but I
must tell you I acknowledge no one here but General Monk as
my equal. Where is he? Let me be conducted to him, and if he
has any questions to put to me, I will answer him and to his
satisfaction, I hope. I repeat, gentlemen, where is the
general?”
“Eh! good God! you know better than we do where he is,” said
the lieutenant.
“I?”
“Yes, you.”
“Monsieur,” said Athos, “I do not understand you.”
“You will understand me — and, in the first place, do not
speak so loud.”
Athos smiled disdainfully.
“We don’t ask you to smile,” said one of the colonels
warmly; “we require you to answer.”
“And I, gentlemen, declare to you that I will not reply
until I am in the presence of the general.”
“But,” replied the same colonel who had already spoken, “you
know very well that is impossible.”
“This is the second time I have received this strange reply
to the wish I express,” said Athos. “Is the general absent?”
This question was made with such apparent good faith, and
the gentleman wore an air of such natural surprise, that the