Meanwhile, the young man had darted in to his chamber, and opened the letter. It was from Mme. Bonacieux, and was expressed in these terms:
“There are many thanks to be offered to you, and to be transmitted to you. Be this evening about ten o’clock at St. Cloud, in front of the pavilion which stands at the corner of the house of M. d’Estrees.–C.B.”
While reading this letter, d’Artagnan felt his heart dilated and compressed by that delicious spasm which tortures and caresses the hearts of lovers.
It was the first billet he had received; it was the first rendezvous that had been granted him. His heart, swelled by the intoxication of joy, felt ready to dissolve away at the very gate of that terrestrial paradise called Love!
“Well, monsieur,” said Planchet, who had observed his master grow red and pale successively, “did I not guess truly? Is it not some bad affair?”
“You are mistaken, Planchet,” replied d’Artagnan; “and as a proof, there is a crown to drink my health.”
“I am much obliged to Monsieur for the crown he had given me, and I promise him to follow his instructions exactly; but it is not the less true that letters which come in this way into shut-up houses–”
“Fall from heaven, my friend, fall from heaven.”
“Then Monsieur is satisfied?” asked Planchet.
“My dear Planchet, I am the happiest of men!”
“And I may profit by Monsieur’s happiness, and go to bed?”
“Yes, go.”
“May the blessings of heaven fall upon Monsieur! But it is not the less true that that letter–”
And Planchet retired, shaking his head with an air of doubt, which the liberality of d’Artagnan had not entirely effaced.
Left alone, d’Artagnan read and reread his billet. Then he kissed and rekissed twenty times the lines traced by the hand of his beautiful mistress. At length he went to bed, fell asleep, and had golden dreams.
At seven o’clock in the morning he arose and called Planchet, who at the second summons opened the door, his countenance not yet quite freed from the anxiety of the preceding night.
“Planchet,” said d’Artagnan, “I am going out for all day, perhaps. You are, therefore, your own master till seven o’clock in the evening; but at seven o’clock you must hold yourself in readiness with two horses.”
“There!” said Planchet. “We are going again, it appears, to have our hides pierced in all sorts of ways.”
“You will take your musketoon and your pistols.”
“There, now! Didn’t I say so?” cried Planchet. “I was sure of it–the cursed letter!”
“Don’t be afraid, you idiot; there is nothing in hand but a party of pleasure.”
“Ah, like the charming journey the other day, when it rained bullets and produced a crop of steel traps!”
“Well, if you are really afraid, Monsieur Planchet,” resumed d’Artagnan, “I will go without you. I prefer traveling alone to having a companion who entertains the least fear.”
“Monsieur does me wrong,” said Planchet; “I thought he had seen me at work.”
“Yes, but I thought perhaps you had worn out all your courage the first time.”
“Monsieur shall see that upon occasion I have some left; only I beg Monsieur not to be too prodigal of it if he wishes it to last long.”
“Do you believe you have still a certain amount of it to expend this evening?”
“I hope so, monsieur.”
“Well, then, I count on you.”
“At the appointed hour I shall be ready; only I believed that Monsieur had but one horse in the Guard stables.”
“Perhaps there is but one at this moment; but by this evening there will be four.”
“It appears that our journey was a remounting journey, then?”
“Exactly so,” said d’Artagnan; and nodding to Planchet, he went out.
M. Bonacieux was at his door. D’Artagnan’s intention was to go out without speaking to the worthy mercer; but the latter made so polite and friendly a salutation that his tenant felt obliged, not only to stop, but to enter into conversation with him.
Besides, how is it possible to avoid a little condescension toward a husband whose pretty wife has appointed a meeting with you that same evening at St. Cloud, opposite D’Estrees’s pavilion? D’Artagnan approached him with the most amiable air he could assume.