“Lower! SACRE BLEU!” said Athos.
“But,” continued Aramis, “the details escape me.”
“And me also,” said Porthos.
D’Artagnan and Athos looked at each other for some time in silence. At length Athos, after serious reflection and becoming more pale than usual, made a sign of assent to d’Artagnan, who by it understood he was at liberty to speak.
“Well, this is what you have to say,” said d’Artagnan: “My Lord, your sister-in-law is an infamous woman, who wished to have you killed that she might inherit your wealth; but she could not marry your brother, being already married in France, and having been–” d’Artagnan stopped, as if seeking for the word, and looked at Athos.
“Repudiated by her husband,” said Athos.
“Because she had been branded,” continued d’Artagnan.
“Bah!” cried Porthos. “Impossible! What do you say–that she wanted to have her brother-in-law killed?”
“Yes.”
“She was married?” asked Aramis.
“Yes.”
“And her husband found out that she had a fleur-de-lis on her shoulder?” cried Porthos.
“Yes.”
These three yeses had been pronounced by Athos, each with a sadder intonation.
“And who has seen this fleur-de-lis?” inquired Aramis.
“d’Artagnan and I. Or rather, to observe the chronological order, I and d’Artagnan,” replied Athos.
“And does the husband of this frightful creature still live?” said Aramis.
“He still lives.”
“Are you quite sure of it?”
“I am he.”
There was a moment of cold silence, during which everyone was affected according to his nature.
“This time,” said Athos, first breaking the silence, “d’Artagnan has given us an excellent program, and the letter must be written at once.”
“The devil! You are right, Athos,” said Aramis; “and it is a rather difficult matter. The chancellor himself would be puzzled how to write such a letter, and yet the chancellor draws up an official report very readily. Never mind! Be silent, I will write.”
Aramis accordingly took the quill, reflected for a few moments, wrote eight or ten lines in a charming little female hand, and then with a voice soft and slow, as if each word had been scrupulously weighed, he read the following:
“My Lord, The person who writes these few lines had the honor of crossing swords with you in the little enclosure of the Rue d’Enfer. As you have several times since declared yourself the friend of that person, he thinks it his duty to respond to that friendship by sending you important information. Twice you have nearly been the victim of a near relative, whom you believe to be your heir because you are ignorant that before she contracted a marriage in England she was already married in France. But the third time, which is the present, you may succumb. Your relative left La Rochelle for England during the night. Watch her arrival, for she has great and terrible projects. If you require to know positively what she is capable of, read her past history on her left shoulder.”
“Well, now that will do wonderfully well,” said Athos. “My dear Aramis, you have the pen of a secretary of state. Lord de Winter will now be upon his guard if the letter should reach him; and even if it should fall into the hands of the cardinal, we shall not be compromised. But as the lackey who goes may make us believe he has been to London and may stop at Chatellerault, let us give him only half the sum promised him, with the letter, with an agreement that he shall have the other half in exchange for the reply. Have you the diamond?” continued Athos.
“I have what is still better. I have the price”; and d’Artagnan threw the bag upon the table. At the sound of the gold Aramis raised his eyes and Porthos started. As to Athos, he remained unmoved.
“How much in that little bag?”
“Seven thousand livres, in louis of twelve francs.”
“Seven thousand livres!” cried Porthos. “That poor little diamond was worth seven thousand livres?”
“It appears so,” said Athos, “since here they are. I don’t suppose that our friend d’Artagnan has added any of his own to the amount.”
“But, gentlemen, in all this,” said d’Artagnan, “we do not think of the queen. Let us take some heed of the welfare of her dear Buckingham. That is the least we owe her.”