Twenty Years Later by Dumas, Alexandre. Part one

hatchet.

On arriving at the extremity of the castle D’Artagnan found

himself overlooking a beautiful valley, in which, at the

foot of a charming little lake, stood several scattered

houses, which, humble in their aspect, and covered, some

with tiles, others with thatch, seemed to acknowledge as

their sovereign lord a pretty chateau, built about the

beginning of the reign of Henry IV., and surmounted by four

stately, gilded weather-cocks. D’Artagnan no longer doubted

that this was Porthos’s pleasant dwelling place.

The road led straight up to the chateau which, compared to

its ancestor on the hill, was exactly what a fop of the

coterie of the Duc d’Enghein would have been beside a knight

in steel armor in the time of Charles VII. D’Artagnan

spurred his horse on and pursued his road, followed by

Planchet at the same pace.

In ten minutes D’Artagnan reached the end of an alley

regularly planted with fine poplars and terminating in an

iron gate, the points and crossed bars of which were gilt.

In the midst of this avenue was a nobleman, dressed in green

and with as much gilding about him as the iron gate, riding

on a tall horse. On his right hand and his left were two

footmen, with the seams of their dresses laced. A

considerable number of clowns were assembled and rendered

homage to their lord.

“Ah!” said D’Artagnan to himself, “can this be the Seigneur

du Vallon de Bracieux de Pierrefonds? Well-a-day! how he has

shrunk since he gave up the name of Porthos!”

“This cannot be Monsieur Porthos,” observed Planchet

replying, as it were, to his master’s thoughts. “Monsieur

Porthos was six feet high; this man is scarcely five.”

“Nevertheless,” said D’Artagnan, “the people are bowing very

low to this person.”

As he spoke, he rode toward the tall horse — to the man of

importance and his valets. As he approached he seemed to

recognize the features of this individual.

“Jesu!” cried Planchet, “can it be?”

At this exclamation the man on horseback turned slowly and

with a lofty air, and the two travelers could see, displayed

in all their brilliancy, the large eyes, the vermilion

visage, and the eloquent smile of — Mousqueton.

It was indeed Mousqueton — Mousqueton, as fat as a pig,

rolling about with rude health, puffed out with good living,

who, recognizing D’Artagnan and acting very differently from

the hypocrite Bazin, slipped off his horse and approached

the officer with his hat off, so that the homage of the

assembled crowd was turned toward this new sun, which

eclipsed the former luminary.

“Monsieur d’Artagnan! Monsieur d’Artagnan!” cried Mousqueton,

Page 83

Dumas, Alexandre – Twenty Years After

his fat cheeks swelling out and his whole frame perspiring

with joy; “Monsieur d’Artagnan! oh! what joy for my lord and

master, Du Vallon de Bracieux de Pierrefonds!”

“Thou good Mousqueton! where is thy master?”

“You stand upon his property!”

“But how handsome thou art — how fat! thou hast prospered

and grown stout!” and D’Artagnan could not restrain his

astonishment at the change good fortune had produced on the

once famished one.

“Hey, yes, thank God, I am pretty well,” said Mousqueton.

“But hast thou nothing to say to thy friend Planchet?”

“How, my friend Planchet? Planchet — art thou there?” cried

Mousqueton, with open arms and eyes full of tears.

“My very self,” replied Planchet; “but I wanted first to see

if thou wert grown proud.”

“Proud toward an old friend? never, Planchet! thou wouldst

not have thought so hadst thou known Mousqueton well.”

“So far so well,” answered Planchet, alighting, and

extending his arms to Mousqueton, the two servants embraced

with an emotion which touched those who were present and

made them suppose that Planchet was a great lord in

disguise, so highly did they estimate the position of

Mousqueton.

“And now, sir,” resumed Mousqueton, when he had rid himself

of Planchet, who had in vain tried to clasp his hands behind

his friend’s fat back, “now, sir, allow me to leave you, for

I could not permit my master to hear of your arrival from

any but myself; he would never forgive me for not having

preceded you.”

“This dear friend,” said D’Artagnan, carefully avoiding to

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