I have a coat of mail, a pistol and a dagger.”
“Go, then, sir, and God keep you!”
The king accompanied him to the door, where Aramis
pronounced his benediction upon him, and passing through the
ante-rooms, filled with soldiers, jumped into his carriage
and drove to the bishop’s palace. Juxon was waiting for him
impatiently.
“Well?” said he, on perceiving Aramis.
“Everything has succeeded as I expected; spies, guards,
satellites, all took me for you, and the king blesses you
while waiting for you to bless him.”
“May God protect you, my son; for your example has given me
at the same time hope and courage.”
Aramis resumed his own attire and left Juxon with the
assurance that he might again have recourse to him.
He had scarcely gone ten yards in the street when he
perceived that he was followed by a man, wrapped in a large
cloak. He placed his hand on his dagger and stopped. The man
came straight toward him. It was Porthos.
“My dear friend,” cried Aramis.
“You see, we had each our mission,” said Porthos; “mine was
to guard you and I am doing so. Have you seen the king?”
“Yes, and all goes well.”
“We are to meet our friends at the hotel at eleven.”
It was then striking half-past ten by St. Paul’s.
Arrived at the hotel it was not long before Athos entered.
“All’s well,” he cried, as he entered; “I have hired a cedar
wherry, as light as a canoe, as easy on the wing as any
swallow. It is waiting for us at Greenwich, opposite the
Isle of Dogs, manned by a captain and four men, who for the
sum of fifty pounds sterling will keep themselves at our
disposition three successive nights. Once on board we drop
down the Thames and in two hours are on the open sea. In
case I am killed, the captain’s name is Roger and the skiff
is called the Lightning. A handkerchief, tied at the four
corners, is to be the signal.”
Next moment D’Artagnan entered.
“Empty your pockets,” said he; “I want a hundred pounds, and
as for my own —- ” and he emptied them inside out.
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The sum was collected in a minute. D’Artagnan ran out and
returned directly after.
“There,” said he, “it’s done. Ough! and not without a deal
of trouble, too.”
“Has the executioner left London?” asked Athos.
“Ah, you see that plan was not sure enough; he might go out
by one gate and return by another.”
“Where is he, then?”
“In the cellar.”
“The cellar — what cellar?”
“Our landlord’s, to be sure. Mousqueton is propped against
the door and here’s the key.”
“Bravo!” said Aramis, “how did you manage it?”
“Like everything else, with money; but it cost me dear.”
“How much?” asked Athos.
“Five hundred pounds.”
“And where did you get so much money?” said Athos. “Had you,
then, that sum?”
“The queen’s famous diamond,” answered D’Artagnan, with a
sigh.
“Ah, true,” said Aramis. “I recognized it on your finger.”
“You bought it back, then, from Monsieur des Essarts?” asked
Porthos.
“Yes, but it was fated that I should not keep it.”
“So, then, we are all right as regards the executioner,”
said Athos; “but unfortunately every executioner has his
assistant, his man, or whatever you call him.”
“And this one had his,” said D’Artagnan; “but, as good luck
would have it, just as I thought I should have two affairs
to manage, our friend was brought home with a broken leg. In
the excess of his zeal he had accompanied the cart
containing the scaffolding as far as the king’s window, and
one of the crossbeams fell on his leg and broke it.”
“Ah!” cried Aramis, “that accounts for the cry I heard.”
“Probably,” said D’Artagnan, “but as he is a thoughtful
young man he promised to send four expert workmen in his
place to help those already at the scaffold, and wrote the
moment he was brought home to Master Tom Lowe, an assistant
carpenter and friend of his, to go down to Whitehall, with
three of his friends. Here’s the letter he sent by a