Grimaud had now finished his accounts. He arose and stood
near Mousqueton.
“I,” he said.
“What?” said Mousqueton.
“I can pass.”
“That is true,” said Mousqueton, glancing at his friend’s
long and thin body, “you will pass easily.”
“And he knows the full casks,” said Blaisois, “for he has
already been in the hold with Monsieur le Chevalier
d’Artagnan. Let Monsieur Grimaud go in, Monsieur Mouston.”
“I could go in as well as Grimaud,” said Mousqueton, a little
piqued.
“Yes, but that would take too much time and I am thirsty. I
am getting more and more seasick.”
“Go in, then, Grimaud,” said Mousqueton, handing him the beer
pot and gimlet.
“Rinse the glasses,” said Grimaud. Then with a friendly
gesture toward Mousqueton, that he might forgive him for
finishing an enterprise so brilliantly begun by another, he
glided like a serpent through the opening and disappeared.
Blaisois was in a state of great excitement; he was in
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ecstasies. Of all the exploits performed since their arrival
in England by the extraordinary men with whom he had the
honor to be associated, this seemed without question to be
the most wonderful.
“You are about to see” said Mousqueton, looking at Blaisois
with an expression of superiority which the latter did not
even think of questioning, “you are about to see, Blaisois,
how we old soldiers drink when we are thirsty.”
“My cloak,” said Grimaud, from the bottom of the hold.
“What do you want?” asked Blaisois.
“My cloak — stop up the aperture with it.”
“Why?” asked Blaisois.
“Simpleton!” exclaimed Mousqueton; “suppose any one came into
the room.”
“Ah, true,” cried Blaisois, with evident admiration; “but it
will be dark in the cellar.”
“Grimaud always sees, dark or light, night as well as day,”
answered Mousqueton.
“That is lucky,” said Blaisois. “As for me, when I have no
candle I can’t take two steps without knocking against
something.”
“That’s because you haven’t served,” said Mousqueton. “Had
you been in the army you would have been able to pick up a
needle on the floor of a closed oven. But hark! I think some
one is coming.”
Mousqueton made, with a low whistling sound, the sign of
alarm well known to the lackeys in the days of their youth,
resumed his place at the table and made a sign to Blaisois
to follow his example.
Blaisois obeyed.
The door of their cabin was opened. Two men, wrapped in
their cloaks, appeared.
“Oho!” said they, “not in bed at a quarter past eleven.
That’s against all rules. In a quarter of an hour let every
one be in bed and snoring.”
These two men then went toward the compartment in which
Grimaud was secreted; opened the door, entered and shut it
after them.
“Ah!” cried Blaisois, “he is lost!”
“Grimaud’s a cunning fellow,” murmured Mousqueton.
They waited for ten minutes, during which time no noise was
heard that might indicate that Grimaud was discovered, and
at the expiration of that anxious interval the two men
returned, closed the door after them, and repeating their
orders that the servants should go to bed and extinguish
their lights, disappeared.
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Dumas, Alexandre – Twenty Years After
“Shall we obey?” asked Blaisois. “All this looks
suspicious.”
“They said a quarter of an hour. We still have five
minutes,” replied Mousqueton.
“Suppose we warn the masters.”
“Let’s wait for Grimaud.”
“But perhaps they have killed him.”
“Grimaud would have cried out.”
“You know he is almost dumb.”
“We should have heard the blow, then.”
“But if he doesn’t return?”
“Here he is.”
At that very moment Grimaud drew back the cloak which hid
the aperture and came in with his face livid, his eyes
staring wide open with terror, so that the pupils were
contracted almost to nothing, with a large circle of white
around them. He held in his hand a tankard full of a dark
substance, and approaching the gleam of light shed by the
lamp he uttered this single monosyllable: “Oh!” with such an
expression of extreme terror that Mousqueton started,
alarmed, and Blaisois was near fainting from fright.
Both, however, cast an inquisitive glance into the tankard