Twenty Years Later by Dumas, Alexandre. Part two

The arms of D’Artagnan fell powerless by his side. One might

have supposed him thunderstruck; a paleness ran like a cloud

over his dark skin, but disappeared immediately.

“A prisoner?” he reiterated.

“A prisoner,” repeated Porthos, quite dejected.

Suddenly D’Artagnan looked up and in his eyes there was a

gleam which scarcely even Porthos observed; but it died away

and he appeared more sorrowful than before.

“Come, come,” said Comminges, who, since D’Artagnan, on the

day of Broussel’s arrest, had saved him from the hands of

the Parisians, had entertained a real affection for him,

“don’t be unhappy; I never thought of bringing you bad news.

Laugh at the chance which has brought your friend near to

you and Monsieur du Vallon, instead of being in the depths

of despair about it.”

But D’Artagnan was still in a desponding mood.

“And how did he look?” asked Porthos, who, perceiving that

D’Artagnan had allowed the conversation to drop, profited by

it to put in a word or two.

“Very well, indeed, sir,” replied Comminges; “at first, like

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you, he seemed distressed; but when he heard that the

cardinal was going to pay him a visit this very evening —-

”

“Ah!” cried D’Artagnan, “the cardinal is about to visit the

Comte de la Fere?”

“Yes; and the count desired me to tell you that he should

take advantage of this visit to plead for you and for

himself.”

“Ah! our dear count!” said D’Artagnan.

“A fine thing, indeed!” grunted Porthos. “A great favor!

Zounds! Monsieur the Comte de la Fere, whose family is

allied to the Montmorency and the Rohan, is easily the equal

of Monsieur de Mazarin.”

“No matter,” said D’Artagnan, in his most wheedling tone.

“On reflection, my dear Du Vallon, it is a great honor for

the Comte de la Fere, and gives good reason to hope. In

fact, it seems to me so great an honor for a prisoner that I

think Monsieur de Comminges must be mistaken.”

“What? I am mistaken?”

“Monsieur de Mazarin will not come to visit the Comte de la

Fere, but the Comte de la Fere will be sent for to visit

him.”

“No, no, no,” said Comminges, who made a point of having the

facts appear exactly as they were, “I clearly understood

what the cardinal said to me. He will come and visit the

Comte de la Fere.”

D’Artagnan tried to gather from the expression of his eyes

whether Porthos understood the importance of that visit, but

Porthos did not even look toward him.

“It is, then, the cardinal’s custom to walk in his

orangery?” asked D’Artagnan.

“Every evening he shuts himself in there. That, it seems, is

where he meditates on state affairs.”

“In that case,” said D’Artagnan, “I begin to believe that

Monsieur de la Fere will receive the visit of his eminence;

he will, of course, have an escort.”

“Yes — two soldiers.”

“And will he talk thus of affairs in presence of two

strangers?”

“The soldiers are Swiss, who understand only German.

Besides, according to all probability they will wait at the

door.”

D’Artagnan made a violent effort over himself to keep his

face from being too expressive.

“Let the cardinal take care of going alone to visit the

Comte de la Fere,” said D’Artagnan; “for the count must be

furious.”

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Comminges began to laugh. “Oh, oh! why, really, one would

say that you four were anthropaphagi! The count is an

affable man; besides, be is unarmed; at the first word from

his eminence the two soldiers about him would run to his

assistance.”

“Two soldiers,” said D’Artagnan, seeming to remember

something, “two soldiers, yes; that, then, is why I hear two

men called every evening and see them walking sometimes for

half an hour, under my window.”

“That is it; they are waiting for the cardinal, or rather

for Bernouin, who comes to call them when the cardinal goes

out.”

“Fine-looking men, upon my word!” said D’Artagnan.

“They belong to the regiment that was at Lens, which the

prince assigned to the cardinal.”

“Ah, monsieur,” said D’Artagnan, as if to sum up in a word