gigantic proportions, so, save that some few of the seams
split, his uniform fitted Porthos perfectly.
They then dressed themselves.
“‘Tis done!” they both exclaimed at once. “As to you,
comrades,” they said to the men, “nothing will happen to you
if you are discreet; but if you stir you are dead men.”
The soldiers were complaisant; they had found the grasp of
Porthos pretty powerful and that it was no joke to fight
against it.
“Now,” said D’Artagnan, “you wouldn’t be sorry to understand
the plot, would you, Porthos?”
“Well, no, not very.”
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“Well, then, we shall go down into the court.”
“Yes.”
“We shall take the place of those two fellows.”
“Well?”
“We will walk back and forth.”
“That’s a good idea, for it isn’t warm.”
“In a moment the valet-de-chambre will call the guard, as he
did yesterday and the day before.”
“And we shall answer?”
“No, on the contrary, we shall not answer.”
“As you please; I don’t insist on answering.”
“We will not answer, then; we will simply settle our hats on
our heads and we will escort his eminence.”
“Where shall we escort him?”
“Where he is going — to visit Athos. Do you think Athos
will be sorry to see us?”
“Oh!” cried Porthos, “oh! I understand.”
“Wait a little, Porthos, before crying out; for, on my word,
you haven’t reached the end,” said the Gascon, in a jesting
tone.
“What is to happen?” said Porthos.
“Follow me,” replied D’Artagnan. “The man who lives to see
shall see.”
And slipping through the aperture, he alighted in the court.
Porthos followed him by the same road, but with more
difficulty and less diligence. They could hear the two
soldiers shivering with fear, as they lay bound in the
chamber.
Scarcely had the two Frenchmen touched the ground when a
door opened and the voice of the valet-de-chambre called
out:
“Make ready!”
At the same moment the guardhouse was opened and a voice
called out:
“La Bruyere and Du Barthois! March!”
It seems that I am named La Bruyere,” remarked D’Artagnan.
“And I, Du Barthois,” added Porthos.
“Where are you?” asked the valet-de-chambre, whose eyes,
dazzled by the light, could not clearly distinguish our
heroes in the gloom.
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“Here we are,” said the Gascon.
“What say you to that, Monsieur du Vallon?” he added in a
low tone to Porthos.
“If it but lasts, most capital,” responded Porthos.
These two newly enlisted soldiers marched gravely after the
valet-de-chambre, who opened the door of the vestibule, then
another which seemed to be that of a waiting-room, and
showing them two stools:
“Your orders are very simple,” he said; “don’t allow
anybody, except one person, to enter here. Do you hear —
not a single creature! Obey that person implicitly. On your
return you cannot make a mistake. You have only to wait here
till I release you.”
D’Artagnan was known to this valet-de-chambre, who was no
other than Bernouin, and he had during the last six or eight
months introduced the Gascon a dozen times to the cardinal.
The Gascon, therefore, instead of answering, growled out
“Ja! Ja!” in the most German and the least Gascon accent
possible.
As for Porthos, on whom D’Artagnan had impressed the
necessity of absolute silence and who did not even now begin
to comprehend the scheme of his friend, which was to follow
Mazarin in his visit to Athos, he was simply mute. All that
he was allowed to say, in case of emergencies, was the
proverbial Der Teufel!
Bernouin shut the door and went away. When Porthos heard the
key turn in the lock he began to be alarmed, lest they
should only have exchanged one prison for another.
“Porthos, my friend,” said D’Artagnan, “don’t distrust
Providence! Let me meditate and consider.”
“Meditate and consider as much as you like,” replied
Porthos, who was now quite out of humor at seeing things
take this turn.
“We have walked eight paces,” whispered D’Artagnan, “and
gone up six steps, so hereabouts is the pavilion called the
pavilion of the orangery. The Comte de la Fere cannot be far