Twenty Years Later by Dumas, Alexandre. Part two

“Phew!” whistled Planchet.

“What do you mean by that?”

“Nothing, my lord; Monsieur d’Artagnan belongs to the

service; Monsieur d’Artagnan makes it his business to defend

the cardinal, who pays him, as much as we make it ours, we

citizens, to attack him, whom he robs.”

“You are an intelligent fellow, my friend; can we count upon

you?”

“You may count upon me, my lord, provided you want to make a

complete upheaval of the city.”

“‘Tis that exactly. How many men, think you, you could

collect together to-night?”

“Two hundred muskets and five hundred halberds.”

“Let there be only one man in every district who can do as

much and by to-morrow we shall have quite a powerful army.

Are you disposed to obey Count de Rochefort?”

“I would follow him to hell, and that is saying not a

little, as I believe him entirely capable of the descent.”

“Bravo!”

“By what sign to-morrow shall we be able to distinguish

friends from foes?”

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“Every Frondist must put a knot of straw in his hat.”

“Good! Give the watchword.”

“Do you want money?”

“Money never comes amiss at any time, my lord; if one has it

not, one must do without it; with it, matters go on much

better and more rapidly.”

Gondy went to a box and drew forth a bag.

“Here are five hundred pistoles,” he said; “and if the

action goes off well you may reckon upon a similar sum

to-morrow.”

“I will give a faithful account of the sum to your

lordship,” said Planchet, putting the bag under his arm.

“That is right; I recommend the cardinal to your attention.”

“Make your mind easy, he is in good hands.”

Planchet went out, the curate remaining for a moment

“Are you satisfied, my lord?” he asked.

“Yes; he appears to be a resolute fellow.”

“Well, he will do more than he has promised.”

“He will do wonders then.”

The curate rejoined Planchet, who was waiting for him on the

stairs. Ten minutes later the curate of St. Sulpice was

announced. As soon as the door of Gondy’s study was opened a

man rushed in. It was the Count de Rochefort.

“‘Tis you, then, my dear count,” cried Gondy, offering his

hand.

“You have made up your mind at last, my lord?” said

Rochefort.

“It has been made up a long time,” said Gondy.

“Let us say no more on the subject; you tell me so, I

believe you. Well, we are going to give a ball to Mazarin.”

“I hope so.”

“And when will the dance begin?”

“The invitations are given for this evening,” said the

coadjutor, “but the violins will not begin to play until

to-morrow morning.”

“You may reckon upon me and upon fifty soldiers which the

Chevalier d’Humieres has promised me whenever I need them.”

“Upon fifty soldiers?”

“Yes, he is making recruits and he will lend them to me; if

any are missing when the fete is over, I shall replace

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them.”

“Good, my dear Rochefort; but that is not all. What have you

done with Monsieur de Beaufort?”

“He is in Vendome, where he will wait until I write to him

to return to Paris.”

“Write to him; now’s the time.”

“You are sure of your enterprise?”

“Yes, but he must make haste; for hardly will the people of

Paris have revolted before we shall have a score of princes

begging to lead them. If he defers he will find the place of

honor taken.”

“Shall I send word to him as coming from you?”

“Yes certainly.”

“Shall I tell him that he can count on you?”

“To the end.”

“And you will leave the command to him?”

“Of the war, yes, but in politics —- ”

“You must know it is not his element.”

“He must leave me to negotiate for my cardinal’s hat in my

own fashion.”

“You care about it, then, so much?”

“Since they force me to wear a hat of a form which does not

become me,” said Gondy, “I wish at least that the hat should

be red.”

“One must not dispute matters of taste and colors,” said