Twenty Years Later by Dumas, Alexandre. Part two

Mousqueton, who knew nothing of what was going on in the

chateau, wondered that the idea had not occurred to him

sooner. D’Artagnan put the gold in his hat, and in going

back to the chateau settled the reckoning with Porthos, each

of them had cleared two hundred and fifteen louis.

Porthos, however, found that he had no straw left for

himself. He returned to Mousqueton, but the steward had sold

the last wisp. He then repaired to D’Artagnan, who, thanks

to his four trusses of straw, was in the act of making up

and tasting, by anticipation, the luxury of a bed so soft,

so well stuffed at the head, so well covered at the foot,

that it would have excited the envy of the king himself, if

his majesty had not been fast asleep in his own. D’Artagnan

could on no account consent to pull his bed to pieces again

for Porthos, but for a consideration of four louis that the

latter paid him for it, he consented that Porthos should

share his couch with him. He laid his sword at the head, his

pistols by his side, stretched his cloak over his feet,

placed his felt hat on the top of his cloak and extended

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himself luxuriously on the straw, which rustled under him.

He was already enjoying the sweet dream engendered by the

possession of two hundred and nineteen louis, made in a

quarter of an hour, when a voice was heard at the door of

the hall, which made him stir.

“Monsieur d’Artagnan!” it cried.

“Here!” cried Porthos, “here!”

Porthos foresaw that if D’Artagnan was called away he should

remain the sole possessor of the bed. An officer approached.

“I am come to fetch you, Monsieur d’Artagnan.”

“From whom?”

“His eminence sent me.”

“Tell my lord that I’m going to sleep, and I advise him, as

a friend, to do the same.”

“His eminence is not gone to bed and will not go to bed, and

wants you instantly.”

“The devil take Mazarin, who does not know when to sleep at

the proper time. What does he want with me? Is it to make me

a captain? In that case I will forgive him.”

And the musketeer rose, grumbling, took his sword, hat,

pistols, and cloak, and followed the officer, whilst

Porthos, alone and sole possessor of the bed, endeavored to

follow the good example of falling asleep, which his

predecessor had set him.

“Monsieur d’Artagnan,” said the cardinal, on perceiving him,

“I have not forgotten with what zeal you have served me. I

am going to prove to you that I have not.”

“Good,” thought the Gascon, “this is a promising beginning.”

“Monsieur d’Artagnan,” he resumed, “do you wish to become a

captain?”

“Yes, my lord.”

“And your friend still longs to be made a baron?”

“At this very moment, my lord, he no doubt dreams that he is

one already.”

“Then,” said Mazarin, taking from his portfolio the letter

which he had already shown D’Artagnan, “take this dispatch

and carry it to England.”

D’Artagnan looked at the envelope; there was no address on

it.

“Am I not to know to whom to present it?”

“You will know when you reach London; at London you may tear

off the outer envelope.”

“And what are my instructions?”

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“To obey in every particular the man to whom this letter is

addressed. You must set out for Boulogne. At the Royal Arms

of England you will find a young gentleman named Mordaunt.”

“Yes, my lord; and what am I to do with this young

gentleman?”

“Follow wherever he leads you.”

D’Artagnan looked at the cardinal with a stupefied air.

“There are your instructions,” said Mazarin; “go!”

“Go! ’tis easy to say so, but that requires money, and I

haven’t any.”

“Ah!” replied Mazarin, “so you have no money?”

“None, my lord.”

“But the diamond I gave you yesterday?”

“I wish to keep it in remembrance of your eminence.”

Mazarin sighed.

“‘Tis very dear living in England, my lord, especially as

envoy extraordinary.”

“Zounds!” replied Mazarin, “the people there are very

sedate, and their habits, since the revolution, simple; but