Twenty Years Later by Dumas, Alexandre. Part two

“Ah, that’s it!” he cried, “you have your promotion and I my

barony.”

“We are going to fetch our brevets,” said D’Artagnan, “and

when we come back, Master Mazarin will sign them.”

“And where are we going?” asked Porthos.

“To Paris first; I have affairs to settle.”

And they both set out for Paris.

On arriving at its gates they were astounded to see the

threatening aspect of the capital. Around a broken-down

carriage the people were uttering imprecations, whilst the

persons who had attempted to escape were made prisoners —

that is to say, an old man and two women. On the other hand,

as the two friends approached to enter, they showed them

every kind of civility, thinking them deserters from the

royal party and wishing to bind them to their own.

“What is the king doing?” they asked.

“He is asleep.”

“And the Spanish woman?”

“Dreaming.”

“And the cursed Italian?”

“He is awake, so keep on the watch, as they are gone away;

it’s for some purpose, rely on it. But as you are the

strongest, after all,” continued D’Artagnan, “don’t be

furious with old men and women, and keep your wrath for more

appropriate occasions.”

The people listened to these words and let go the ladies,

who thanked D’Artagnan with an eloquent look.

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Dumas, Alexandre – Twenty Years After

“Now! onward!” cried the Gascon.

And they continued their way, crossing the barricades,

getting the chains about their legs, pushed about,

questioning and questioned.

In the place of the Palais Royal D’Artagnan saw a sergeant,

who was drilling six or seven hundred citizens. It was

Planchet, who brought into play profitably the recollections

of the regiment of Piedmont.

In passing before D’Artagnan he recognized his former

master.

“Good-day, Monsieur d’Artagnan,” said Planchet proudly.

“Good-day, Monsieur Dulaurier,” replied D’Artagnan.

Planchet stopped short, staring at D’Artagnan. The first

row, seeing their sergeant stop, stopped in their turn, and

so on to the very last.

“These citizens are dreadfully ridiculous,” observed

D’Artagnan to Porthos and went on his way.

Five minutes afterward he entered the hotel of La Chevrette,

where pretty Madeleine, the hostess, came to him.

“My dear Mistress Turquaine,” said the Gascon, “if you

happen to have any money, lock it up quickly; if you happen

to have any jewels, hide them directly; if you happen to

have any debtors, make them pay you, or any creditors, don’t

pay them.”

“Why, prithee?” asked Madeleine.

“Because Paris is going to be reduced to dust and ashes like

Babylon, of which you have no doubt heard tell.”

“And are you going to leave me at such a time?”

“This very instant.”

“And where are you going?”

“Ah, if you could tell me that, you would be doing me a

service.”

“Ah, me! ah, me!

“Have you any letters for me?” inquired D’Artagnan, wishing

to signify to the hostess that her lamentations were

superfluous and that therefore she had better spare him

demonstrations of her grief.

“There’s one just arrived,” and she handed the letter to

D’Artagnan.

“From Athos!” cried D’Artagnan, recognizing the handwriting.

“Ah!” said Porthos, “let us hear what he says.”

D’Artagnan opened the letter and read as follows:

Page 378

Dumas, Alexandre – Twenty Years After

“Dear D’Artagnan, dear Du Vallon, my good friends, perhaps

this may be the last time that you will ever hear from me.

Aramis and I are very unhappy; but God, our courage, and the

remembrance of our friendship sustain us. Think often of

Raoul. I intrust to you certain papers which are at Blois;

and in two months and a half, if you do not hear of us, take

possession of them.

“Embrace, with all your heart, the vicomte, for your

devoted, friend,

“ATHOS.”

“I believe, by Heaven,” said D’Artagnan, “that I shall

embrace him, since he’s upon our road; and if he is so

unfortunate as to lose our dear Athos, from that very day he

becomes my son.”

“And I,” said Porthos, “shall make him my sole heir.”

“Let us see, what more does Athos say?”

“Should you meet on your journey a certain Monsieur

Mordaunt, distrust him, in a letter I cannot say more.”

“Monsieur Mordaunt!” exclaimed the Gascon, surprised.

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