on horseback, feeling no inclination to dismount, and sat
looking at the bars, at the buttressed windows and the
immense walls he had hitherto only seen from the other side
of the moat, but by which he had for twenty years been
awe-struck.
A bell resounded.
“I must leave you,” said Du Tremblay; “I am sent for to sign
the release of a prisoner. I shall be happy to meet you
again, sir.”
“May the devil annihilate me if I return thy wish!” murmured
D’Artagnan, smiling as he pronounced the imprecation; “I
declare I feel quite ill after only being five minutes in
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Dumas, Alexandre – Twenty Years After
the courtyard. Go to! go to! I would rather die on straw
than hoard up a thousand a year by being governor of the
Bastile.”
He had scarcely finished this soliloquy before the prisoner
arrived. On seeing him D’Artagnan could hardly suppress an
exclamation of surprise. The prisoner got into the carriage
without seeming to recognize the musketeer.
“Gentlemen,” thus D’Artagnan addressed the four musketeers,
“I am ordered to exercise the greatest possible care in
guarding the prisoner, and since there are no locks to the
carriage, I shall sit beside him. Monsieur de Lillebonne,
lead my horse by the bridle, if you please.” As he spoke he
dismounted, gave the bridle of his horse to the musketeer
and placing himself by the side of the prisoner said, in a
voice perfectly composed, “To the Palais Royal, at full
trot.”
The carriage drove on and D’Artagnan, availing himself of
the darkness in the archway under which they were passing,
threw himself into the arms of the prisoner.
“Rochefort!” he exclaimed; “you! is it you, indeed? I am not
mistaken?”
“D’Artagnan!” cried Rochefort.
“Ah! my poor friend!” resumed D’Artagnan, “not having seen
you for four or five years I concluded you were dead.”
“I’faith,” said Rochefort, “there’s no great difference, I
think, between a dead man and one who has been buried alive;
now I have been buried alive, or very nearly so.”
“And for what crime are you imprisoned in the Bastile.”
“Do you wish me to speak the truth?”
“Yes.”
“Well, then, I don’t know.”
“Have you any suspicion of me, Rochefort?”
“No! on the honor of a gentleman; but I cannot be imprisoned
for the reason alleged; it is impossible.”
“What reason?” asked D’Artagnan.
“For stealing.”
“For stealing! you, Rochefort! you are laughing at me.”
“I understand. You mean that this demands explanation, do
you not?”
“I admit it.”
“Well, this is what actually took place: One evening after
an orgy in Reinard’s apartment at the Tuileries with the Duc
d’Harcourt, Fontrailles, De Rieux and others, the Duc
d’Harcourt proposed that we should go and pull cloaks on the
Pont Neuf; that is, you know, a diversion which the Duc
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Dumas, Alexandre – Twenty Years After
d’Orleans made quite the fashion.”
“Were you crazy, Rochefort? at your age!”
“No, I was drunk. And yet, since the amusement seemed to me
rather tame, I proposed to Chevalier de Rieux that we should
be spectators instead of actors, and, in order to see to
advantage, that we should mount the bronze horse. No sooner
said than done. Thanks to the spurs, which served as
stirrups, in a moment we were perched upon the croupe; we
were well placed and saw everything. Four or five cloaks had
already been lifted, with a dexterity without parallel, and
not one of the victims had dared to say a word, when some
fool of a fellow, less patient than the others, took it into
his head to cry out, `Guard!’ and drew upon us a patrol of
archers. Duc d’Harcourt, Fontrailles, and the others
escaped; De Rieux was inclined to do likewise, but I told
him they wouldn’t look for us where we were. He wouldn’t
listen, put his foot on the spur to get down, the spur
broke, he fell with a broken leg, and, instead of keeping
quiet, took to crying out like a gallows-bird. I then was
ready to dismount, but it was too late; I descended into the
arms of the archers. They conducted me to the Chatelet,