“At what hour?”
“At ten in the evening, if that suits you; by that time we
shall have returned.”
“Good.”
“There,” continued Athos, “either peace or war will be
decided; honor, at all events, will be maintained!”
“Alas!” murmured D’Artagnan, “our honor as soldiers is lost
to us forever!”
“D’Artagnan,” said Athos, gravely, “I assure you that you do
me wrong in dwelling so upon that. What I think of is, that
we have crossed swords as enemies. Yes,” he continued, sadly
shaking his head, “Yes, it is as you said, misfortune,
indeed, has overtaken us. Come, Aramis.”
“And we, Porthos,” said D’Artagnan, “will return, carrying
our shame to the cardinal.”
“And tell him,” cried a voice, “that I am not too old yet
for a man of action.”
D’Artagnan recognized the voice of De Rochefort.
“Can I do anything for you, gentlemen?” asked the duke.
“Bear witness that we have done all that we could.”
“That shall be testified to, rest assured. Adieu! we shall
meet soon, I trust, in Paris, where you shall have your
revenge.” The duke, as he spoke, kissed his hand, spurred
his horse into a gallop and disappeared, followed by his
troop, who were soon lost in distance and darkness.
D’Artagnan and Porthos were now alone with a man who held by
the bridles two horses; they thought it was Mousqueton and
went up to him.
“What do I see?” cried the lieutenant. “Grimaud, is it
thou?”
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Grimaud signified that he was not mistaken.
“And whose horses are these?” cried D’Artagnan.
“Who has given them to us?” said Porthos.
“The Comte de la Fere.”
“Athos! Athos!” muttered D’Artagnan; “you think of every
one; you are indeed a nobleman! Whither art thou going,
Grimaud?”
“To join the Vicomte de Bragelonne in Flanders, your honor.”
They were taking the road toward Paris, when groans, which
seemed to proceed from a ditch, attracted their attention.
“What is that?” asked D’Artagnan.
“It is I — Mousqueton,” said a mournful voice, whilst a sort
of shadow arose out of the side of the road.
Porthos ran to him. “Art thou dangerously wounded, my dear
Mousqueton?” he said.
“No, sir, but I am severely.”
“What can we do?” said D’Artagnan; “we must return to
Paris.”
“I will take care of Mousqueton,” said Grimaud; and he gave
his arm to his old comrade, whose eyes were full of tears,
nor could Grimaud tell whether the tears were caused by
wounds or by the pleasure of seeing him again.
D’Artagnan and Porthos went on, meantime, to Paris. They
were passed by a sort of courier, covered with dust, the
bearer of a letter from the duke to the cardinal, giving
testimony to the valor of D’Artagnan and Porthos.
Mazarin had passed a very bad night when this letter was
brought to him, announcing that the duke was free and that
he would henceforth raise up mortal strife against him.
“What consoles me,” said the cardinal after reading the
letter, “is that, at least, in this chase, D’Artagnan has
done me one good turn — he has destroyed Broussel. This
Gascon is a precious fellow; even his misadventures are of
use.”
The cardinal referred to that man whom D’Artagnan upset at
the corner of the Cimetiere Saint Jean in Paris, and who was
no other than the Councillor Broussel.
27
The four old Friends prepare to meet again.
“Well,” said Porthos, seated in the courtyard of the Hotel
de la Chevrette, to D’Artagnan, who, with a long and
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melancholy face, had returned from the Palais Royal; “did he
receive you ungraciously, my dear friend?”
“I’faith, yes! a brute, that cardinal. What are you eating
there, Porthos?”
“I am dipping a biscuit in a glass of Spanish wine; do the
same.”
“You are right. Gimblou, a glass of wine.”
“Well, how has all gone off?”
“Zounds! you know there’s only one way of saying things, so
I went in and said, `My lord, we were not the strongest
party.’
“`Yes, I know that,’ he said, `but give me the particulars.’
“You know, Porthos, I could not give him the particulars