too much.”
D’Artagnan shrugged his shoulders.
“And besides,” he said, “going out of this chamber isn’t
all.”
“Dear friend,” said Porthos, “you appear to be in a somewhat
better humor to-day than you were yesterday. Explain to me
why going out of this chamber isn’t everything.”
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“Because, having neither arms nor password, we shouldn’t
take fifty steps in the court without knocking against a
sentinel.”
Very well,” said Porthos, “we will kill the sentinel and we
shall have his arms.”
“Yes, but before we can kill him — and he will be hard to
kill, that Swiss — he will shriek out and the whole picket
will come, and we shall be taken like foxes, we, who are
lions, and thrown into some dungeon, where we shall not even
have the consolation of seeing this frightful gray sky of
Rueil, which no more resembles the sky of Tarbes than the
moon is like the sun. Lack-a-day! if we only had some one to
instruct us about the physical and moral topography of this
castle. Ah! when one thinks that for twenty years, during
which time I did not know what to do with myself, it never
occurred to me to come to study Rueil.”
“What difference does that make?” said Porthos. “We shall go
out all the same.”
“Do you know, my dear fellow, why master pastrycooks never
work with their hands?”
“No,” said Porthos, “but I should be glad to be informed.”
“It is because in the presence of their pupils they fear
that some of their tarts or creams may turn out badly
cooked.”
“What then?”
“Why, then they would be laughed at, and a master pastrycook
must never be laughed at.”
“And what have master pastrycooks to do with us?”
“We ought, in our adventures, never to be defeated or give
any one a chance to laugh at us. In England, lately, we
failed, we were beaten, and that is a blemish on our
reputation.”
“By whom, then, were we beaten?” asked Porthos.
“By Mordaunt.”
“Yes, but we have drowned Monsieur Mordaunt.”
“That is true, and that will redeem us a little in the eyes
of posterity, if posterity ever looks at us. But listen,
Porthos: though Monsieur Mordaunt was a man not to be
despised, Mazarin is not less strong than he, and we shall
not easily succeed in drowning him. We must, therefore,
watch and play a close game; for,” he added with a sigh, “we
two are equal, perhaps, to eight others; but we are not
equal to the four that you know of.”
“That is true,” said Porthos, echoing D’Artagnan’s sigh.
“Well, Porthos, follow my examples; walk back and forth till
some news of our friends reaches us or till we are visited
by a good idea. But don’t sleep as you do all the time;
nothing dulls the intellect like sleep. As to what may lie
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before us, it is perhaps less serious than we at first
thought. I don’t believe that Monsieur de Mazarin thinks of
cutting off our heads, for heads are not taken off without
previous trial; a trial would make a noise, and a noise
would get the attention of our friends, who would check the
operations of Monsieur de Mazarin.”
“How well you reason!” said Porthos, admiringly.
“Well, yes, pretty well,” replied D’Artagnan; “and besides,
you see, if they put us on trial, if they cut off our heads,
they must meanwhile either keep us here or transfer us
elsewhere.”
“Yes, that is inevitable,” said Porthos.
“Well, it is impossible but that Master Aramis, that
keen-scented bloodhound, and Athos, that wise and prudent
nobleman, will discover our retreat. Then, believe me, it
will be time to act.”
“Yes, we will wait. We can wait the more contentedly, that
it is not absolutely bad here, but for one thing, at least.”
“What is that?”
“Did you observe, D’Artagnan, that three days running they
have brought us braised mutton?”
“No; but if it occurs a fourth time I shall complain of it,
so never mind.”
“And then I feel the loss of my house, ’tis a long time