第 122 节

and there was no more to be had.

D’Artagnan had taken the precaution to set apart four trusses for his own use. He put in his pocket the key of the room where he had hidden them, and accompanied by Porthos returned to settle with Mousqueton, who, naïvely, and like the worthy steward that he was, handed them four hundred and thirty louis and kept one hundred for himself.

Mousqueton, who knew nothing of what was going on in the château, wondered that the idea had not occurred to him sooner. D’Artagnan put the gold in his hat, and in going back to the château 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 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?”

“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 no matter.”

He opened a drawer and took out a purse.

“What do you say to a thousand crowns?”

D’Artagnan pouted out his lower lip in a most extraordinary manner.

“I reply, my lord, ’tis but little, as certainly I shall not go alone.”

“I suppose not. Monsieur du Vallon, that worthy gentleman, for, with the exception of yourself, Monsieur d’Artagnan, there’s not a man in France that I esteem and love so much as him——”

“Then, my lord,” replied D’Artagnan, pointing to the purse which Mazarin still held, “if you love and esteem him so much, you—understand me?”

“Be it so! on his account I add two hundred crowns.”

“Scoundrel!” muttered D’Artagnan. “But on our return,” he said aloud, “may we, that is, my friend and I, depend on having, he his barony, and I my promotion?”

“On the honor of Mazarin.”

“I should like another sort of oath better,” said D’Artagnan to himself; then aloud, “May I not offer my duty to her majesty the queen?”

“Her majesty is asleep and you must set off directly,” replied Mazarin; “go, pray, sir——”

“One word more, my lord; if there’s any fighting where I’m going, must I fight?”

“You are to obey the commands of the personage to whom I have addressed the inclosed letter.”

“’Tis well,” said D’Artagnan, holding out his hand to receive the money. “I offer my best respects and services to you, my lord.”

D’Artagnan then, returning to the officer, said:

“Sir, have the kindness also to awaken Monsieur du Vallon and to say ’tis by his eminence’s order, and that I shall await him at the stables.”

The officer went off with an eagerness that showed the Gascon that he had some personal interest in the matter.

Porthos was snoring most musically when some one touched him on the shoulder.

“I come from the cardinal,” said the officer.

“Heigho!” said Porthos, opening his large eyes; “what have you got to say?”

“That his eminence has ordered you to England and that Monsieur d’Artagnan is waiting for you in the stables.”

Porthos sighed heavily, arose, took his hat, his pistols, and his cloak, and departed, casting a look of regret upon the couch where he had hoped to sleep so well.

No sooner had he turned his back than the officer laid himself down in it, and he had scarcely crossed the threshold before his successor, in his turn, was snoring immoderately. It was very natural, he being the only person in the whole assemblage, except the king, the queen, and the Duke of Orléans, who slept gratuitously.

Chapter LIV. In which we hear Tidings of Aramis.

D’Artagnan went straight to the stables; day was just dawning. He found his horse and that of Porthos fastened to the manger, but to an empty manger. He took pity on these poor animals and went to a corner of the stable, where he saw a