Title:       Three Musketeers
Author:      Dumas, Alexandre
Date:        1844

Chapter XXVII

The Wife Of Athos

     "Well, we have now to search for Athos," said D'Artagnan to the
vivacious Aramis, when he had informed him of all that had passed since their
departure from the capital, and a good dinner had made one of them forget his
thesis and the other his fatigue.

     "Do you think, then, that any harm can have happened to him?" asked
Aramis.  "Athos is so cool, so brave, and handles his sword so skillfully."

     "There is no doubt of all that; nobody has a higher opinion of the
courage and skill of Athos than I have; but I like better to hear my sword
clang against lances than against staves: I fear lest Athos should have been
beaten down by a mob of serving-men: those fellows strike hard, and don't
leave off in a hurry.  This is my reason for wishing to set out again as soon
as I possibly can."

     "I will try to accompany you," said Aramis, "though I scarcely feel in
a condition to mount on horseback.  Yesterday I undertook to employ that cord
which you see hanging against the wall, but pain prevented my continuing the
pious exercise."

     "That's the first time I ever heard of anybody trying to cure gunshot
wounds with a cat-o'-nine-tails; but you were ill, and illness renders the
head weak; therefore you may be excused."

     "When do you mean to set out?"

     "To-morrow, at daybreak; sleep as soundly as you can tonight, and
to-morrow, if you are strong enough, we will take our departure together."

     "Till to-morrow, then," said Aramis; "for, iron-nerved as you are, you
must stand in need of repose."

     The next morning, when D'Artagnan entered Aramis' chamber, he found him
standing at the window.

     "What are you looking at there?" asked D'Artagnan.

     "Ma foi!  I am admiring three magnificent horses which the stable lads
are leading about; it would be a pleasure worthy of a prince to travel upon
such horses."

     "Well, my dear Aramis, you may enjoy that pleasure, for one of those
three horses is your."

     "Ah!  bah!  which of them?"

     "Which of the three you like, I have no preference."

     "And the rich caparison, is that mine, too?"

     "Without doubt it is."

     "You are laughing, D'Artagnan."

     "No; I have left off laughing now you speak French again."

     "What, those rich holsters, that velvet housing, that saddle studded
with silver, are they all mine?"

     "Yours, and nobody else's, as the horse which is pawing the ground in
eagerness is mine, and the other horse which is caracoling belongs to Athos."

     "Peste!  they are three superb animals!"

     "I am glad they please you."

     "Why, it must have been the king who made you such a present?"

     "To a certainty it was not the cardinal; but don't trouble yourself
about where they come from, be satisfied that one of them is your property."

     "I choose that which the red-headed boy is leading."

     "Have it then."

     "Vive Dieu!  That is enough to drive away all my pains; I could ride
upon him with thirty balls in my body.  What handsome stirrups!  Hola!
Bazin, come here this minute."

     Bazin made his appearance at the door, dull and spiritless.

     "Furbish my sword, put my hat to rights, brush my cloak, and load my
pistols!" said Aramis.

     "That last order is useless," interrupted D'Artagnan; "there are loaded
pistols in your holsters."

     Bazin sighed.

     "Come, Master Bazin, make yourself easy; people gain the kingdom of
heaven in all conditions of life."

     "Monsieur was already such a good theologian," said Bazin, almost
weeping; "he might have become a bishop, perhaps a cardinal."

     "Well!  but my poor Bazin, reflect a little; of what use is it to be a
churchman, pray?  You do not avoid going to war by that means; you see the
cardinal is about to make the next campaign, helm on head and partisan in
hand; and M. de Nogaret de la Valette, what do you say of him?  he is a
cardinal likewise; ask his lackey how often he has had to prepare lint for
him."

     "Alas!" sighed Bazin, "I very well know, monsieur, that everything is
turned topsy-turvy in the world nowadays."

     While this dialogue was going on, the two young men and the poor lackey
went down into the yard.

     "Hold my stirrup, Bazin," cried Aramis.

     And Aramis sprang into his saddle with his usual grace and lightness;
but, after a few vaults and curvets of the noble animal, his rider felt his
pains come on so insupportably, that he turned pale, and became unsteady in
his seat.  D'Artagnan, who, foreseeing such an event, had kept his eye on
him, sprang toward him, caught him in his arms, and assisted him to his
chamber.

     "That's well, my dear Aramis, take care of yourself," said he, "I will
go alone in search of Athos."

     "You are a man of brass," replied Aramis.

     "No: I have good luck, that is all; but how do you mean to pass your
time till I come back?  no more theses, no more glosses upon the fingers, or
upon benedictions, hem!"

     Aramis smiled: "I will make verses," said he.

     "Yes, I dare say; verses perfumed with the odor of the billet from the
attendant of Madame de Chevreuse.  Teach Bazin prosody, that will consol him.
As to the horse, ride him a little every day, till you become accustomed to
him and recover your strength."

     "Oh, make yourself easy on that head," replied Aramis, "you will find
me ready to follow you."

     They took leave of each other, and in ten minutes, after commending his
friend to the cares of the hostess and Bazin, D'Artagnan was trotting along
in the direct of Amiens.

     How was he going to find Athos, even should he find him at all?  The
position in which he had left him was critical; he might, very probably, have
succumbed.  This idea, while darkening his brow, drew several sighs from him,
and caused him to formulate to himself a few vows of vengeance.  Of all his
friends, Athos was the eldest, and the least resembling him in appearance,
in his tastes and sympathies.  And yet he entertained a marked preference for
this gentleman.  The noble and distinguished aid of Athos, those flashes of
greatness, which from time to time broke out from the shade in which he
voluntarily kept himself, that unalterable equality of temper, which made him
the most pleasant companion in the world, that forced and malign gayety, that
bravery which might have been termed blind if it had not been the result of
the rarest coolness - such qualities attracted more than the esteem, more
than the friendship of D'Artagnan, they attracted his admiration.

     Indeed, when placed beside M. de Treville, the elegant and noble
courtier, Athos, in his most cheerful days, might advantageously sustain a
comparison; he was but of middle height; but his person was so admirably
shaped, and so well proportioned, that more than once, in his struggles with
Porthos, he had overcome the giant whose physical strength was proverbial
among the musketeers; his head, with piercing eyes, a straight nose, a chin
cut like that of Brutus - had altogether an indefinable character of grandeur
and grace; his hands, of which he took little care, were the envy of Aramis,
who cultivated his with almond paste and perfumed oil; the sound of his voice
was at once penetrating and melodious, and then, that which was inconceivable
in Athos, who was always retiring, was that delicate knowledge of the world,
and of the usages of the most brilliant society, those manners of a high
family which appeared, as if unconsciously to himself, in his least actions.

     If a repast were on foot, Athos presided over it better than any other,
placing every guest exactly in the rank which his ancestors had earned for
him, or that he had made for himself.  If a question is heraldry were
started, Athos knew all the noble families of the kingdom, their genealogy,
their alliances, their arms, and the origin of their arms.  Etiquette had no
minutiae which were unknown to him; he knew what were the rights of the
great landowners; he was profoundly versed in venery and falconry, and had,
one day, when conversing on this great art, astonished even Louis XIII.
himself, who took a pride in being considered a past-master in it.

     Like all the great nobles of that period, he rode and fenced to
perfection.  But still further, his education had been so little neglected,
even with respect to scholastic studies, so rare at this time among
gentlemen, that he smiled at the scraps of Latin which Aramis sported, and
which Porthos pretended to understand; twice or thrice even, to the great
astonishment of his friends, he had, when Aramis allowed some rudimental
error to escape him, replaced a verb in its right tense and a noun in its
case; besides all which, his probity was irreproachable, in an age in which
soldiers compounded so easily with their religion and their consciences,
lovers with the rigorous delicacy of our days, and the poor with God's
seventh commandment.  This Athos, then, was a very extraordinary man.

     And yet this nature so distinguished, this creature so beautiful, this
essence so fine, was seen to turn insensibly toward material life, as old men
turn toward physical and moral imbecility.  Athos in his hours of privation
- and these hours were frequent - was extinguished as to the whole of the
luminous portion of him, and his brilliant side disappeared as if in profound
darkness.

     Then the demi-god having vanished, he remained scarcely a man.  His head
hanging down - his eye dull - his speech slow and painful, Athos would look
for hours together at his bottle, his glass, or at Grimaud, who accustomed
to obey him by signs, read in the faint glance of his master his least
desire, and satisfied it immediately.  If the four friends were assembled at
one of these moments, a word, thrown forth occasionally with a violent
effort, was the share Athos furnished to the conversation.  In exchange for
his silence, Athos alone drank enough for four, and without appearing to be
otherwise affected by wine, than by a more marked contraction of the brow,
and by a deeper sadness.

     D'Artagnan, whose inquiring disposition we are acquainted with, had not
- whatever interest he had in satisfying his curiosity on this subject - been
able to assign any cause for these fits, or for the periods of their
recurrence.  Athos never received any letters, Athos never had concerns with
which all his friends were unacquainted.

     It could not be said that it was wine which produced this sadness, for,
in truth, he only drank to combat this sadness, which wine only, as we have
said, rendered still darker.  This excess of bilious humor could not be
attributed to play, for, unlike Porthos, who accompanied the variations of
chance with songs or oaths, Athos, when he had won, remained as impassable
as when he had lost.  He had been known, in the circle of the musketeers, to
win in one night three thousand pistoles; lose to the gold embroidered belt
of gala days; re-win all this, with the addition of a hundred louis, without
his beautiful eyebrow being heightened or lowered half a line, without his
hands losing their pearly hue, without his conversation, which was cheerful
that evening, ceasing for a moment to be calm and agreeable.

     Neither was it, as with our neighbors the English, an atmospheric
influence which darkened his countenance, for the sadness generally became
more intense toward the fine season of the year: June and July were the
terrible months with Athos.

     On account of the present he had no care, he shrugged his shoulders when
people spoke of the future; his secret then was with the past, as D'Artagnan
had often vaguely said.

     This mysterious shade spread over his whole person, rendered still more
interesting the man whose eyes or mouth had never, even in the most complete
intoxication, revealed anything, however skillfully questions had been put
to him.

     "Well," thought D'Artagnan, "poor Athos is perhaps at this moment dead,
and dead by my fault, for it was I who dragged him into this affair, of which
he did not know the origin, of which he will be ignorant of the result, and
from which he can derive no advantage."

     "Without reckoning, monsieur," added Planchet to his master's audibly
expressed reflections, "that we perhaps owe our lives to him.  Do you
remember how he cried: 'On, D'Artagnan!  on!  I am taken?' And when he had
discharged his two pistols, what a terrible noise he made with his sword!
One might have said that twenty men, or rather twenty mad devils, were
fighting."

     And these words redoubled the eagerness of D'Artagnan, who excited his
horse, which stood in need of no excitement, and they proceeded at a rapid
pace.  About eleven o'clock in the morning they perceived Amiens, and at
half-past eleven they were at the door of the accursed auberge.

     D'Artagnan had often meditated against the perfidious host one of those
hearty vengeances which offer consolation while being hoped for.  He entered
the hostelry with his hat pulled over his eyes, his left hand on the pummel
of the sword, and cracking his whip with his right hand.

     "Do you remember me?" said he to the host, who advanced, bowing, toward
him.

     "I have not that honor, monseigneur," replied the latter, his eyes being
dazzled by the brilliant style in which D'Artagnan traveled.

     "What!  do you mean to say you don't know me?"

     "No, monseigneur."

     "Well!  two words will refresh your memory.  What have you done with
that gentleman against whom you had the audacity, about twelve days ago, to
make an accusation of passing bad money?"

     The host became as pale as death; D'Artagnan having assumed a
threatening attitude, and Planchet having modeled himself upon his master.

     "Ah!  monseigneur!  do not mention it," cried the host, in the most
pitiable voice imaginable; "ah!  seigneur, how dearly have I paid for that
fault!  Unhappy wretch as I am!"

     "That gentleman, I say, what is become of him?"

     "Deign to listen to me, monseigneur, and be merciful!  Sit down, I beg!"

     D'Artagnan, mute with anger and uneasiness, took a seat in the
threatening attitude of a judge; Planchet looking fiercely over the back of
his fauteuil.

     "Here is the history, monseigneur," resumed the trembling host, "for I
now recollect you: it was you who rode off at the moment I had that
unfortunate difference with the gentleman you speak of."

     "Yes, it was I; so you may plainly perceive that you have no mercy to
expect if you do not tell me the whole truth."

     "Condescend to listen to me, and you shall know it all."

     "I am listening to you."

     "I had been warned by the authorities that a celebrated coiner of bad
money would arrive at my auberge, with several of his companions, all
disguised as guards or musketeers.  I was furnished with a description of
your horses, your lackeys, your countenances - nothing was omitted."

     "Go on!  go on!" said D'Artagnan, who quickly conceived whence such an
exact description had come.

     "I took then, in conformity with the orders of the authorities, who sent
me a reinforcement of six men, such measures as I thought necessary to get
possession of the persons of the pretended coiners."

     "Again!" said D'Artagnan, whose ears were terribly wounded by the
repetition of this word coiners.

     "Pardon me, monseigneur, for saying such things, but they form my
excuse.  The authorities had terrified me, and you know that an aubergiste
must keep on good terms with the authorities."

     "But, once again, that gentleman, where is he?  What is become of him?
is he dead?  is he living?"

     "Patience, monseigneur, we are coming to it.  There happened then that
which you know, and of which your precipitate departure," added the host,
with a finesse that did not escape D'Artagnan, "appeared to authorize the
issue.  That gentleman, your friend, defended himself desperately.  His
lackey, who, by an unforseen piece of ill-luck, had quarreled with the people
belonging to the authorities, disguised as stable-lads - "

     "Miserable scoundrel!" cried D'Artagnan, "you were all in the plot then!
and I really don't know what prevents me from exterminating you all!"

     "Alas!  monsieur, you will soon see we were not so.  Monsieur, your
friend (I ask your pardon for not calling him by the honorable name which no
doubt he bears, but we do not know that name), monsieur, your friend, having
placed two men hors de combat with his pistols, retreated, fighting with his
sword, with which he disabled one of my men, and stunned me with a blow of
the flat side of it."

     "But, you infernal villain!  when will you come to the end?" cried
D'Artagnan; "Athos, what is become of Athos?"

     "While fighting and retreating, as I have told monseigneur, he found the
door of the cellar stairs behind him, and as the door was open, he took out
the key, and barricaded himself inside.  As we were sure of finding him
there, we left him alone."

     "Yes," said D'Artagnan, "you did not particularly wish to kill him, and
so were satisfied with detaining him a prisoner."

     "Good God!  a prisoner, monseigneur?  Why, he imprisoned himself, and
I will be upon my oath he did.  In the first place he had made rough work of
it; one man was killed on the spot, and two others were severely wounded.
The dead man, and the two that were wounded, were carried off by their
companions, and I have heard nothing of either the one or the other since.
As for myself, as soon as I recovered my senses, I went to M. the governor,
to whom I related all that had passed, and whom I asked what I should do
with my prisoner.  But M. the governor was all astonishment, he told me he
knew nothing about the matter, that the orders I had received did not come
from him, and that if I had the audacity to mention his name as being
concerned in this disturbance he would have me hanged.  It appears that I
made a mistake, monsieur, that I had arrested the wrong person, and that he
whom I ought to have arrested had escaped."

     "But Athos!" cried D'Artagnan, whose impatience was increased by the
state of abandonment in which the authorities left the matter; "Athos!  where
is he?"

     "As I was anxious to repair the wrongs I had done the prisoner," resumed
the aubergiste, "I took my way straight to the cellar, in order to set him
at, liberty.  Ah!  monsieur he was no longer a man, he was a devil!  To my
offer of liberty, he replied that it was nothing but a snare, and that before
he came out he intended to impose his own conditions.  I told him, very
humbly - for I could not conceal from myself the scrape I had got into by
laying hands on one of his majesty's musketeers - I told him I was quite
ready to submit to his conditions.

     "'In the first place,' said he, 'I insist upon having my lackey placed
with me, fully armed.' We hastened to obey this order; for you will please
to understand, monsieur, we were disposed to do everything your friend could
desire.  M. Grimaud (he told us his name, he did, although he does not talk
much), M. Grimaud, then, went down to the cellar, wounded as he was; then his
master, having received him, barricaded the door afresh, and ordered us to
remain quietly in our own bar."

     "Well where is Athos now?" cried D'Artagnan.

     "In the cellar, monsieur."

     "What you good-for-nothing scoundrel!  What!  have you kept him in the
cellar all this time?"

     "Merciful heaven!  No, monsieur!  We keep him in the cellar!  You do not
know what he is about in the cellar!  Ah!  if you could but persuade him to
come out, monsieur, I should owe you the gratitude of my whole life; I should
adore you as my patron saint!"

     "Then he is there?  I shall find him there?"

     "Without doubt you will, monsieur; he persists in remaining there.  We
every day pass through the loophole some bread at the end of a fork, and some
meat when he asks for it; but alas!  it is not of bread and meat that he
makes the greatest consumption.  I once endeavored to go down with two of my
servants, but he flew into a terrible rage.  I heard the noise he made in
loading his pistols, and his servant in loading his musketoon.  Then, when
we asked them what were their intentions, the master replied that he had
forty charges to fire, and that he and his lackey would fire to the last one,
before he would allow a single soul of us to set foot in the cellar.  Upon
this I went and complained to the governor, who replied that I only had what
I deserved, and that it would teach me to insult honorable gentleman who took
up their abode in my house."

     "So that from that time - " replied D'Artagnan, totally unable to
refrain from laughing at the pitiable face of the host.

     "So that from that time, monsieur," continued the latter, "we have led
the most miserable life imaginable; for you must know, monsieur, that all our
provisions are in the cellar, there is our wine in bottles, and our wine in
the piece; beer, oil, grocery, bacon, and large sausages; and as we are
prevented from going down, we are forced to refuse food and drink to the
travelers who come to the house, so that our hostelry is daily going to ruin.
If your friend remains another week in my cellar I shall be a ruined man."

     "And not more than justice, neither, you stupid man; could you not
perceive by our appearance that we were people of quality, and not coiners
- say?"

     "Yes, monsieur, you are right," said the host.  "But, hark!  hark!
there he is in a passion again!"

     "Somebody has disturbed him, no doubt," said D'Artagnan.

     "But he must be disturbed," cried the host; "here are two English
gentlemen just arrived."

     "Well?"

     "Well!  the English like good wine, as you may know, monsieur; these
have asked for the best.  My wife then requested permission of M. Athos to
go into the cellar to satisfy these gentlemen; and he, as usual, has refused.
Ah!  good heaven!  there is the Sabbath louder than ever!"

     D'Artagnan, in fact, heard a great noise on the side next the cellar.
He rose, and, preceded by the host, wringing his hands, and followed by
Planchet with his musketoon, ready for action, he approached the scene of
action.

     The two gentlemen were exasperated; they had had a long ride, and were
dying with hunger and thirst.

     "But this is a tyranny!" cried one of them, in very good French, though
with a foreign accent, "that this madman will not allow these good people
access to their own wine!  Nonsense!  let us break open the door, and if he
is too far gone in his madness, well!  we will kill him."

     "Softly, gentlemen!" said D'Artagnan, drawing his pistols from his belt,
"there is nobody to be killed, if you please."

     "Good!  good!" cried Athos, from the other side of the door, "let them
just come in, these devourers of little children, and we shall see."

     Brave as they appeared to be, the two English gentlemen looked at each
other hesitatingly; it might be said that there was in that cellar one of
those hungry ogres, the gigantic heroes of popular legends, into whose cavern
nobody could force their way with impunity.

     There was a moment of silence; but at length the two Englishmen felt
ashamed to draw back, and the more angry one descended the five or six steps
which led to the cellar, and gave a kick against the door enough to split a
wall.

     "Planchet," said D'Artagnan, cocking his pistols, "I will take charge
of the one at the top, you look to the one below.  Now, gentlemen, if it's
battle you want, you shall have it."

     "Good God!" cried the hollow voice of Athos, "I can hear D'Artagnan, I
think."

     "Yes!" cried D'Artagnan, exalting his voice, in his turn, "I am here,
my friend!"

     "Ah!  ah!  then," replied Athos, "we will give it to these breakers-in
of doors!"

     The gentlemen had drawn their swords, but they found themselves taken
between two fires; they still hesitated an instant; but, as before, pride
prevailed, and a second kick split the door from bottom to top.

     "Stand on one side, D'Artagnan, stand on one side," cried Athos, "I am
going to fire!"

     "Gentlemen!" exclaimed D'Artagnan, whom reflection never abandoned,
"gentlemen, think of what you are about!  Patience, Athos!  You are running
your heads into a very silly affair; you will be riddled.  My lackey and I
will have three shots at you, and you will get as many from the cellar; you
will then have our swords, with which, I can assure you, my friend and I can
play tolerably well.  Let me conduct your business and my own.  You shall
soon have something to drink, I give you my word."

     "If there is any left," grumbled the jeering voice of Athos.

     The host felt a cold sweat creep down his back.

     "What!  if there is any left!" murmured he.

     "What, the devil!  there must be plenty left," replied D'Artagnan; "be
satisfied of that; these two can never have drunk all the cellar.  Gentlemen,
return your swords to their scabbards."

     "We will, provided you replace your pistols in your belt."

     "Willingly."

     And D'Artagnan set the example.  Then turning toward Planchet, he made
him a sign to uncock his musketoon.

     The Englishmen, overcome by these peaceful proceedings, sheathed their
swords grumblingly.  The history of Athos' imprisonment was then related to
them; and as they were really gentleman, they pronounced the host in the
wrong.

     "Now, gentlemen," said D'Artagnan, "go up to your room again; and in ten
minutes, I will answer for it, you shall have all you desire."

     The Englishmen bowed, and went upstairs.

     "Now I am alone, my dear Athos," said D'Artagnan, "open the door, I beg
of you."

     "Instantly," said Athos.

     Then was heard a great noise of fagots being removed, and of the
groaning of posts; these were the counterscarps and bastions of Athos, which
the besieged demolished himself.

     An instant after, the broken door was removed, and the pale face of
Athos appeared, who with a rapid glance took a survey of the environs.

     D'Artagnan threw himself on his neck and embraced him tenderly; he then
endeavored to draw him from his moist abode, but, to his surprise, perceived
that Athos staggered.

     "Why, you are wounded?" said he.

     "I!  not at all; I am dead drunk, that's all, and never did a man set
about getting so better.  Vive Dieu!  my good host!  I must at least have
drunk for my part a hundred and fifty bottles."

     "Misericorde!" cried the host, "if the lackey has drunk only half as
much as the master, I am a ruined man."

     "Grimaud is a well-bred lackey; he would never think of faring in the
same manner as his master; he only drank from the butt: hark!  I don't think
he put the faucet in again.  Do you hear it?  It is running now."

     D'Artagnan burst into a loud laugh, which changed the trembling of the
host into a burning fever.

     In the meantime, Grimaud appeared in his turn behind his master, with
his musketoon on his shoulder, and his head shaking like one of those drunken
satyrs in the pictures of Rubens.  He was moistened before and behind with
a liquid which the host recognized as his best olive oil.

     The cortege crossed the public room and proceeded to take possession of
the best apartment in the house, which D'Artagnan occupied by authority.

     In the meantime the host and his wife hurried down with lamps into the
cellar, which had so long been interdicted to them, and where a frightful
spectacle awaited them.

     Beyond the fortifications through which Athos had made a breach in order
to get out, and which were composed of fagots, planks, and empty casks,
heaped up according to all the rules of the strategic art, they found,
swimming in puddles of oil and wine, the bones and fragments of all the hams
they had eaten; while a heap of broken bottles filled the whole left-hand
corner of the cellar, and a tun, the cock of which was left running, was
yielding, by this means, the last drop of its blood.  "The image of
devastation and death," as the ancient poet says, "reigned as over a field
of battle."

     Of sixty large sausages, that had been suspended from the joists,
scarcely any remained.

     Then the lamentations of the host and hostess pierced the vault of the
cellar.  D'Artagnan himself was moved by them; Athos did not even turn his
head.

     But to grief succeeded rage.  The host armed himself with a spit, and
rushed into the chamber occupied by the two friends.

     "Some wine!" said Athos, on perceiving the host.

     "Some wine!" cried the stupefied host, "some wine!  why you have drunk
more than a hundred pistoles' worth!  I am a ruined man, lost, destroyed!"

     "Bah!" said Athos, "why, we were always dry."

     "If you had been contented with drinking, why, well and good; but you
have broken all the bottles."

     "You pushed me upon a heap which rolled down.  That was your fault."

     "All my oil is lost!"

     "Oil is a sovereign balm for wounds, and my poor Grimaud here was
obliged to dress those you had inflicted on him."

     "All my sausages gnawed!"

     "There is an enormous number of rats in that cellar."

     "You shall pay me for all this," cried the exasperated host.

     "You triple ass!" said Athos, rising; but he sank down again
immediately; he had tried his strength to the utmost.  D'Artagnan came to his
relief, with his whip in his hand.

     The host drew back and burst into tears.

     "This will teach you," said D'Artagnan, "to treat the guests God sends
you in a more courteous fashion."

     "God!  say the devil!"

     "My dear friend," said D'Artagnan, "if you stun us in this manner, we
will all four go and shut ourselves up in your cellar, and see if the
mischief be as great as you say."

     "Oh!  gentlemen!" gentlemen!" said the host, "I have been wrong.  I
confess it, but, pardon to every sin!  you are a gentleman and I am a poor
aubergiste, you will have pity on me."

     "Ah!  if you speak in that way," said Athos, "you will break my heart,
and the tears will flow from my eyes as the wine flowed from the casks.  We
are not such devils as we appear to be.  Come hither, and let us talk the
matter over."

     The host approached with hesitation.

     "Come hither, I say, and don't be afraid," continued Athos.  "At the
moment I was about to pay you, I had placed my purse on the table."

     "Yes, monsieur."

     "That purse contained sixty pistoles, where is it?"

     "Deposited in the justice's office; they said it was bad money."

     "Very well; get my purse back and keep the sixty pistoles."

     "But monseigneur knows very well that justice never lets go that which
it once lays hold of.  If it were bad money, there might be some hopes; but
unfortunately they are all good pieces."

     "Manage the matter as well as you can, my good man; it does not concern
me, the more so as I have not a livre left."

     "Come," said D'Artagnan, "let us try further; Athos' horse, where is
that?"

     "In the stable."

     "How much is it worth?"

     "Fifty pistoles at most."

     "It's worth eighty, take it, and there ends the matter."

     "What!" cried Athos, "are you selling my horse?  my Bajazet?  and pray
upon what shall I make my campaign?  upon Grimaud?"

     "I have brought you another," said D'Artagnan.

     "Another?"

     "And a magnificent one, too!" cried the host.

     "Well, since there is another finer and younger, why, you may take the
old one, and let us have some wine."

     "Which?" asked the host, quite cheerful again.

     "Some of that at the bottom, near the laths; there are twenty-five
bottles of it left, all the rest were broken by my fall.  Bring up six of
them."

     "Why, this man is a tun!" said the host aside; "if he only remains here
a fortnight, and pays for what he drinks, my affairs will soon be right
again."

     "And don't forget," said D'Artagnan, "to bring up four bottles of the
same sort for the two English gentlemen."

     "And now," said Athos, "while they are bringing up the wine, tell me,
D'Artagnan, what has become of the others, come!"

     D'Artagnan related how he had found Porthos in bed with a strained knee,
and Aramis at a table between two theologians.  As he finished, the host
entered with the wine and a ham, which, fortunately for him, had been left
out of the cellar.

     "That's well!" said Athos, filling his glass and that of his friend;
"here's to Porthos and Aramis!  but you, D'Artagnan, what is the matter with
you, and what has happened to you personally?  You don't look happy!"

     "Alas!" said D'Artagnan, "it is because I am the most unfortunate of
all!"

     "You!  unfortunate!" said Athos; "come!  how the devil can you be
unfortunate?  let us see that."

     "Presently!" said D'Artagnan.

     "Presently!  and why presently?  Now, that's because you think I am
drunk, D'Artagnan.  But, take this with you, my ideas are never so clear as
when I have had plenty of wine.  Speak, then, I am all ears."

     D'Artagnan related his adventure with Madame Bonacieux.  Athos listened
to him with perfect immobility of countenance; and, when he had finished:

     "Trifles, all that;" said Athos, "nothing but trifles!" That was Athos'
expression.

     "You always say trifles, my dear Athos!" said D'Artagnan, "and that
comes very ill from you, who have never been in love."

     The drink-deadened eye of Athos flashed, but it was only for a moment
- it became dull and vacant as before.

     "That's true," said he quietly, "for my part I have never loved."

     "Acknowledge then, you stone-hearted man," said D'Artagnan, "that you
have no right to be so hard upon us whose hearts are tender."

     "Tender hearts!  wounded hearts!" said Athos.

     "What do you say?"

     "I say that love is a lottery, in which he who wins, wins death!  You
are very fortunate to have lost, believe me, my dear D'Artagnan.  And if I
may be allowed to advise you, it will be to lose always."

     "Oh!  but she seemed to love me so!"

     "She seemed, did she?"

     "Oh!  she did love me!"

     "You boy!  why, there lives not a man who has not believed, as you do,
that his mistress loved him, and there lives not a man who has not been
deceived by his mistress."

     "Except you, Athos, who never had one."

     "That's true," said Athos, after a moment's silence, "that's true!  I
never had one!  I! - I! - Drink!"

     "But then, philosopher as you are," said D'Artagnan, "it is your duty
to instruct me, to support me; I stand in need of being taught and consoled."

     "Consoled!  for what?"

     "For my misfortune."

     "Your misfortune is laughable," said Athos, shrugging his shoulders; "I
should like to know what you would say if I were to relate to you a real tale
of love!"

     "Which concerns you?"

     "Either me or one of my friends, what matters?"

     "Tell it, Athos, tell it."

     "Drink!  I shall tell it better if I drink."

     "Drink and relate, then."

     "Not a bad idea!" said Athos, emptying and filling his glass, "the two
things go marvelously well together."

     "I am all attention," said D'Artagnan.

     Athos collected himself, and in proportion as he did so, D'Artagnan saw
that he became paler; he was at that period of intoxication in which vulgar
drinkers fall and sleep.  He kept himself upright and dreamed, without
sleeping.  This somnambulism of drunkenness had something frightful in it.

     "You particularly wish it?" asked he.

     "I beg you will," said D'Artagnan.

     "Be it done then, as you desire.  One of my friends, please to observe,
not myself," said Athos, interrupting himself with a melancholy smile; "one
of the counts of my province, that is to say, of Berry, noble as a Dandolo
or a Montmorency, at twenty-five years of age, fell in love with a girl of
sixteen, beautiful as fancy can paint.  Through the ingenuousness of her age
beamed an ardent mind, a mind not of the woman, but of the poet; she did not
please, she intoxicated; she lived in a small town with her brother, who was
a cure.  Both had recently come into the country; they came nobody knew
whence; but when seeing her so lovely and her brother so pious, nobody
thought of asking whence they came.  They were said, however, to be of good
extraction.  My friend, who was lord of the country, might have seduced her,
or he might have seized her forcibly, at his will, for he was master; who
would have come to the assistance of two strangers, two unknown persons?
Unfortunately, he was an honorable man, he married her.  The fool!  the ass!
the idiot."

     "How so, if he loved her?" asked D'Artagnan.

     "Wait!" said Athos.  "He took her to his chateau, and made her the first
lady in the province; and, in justice, it must be allowed, she supported her
rank becomingly."

     "Well?" asked D'Artagnan, quite excited.

     "Well, one day when she was hunting with her husband," continued  Athos,
in a low voice, and speaking very quickly, "she fell from her horse and
fainted; the count flew to her help, and as she appeared to be oppressed by
her clothes, he ripped them open with his poniard, and in so doing laid bare
her shoulder: and now, guess, D'Artagnan," said Athos, with a maniacal burst
of laughter, "guess what she had upon her shoulder."

     "How can I tell?" said D'Artagnan.

     "A fleur-de-lis," said Athos.  "She was branded!"

     And Athos emptied at a single draught the glass he held in his hand.

     "Horror!" cried D'Artagnan.  "What do you tell me?"

     "Truth!  my friend - the angel was a demon: the poor young girl had been
a thief!"

     "And what did the count do?"

     "The count was of the highest noblesse; he had, on his estates the right
of high and low justice; he tore the dress of the countess to pieces, he tied
her hands behind her, and hanged her on a tree!"

     "Heavens!  Athos!  a murder!" cried D'Artagnan.

     "Yes, a murder - no more" - said Athos, as pale as death.  "But,
methinks, they let me want wine!" and he seized the last bottle that was
left, by the neck, put it to his mouth, and emptied it at a single draught
as he would have emptied an ordinary glass.

     Then he let his head sink upon his two hands, while D'Artagnan stood up
before him, terrified, stupefied.

     "That has cured me of beautiful, poetical, and loving women," said
Athos, after a considerable pause, raising his head, and forgetting to
continue the apologue of the count - "God grant you as much!  Drink!"

     "Then she is dead?" stammered D'Artagnan.

     "Parbleu!" said Athos.  "But hold out your glass.  Some ham, my man!"
cried Athos; "we don't half drink!"

     "And her brother?" added D'Artagnan timidly.

     "Her brother?" replied Athos.

     "Yes, the priest."

     "Oh, I inquired after him for the purpose of hanging him likewise, but
he was beforehand with me, he had quitted the curacy instantly."

     "Was it ever known who this miserable fellow was?"

     "He was doubtless the first lover, and the accomplice of the fair lady,
a worthy man, who had pretended to be a cure for the purpose of getting his
mistress married, and securing her a position.  He has been hanged and
quartered before this time, I hope."

     "Good God!  good God!" cried D'Artagnan, quite stunned by the relation
of this horrible adventure.

     "Taste some of this ham, D'Artagnan; it is exquisite," said Athos,
cutting a slice, which he placed on the young man's plate.  "What a pity it
is there were only four like this in the cellar, I should have drunk fifty
bottles more."

     D'Artagnan could no longer endure this conversation, which had terrified
away his senses; he felt quite bewildered, and allowing his head to sink upon
his hand, he pretended to sleep.

     "These young fellows can none of them drink," said Athos, looking at him
with pity, "and yet this is one of the best of them, too!"