LITMIR.BIZ

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of the laws of propriety; but at the moment he suddenly felt the hand of Athos grasp his own, and, on looking at him, perceived that he was fainting. He had rallied all his powers to struggle against his pain during the interview; but he could now no longer sustain it, and fell senseless upon the carpet.

      “A surgeon!” cried M. de Treville; “mine—or, rather, the king’s—a surgeon! or my brave Athos will die!” At these exclamations of M. de Treville, every one rushed into the cabinet, and before he could stop them, pressed round the wounded man. But this eagerness would have been useless, had not the surgeon been found in the hotel. Forcing his way through the spectators, he approached Athos, who was still insensible; and as the pressure of the crowd occasioned him much inconvenience, he directed as the first step of all, that the guardsman should be instantly conveyed into an adjoining apartment. M. de Treville immediately opened a door, and pointed out the way to Porthos and Aramis, who bore off their comrade in their arms.

      The cabinet of M. de Treville, that place usually deemed sacred, became for the moment an adjunct to the antechamber, and one in which every one discoursed, talked loud, swore, and consigned the cardinal and all his guards to the infernal regions. In a few moments Porthos and Aramis re-entered, having left M. de Treville and the surgeon with the wounded man. At length M. de Treville himself followed, and announced that Athos had recovered his senses; whilst the surgeon declared that there was nothing in his situation to alarm his friends, his weakness being occasioned entirely by the loss of blood.

      Upon a signal from M. de Treville, every one now retired except d’Artagnan, who did not abandon his audience, but, with true Gascon tenacity, held his ground. When all the intruders had left the room, and the door was again closed, M. de Treville turned round, and found himself alone with the young man. The event which had just taken place had in some measure disarranged the previous train of his ideas; and he therefore now inquired what this persevering visitor required. D’Artagnan repeated his name; and M. de Treville, recalling the past and present, instantly became aware of his situation.

      “Pardon,” said he smiling, “pardon, my dear countryman, but I had entirely forgotten you. What do you want? A captain is merely the father of a family, but burdened with a heavier responsibility than an ordinary parent; for soldiers are great children; but, as I maintain, it is my duty to see that the orders of the king, and more especially those of the cardinal, are carefully executed.”

      D’Artagnan could not repress a smile; and this smile satisfied M. de Treville that he was not dealing with a fool. Therefore he came at once to the point, and, at the same time, changed the subject.

      “I have loved your father,” said he; “what can I do for his son? Tell me quickly, for my time is not my own.”

      “Sir,” said d’Artagnan, “in quitting Tarbes, and coming here, I wished to ask from you, as a memorial of the friendship which you have not forgotten, the uniform of a musketeer; but from what I have seen during these last two hours, I more fully comprehend the extreme importance of the favour, and tremble lest I may not be deemed a fit recipient.”

      “It is truly a great favour, young man,” said M. de Treville; “but it cannot be so far above you as you believe, or, at least, seem to believe. However, a decision his majesty has provided for this case; and I regret to inform you, that no one is received among the musketeers who has not passed the ordeal of some campaigns, performed certain brilliant actions, or served for two years in some less favoured regiment than our own.”

      D’Artagnan bowed in silence, but at the same time feeling more eager to don the uniform of the musketeers, since that object could only be obtained with great difficulty.

      “But,” continued M. de Treville, fixing his piercing look upon his countryman, as if he wished to penetrate the inmost recesses of his heart, “but for the sake of my ancient friend, your father, I wish to do something for you. Young man, we cadets of Bearn are not in general overburdened with wealth, and I fear that matters are not much improved in this respect since I left the province. Your purse, therefore, can scarce be as full as it was.”

      D’Artagnan drew himself up with a proud air, which seemed to say, “I ask charity of none.”

      “It is well, young man, it is very well; I understand your feelings. I came to Paris myself with only four crowns in my pocket, and I would have fought any one who had dared to dispute my ability to purchase the Louvre.”

      D’Artagnan assumed a still prouder air. Thanks to the sale of his horse, he began the world with four crowns more than M. de Treville.

      “I should say, therefore, that however large may be the sum you really possess, you ought to preserve it. In the meantime you must perfect yourself in all those accomplishments which become a gentleman, and I will this day write a letter to the director of the Royal Academy, who will receive you tomorrow without any fee. Do not refuse this trifling favour. Gentlemen of the highest rank and wealth often solicit without being able to obtain it, the same gift. You will there learn to ride, to fence, and to dance; you will form a circle in good society; and from time to time you must personally apprise me of your progress, and let me know if I can do anything for you.”

      D’Artagnan, ignorant as he was of the manners of high society, felt the coldness of this reception.

      “Alas, sir,” said he, “I now deeply feel the want of the letter of introduction which my father gave me for you.”

      “I am, in truth, somewhat surprised,” replied M. de Treville, “that you should have undertaken so long a journey without that viaticum, so essential to every Bearnese.”

      “I had one, sir, and a good one—thank God!” cried d’Artagnan, “but was perfidiously robbed of it;” and with a degree of warmth and an air of truth which charmed M. de Treville, he recounted his adventure at Meung, accurately describing his unknown adversary.

      “It was very strange,” said M. de Treville musingly. “You spoke of me openly, did you?”

      “Yes, sir, I certainly committed that imprudence; but such a name as yours served me as a shield on my journey; therefore you can guess if I frequently covered myself with it or no!”

      It was an age of flattery, and M. de Treville loved the incense as well as a king or a cardinal. He could not help smiling, therefore, with evident satisfaction; but this smile soon passed away, and returning to the adventure at Meung, he continued—

      “Tell me, had not this gentleman a slight scar on the cheek?”

      “Yes, as if left by a pistol-ball.”

      “Was he not a man of commanding air?”

      “Yes.”

      “Of a tall figure?”

      “Yes.”

      “With an olivine complexion?”

      “Yes, yes, that is he: but do you know this man, sir? Ah! if I ever meet him—and I will find him, I swear to you, even were he in hell———”

      “He attended a woman did he not?” continued M. de Treville.

      “At least he departed after he had conversed a moment with the one he had attended.”

      “Do you know the subject of their conversation?”

      “He gave her a box, which he said contained her instructions, and desired her not to open it until she arrived in London.”

      “Was this woman an Englishwoman?”

      “He called her ‘my lady.’”

      “It is he,” murmured Treville: “it must be; I thought he was at Brussels.”

      “Oh, sir,” exclaimed d’Artagnan, “if you know this man, tell me who and whence he is, and I will hold you absolved even of your promise to admit me amongst the musketeers; for before and above everything else, I long to avenge myself.”

      “Beware, young man,” said M. de Treville. “Should you perceive this man walking on the one side of the street, instead of seeking

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