Turtle Reader

“So it is!” said d’Artagnan; “I know him now. Do you think he would recollect you?”

“My faith, monsieur, he was in such trouble that I doubt if he can have retained a very clear recollection of me.”

“Well, go and talk with the boy,” said d’Artagnan, “and make out if you can from his conversation whether his master is dead.”

Planchet dismounted and went straight up to Lubin, who did not at all remember him, and the two lackeys began to chat with the best understanding possible; while d’Artagnan turned the two horses into a lane, went round the house, and came back to watch the conference from behind a hedge of filberts.

At the end of an instant’s observation he heard the noise of a vehicle, and saw Milady’s carriage stop opposite to him. He could not be mistaken; Milady was in it. D’Artagnan leaned upon the neck of his horse, in order that he might see without being seen.

Milady put her charming blond head out at the window, and gave her orders to her maid.

The latter—a pretty girl of about twenty or twenty-two years, active and lively, the true soubrette of a great lady—jumped from the step upon which, according to the custom of the time, she was seated, and took her way toward the terrace upon which d’Artagnan had perceived Lubin.

D’Artagnan followed the soubrette with his eyes, and saw her go toward the terrace; but it happened that someone in the house called Lubin, so that Planchet remained alone, looking in all directions for the road where d’Artagnan had disappeared.

The maid approached Planchet, whom she took for Lubin, and holding out a little billet to him said, “For your master.”

“For my master?” replied Planchet, astonished.

“Yes, and important. Take it quickly.”

Thereupon she ran toward the carriage, which had turned round toward the way it came, jumped upon the step, and the carriage drove off.

Planchet turned and returned the billet. Then, accustomed to passive obedience, he jumped down from the terrace, ran toward the lane, and at the end of twenty paces met d’Artagnan, who, having seen all, was coming to him.

“For you, monsieur,” said Planchet, presenting the billet to the young man.

“For me?” said d’Artagnan; “are you sure of that?”

“Pardieu, monsieur, I can’t be more sure. The soubrette said, ‘For your master.’ I have no other master but you; so—a pretty little lass, my faith, is that soubrette!”

D’Artagnan opened the letter, and read these words:

“A person who takes more interest in you than she is willing to confess wishes to know on what day it will suit you to walk in the forest? Tomorrow, at the Hotel Field of the Cloth of Gold, a lackey in black and red will wait for your reply.”

“Oh!” said d’Artagnan, “this is rather warm; it appears that Milady and I are anxious about the health of the same person. Well, Planchet, how is the good Monsieur de Wardes? He is not dead, then?”

“No, monsieur, he is as well as a man can be with four sword wounds in his body; for you, without question, inflicted four upon the dear gentleman, and he is still very weak, having lost almost all his blood. As I said, monsieur, Lubin did not know me, and told me our adventure from one end to the other.”

“Well done, Planchet! you are the king of lackeys. Now jump onto your horse, and let us overtake the carriage.”

This did not take long. At the end of five minutes they perceived the carriage drawn up by the roadside; a cavalier, richly dressed, was close to the door.

The conversation between Milady and the cavalier was so animated that d’Artagnan stopped on the other side of the carriage without anyone but the pretty soubrette perceiving his presence.

The conversation took place in English—a language which d’Artagnan could not understand; but by the accent the young man plainly saw that the beautiful Englishwoman was in a great rage. She terminated it by an action which left no doubt as to the nature of this conversation; this was a blow with her fan, applied with such force that the little feminine weapon flew into a thousand pieces.

The cavalier laughed aloud, which appeared to exasperate Milady still more.

D’Artagnan thought this was the moment to interfere. He approached the other door, and taking off his hat respectfully, said, “Madame, will you permit me to offer you my services? It appears to me that this cavalier has made you very angry. Speak one word, madame, and I take upon myself to punish him for his want of courtesy.”