The Three Musketeers. Alexandre DumasЧитать онлайн книгу.
for, supposing that he should survive to fight him, he entertained no doubt of his ability to make short work of him, or, at all events, by wounding him in the face (as Cæsar recommended his men to do with Pompey’s soldiers), to spoil for ever that beauty of which he was so vain. In fine, d’Artagnan now brought into action those principles of unconquerable and steady resolve which the counsels of his father had implanted in his heart—counsels which, as we know, had instructed him to submit to nothing like indignity unless it proceeded from the king, the cardinal, or M. de Treville.
Full of these ideas, he sped as if on wings towards the convent des Carmes Deschaux—a building without windows, adjoining a chapel of ease of the Pré-aux-Clercs, and surrounded by dry meadows, which generally served as a rendezvous for those combatants who had no time to lose. As d’Artagnan came in sight of the small open space in front of the convent, it struck the hour of noon, and Athos had already been about five minutes on the ground. He was therefore as punctual as the Samaritan woman, and the most rigorous casuist in the laws of duelling could have found nothing to censure.
Athos, who continued to suffer severely from his wound, although it had again been dressed by M. de Treville’s surgeon, had seated himself on a large stone, where he awaited his adversary with that air of calmness and dignity which never forsook him. As d’Artagnan approached, he arose, and politely advanced some steps to meet him; whilst d’Artagnan, on his part, went towards his antagonist bowing until his plume touched the ground.
“Sir,” said Athos, “I expected two of my friends who are to act as my seconds, but they are not yet arrived. I am surprised that they should be so late, as they are generally punctual!”
“I have no second, sir,” said d’Artagnan; “I only arrived in Paris yesterday; consequently I am unknown to any one here except M. de Treville, to whom I was introduced by my father, who has the honour to claim his friendship.”
Athos mused for an instant, and then said: “So M. de Treville is your only acquaintance?”
“Yes, sir, I know no one but him.”
“Oh, then,” continued Athos sotto voce, “if I should kill you, I shall acquire the reputation of a child-eater.”
“Not entirely so, sir,” answered d’Artagnan, with a bow which was not devoid of dignity, “not quite so; since you do me the honour to draw your sword against me whilst suffering from a wound which must occasion you great inconvenience.”
“Inconvenience! Upon my honour I assure you that you hurt me confoundedly. But I will use my left hand, as I usually do under such circumstances. Yet do not imagine that by this means I do you a favour, as I fight equally well with either hand. Indeed, it will rather be a disadvantage to you, a left-handed man being a very trying opponent to one who is not used to it. I regret, therefore, that I did not apprise you sooner of this circumstance.”
“Really, sir,” said d’Artagnan, again bowing, “you are so very courteous that I cannot be sufficiently grateful.”
“You overwhelm me,” replied Athos, with the air of a well-bred man; “if it be not disagreeable to you, pray let us converse upon some other subject. Ah! how you did hurt me! how my shoulder still burns!”
“Would you permit me———?” said d’Artagnan, somewhat timidly.
“To do what, sir?” inquired Athos.
“I have a salve which is quite a panacea for wounds—a salve which my mother gave me, and which I have tried upon myself with success.”
“And what of it?” continued Athos.
“Why, sir, I am certain that in less than three days this salve would cure you; and at the end of that time, when your cure is completed, it would be a great honour for me to cross swords with you.”
D’Artagnan uttered these words with a simplicity which did honour to his courtesy, without in the slightest degree detracting from his courage.
“By my faith!” exclaimed Athos, “this is a proposition which much pleases me; not that I should think of accepting it; but it savours of the perfect knight, and it was thus that, in the days of Charlemagne, those brave men, whom every man of honour should make his model, spoke. Unfortunately, however, we do not live in the times of the great emperor, but in those of the cardinal; and three days hence, however well we might preserve our secret, it would be known that we were going to fight, and we should be prevented. But,” he added, with some impatience, “these seconds are laggards.”
“If you are in haste, sir,” said d’Artagnan, with the same simplicity that had the moment before characterised his proposition to put off the duel for three days—“if you are in haste, and should wish to dispose of me at once, dispense with the seconds, I beseech you.”
“This speech of yours pleases me still more,” said Athos, gracefully bowing to d’Artagnan, “it does not seem that of a man who lacks either head or heart. I admire men of your stamp, and, if we are spared, I shall hereafter have sincere pleasure in your acquaintance. Meantime, let us wait for these gentlemen, I pray you. I have plenty of time, and it will be more according to rule. Ah! see, here comes one of them.”
And as he spoke, the gigantic form of Porthos was seen at the end of the Rue de Vaugirard.
“What!” exclaimed d’Artagnan, “is M. Porthos one of your seconds!”
“Yes, have you any objection to him?”
“Oh, certainly not!”
“And here is the other.”
D’Artagnan looked in the direction indicated by Athos, and beheld Aramis.
“What!” cried he, in a tone of yet greater astonishment, “is M. Aramis the other of your seconds?”
“Certainly; are you not aware that one is rarely seen without the other, and that amongst the musketeers and guards, at court and in the town, we are known as Athos, Porthos, and Aramis, or the three inseparables? But as you come from Dax or Pau———”
“From Tarbes,” said d’Artagnan.
“You may very naturally be ignorant of all this.”
“Really, gentlemen,” said d’Artagnan, “you are well named; and should my adventure become known, it will at least prove that like draws to like.”
In the meantime Porthos approached, shook hands with Athos, and turning towards d’Artagnan, seemed lost in astonishment. We may mention, in passing, that he had changed his belt, and laid aside his cloak.
“It is with this gentleman that I am about to fight,” said Athos, pointing towards d’Artagnan, and at the same time saluting him.
“And I also am going to fight him,” replied Porthos.
“But not till one o’clock,” interrupted d’Artagnan.
“And I also—it is with him that I am to fight,” said Aramis, who had arrived on the ground, just after Porthos.
“Our appointment, however, is for two o’clock,” replied d’Artagnan, with the same coolness.
“But what are you going to fight about, Athos?” demanded Aramis.
“Upon my faith, I do not well know, except that he hurt my shoulder.”
“And you, Porthos?”
“I fight because I fight,” replied Porthos colouring. Athos, whom nothing escaped, perceived a slight smile curling the lips of the Gascon.
“We had a dispute about dress,” said d’Artagnan.
“And you, Aramis?” demanded Athos.
“Me? I fight on account of a theological dispute,” answered Aramis, making a sign to d’Artagnan that he wished him to conceal the true cause of their duel.
“Really!” said Athos, who observed d’Artagnan smile again.