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Chapter XXIV
Chapter XXIV
The Pavilion
At nine o`clock D`Artagnan was at the Hotel des Gardes; he found
Planchet under arms. The fourth horse had arrived.
Planchet was armed with his musketoon and a pistol. D`Artagnan had his
sword, and placed two pistols in his belt; then both mounted, and departed
quietly. It was quite dark, and no one saw them go out. Planchet took his
place behind his master, and kept at a distance of about ten paces from him.
D`Artagnan crossed the quays, went out by the gate of La Conference, and
proceeded along the road, much more beautiful then than it is now, which
leads to St. Cloud.
As long as he was in the city, Planchet kept at the respectful distance
he had imposed upon himself; but as soon as the road began to be more lonely
and dark, he drew softly nearer; so that when they entered the Bois de
Boulogne, he found himself riding quite naturally side by side with his
master. In fact, we must not dissemble, that the oscillation of the tall
trees, and the reflection of the moon in the dark underwood, gave him serious
uneasiness. D`Artagnan could not help perceiving that more than usual was
passing in the mind of his lackey, and said:
"Well, Master Planchet! what is the matter with us now?"
"Don`t you think, monsieur, that woods are like churches?"
"How so, Planchet!"
"Because we dare not speak aloud in one or the other."
"But why do you not dare speak aloud, Planchet? - because you are
afraid?"
"Afraid of being heard? - yes, monsieur."
"Afraid of being heard! Why there is nothing improper in our
conversation, my dear Planchet, and no one could find fault with it."
"Ah, monsieur!" replied Planchet, recurring to his besetting idea, "that
M. Bonacieux has something vicious in his eyebrows, and something very
unpleasant in the play of his lips."
"What the devil makes you think of Bonacieux now?"
"Monsieur, we think of what we can, and not of what we will."
"Because you are a coward, Planchet."
"Monsieur, we must not confound prudence with cowardice; prudence is a
virtue."
"And you are very virtuous, are you not, Planchet?"
"Monsieur, is not that the barrel of a musket which glitters yonder?
Had we not better lower our heads?"
"In truth," murmured D`Artagnan, to whom M. de Treville`s recommendation
recurred, "in truth, this animal will end by making me afraid." And he put
his horse into a trot.
Planchet followed the movements of his master, as if he had been his
shadow, and was soon trotting by his side.
"Are we going to continue this pace all night?" asked Planchet.
"No, for you, on your part, are at your journey`s end."
"I, monsieur, am arrived! and monsieur?"
"Why, I am going a few steps farther."
"And does monsieur intend to leave me here alone?"
"You certainly are afraid, Planchet?"
"No but I only beg leave to observe to monsieur, that the night will be
very cold, that chills bring on rheumatism, and that a lackey who has the
rheumatism makes but a poor servant particularly to a master as active as
monsieur."
"Well, if you are cold, Planchet, you can go into one of those cabarets
that you see yonder, and be waiting for me at the door by six o`clock in the
morning."
"Monsieur, I have eaten and drunk respectfully the crown you gave me
this morning; so that I have not a sou left, in case I should be cold."
"Here`s a half a pistole. To-morrow morning, then."
D`Artagnan sprang from his horse, threw the bridle to Planchet, and
departed at a quick pace, folding his cloak round him.
"Good Lord, how cold I am!" cried Planchet, as soon as he had lost sight
of his master; and in such haste was he to warm himself, that he went
straight to a house set out with all the attributes of a suburban auberge,
and knocked at the door.
In the meantime D`Artagnan, who had plunged into a bypath, continued his
route, and gained St. Cloud; but instead of following the high street, he
turned behind the chateau, reached a sort of retired lane, and found himself
soon in front of the pavilion named. It was situated in a very private spot.
A high wall, at the angle of which was the pavilion, ran along one side of
this lane, and on the other was a little garden, connected with a poor
cottage, which was protected from passengers by a hedge.
He gained the place appointed, and as no signal had been given him by
which to announce his presence, he waited.
Not the least noise was to be heard; it might be imagined that he was
a hundred miles from the capital. D`Artagnan leaned against the hedge, after
having cast a glance behind him. Beyond that hedge, that garden, and that
cottage, a dark mist enveloped with its folds that immensity in which sleeps
Paris, a vast void from which glittered a few luminous points, the funeral
stars of that hell!
But for D`Artagnan all aspects were clothed happily, all ideas wore a
smile, all darknesses were diaphanous. The appointed hour was about to
strike.
In fact, at the end of a few minutes, the belfry of St. Cloud let fall
slowly ten strokes from its sonorous jaws.
There was something melancholy in this brazen voice pouring out its
lamentations amid the night.
But every one of those hours which composed the expected hour, vibrated
harmoniously to the heart of the young man.
His eyes were fixed upon the little pavilion situated at the angle of
the wall, of which all the windows were closed with shutters, except one on
the first story. Through this window shone a mild light which silvered the
foliage of two or three linden trees, which formed a group outside the park.
There could be no doubt that behind this little window, which threw forth
such friendly beams, the pretty Madame Bonacieux expected him.
Wrapt in this sweet idea, D`Artagnan waited half an hour without the
least impatience, his eyes fixed upon that charming little abode of which he
could perceive a part of the ceiling with its gilded moldings, attesting the
elegance of the rest of the apartment.
The belfry of St. Cloud struck half-past ten.
This time, without at all knowing why, D`Artagnan felt a cold shiver run
through his veins. Perhaps the cold began to affect him, and he took a
perfectly physical sensation for a moral impression.
Then the idea seized him that he had read incorrectly, and that the
appointment was for eleven o`clock. He drew near to the window, and placing
himself so that a ray of light should fall upon the letter as he held it, he
drew it from his pocket, and read it again; but he had not been mistaken, the
appointment was for ten o`clock.
He went and resumed his post, beginning to be pretty uneasy at this
silence and this solitude.
Eleven o`clock struck!
D`Artagnan began now really to fear that something had happened to
Madame Bonacieux. He clapped his hands three times, the ordinary signal of
lovers; but nobody replied to him - not even an echo.
He then thought, with a touch of vexation, that perhaps the young woman
had fallen asleep while waiting for him.
He approached the wall, and endeavored to climb up it; but the wall had
been recently pointed, and he could obtain no hold.
At that moment he thought of the trees, upon whose leaves the light
still shone, and as one of them drooped over the road, he thought that from
its branches he might succeed in getting a glimpse of the interior of the
room.
The tree was easy to climb. Besides, D`Artagnan was but twenty years
old, and consequently had not yet forgotten his schoolboy habits. In an
instant he was among the branches, and his keen eyes plunged through the
transparent window into the interior of the pavilion.
It was a strange thing, and one which made D`Artagnan tremble from the
sole of his foot to the roots of his hair, to find that this soft light, this
calm lamp, enlightened a scene of fearful disorder: one of the windows was
broken, the door of the chamber had been beaten in, and hung, split in two,
on its hinges; a table, which had been covered with an elegant supper, was
overturned; the decanters, broken in pieces, and the fruits crushed, strewed
the floor; everything in the apartment gave evidence of a violent and
desperate struggle; D`Artagnan even fancied he could recognize amid this
strange disorder, fragments of garments, and some bloody spots staining the
cloth and the curtains.
He hastened down into the street, with a frightful beating at his heart;
he wished to see if he could find any other traces of violence.
The little soft light continued to shine in the calm of the night.
D`Artagnan then perceived, a thing that he had not before remarked, for
nothing had led him to the examination, that the ground, trampled here, and
hoof-marked there, presented confused traces of men and horses. Besides, the
wheels of a carriage, which appeared to have come from Paris, had made a deep
impression in the soft earth, which did not extend beyond the pavilion, but
turned again toward Paris.
At length D`Artagnan, in following up his researches, found near the
wall a woman`s torn glove; which glove, wherever it had not touched the muddy
ground, was of irreproachable freshness. It was one of those perfumed gloves
that lovers like to snatch from a pretty hand.
As D`Artagnan pursued his investigations, at every fresh discovery a
more abundant and more icy sweat broke in large drops from his forehead; his
heart was oppressed by a horrible anguish, his respiration was broken and
short; and yet he said, to reassure himself, that this pavilion, perhaps, had
nothing in common with Madame Bonacieux; that the young woman had made an
appointment with him before the pavilion, and not in the pavilion; that she
might have been detained in Paris by her duties, or perhaps by the jealousy
of her husband.
But all these reasons were combated, destroyed, overthrown, by that
feeling of intimate pain which, on certain occasions, takes possession of our
being, and cries to us, so as to be understood unmistakably, that some great
misfortune is hanging over us.
Then D`Artagnan became almost wild; he ran along the high road, took the
path he had before taken, and, coming to the ferry, closely interrogated the
boatman.
About seven o`clock in the evening, the boatman said he had taken over
a young woman, enveloped in a black mantle, who appeared to be very anxious
not to be seen; but, entirely on account of her precautions, the boatman had
paid more attention to her, and discovered that she was young and pretty.
There was then, as there is now, a crowd of young and pretty women who
came to St. Cloud, and who had great reasons for not being seen, and yet
D`Artagnan did not for an instant doubt that it was Madame Bonacieux whom the
boatman had remarked.
D`Artagnan took advantage of the lamp which burned in the cabin of the
boatman to read the billet of Madame Bonacieux once again, and satisfy
himself that he had not been mistaken, that the appointment was at St. Cloud
and not elsewhere, before the pavilion of M. d`Estrees and not in another
street.
Everything conspired to prove to D`Artagnan that his presentiments had
not deceived him, and that a great misfortune had happened.
He again ran back to the chateau; it appeared to him that something
might have happened at the pavilion in his absence, and that fresh
information awaited him.
The lane was still empty, and the same soft light shone from the window.
D`Artagnan then thought of that silent, obscure cottage; some one from
it might have seen, no doubt, and might tell of something.
The gate of the enclosure was shut, but he leaped over the hedge, and
in spite of the barking of a chained-up dog, went up to the cabin.
No one answered to his first knocking. A silence of death reigned in
the cabin as in the pavilion; the cabin, however, was his last resource; he
knocked again.
It soon appeared to him that he heard a slight noise within, a timid
noise, which seemed itself to tremble lest it should be heard.
Then D`Artagnan ceased to knock, and prayed with an accent so full of
anxiety and promises, terror and cajolery, that his voice was of a nature to
reassure the most fearful. At length an old, worm-eaten shutter was opened,
or rather pushed ajar, but closed again as soon as the light from a miserable
lamp which burned in the corner had shone upon the baldrick, sword-belt, and
pistol pummels of D`Artagnan. Nevertheless, rapid as the movement had been,
D`Artagnan had time to get a glimpse of the head of an old man.
"In the name of heaven!" cried he, "listen to me: I have been waiting
for some one who is not come; I am dying with anxiety. Has anything
particular happened in the neighborhood? Speak!"
The window was again opened slowly, and the same face appeared again;
only it was still more pale than before.
D`Artagnan related his history simply, with the omission of names: he
told how he had an appointment with a young woman before that pavilion, and
how, not seeing her come, he had climbed the linden tree, and by the light
of the lamp had seen the disorder of the chamber.
The old man listened attentively, making a sign only that it all was so;
and then, when D`Artagnan had ended, he shook his head with an air that
announced nothing good.
"What do you mean?" cried D`Artagnan, "in the name of heaven, tell me,
explain yourself."
"Oh! monsieur," said the old man, "ask me nothing; for if I told you
what I have seen, certainly no good would befall me."
"You have then seen something?" replied D`Artagnan. "In that case, in
the name of heaven," continued he, throwing him a pistole, "tell me what you
have seen, and I will pledge you the word of a gentleman that not one of your
words shall escape from my heart."
The old man read so much truth and so much grief in the face of the
young man, that he made him a sign to listen, and repeated in a low voice:
"It was scarcely nine o`clock when I heard a noise in the street, and
was wondering what it could be, when on coming to my door, I found that
somebody was endeavoring to open it. As I am very poor, and am not afraid
of being robbed, I went and opened the gate and saw three men at a few paces
from it. In the shade was a carriage with two horses, and a man held three
saddle horses. These horses evidently belonged to the three men, who were
dressed as cavaliers.
"`Ah! my worthy gentlemen,` cried I, `what do you want?`
"`Have you a ladder?` said the one who appeared to be the leader of the
party.
"`Yes, monsieur, the one with which I gather my fruit.`
"`Lend it to us, and go into your house again; there is a crown for the
annoyance we have caused you. Only remember this, if you speak a word of
what you may see or what you may hear (for you will look and you will listen,
I am quite sure, however we may threaten you), you are lost.`
"At these words he threw me a crown, which I picked up, and he took the
ladder.
"After shutting the gate behind them, I pretended to return to the
house, but I immediately went out at a back door, and stealing along in the
shade of the hedge, I gained yonder clump of elder, from which I could hear
and see everything.
"The three men brought the carriage up quietly, and took out of it a
little man, stout, short, elderly, and commonly dressed in clothes of a dark
color, who ascended the ladder very carefully, looked suspiciously in at the
window of the pavilion, came down as quietly as he had gone up, and
whispered:
"`It is she!`
"Immediately he who had spoken to me approached the door of the
pavilion, opened it with a key he had in his hand, closed the door and
disappeared, while at the same time the other two men ascended the ladder.
The little old man remained at the coach door, the coachman took care of his
horses, the lackey held the saddle horses.
"All at once great cries resounded in the pavilion, and a woman came to
the window and opened it, as if to throw herself out of it; but as soon as
she perceived the other two men, she fell back and they got into the chamber.
"Then I saw no more; but I heard the noise of breaking furniture. The
woman screamed and cried for help. But her cries were soon stifled; two of
the men appeared, bearing the woman in their arms, and carried her to the
carriage, into which the little old man got after her. The leader closed the
window, came out an instant after at the door, and satisfied himself that the
woman was in the carriage: his two companions were already on horseback; he
sprang into his saddle, the lackey took his place by the coachman, the
carriage went off at a quick pace, escorted by the three horsemen, and all
was over - from that moment I have neither seen nor heard anything."
D`Artagnan, entirely overcome by this terrible story, remained
motionless and mute, while all the demons of anger and jealousy were howling
in his heart.
"But, my good gentleman," resumed the old man, upon whom this mute
despair certainly produced a greater effect than cries and tears would have
done; "do not take on so, they did not kill her from you, that`s a comfort."
"Do you know anything," said D`Artagnan, "of the man who led this
infernal expedition?"
"I don`t know him at all."
"But, as you spoke to him you must have seen him."
"Oh, it`s a description of him you want?"
"Exactly so."
"A tall, dark man, with black mustaches, dark eyes, and looked like a
gentleman."
"That`s the man!" cried D`Artagnan, "again he, forever he! He is my
demon, to all appearances. And the other?"
"Which?"
"The short one."
"Oh! he was not a gentleman, I`ll answer for it; besides, he did not
wear a sword, and the others treated him with no consideration."
"Some lackey," murmured D`Artagnan. "Poor girl! poor girl! what have
they done with you?"
"You have promised to be secret, my good monsieur?" said the old man.
"And I repeat my promise; be satisfied, I am a gentleman. A gentleman
has but his word, and I have given you mine."
With a heavy heart, D`Artagnan again bent his way toward the ferry.
Sometimes he hoped it could not be Madame Bonacieux, and that he should find
her the next day at the Louvre; sometimes he feared she had had an intrigue
with another, who, in a jealous fit, had surprised her and carried her off.
His mind was torn by doubt, grief, and despair.
"Oh! if I had my three friends here!" cried he, "I should have, at
least, some hopes of finding her; but who knows what is become of them
themselves?"
It was past midnight; the next thing was to find Planchet. D`Artagnan
went successively into all the cabarets in which there was light, but could
not meet with Planchet in any of them.
At the sixth he began to reflect that the search was rather hazardous.
D`Artagnan had appointed six o`clock in the morning with his lackey, and
wherever he might be, he was doing as he had bidden him.
Besides, it came into the young man`s mind, that by remaining in the
environs of the spot on which this sad event had passed, he should, perhaps,
have some light thrown upon the mysterious affair. At the sixth cabaret,
then, as we said, D`Artagnan stopped, asked for a bottle of wine of the best
quality, and placing himself in the darkest corner of the room, determined
thus to wait till daylight; but this time again his hopes were disappointed,
and although he listened with all his ears, he heard nothing, amid the oaths,
coarse jokes, and abuse which passed between the laborers, servants, and
carters, who comprised the honorable society of which he formed a part, which
could put him at all upon the traces of her who had been stolen from him.
He was compelled, then, after having swallowed the contents of his bottle,
to pass the time as well as to avoid suspicion, to fall into the easiest
position in his corner, and to sleep, whether well or ill. D`Artagnan, be
it remembered, was only twenty years old, and at that age sleep has its
imprescriptible rights, which it imperiously insists upon, even in the
saddest hearts.
Toward six o`clock, D`Artagnan awoke with that uncomfortable feeling
which generally follows a bad night. He was not long in making his toilette;
he examined himself to see if advantage had not been taken of his sleep, and
having found his diamond ring on his finger, his purse in his pocket, and his
pistols in his belt, he got up, paid for his wine, and went out to try if he
could have any better luck in his search after his lackey than he had had the
night before. The first thing he perceived through the damp gray mist was
honest Planchet, who, with the two horses in hand, awaited him at the door
of a little blind cabaret, before which D`Artagnan had passed without even
suspecting its existence.
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