Reading Help The Three Musketeers Ch.19-40
`
` 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 something `
` more than usual was passing in the mind of his lackey and said, `
` "Well, Monsieur 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 did you not dare to 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 Monsieur 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?" `
` `
` "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, "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; you are at your journey's end." `
` `
` "How, monsieur! And you?" `
` `
` "I am going a few steps farther." `
` `
` "And Monsieur leaves me here alone?" `
` `
` "You are afraid, Planchet?" `
` `
` "No; 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 in 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 half a pistole. Tomorrow morning." `
` `
` D'Artagnan sprang from his horse, threw the bridle to Planchet, `
` and departed at a quick pace, folding his cloak around 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 tavern, and knocked at the door. `
` `
` In the meantime d'Artagnan, who had plunged into a bypath, `
` continued his route and reached St. Cloud; but instead of `
` following the main 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 by a hedge from passers-by. `
` `
` 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 it. Beyond that `
` hedge, that garden, and that cottage, a dark mist enveloped with `
` its folds that immensity where Paris slept--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 shades 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 in the middle of the night; but each of those `
` strokes, which made up 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 Mme. Bonacieux expected him. `
` `
` Wrapped 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 sounded half past ten. `
` `
` This time, without 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 `
` rather uneasy at this silence and this solitude. `
` `
` Eleven o'clock sounded. `
` `
` D'Artagnan began now really to fear that something had happened `
` to Mme. 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 tried to climb it; but the wall had been recently `
` pointed, and d'Artagnan could get 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 get a glimpse of the `
` interior of the pavilion. `
` `
` 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 panes 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 to descend into the street, with a `
` frightful beating at his heart; he wished to see if he could find `
` other traces of violence. `
` `
` The little soft light shone on in the calmness 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 hoofmarked 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 pursuing his researches, found near the `
` wall a woman's torn glove. This glove, wherever it had not `
` touched the muddy ground, was of irreproachable odor. It was one `
` of those perfumed gloves that lovers like to snatch from a pretty `
` hand. `
` `
` As d'Artagnan pursued his investigations, a more abundant and `
` more icy sweat rolled 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 `
`
` 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 something `
` more than usual was passing in the mind of his lackey and said, `
` "Well, Monsieur 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 did you not dare to 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 Monsieur 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?" `
` `
` "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, "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; you are at your journey's end." `
` `
` "How, monsieur! And you?" `
` `
` "I am going a few steps farther." `
` `
` "And Monsieur leaves me here alone?" `
` `
` "You are afraid, Planchet?" `
` `
` "No; 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 in 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 half a pistole. Tomorrow morning." `
` `
` D'Artagnan sprang from his horse, threw the bridle to Planchet, `
` and departed at a quick pace, folding his cloak around 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 tavern, and knocked at the door. `
` `
` In the meantime d'Artagnan, who had plunged into a bypath, `
` continued his route and reached St. Cloud; but instead of `
` following the main 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 by a hedge from passers-by. `
` `
` 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 it. Beyond that `
` hedge, that garden, and that cottage, a dark mist enveloped with `
` its folds that immensity where Paris slept--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 shades 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 in the middle of the night; but each of those `
` strokes, which made up 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 Mme. Bonacieux expected him. `
` `
` Wrapped 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 sounded half past ten. `
` `
` This time, without 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 `
` rather uneasy at this silence and this solitude. `
` `
` Eleven o'clock sounded. `
` `
` D'Artagnan began now really to fear that something had happened `
` to Mme. 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 tried to climb it; but the wall had been recently `
` pointed, and d'Artagnan could get 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 get a glimpse of the `
` interior of the pavilion. `
` `
` 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 panes 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 to descend into the street, with a `
` frightful beating at his heart; he wished to see if he could find `
` other traces of violence. `
` `
` The little soft light shone on in the calmness 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 hoofmarked 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 pursuing his researches, found near the `
` wall a woman's torn glove. This glove, wherever it had not `
` touched the muddy ground, was of irreproachable odor. It was one `
` of those perfumed gloves that lovers like to snatch from a pretty `
` hand. `
` `
` As d'Artagnan pursued his investigations, a more abundant and `
` more icy sweat rolled 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 `
`