Beadle's New York Dime Library, No. 190 — page 34: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

a was in the Rue des Frances-Bourgeois, very near La oree, ‘* My officer was, in fact, there. Iwentup to him, as he was singing a love ditty, and looking tendcrly at a lady, and | interrupted him in the wney middle of the second verse, ‘Sir,’ said I, ‘are you still unwilling that | should enter a certain house in the rue Payenne, and will you still give me a caning if I should take it into my head to disobey you?”’ ‘*The officer looked at me with astonishment, and then said, ‘What do you want, sir? I do not know you.’—‘I am,’ said I, ‘ the little abbe who was reading the lives of the saints, and who translat: d Judith into verses.’—‘Ah, ah! I remember,’ said the officer, merrily ; ‘and whatdo you want?’—‘1l would wish you to find leisure to take a walk with me.’—‘ To-morrow, with vreat eter if you really wish it.’—-‘ No, not to-mor- row, if you please, but immediately.’—' If you positively require it.’—* Yes, I do require it.’—‘ Come, then, Jet us 70,’ said he. ‘ Ladies, do not disturb yourselves; only cive me time to kill this gentleman, and I will return and finish the second verse.’ “We went out. Iled him to the rune Payenne, to the exact spot, Mog a year before, and exactly at the «ame hour, he had complimented me as [ have related to you, e moonlight was superb. We drew our «words; and at the first pass, I killed him dead.” ‘** Phe devil!’ exclaimed d’Artaynan. “Now, as the ladies did not perceive their singer re- turn, and as he was found in the rue Payenne, witha frightful sword wound right through his body, it was thought that it was I who had so accommodated him, and the affair caused some scandal. I was therefore obliged, for a time, to give up the cassock. Athos, with whom I made acquaintance about this period, and Por- thos, who had taught me,ia addition to my fencing lessons, some merry thrusts, determined me on de- manding the uniform of amusketeer, The king had loved my father, who was killed at the siege of Arras, and this uniform was granted to me. understand, that the day is now arrived for my return into the bosom of the church.” ‘*And why to-day, more than yesterday or to-mor- - Tow? What has happened to you now, to give you such serable ideas?” “This wound, my dear d’Artagnan, has been to me a dap y's from Heaven.”’ ‘This wound—bah! it is almost healed, I am quite certain it is not that which causes the worst of your suffering.”’ ** And what is it?’ said Aramis, coloring. ‘You have a deeper one in your heart, Aramis—one that bleeds more—a wound made by & woman.”’ The eye of Aramis sparkled in spite of himself, ‘* Ah,” said he, pny mepoor his emotion under a feigned negligence; “‘do not speak of such things. uch thoughts are not for me; nor such solicitudes of ove! Vanilas vanitatum! What, do you suppose then that my brain is turned? And for whom? Some pretty wench, some canon's daughter, to whom I might have paid my courtin garrison? For shame!”’ “ Forgive me, my dear Aramis, but 1 thought that you carried we aim a little higher.”’ “Higher? And what am I, that I should have so ‘much ambition?» A poor musketeer, unprovided for and unknown, who hates servitude, and feels himself un intruder in the turmogil of the world.”’ “Aramis! Aramis!’ exclaimed d'‘Artagnan, looking on his friend with a glance of doubt. ‘Dust,’ continued Aramis, ‘‘I return to dust. Life is full of sorrow and humiliation,” continued he, in deep affliction: * all the threads which bind happiness break in our hands by turns: fragile, above all, are the threads of gold. Oh! my dear d’Artagnan,”’ added Aramis, infusing into his tone a slight degree of bitter- ness, ‘‘ believe me, you must carefully conceal what- ever wounds you have. Silence is the last enjoyment of the unfortunate: letnone know your grief; the cu- tions would call up our tears, as insects suck the life- blood of a wounded deer.”’ ‘** Alas! my dear Aramis!” said d’Artagnan, sighing deeply in his turn, ‘it is my own history which you are unfolding.” +s What?” “* Yes,a woman whom I loved, whom I adored, has just been carried away by force. I know not where she is, where she has been taken to; perhaps she is in prison—perhaps dead!” ‘But you have atleast the consolation of knowing that she did not quit you voluntarily, and that if you do not hear from her, it 1s because communication is pre- vented; whilst——” ** Whilst what?” * Nothing,” replied Aramis; ‘‘ nothing.”’ ‘‘ Then you renounce the world forever? Itisa set- tled choice—an irrevocable determination.” ‘Yes, forever! You are my friend to-day; to-mor- row you will be only as a shadow, orrather you will no longer exist tome. As for the world, it is at best no better than a sepulchre.”’ ‘“* The — This is all very lamentable.” ‘* What would you desire? My vocation calls me—it impels me onward.”’ — Soke pets smiled, but made noreply. Aramis con- nued:— ‘* Nevertheless, whilst I am still belonging to the world, Iwould talk with you about yourself, and our ndea.”’ ‘* And I,” said d’Artagnan, “* would pladly have con- ferred with you about yourself, did I not see you so dissevered from all earthly things: at love, you cry shame: friends are shadows; and the worlditself is but a sepulchre.” “ Alas! you will, at last, yourself find it so!” ex- claimed Aramis, with a sigh. “Let us waste no more words about it,” said d’Ar- tagnan, ‘‘and let us burn this letter, Which possibly announces to you some Lew infidelity of some pretty , waiting-maid.’ Thus, you will | ae THE THREE GUARDSMEN. ee ee ‘What letter?" eagerly cried Aramis. ‘ A letter which came to your lodgings during your absence, and which I have taken charge of.’ ‘* But from whom comes this letter? ‘Perhaps from some disconsolate wench, some waiting-maid of Madame de Chevreuse perhaps, who was obliged to return to Tours with her mistress; and who, to make herself gaudy, has provided perfumed paper, and sealed the letter with a duchess’s coronet!”’ ‘What are you telling me?” “T cannot strely have lost it,”’ pares remarked the young man, pretending to search forit. ** But, happily, the world is a sepulchre—the men, and consequently the woman, are shadows—and love is a sentiment at which you cry shame!" ‘AY d'Artagnan | d’Artagnan! you kill me!” ejacu- lated Aramis. ‘ At last, here it is,” ‘said d’Artagnan, drawing the letter from his pocket. Aramis made a bound, seized the letter, and read, or rather devoured it, whilst his countenance gleamed with ney: “The waiting-woman seems to write in a good style,”’ said the messenger, carelessly. “Thanks, d’A nan!’’ exclaimed the almost delirious Aramis. ‘“‘She could not help it: she was compelled to return to Tours: she has not been unfaithful to me: she loves me still. -Come, my friend, let me embrace you; my happiness suffo- cates me,” And the two friends began dancing round the folios _of the venerable St. Chrysostom, treading gallantly on the leaves of the thesis, which had fallen to the ground. At this moment Bazin entered with the spinach and the omelette. “Bly, wretch!” cried Aramis, throwing his skull-cap at his head. ‘‘ Return whence you came; take away these horrible vegetables, and those fri htful eggs! | Ask for a larded hare, a fat capon, aleg of mutton and eal garlick, and four bottles of old Burgundy: Bazin, who looked at his master, and could make nothing of this change, let the omelette fall, in despair, upon the spinach, and the spinach on the carpet, ‘* Now is the time,’ said d’Artagnan, ‘‘to consecrate our existence to the King of kings, if you desire to do m homaye: non in ulile desirum in oblatione.” ‘Go to the devil with your Latin, my dear d’Artag- nan. Letusdrink! Egad! let us drink, and tell me a lictle of what has been going on in the world.” CHAPTER XXVIL. THE WIFR OF ATHOS. “Now we must obtain some intelligence of Athos,” said d’Artagnan to the joyous Aramis, after having told him everything that had happened since their depart- ure from Paris, and after an excellent dinner had made the one forget his thesis, and the other his fatigue. “Do you believe, then, thatany misfortune has befall- en him?’ demanded Aramis, ‘Athos is 80 cool, so brave, and wields his sword so skilfully?” ‘‘Yes, doubtless, and no one knows better than Ido the courage and address of Athos. But I like better the shock of lances on my sword, than the blows of sticks; and I fear that Athos may have been beaten by the rab- ble, who hit hard, and do not quickly leave Itis, I confess, on this account that I should like to set out as soon as possible.” ““T will endeavor to accompany you,” said Aramis, ‘although I am vee! in a fit state to mount a horse. Yesterday, I tried the discipline, which you see on the wall; but the pain made me)give up that pious exercise.” ‘“My dear friend, none ever heard of endeavoring to cure the wounds of acarbine by the strokes of a cat-o’- nine-tails. But you were ill; and, as illness makes the head weak, I excuse you.” ‘* And when shall you set out? ‘To-morrow, at break of day. to-night, and to-morrow, if you are able, we wil gether.” ‘‘ Farewell, then, till to-morrow,” said Aramis; “for iron aS you are, you must surely want some rest.”’ The next morning when d’Artagnan entered Aramis’s room, he found him looking out of the window. ‘‘ What are you looking at?” said he, ‘‘ Faith, I am admiring those three magnificent horses which the stable-boysare holding: it is a princely pleas- sure to travel on such animals,” ‘Well, then, my dear Aramis, you will give yourself that pleasure, for one of those horses belong to you.”’ ‘* Ah, bah! and which?” ‘‘Which ever you like, for I have no preference.” “ And the rich caparison which covers him—is that, also, mine?” * Certainly.” “ You are angihing at me, d’Artagnan.” “T have left off laughing since you began to speak French again.” / “ And are those gilded holsters, that velvet housing, and that saddle, studded with silver, mine?” “Yours! Just asthat horsé which steps so proudly is res and that one, which baracoles so bravely, is for thos.”’ ‘“‘T’faith, they are superb animals.” “Tam glad that they please your taste.”’ “Ts it the king, then, who has made you this pres- £9 “You may be quite sure that it was not the cardinal: but do not disturb yourself as to whence they came, only be satisfied that one of them is your own,” “T choose the one that the red-kaired valet is hold- ‘9 Rest as wellas you cen go to- ing.”’ F Admirable.”’ “Thank God!” cried Aramis, “ this drives away the last remnant of my pain. I would mount such a horse with thirty bullets in my body. Ah! upon my soul, what superb stirrups. Hallo! Bazin, come here this instant.” azin appeared, silent and melancholy, at the door. ——————$—$$—$— Te ! too, and ask his lackey how often he has made lint for oe ee ‘‘Polish np my sword, smarten up my hat, brush my cloak, and load my pistols!’ said Aramis, ‘The last order is unnecessary,’’ said d'Artagnan, ‘*for there are loaded pistols in your holsters."’ Bazin sighed deeply. **Come, Master Bazin, make yourself happy,'’ said d’ Artagnan: ‘the kingdom of heaven may be gained in any condition of life’’ “But he was already such a good theologian,” said Bazin, almost in tears; ‘the would have become a bishop ae. even a cardinal.” ‘*Well! my poor Bazin, letus see, and reflect a little What is the use of being a churchman, pray? You do not by that means avoid going to war; for yon see that the cardinalis about to make his firet campaign with a head- piece on, and a halberd in his hand; and M. de Nogaret, de la Valette, what do you say ofhim? Heis a eardinal him." ‘* Alas!”* sighed Bazin, ‘‘ [know it, world is turned topsy-turvy now-u-days, During this time the two young men and the poor lackey had gone down Btairs, ‘* Hold my stirrup for me, Bazin, said Aramis.” Aramis sprang to his saddle with his accustomed grace and act ; but after some curvets and capers of the noble animal, the rider felt bis pains so utterly insupportable, that he pe pale, and wavered 0 5 bir, The whole in his seat. Artagnan, who, foreseeing an accident, had kept his eye upon him, rushed towards him, caught him in his arms, and led him back again to his room. “ Never mind, my dear Aramis,’ said he; * take care of yourself, I will go alone in search of Athos.”"’ “ You are a man of steel,’’ said Aramis. ‘* No,” replied he, ‘‘ Iam fortunate—thatisall, But what will you do whilst I am absent? No more theses; no more argnments on hands; no benedictions: hey?'’ Aramis smiled. ‘* No, I shall make versee,”’ said he. ‘Yes! Verses with the same perfume as the note of Madame de Chevreuse’s waiting-woman: Teach Bazin abienge that will fill him with delight; and, as for the , horse, ride him for a little while every day, and thatwill | make you accustomed to the work.” “Oh! as for that, be satisfled that you shall find me | ready to follow you.” They bade each other adieu; and in a few minutes d*Artagnan, “aM. commended his friend t» the care of Bazin and the landlady, was trotting onwards on the road towards Amiens, Andin what condition should he find Athos; or, even, should he find himat all? “Well,” mused d’Artagnan, “poor Athos may per- ‘haps be now dead, and dead through my fault, for it was I who drew him into this affair of which he knew neither the origin nor aim, and from which he could ex- pect no benefit.” “Without reckoning, sir,” said Planchet, “‘ that we probably owe our lives to him. You remember how he cried out: ‘ Away d’Artagnan! I am seized!’ and, after having disch«rge his two pistols, what a terrible noise he made with his sword! One would have believed there were twenty men, or, rather, twenty mad devils!"’ These words redoubled d’'Artagnan’s eagerness. He urged forward his horse, which, needed no urging, car- ried him on at a gallop. Towards elevenin the morning they caught sight of Amiens; and at half-past eleven they were at the door of the unlucky inn. DPD’ Artagnan had often meditated, against the treach- erous host, one of those genuine acts of vengeance which give no satisfaction, except in the anticipation. He entered the hotel with his hat over his eyes, his left hand on the hilt of his sword, making his riding-whip whistle with his right. ‘“Do you know me?” said he to the landlord, who came forward to welcome him, ‘‘T have not that honor, sir,” replied the latter, his eyes dazzled by the splendid equipage with which d’Artagan presented himeelf. | ‘Ah! you donot know me again?" ‘No, sir.” ‘Well, then, two words will restore your recollection. What have you done with that } Saeed poment against whom you had the audacity, abont a fortnight ago, to bring an accusation of passing bad money.” The host turned pale, for d’Artagnan had assumed a most threatening at itude, and Planchet closely follow- ed his master’s example. ‘‘Ah, sir, do not mention that replied the host ina most lamentable tone of Voice: ‘ah, sir, how dearly sent paid for that fault! Alas! unfortunate has been my fate!’ ‘This gentleman, I say—what has become of him?” o Np deign to hear me, sir, and be merciful, Be seated, I beseech you!"’ D’Artagnan, dumb from anger and anxiety, sat down, stern as a judge, and Planchet finally established him- self behind his chair. ‘This is the statement, sir,” said the trembling land- ou who went lord; **for now 1 reeognize you. It was th the gentle- away when I had the unhappy dispute man you speak of.” ‘** Yes, it was I; so you see that you have no mercy to | expect, if you do not tell the whole truth.’’ or Condescend to listen, sir, and you shall hear every. | thing.” | “*] hear you.” “Thad been informed by the authorities that a cele- brated coiner would arrive at my hotel, with several of his companions, all disguised under the uniform of guards or musketeers. Your horses, your servants, your features, gentlemen, were all exactly described.” “What next? what next?” cried d’Artagnan, who soon discerned the source of this precise description. “Therefore, under the direction of the authorities, who sent mea reinforcement of six men,I1 took such measures as I considered indispensable to secure the ' persons of these pretended coiners,”’