On the morning of the eighth day Bazin, fresh as ever and smiling as usual, entered the tavern of the Infidel as the four friends were sitting down to breakfast, saying, as had been agreed upon,“Monsieur Aramis, here is your cousin’s answer.”Aramis took the letter, which was in a large, coarse hand, and ill-spelt.
“Good gracious!” cried he, laughing, “I really despair of my poor Michon; she will never write like M. de Voiture.”
Aramis read the letter, and passed it to Athos.
“See what she writes to me, Athos,” said he.
Athos cast a glance over the epistle, and, to dissipate all the suspicions that might have been created, read aloud,“My Cousin,—My sister and I are very skilful in interpreting dreams, and even entertain great fear of them; but of yours it may be said, I hope, every dream is an illusion. Farewell! Take care of yourself, and act so that we may, from time to time, hear you spoken of.
“Marie Michon.”
On the sixteenth day signs of anxiety were so manifest in D’Artagnan and his three friends that they could not remain quiet in one place, and they wandered about like ghosts on the road by which Planchet was expected.
The day, however, passed away, and the evening come on slower than ever, but it came. The taprooms were filled with drinkers. Athos, who had pocketed his share of the diamond, seldom quitted the Infidel. He had found in M. de Busigny—who, by the way, had given them a magnificent dinner—a partner worthy of his company. They were playing together as usual when seven o’clock struck; the patrols were heard passing to double the posts. At half-past seven tattoo was sounded.
“We are lost,” said D’Artagnan in Athos’s ear.
“You mean we have lost,” said Athos quietly, drawing four pistoles from his pocket and flinging them on the table. “Come, gentlemen,” said he, “they are beating the tattoo; to bed, to bed!”
And Athos went out of the Infidel, followed by D’Artagnan. Aramis came behind, giving his arm to Porthos. Aramis mumbled verses, and Porthos from time to time pulled a hair or two from his moustache, as a sign of despair.
But behold! suddenly a shadow appears in the darkness, the outline of which is familiar to D’Artagnan, and a well-known voice says,“Sir, I have brought your cloak, for it is chilly this evening.”
“Planchet!” cried D’Artagnan intoxicated with joy.
“Planchet!” repeated Aramis and Porthos.
“Well, certainly Planchet,” said Athos; “what is there astonishing in that? He promised to be back by eight o’clock, and eight is just now striking. Bravo, Planchet! you are a lad of your word, and if ever you leave your master I promise you a place in my service.”
“Oh no, never!” said Planchet. “I will never leave M. d’Artagnan.”At the same time D’Artagnan felt Planchet slipping a note into his hand.
“I have a note,” said he to Athos and his friends.
“Very well,” said Athos; “let us go home and we will read it.”
The note burned in D’Artagnan’s hand. He wished to hasten; but Athos took his arm and passed it under his own, and the young man was obliged to regulate his pace by his friend’s.
At length they reached the tent, lit a lamp, and whilst Planchet stood at the entrance, so that the four friends might not be surprised, D’Artagnan with a trembling hand broke the seal and opened the letter so anxiously expected.
It contained half a line in a thoroughly British hand, and of thoroughly Spartan brevity:
“Thank you. Be easy.”
Athos took the letter from D’Artagnan’s hands, drew near to the lamp, set fire to it, and did not let it go till it was reduced to ashes.
Then calling Planchet,
“Now, my lad,” said he, “you may claim your seven hundred livres; but you did not run much risk with such a note as that.”
“Twas not from lack of trying every means to compass it,” said Planchet.
“Well,” cried D’Artagnan, “tell us about it.”
“Ah, sir, it’s a very long story.”
“You are right, Planchet,” said Athos; “besides, tattoo has been sounded, and we should be observed if we kept a light burning longer than the others.”
“So be it,” said D’Artagnan. “Let us go to bed. Planchet, sleep soundly.”
“Faith, sir, it will be the first time I have done so these sixteen days!”
“Or I either!” said D’Artagnan.
“Or I either!” said Porthos.
“Or I either!” said Aramis.
“Well, if I must tell you the truth—or I either!” said Athos.
