43

Twenty Years After

by Alexandre Dumas

43, TWENTY YEARS AFTER by Alexandre Dumas
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In which it is proved that first Impulses are oftentimes the
best.



The three gentlemen took the road to Picardy, a road so well
known to them and which recalled to Athos and Aramis some of
the most picturesque adventures of their youth.

"If Mousqueton were with us," observed Athos, on reaching the
spot where they had had a dispute with the paviers, "how he
would tremble at passing this! Do you remember, Aramis, that
it was here he received that famous bullet wound?"

"By my faith, 'twould be excusable in him to tremble,"
replied Aramis, "for even I feel a shudder at the
recollection; hold, just above that tree is the little spot
where I thought I was killed."

It was soon time for Grimaud to recall the past. Arriving
before the inn at which his master and himself had made such
an enormous repast, he approached Athos and said, showing
him the airhole of the cellar:

"Sausages!"

Athos began to laugh, for this juvenile escapade of his
appeared to be as amusing as if some one had related it of
another person.

At last, after traveling two days and a night, they arrived
at Boulogne toward the evening, favored by magnificent
weather. Boulogne was a strong position, then almost a
deserted town, built entirely on the heights; what is now
called the lower town did not then exist.

"Gentlemen," said De Winter, on reaching the gate of the
town, "let us do here as at Paris -- let us separate to
avoid suspicion. I know an inn, little frequented, but of
which the host is entirely devoted to me. I will go there,
where I expect to find letters, and you go to the first
tavern in the town, to L'Epee du Grand Henri for instance,
refresh yourselves, and in two hours be upon the jetty; our
boat is waiting for us there."

The matter being thus decided, the two friends found, about
two hundred paces further, the tavern indicated. Their
horses were fed, but not unsaddled; the grooms supped, for
it was already late, and their two masters, impatient to
return, appointed a place of meeting with them on the jetty
and desired them on no account to exchange a word with any
one. It is needless to say that this caution concerned
Blaisois alone -- long enough since it had been a useless
one to Grimaud.

Athos and Aramis walked down toward the port. From their
dress, covered with dust, and from a certain easy manner by
means of which a man accustomed to travel is always
recognizable, the two friends excited the attention of a few
promenaders. There was more especially one upon whom their
arrival had produced a decided impression. This man, whom
they had noticed from the first for the same reason they had
themselves been remarked by others, was walking in a
listless way up and down the jetty. From the moment he
perceived them he did not cease to look at them and seemed
to burn with the wish to speak to them.

On reaching the jetty Athos and Aramis stopped to look at a
little boat made fast to a pile and ready rigged as if
waiting to start.

"That is doubtless our boat," said Athos.

"Yes," replied Aramis, "and the sloop out there making ready
to sail must be that which is to take us to our destination;
now," continued he, "if only De Winter does not keep us
waiting. It is not at all amusing here; there is not a
single woman passing."

"Hush!" said Athos, "we are overheard."

In truth, the walker, who, during the observations of the
two friends, had passed and repassed behind them several
times, stopped at the name of De Winter; but as his face
betrayed no emotion at mention of this name, it might have
been by chance he stood so still.

"Gentlemen," said the man, who was young and pale, bowing
with ease and courtesy, "pardon my curiosity, but I see you
come from Paris, or at least that you are strangers at
Boulogne."

"We come from Paris, yes," replied Athos, with the same
courtesy; "what is there we can do for you?"

"Sir," said the young man, "will you be so good as to tell
me if it be true that Cardinal Mazarin is no longer
minister?"

"That is a strange question," said Aramis.

"He is and he is not," replied Athos; "that is to say, he is
dismissed by one-half of France, but by intrigues and
promises he makes the other half sustain him; you will
perceive that this may last a long time."

"However, sir," said the stranger, "he has neither fled nor
is in prison?"

"No, sir, not at this moment at least."

"Sirs, accept my thanks for your politeness," said the young
man, retreating.

"What do you think of that interrogator?" asked Aramis.

"I think he is either a dull provincial person or a spy in
search of information."

"And you replied to him with that notion?"

"Nothing warranted me to answer him otherwise; he was polite
to me and I was so to him."

"But if he be a spy ---- "

"What do you think a spy would be about here? We are not
living in the time of Cardinal Richelieu, who would have
closed the ports on bare suspicion."

"It matters not; you were wrong to reply to him as you did,"
continued Aramis, following with his eyes the young man, now
vanishing behind the cliffs.

"And you," said Athos, "you forget that you committed a very
different kind of imprudence in pronouncing Lord de Winter's
name. Did you not see that at that name the young man
stopped?"

"More reason, then, when he spoke to you, for sending him
about his business."

"A quarrel?" asked Athos.

"And since when have you become afraid of a quarrel?"

"I am always afraid of a quarrel when I am expected at any
place and when such a quarrel might possibly prevent my
reaching it. Besides, let me own something to you. I am
anxious to see that young man nearer."

"And wherefore?"

"Aramis, you will certainly laugh at me, you will say that I
am always repeating the same thing, you will call me the
most timorous of visionaries; but to whom do you see a
resemblance in that young man?"

"In beauty or on the contrary?" asked Aramis, laughing.

"In ugliness, in so far as a man can resemble a woman."

"Ah! Egad!" cried Aramis, "you set me thinking. No, in truth
you are no visionary, my dear friend, and now I think of it
-- you -- yes, i'faith, you're right -- those delicate, yet
firm-set lips, those eyes which seem always at the command
of the intellect and never of the heart! Yes, it is one of
Milady's bastards!"

"You laugh Aramis."

"From habit, that is all. I swear to you, I like no better
than yourself to meet that viper in my path."

"Ah! here is De Winter coming," said Athos.

"Good! one thing now is only awanting and that is, that our
grooms should not keep us waiting."

"No," said Athos. "I see them about twenty paces behind my
lord. I recognize Grimaud by his long legs and his
determined slouch. Tony carries our muskets."

"Then we set sail to-night?" asked Aramis, glancing toward
the west, where the sun had left a single golden cloud,
which, dipping into the ocean, appeared by degrees to be
extinguished.

"Probably," said Athos.

"Diable!" resumed Aramis, "I have little fancy for the sea
by day, still less at night; the sounds of wind and wave,
the frightful movements of the vessel; I confess I prefer
the convent of Noisy."

Athos smiled sadly, for it was evident that he was thinking
of other things as he listened to his friend and moved
toward De Winter.

"What ails our friend?" said Aramis, "he resembles one of
Dante's damned, whose neck Apollyon has dislocated and who
are ever looking at their heels. What the devil makes him
glower thus behind him?"

When De Winter perceived them, in his turn he advanced
toward them with surprising rapidity.

"What is the matter, my lord?" said Athos, "and what puts
you out of breath thus?"

"Nothing," replied De Winter; "nothing; and yet in passing
the heights it seemed to me ---- " and he again turned
round.

Athos glanced at Aramis.

"But let us go," continued De Winter; "let us be off; the
boat must be waiting for us and there is our sloop at anchor
-- do you see it there? I wish I were on board already," and
he looked back again.

"He has seen him," said Athos, in a low tone, to Aramis.

They had reached the ladder which led to the boat. De Winter
made the grooms who carried the arms and the porters with
the luggage descend first and was about to follow them.

At this moment Athos perceived a man walking on the seashore
parallel to the jetty, and hastening his steps, as if to
reach the other side of the port, scarcely twenty steps from
the place of embarking. He fancied in the darkness that he
recognized the young man who had questioned him. Athos now
descended the ladder in his turn, without losing sight of
the young man. The latter, to make a short cut, had appeared
on a sluice.

"He certainly bodes us no good," said Athos; "but let us
embark; once out at sea, let him come."

And Athos sprang into the boat, which was immediately pushed
off and which soon sped seawards under the efforts of four
stalwart rowers.

But the young man had begun to follow, or rather to advance
before the boat. She was obliged to pass between the point
of the jetty, surmounted by a beacon just lighted, and a
rock which jutted out. They saw him in the distance climbing
the rock in order to look down upon the boat as it passed.

"Ay, but," said Aramis, "that young fellow is decidedly a
spy."

"Which is the young man?" asked De Winter, turning around.

"He who followed us and spoke to us awaits us there;
behold!"

De Winter turned and followed the direction of Aramis's
finger. The beacon bathed with light the little strait
through which they were about to pass and the rock where the
young man stood with bare head and crossed arms.

"It is he!" exclaimed De Winter, seizing the arm of Athos;
"it is he! I thought I recognized him and I was not
mistaken."

"Whom do you mean?" asked Aramis.

"Milady's son," replied Athos.

"The monk!" exclaimed Grimaud.

The young man heard these words and bent so forward over the
rock that one might have supposed he was about to
precipitate himself from it.

"Yes, it is I, my uncle -- I, the son of Milady -- I, the
monk -- I, the secretary and friend of Cromwell -- I know
you now, both you and your companions."

In that boat sat three men, unquestionably brave, whose
courage no man would have dared dispute; nevertheless, at
that voice, that accent and those gestures, they felt a
chill access of terror cramp their veins. As for Grimaud,
his hair stood on end and drops of sweat ran down his brow.

"Ah!" exclaimed Aramis, "that is the nephew, the monk, and
the son of Milady, as he says himself."

"Alas, yes," murmured De Winter.

"Then wait," said Aramis; and with the terrible coolness
which on important occasions he showed, he took one of the
muskets from Tony, shouldered and aimed it at the young man,
who stood, like the accusing angel, upon the rock.

"Fire!" cried Grimaud, unconsciously.

Athos threw himself on the muzzle of the gun and arrested
the shot which was about to be fired.

"The devil take you," said Aramis. "I had him so well at the
point of my gun I should have sent a ball into his breast."

"It is enough to have killed the mother," said Athos,
hoarsely.

"The mother was a wretch, who struck at us all and at those
dear to us."

"Yes, but the son has done us no harm."

Grimaud, who had risen to watch the effect of the shot, fell
back hopeless, wringing his hands.

The young man burst into a laugh.

"Ah, it is certainly you!" he cried. "I know you even better
now."

His mocking laugh and threatening words passed over their
heads, carried by the breeze, until lost in the depths of
the horizon. Aramis shuddered.

"Be calm," exclaimed Athos, "for Heaven's sake! have we
ceased to be men?"

"No," said Aramis, "but that fellow is a fiend; and ask the
uncle whether I was wrong to rid him of his dear nephew."

De Winter only replied by a groan.

"It was all up with him," continued Aramis; "ah I much fear
that with all your wisdom such mercy yet will prove supernal
folly."

Athos took Lord de Winter's hand and tried to turn the
conversation.

"When shall we land in England?" he asked; but De Winter
seemed not to hear his words and made no reply.

"Hold, Athos," said Aramis, "perhaps there is yet time. See
if he is still in the same place."

Athos turned around with an effort; the sight of the young
man was evidently painful to him, and there he still was, in
fact, on the rock, the beacon shedding around him, as it
were, a doubtful aureole.

"Decidedly, Aramis," said Athos, "I think I was wrong not to
let you fire."

"Hold your tongue," replied Aramis; "you would make me weep,
if such a thing were possible."

At this moment they were hailed by a voice from the sloop
and a few seconds later men, servants and baggage were
aboard. The captain was only waiting for his passengers;
hardly had they put foot on deck ere her head was turned
towards Hastings, where they were to disembark. At this
instant the three friends turned, in spite of themselves, a
last look on the rock, upon the menacing figure which
pursued them and now stood out with a distinctness still.
Then a voice reached them once more, sending this threat:
"To our next meeting, sirs, in England."