Essential Novelists - Alexandre Dumas. Alexandre Dumas

who appeared to be his agent, and he judged, with reason, he had not a moment to lose.

      The heart of the young man overflowed with joy. An opportunity presented itself to him in which there would be at the same time glory to be acquired, and money to be gained; and as a far higher encouragement, it brought him into close intimacy with a woman he adored. This chance did, then, for him at once more than he would have dared to ask of Providence.

      M de Treville was in his saloon with his habitual court of gentlemen. D’Artagnan, who was known as a familiar of the house, went straight to his office, and sent word that he wished to see him on something of importance.

      D’Artagnan had been there scarcely five minutes when M. de Treville entered. At the first glance, and by the joy which was painted on his countenance, the worthy captain plainly perceived that something new was on foot.

      All the way along d’Artagnan had been consulting with himself whether he should place confidence in M. de Treville, or whether he should only ask him to give him CARTE BLANCHE for some secret affair. But M. de Treville had always been so thoroughly his friend, had always been so devoted to the king and queen, and hated the cardinal so cordially, that the young man resolved to tell him everything.

      “Did you ask for me, my good friend?” said M. de Treville.

      “Yes, monsieur,” said d’Artagnan, lowering his voice, “and you will pardon me, I hope, for having disturbed you when you know the importance of my business.”

      “Speak, then, I am all attention.”

      “It concerns nothing less,” said d’Artagnan, “than the honor, perhaps the life of the queen.”

      “What did you say?” asked M. de Treville, glancing round to see if they were surely alone, and then fixing his questioning look upon d’Artagnan.

      “I say, monsieur, that chance has rendered me master of a secret—”

      “Which you will guard, I hope, young man, as your life.”

      “But which I must impart to you, monsieur, for you alone can assist me in the mission I have just received from her Majesty.”

      “Is this secret your own?”

      “No, monsieur; it is her Majesty’s.”

      “Are you authorized by her Majesty to communicate it to me?”

      “No, monsieur, for, on the contrary, I am desired to preserve the profoundest mystery.”

      “Why, then, are you about to betray it to me?”

      “Because, as I said, without you I can do nothing; and I am afraid you will refuse me the favor I come to ask if you do not know to what end I ask it.”

      “Keep your secret, young man, and tell me what you wish.”

      “I wish you to obtain for me, from Monsieur Dessessart, leave of absence for fifteen days.”

      “When?”

      “This very night.”

      “You leave Paris?”

      “I am going on a mission.”

      “May you tell me whither?”

      “To London.”

      “Has anyone an interest in preventing your arrival there?”

      “The cardinal, I believe, would give the world to prevent my success.”

      “And you are going alone?”

      “I am going alone.”

      “In that case you will not get beyond Bondy. I tell you so, by the faith of de Treville.”

      “How so?”

      “You will be assassinated.”

      “And I shall die in the performance of my duty.”

      “But your mission will not be accomplished.”

      “That is true,” replied d’Artagnan.

      “Believe me,” continued Treville, “in enterprises of this kind, in order that one may arrive, four must set out.”

      “Ah, you are right, monsieur,” said d’Artagnan; “but you know Athos, Porthos, and Aramis, and you know if I can dispose of them.”

      “Without confiding to them the secret which I am not willing to know?”

      “We are sworn, once for all, to implicit confidence and devotedness against all proof. Besides, you can tell them that you have full confidence in me, and they will not be more incredulous than you.”

      “I can send to each of them leave of absence for fifteen days, that is all—to Athos, whose wound still makes him suffer, to go to the waters of Forges; to Porthos and Aramis to accompany their friend, whom they are not willing to abandon in such a painful condition. Sending their leave of absence will be proof enough that I authorize their journey.”

      “Thanks, monsieur. You are a hundred times too good.”

      “Begone, then, find them instantly, and let all be done tonight! Ha! But first write your request to Dessessart. Perhaps you had a spy at your heels; and your visit, if it should ever be known to the cardinal, will thus seem legitimate.”

      D’Artagnan drew up his request, and M. de Treville, on receiving it, assured him that by two o’clock in the morning the four leaves of absence should be at the respective domiciles of the travelers.

      “Have the goodness to send mine to Athos’s residence. I should dread some disagreeable encounter if I were to go home.”

      “Be easy. Adieu, and a prosperous voyage. A PROPOS,” said M. de Treville, calling him back.

      D’Artagnan returned.

      “Have you any money?”

      D’Artagnan tapped the bag he had in his pocket.

      “Enough?” asked M. de Treville.

      “Three hundred pistoles.”

      “Oh, plenty! That would carry you to the end of the world. Begone, then!”

      D’Artagnan saluted M. de Treville, who held out his hand to him; d’Artagnan pressed it with a respect mixed with gratitude. Since his first arrival at Paris, he had had constant occasion to honor this excellent man, whom he had always found worthy, loyal, and great.

      His first visit was to Aramis, at whose residence he had not been since the famous evening on which he had followed Mme. Bonacieux. Still further, he had seldom seen the young Musketeer; but every time he had seen him, he had remarked a deep sadness imprinted on his countenance.

      This evening, especially, Aramis was melancholy and thoughtful. D’Artagnan asked some questions about this prolonged melancholy. Aramis pleaded as his excuse a commentary upon the eighteenth chapter of St. Augustine, which he was forced to write in Latin for the following week, and which preoccupied him a good deal.

      After the two friends had been chatting a few moments, a servant from M. de Treville entered, bringing a sealed packet.

      “What is that?” asked Aramis.

      “The leave of absence Monsieur has asked for,” replied the lackey.

      “For me! I have asked for no leave of absence.”

      “Hold your tongue and take it!” said d’Artagnan. “And you, my friend, there is a demipistole for your trouble; you will tell Monsieur de Treville that Monsieur Aramis is very much obliged to him. Go.”

      The lackey bowed to the ground and departed.

      “What does all this mean?” asked Aramis.

      “Pack up all you want for a