France -- History -- Louis XIV, 1643-1715 -- Fiction
“That is to say, he was there,” replied Planchet. “But in returning
thither last night, when fortunately you did not accompany him, as his
carriage was crossing the Rue de la Ferronnerie his guards insulted the
people, who began to abuse them. The prisoner thought this a good
opportunity for escape; he called out his name and cried for help. I
was there. I heard the name of Rochefort. I remembered him well. I said
in a loud voice that he was a prisoner, a friend of the Duc de
Beaufort, who called for help. The people were infuriated; they stopped
the horses and cut the escort to pieces, whilst I opened the doors of
the carriage and Monsieur de Rochefort jumped out and soon was lost
amongst the crowd. At this moment a patrol passed by. I was obliged to
sound a retreat toward the Rue Tiquetonne; I was pursued and took
refuge in the house next to this, where I have been concealed between
two mattresses. This morning I ventured to run along the gutters and——”
“Well,” interrupted D’Artagnan, “I am delighted that De Rochefort is
free, but as for thee, if thou shouldst fall into the hands of the
king’s servants they will hang thee without mercy. Nevertheless, I
promise thee thou shalt be hidden here, though I risk by concealing
thee neither more nor less than my lieutenancy, if it was found out
that I gave one rebel an asylum.”
“Ah! sir, you know well I would risk my life for you.”
“Thou mayst add that thou hast risked it, Planchet. I have not
forgotten all I owe thee. Sit down there and eat in security. I see
thee cast expressive glances at the remains of my supper.”
“Yes, sir; for all I’ve had since yesterday was a slice of bread and
butter, with preserves on it. Although I don’t despise sweet things in
proper time and place, I found the supper rather light.”
“Poor fellow!” said D’Artagnan. “Well, come; set to.”
“Ah, sir, you are going to save my life a second time!” cried Planchet.
And he seated himself at the table and ate as he did in the merry days
of the Rue des Fossoyeurs, whilst D’Artagnan walked to and fro and
thought how he could make use of Planchet under present circumstances.
While he turned this over in his mind Planchet did his best to make up
for lost time at table. At last he uttered a sigh of satisfaction and
paused, as if he had partially appeased his hunger.
“Come,” said D’Artagnan, who thought that it was now a convenient time
to begin his interrogations, “dost thou know where Athos is?”
“No, sir,” replied Planchet.
“The devil thou dost not! Dost know where Porthos is?”
“No—not at all.”
“And Aramis?”
“Not in the least.”
“The devil! the devil! the devil!”
“But, sir,” said Planchet, with a look of shrewdness, “I know where
Bazin is.”
“Where is he?”
“At Notre Dame.”
“What has he to do at Notre Dame?”
“He is beadle.”
“Bazin beadle at Notre Dame! He must know where his master is!”
“Without a doubt he must.”
D’Artagnan thought for a moment, then took his sword and put on his
cloak to go out.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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