CHAPTER IX.
A LETTER FROM M. DE BAISEMEAUX.
D'Artagnan, faithful to his plan, went the next morning to pay a visitto M. de Baisemeaux. It was the cleaning up or tidying day at theBastille: the cannons were furbished up, the staircases scraped andcleaned; and the jailers seemed to be carefully engaged in polishingeven the keys themselves. As for the soldiers belonging to the garrison,they were walking about in the different courtyards, under the pretensethat they were clean enough. The governor, Baisemeaux, receivedD'Artagnan with more than ordinary politeness, but he behaved toward himwith so marked a reserve of manner, that all D'Artagnan's tact andcleverness could not get a syllable out of him. The more he kept himselfwithin bounds, the more D'Artagnan's suspicion increased. The lattereven fancied he remarked that the governor was acting under theinfluence of a recent recommendation. Baisemeaux had not been at thePalais Royal with D'Artagnan the same cold and impenetrable man whichthe latter now found in the Baisemeaux of the Bastille. When D'Artagnanwished to make him talk about the urgent money matters which had broughtBaisemeaux in search of D'Artagnan, and had rendered him expansive,notwithstanding what had passed on that evening, Baisemeaux pretendedthat he had some orders to give in the prison, and left D'Artagnan solong alone, waiting for him, that our musketeer, feeling sure that heshould not get another syllable out of him, left the Bastille withoutwaiting until Baisemeaux returned from his inspection. But D'Artagnan'ssuspicions were aroused, and when once that was the case, D'Artagnancould not sleep or remain quiet for a moment. He was among men what thecat is among quadrupeds, the emblem of restlessness and impatience atthe same moment. A restless cat no more remains in the same place than asilk thread does which is wafted idly to and fro with every breath ofair. A cat on the watch is as motionless as death stationed at its placeof observation, and neither hunger nor thirst can possibly draw it awayfrom its meditation. D'Artagnan who was burning with impatience,suddenly threw aside the feeling, like a cloak which he felt too heavyon his shoulders, and said to himself that that which they wereconcealing from him was the very thing it was important he should know;and, consequently, he reasoned that Baisemeaux would not fail to putAramis on his guard, if Aramis had given him any particularrecommendation, and which, was, in fact, the very thing that did happen.
Baisemeaux had hardly had time to return from the donjon, thanD'Artagnan placed himself in ambuscade close to the Rue du Petit-Muse,so as to see every one who might leave the gates of the Bastille. Afterhe had spent an hour on the look-out from the "Golden Portcullis,"under the pent-house of which he could keep himself a little in theshade, D'Artagnan observed a soldier leave the Bastille. This was,indeed, the surest indication he could possibly have wished for, asevery jailer or warder has certain days, and even certain hours, forleaving the Bastille, since all are alike prohibited from having eitherwives or lodgings in the castle, and can accordingly leave withoutexciting any curiosity; but a soldier once in barracks is kept there forfour-and-twenty hours when on duty--and no one knew this better thanD'Artagnan. The soldier in question, therefore, was not likely to leavein his regimentals, except on an express and urgent order. The soldier,we were saying, left the Bastille at a slow and lounging pace, like ahappy mortal, in fact, who, instead of keeping sentry before a wearisomeguard-house, or upon a bastion no less wearisome, has the good luck toget a little liberty in addition to a walk--the two pleasures beingreckoned as part of his time on duty. He bent his steps toward theFaubourg Saint-Antoine, enjoying the fresh air and the warmth of thesun, and looking at all the pretty faces he passed. D'Artagnan followedhim at a distance: he had not yet arranged his ideas as to what was tobe done. "I must, first of all," he thought, "see the fellow's face. Aman seen is a man judged of." D'Artagnan increased his pace, and, whichwas not very difficult, by-the-by, soon got in advance of the soldier.Not only did he observe that his face showed a tolerable amount ofintelligence and resolution, but he noticed also that his nose was alittle red. "He has a weakness for brandy, I see," said D'Artagnan tohimself. At the same moment that he remarked his red nose, he saw thatthe soldier had a white paper in his belt.
"Good, he has a letter," added D'Artagnan. The only difficulty was toget hold of the letter. But a soldier would, of course, be too delightedat having been selected by M. de Baisemeaux for a special messenger, andwould not be likely to sell his message. As D'Artagnan was biting hisnails, the soldier continued to advance more and more into the FaubourgSaint-Antoine. "He is certainly going to Saint-Mande," he said tohimself, "and I shall not be able to learn what the letter contains." Itwas enough to drive him wild. "If I were in uniform," said D'Artagnan tohimself, "I would have this fellow seized and his letter with him. Icould easily get assistance at the very first guard-house; but the deviltake me if I mention my name in an affair of this kind. If I were totreat him to something to drink, his suspicions would be roused; and,besides, he would make me drunk. Mordioux! my wits seem to have leftme," said D'Artagnan; "it is all over with me. Yet, supposing I were toattack this poor devil, make him draw his sword, and kill him for thesake of his letter. No harm in that, if it were a question of a letterfrom a queen to a nobleman, or a letter from a cardinal to a queen; butwhat miserable intrigues are those of Messieurs Aramis and Fouquet withM. Colbert. A man's life for that! No, no, indeed; not even ten crowns."As he philosophized in this manner, biting, first his nails, and thenhis mustaches, he perceived a group of archery and a commissary ofpolice engaged in forcibly carrying away a man of very gentlemanlyexterior, who was struggling with all his might against them. Thearchers had torn his clothes, and were dragging him roughly away. Hebegged they would lead him along more respectfully, asserting that hewas a gentleman and a soldier. And observing our soldier walking in thestreet, he called out, "Help, comrade."
The soldier walked on with the same step toward the man who had calledout to him, followed by the crowd. An idea suddenly occurred toD'Artagnan; it was his first one, and we shall find it was not a bad oneeither. During the time the gentleman was relating to the soldier thathe had just been seized in a house as a thief, when the truth was he wasonly there as a lover; and while the soldier was pitying him, andoffering him consolation and advice with that gravity which a Frenchsoldier has always ready whenever his vanity or his _esprit de corps_ isconcerned, D'Artagnan glided behind the soldier, who was closely hemmedin by the crowd, and with a rapid gesture drew the paper out of hisbelt. As at this moment the gentleman with the torn clothes was pullingabout the soldier to show how the commissary of police had pulled himabout, D'Artagnan effected his capture of the letter without theslightest inconvenience. He stationed himself about ten paces distant,behind the pillar of an adjoining house, and read on the address, "ToMonsieur de Valon, at Monsieur Fouquet's, Saint-Mande."
"Good!" he said, and then he unsealed without tearing the letter, drewout the paper, which was folded in four, from the inside, and whichcontained only these words:
"DEAR MONSIEUR DE VALON--Will you be good enough to tell Monsieur d'Herblay that _he_ has been to the Bastille, and has been making inquiries. Your devoted DE BAISEMEAUX."
"Very good! all right!" exclaimed D'Artagnan; "it is clear enough now.Porthos is engaged in it." Being now satisfied of what he wished toknow: "Mordioux!" thought the musketeer, "what is to be done with thatpoor devil of a soldier? That hot-headed, cunning fellow, De Baisemeaux,will make him pay dearly for my trick--if he returns without the letter,what will they do to him? Besides, I don't want the letter; when the egghas been sucked, what is the good of the shell?" D'Artagnan perceivedthat the commissary and the archers had succeeded in convincing thesoldier, and went on their way with the prisoner, the latter being stillsurrounded by the crowd and continuing his complaints. D'Artagnanadvanced into the very middle of the crowd, let the letter fall, withoutany one having observed him, and then retreated rapidly. The soldierresumed his route toward Saint-Mande, his mind occupied with thegentleman who had implored his protection. Suddenly he thought of hisletter, and, looking at
his belt, saw that it was no longer there.D'Artagnan derived no little satisfaction from his sudden terrifiedcry. The poor soldier in the greatest anguish of mind looked round himon every side, and at last, about twenty paces behind him, he perceivedthe blessed envelope. He pounced on it like a falcon on its prey. Theenvelope was certainly a little dusty, and rather crumpled, but at allevents the letter itself was found again. D'Artagnan observed that thebroken seal attracted the soldier's attention a good deal, but hefinished apparently by consoling himself, and returned the letter to hisbelt. "Go on," said D'Artagnan, "I have plenty of time before me, so youmay precede me. It appears that Aramis is not at Paris, since Baisemeauxwrites to Porthos. Dear Porthos, how delighted I shall be to see himagain, and to have some conversation with him!" said the Gascon. And,regulating his pace according to that of the soldier, he promisedhimself to arrive a quarter of an hour after him at M. Fouquet's.